ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏʀᴅᴀɴᴛ ᴅᴇꜱɪʀᴇ (Velvet x Fem Reader)

The Bodyguard's Dilemma

                                                              ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The next morning, I awoke with a pounding headache and a mouth as dry as the Sahara. It felt like a herd of elephants had trampled through my head, leaving behind nothing but chaos. Groaning, I pushed myself up, wincing at the harsh sunlight filtering through the curtains. The memories of last night rushed back, and I couldn't decide if the headache was more from the alcohol or the intense events of the party.

Dragging myself out of bed, I stumbled towards the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror wasn't pretty—disheveled hair, smudged makeup, and bloodshot eyes that seemed to hold the weight of the world. I decided it was a good day to avoid mirrors altogether.

A quick shower did little to alleviate the hangover, but I emerged feeling marginally more human. Clad in comfortable clothes that had appeared in a drawer in my room (thanks again to Veneer), I made my way downstairs, determined to fulfill my duties despite the turmoil in my head.

Entering the kitchen, I was greeted by the calming sight of the pristine space. This time, however, I noticed a note on the counter, probably meant for Veneer.

Won't be at breakfast. Up in studio. —Velvet.

I sighed in relief, grateful for a moment of solitude before the storm.

As I rummaged through the pantry, gathering ingredients for a hangover-friendly breakfast, I couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of my situation. Working for pop stars, attending secret parties, and now, nursing a hangover while preparing breakfast fit for royalty. Life had definitely taken an unexpected turn.

Just as I started cracking eggs into a bowl, the kitchen door swung open, and in walked Veneer. His expression shifted from surprise to amusement as he took in my disheveled appearance.

"Well, well, someone had a rough night," he quipped, his eyes scanning me with a smirk.

I shot him a half-hearted glare, my headache intensifying with each passing second. "It's called commitment to the job. I take my role as an undercover agent slash assistant very seriously."

Veneer chuckled, grabbing a seat at the kitchen island. "Undercover agent? Assistant? I thought you were just the new chef."

"Whatever pays the bills, right?"

Veneer leaned back, crossing his arms, his eyes lingering on my haphazardly tied hair and the oversized T-shirt I'd thrown on. "You know, you could use a bit of improvement in the fashion department. I'm sure Velvet would agree."

I shot him a look of mock indignation. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Fashionista. I'll be sure to consult you before getting dressed next time."

It felt right to be so comfortable with him, even if he was my new boss. It was almost as if we were old friends.

He grinned, unfazed by my sarcasm. "Good idea, actually. Now, what's cooking?"

I flashed a playful smile, appreciating the brief moment of banter with my boss amidst the lingering hangover. "You're in luck. I'm whipping up some eggs with all the essentials for a wonderful day."

As the aroma of cooking filled the kitchen, Veneer's expression turned contemplative. "You know, (Y/N), Velvet doesn't usually let anyone in her circle this easily. She's...guarded, to say the least."

I glanced at him, curious about where the conversation was heading. "And yet here I am, making breakfast."

Veneer nodded, his eyes thoughtful. "Here you are. You handled last night pretty well, considering it was your first mission of this kind. Velvet told me all about it when you both got back. Velvet might not say it, but I can tell she's impressed."