#Bodyguard!simon Riley

[xo-cod]

someone asked for it but the ask got deleted so here it is again :)

bodyguard!simon x popstar!reader

absolutely hated you in the beginning. only tolerated you because price had given him this responsibility and because the pay was decent. otherwise he was just a shadow with one worded responses and grunts towards whatever you said.

used to manhandle you whenever you used to walk slow, pulling you along with a tut and a roll of his eyes. you couldn't really see his face since he still wore his balaclava but his face was definitely screwed up behind it

the loud cheering becomes jarring to him the first few times, he's not used to this environment and there's been a few times where his hands have sprung to his gun ready to unload hell onto a poor excited fan who wanted a signature

but the more time he spends with you, the more he warms up around you. he even knew time brought you on base for when he needed to grab something quickly and you ended up meeting his team members

gaz and soap are basically #1 fans fr. the fact that you're friends with their favourite musicians makes them fanboy, your life is so exciting and they always want to know the latest gossip.

simon watches on unamused but secretly feeling a certain way when he sees you speaking happily with his friends

the dances you have with your backup dancers make simon so jealous ‼️‼️ the way your hips sway with theirs, the way their hands are across your waist, the tight outfits, god he has to physically restrain himself from ravishing you

he watches on with his jaw clenched, body rigid as his eyes feast upon your body like treasure. even through the thousands and thousands of people there, you'll always feel the burning of his eyes on you

and when your eyes meet him on a special part of a song, he's literally entranced by you. his breath held and he feels vulnerable, despite the millions of people there. when you're singing to him, it's to him

his praise to you is usually a nod of his head and a "good" but the more you both grow closer, the more you notice how touchy he can become and the more praise that falls from his lips (though it still can sound a little cold only because he feels awkward and doesn't think you need his reassurance that you're doing a good job)

"wear this pretty number f'me" when you both become super close, he likes it when you wear his favourite outfits. he'll hand them to you offering no explanation, only that it looks really good on you. secretly admiring you on stage when it glimmers and shimmers against the light because you look so beautiful

secretly has a few pictures on you on stage where you look so beautiful, he can't help but flick through them at the dead of night when he's alone.

will also secretly heart and save the videos on a private account of all the fan edits of you and him (a cliche but i like them 🤭)

will definitely notice the little skulls you have dangling from your outfit/jewellery and he smiles to himself, it's like an easter egg no one could guess

begged him to make an insta and after much reluctance and pleading he finally did.

he gained followers very quickly, his dm's full of people wanting to thirst over him to his workout routine

but you're the only one he follows <3

yes, he's also fallen victim to stalking your page and looking at old boyfriend with a smug and annoyed look

you got papped one time with the initials SR♡ on your necklace and it went crazy popular. everyone trying to figure who the mystery person was.

but simon looks on in pride, he might be called ghost to everyone else but between you both he'll always be your simon riley. a secret no one could know <3

cue soap and gaz screeching at the paparazzi pictures, having called on the whole thing when ghost was assigned to you in the first place

[yawnderu]

“My dad makes boring rules.” Simon has to hold back the urge to roll his eyes, his patience wearing thin by the second.

“Those rules are in place to protect you.” He scolds, his voice calm, but laced with sternness typical for a man who built his entire life on discipline and control.

“To make sure you stay out of trouble, to stop you from making dumb decisions.” Like trying to flirt with me when you know I can't and won't respond.

“Yeah, but still...” You dragged out, unsure of what to protest about next— but feeling the need to do it either way. Your eyes roam his gear for something to latch onto, trying to disguise it by looking back into his eyes. If he noticed your lingering gaze, he did a great job of not showing it.

“Still what?” Babysitting a grown woman who's stubborn as a mule and twice as bratty wasn't in Simon's plans, but his career keeps testing him.

“Well, the rules are annoying and dumb.” It's as much as you can argue, sneakily hooking your finger on his belt loop, subtly pulling him closer as he stands above you, arms crossed across his bulletproof vest. His eyes flicker to your finger, narrowing for a second before he tries to relax, his feet firmly planted on the floor.

“I can see why he has to keep those rules.” He comments dryly. “Otherwise you'd get in trouble, and I'd be the lucky one who gets to clean up the mess.” He takes a single step forward as you pull on his belt loop harder, your free hand going up and down his heavily armored body, feeling his gear before reaching your target— his hand.

“I got a different mess you can clean up.” He knows you're not truly trying to seduce him, yet the way you hold his wrist and guide his gloved hand down your body to help him cup your tit is testing his self-control.

“Fuckin' hell.” He mutters under his breath, trying to resist your advances even when he can feel the desire seeping through your teasing. His gloved fingers tense up slightly, kneading at the softness under his hand before he finally lets go, trailing up gently until he reaches your neck, applying enough pressure to get your full attention.

“I have a duty to protect you.” He reminds you in a whisper, his head tilting down to look directly into your half-lidded eyes, hoping you won't mention just how dilated his pupils are.

[grlpartdoll]

GASP. GHOSTY IS LOSTENING TO HIS URGES!!! EBRYONE HIDE YO MAMAS, HIDE YOUR KIDS!!!

no seriously. 18+. Minors blocked on sight :D!!!

Part ?? Of bodyguard series <3 thankfully the cameras were off for the day but (⁠⊙⁠_⁠◎⁠) also this is not proofread at all.

Written with Afab reader in mind but no mentions of genitals for the reader so it's really up to u to imagine! Errrmmm yes I think that's it!

CW : ghost cock :] (it's big btw) ghost-big-huge-giant-hands-riley.

"Will you sit down?" Ghost growls for the uptenth time, though this time he sounds more serious — more worried.

You do, if only because you're starting to ache down the waist worst then you did after practice.

You settle on the edge of the bed, and Ghost kneels there beside it, going to remove your tiny kitten heels for you. They're off in seconds, with his expertise in the matter of shoe removal (you'd forced him to learn how by always forgetting to undress before falling into bed for a '5 minute nap' and never waking up)

"Take yor'shirt off."

You immediately cover yourself, and though youre not even naked yet, you heat all over, shaking your head hastily.

"I'll see my physical therapist tomorrow — it's fine."

He fixes you with a mean glare you've learned means a silent plea from him to just listen.

You sigh, blinking multiple times to try and rationalize the fact that you're about to take off your shirt in front of Ghost. In front of the man you'd been not so openly having secret fantasies about.

You nod, then, as he fingers at the edge of your cardigan. His oddly big hands drift, slowly, as though memorizing every slope and hill of your skin. He undoes the buttons with surgical precision, keeping his touch light and professional.

Then, the warmth of his palms rise, and he lays them down atop your shoulders — slopping down your arms gently as he removes the fabric off of your skin.

You sit there, in nothing but a bralette, breath stuck in your throat with Ghost's hands working softly on putting the cardigan away.

You wriggle a little uncomfortably, and his focus shifts to you, his eyes snapping upwards and away from the green sweater.

"S'just me." He reminds you.

And it is exactly because it is just him that you're like this — twitchy and covered in goosebumps.

"I know." Your voice comes away breathy, as much as you had hoped it wouldn't.

His pupils dilate a little. You think. But he doesn't seem to notice at all. Only focuses on the blue and black of your ribs.

Your dance partner for a special broadcast performance had dropped you during rehearsal, and you'd been left with a few torned rib ligaments and a bruised torso.

Needless to say Ghost hadnt been too happy to hear about that — especially since he had been taking his first break in a long, long while.

When he came back around during your lunch and you were sitting there with ice to your chest, he'd glared at your manager and demanded answers. You're only glad the dancer had already been gone when Ghost made it to you — and that the cameras had stopped rolling for the day.

"Does it still hurt t'breathe?"

You try it, and nod when pain prickles at your chest. You wince, trying to wind down the pain by exhaling.

"You're doin' good." He praised, pressing a terribly gentle hand on the bruise.

"Still ache when I touch here?"

A whole different type of ache ignites in you when his big hand covers half of your torso — but you shake your head.

"Good." His hand slips lower, below the ribs. At your waist.

"And here?"

A noise makes it out of you when he squeezes. It's not pain — and he hears the difference. Still, he removes his hand, something shifting under the mask. His lips move for a moment. Not a smile — you know because his eyes don't wrinkle like they do when he gives you that shit eating grin.

"What was that?" He asks, voice rougher than usual.

"Sorry. Your hands are just.. cold." You lie blantantly, trying to sound natural, and failing miserably.

His hands rise again, and he lets them hover above your hips. "Can I?"

Dangerous territory. But you nod.

His hands wrap around them — and though you've never been known to be the smallest, or the biggest, his hands wrap comfortably around your hips. Your eyes almost bulge out of your head when his fingers press into your lower back, and you notice just how near to each other they are. There was no way —

He pushes again. Yes. If he'd wanted, if he had squeezed a little harder, you're sure he could have touched finger to finger with his two hands wrapped around your hips. Not your waist — but your hips.

Somehow that is the thing that breaks the dam, and you find yourself melting against his touch, a god-awful noise being pried from your throat.

He's quiet for a moment — doesn't dare move in case he's hurt you. But it takes only a few seconds for him to make the difference between a noise of pain and one of pure unadulterated want.

His voice is almost teasing when he says, in a condescending coo ; "What was that, Lovie?"

You whine in humiliation, trying to push him away, but he pulls you back towards him, your knees making a brutal 'tock' sound when you fall on the floor with him, body to body.

Something hard and hot and heavy presses against your tummy, and you gasp, eyes shooting up towards his. That couldn't be his — no. That thing pressed against your tummy was far too thick, far too big to be anything of the nature. And yet. It was an unmistakable warmth buldging through his uniform pants, something that you could almost feel was throbbing at your nearness.

"Can't be making all those pretty little noises, y'hear me?"

"It's not m'fault—" you're muffled when he presses his hand against your mouth, the roughness of it mismatched with the plump, healthy skin of your well-taken care features. His fingers tighten around your jaw, and keep a hold of you effortlessly, only the palm being enough to cover the upper part of your face.

"M'gunna have to keep you like this when I check you up from now on? Uh?" His body moves of his own accord, careening forward, his length dragging itself up — and down. A rumble grows in his chest, but never comes out from his lips.

"Fuckin' cocktease." He curses quietly, tsk-ing when you nibble on his fingers, brows furrowed in something that's not pain, but not quite pleasure either.

"Ol'right, olright," he grumbles, removing his hand, but keeping it below your chin. "'M g'nna be nice t'ya, kid. Let you rest."

"No—" your hands scramble to touch him in a slight panic induced spur. But he pulls back, catching your wrists.

"M'not doing this with'ya while you're hurt."

"I'm fine!" You practically choke out, trying to fight his grip. Unfortunately for you, though, your strength never compares.

"Enough." He says, this time more serious.

Your bottom falling onto the heels of your feet, you pout at him.

"Dun't give me that look. Promise when you're better I'll treat you real nice." He nudges the sharp edge of your face, before picking you up in one languid motion, placing you back into your bed.

"Promise?" You says, a bit breathless.

"Yeah," he lays you down gently, and you hiss as your body locks up. He helps you on the way down, though, humming and fussing all over you, making sure you're comfortable. "Promise."

He leans in, his hand pushing a dent into your pillow. "Close your little eyes, bambi."

You do. Nothing happens for a moment, but then —

His lips are on your forehead. His lips, unfiltered, undisturbed by a old war-hewned mask. Rough and chapped, so carefully grazing your forehead you almost want to cry.

"When I take you f'the first time, kid, the only thing you will feel the next day is me." He speaks against your skin. "Not sum' pain in your rib from another man."

You want to protest — tell him that that is just ridiculous, that the partner you'd been assigned for all but a month had nothing to do with the molten fire in your belly.

But you remain quiet, and sigh, your lashes fluttering.

He pulls back, and you keep your eyes closed. When his footsteps retreat, and his beefy frame audibly falls into his reserved chair, you twist away from him under the cover, and open your eyes to the blank wall in front of you.

You so badly want to look at him. Want to see that familiar face he'd graced you with only once when you were sick. But you know he has his boundaries. And you know how to listen to a command when he gives you one.

"Goodnight, Simon." You whisper.

He doesn't answer, but you know he's there, watching over you. Always.

[mystinkylefttoe26]

Night at the club-Ghost/Simon Riley

cw: bodyguard!simon, dub con, mention of alcohol consumption, p in v unprotected, drunk sex, fingering, squirting, car sex, slight dumbification

summary : you drag your bodyguard Simon to the club and end up having to suffer the consequences…

It was currently midnight and you were quickly making you way downstairs with the hope off not waking your bodyguard.

Your right in front of the door and so far nobody has caught you yet ,ok pff I got this‘ you think to yourself.

Just as your about to reach for the doorknob, a dark husky voice sounds behind you „what do you think your doing ?“ 

You turn around and of course there’s your mountain of a bodyguard ghost standing with an eyebrow raised in a questioning manner.

„I uhm…I’m just going for an…evening walk“ you respond, internally slapping yourself for the stupid excuse. 

„Uh huh and your doing that dressed like a fucking hooker ?“ Ghost asks sarcastically.

„Come on quit the lyin‘ what were you really planning“ 

„Wanna go to the club…“ you say smiling sheepishly.

„You know your not allowed to do that.“ Ghost say’s sternly.

„But I’m going with my friends I’ll be fine, come on pleaseee just this once“ you plead. 

„Nuh uh“ Ghost says shaking his head „sorry doll“ 

„Ok, fine“ you reply grumpily, but quickly get an idea that could save your night and mood „what about you come with me ?“ you ask 

„No that’s not part of my job“ -„come on please with you there I’d be safe and have a fun night“ you whine giving him the cutest puppy dog eyes you can muster.

„Ok, you know what fine“ ghost says seemingly affected by your cute expression.

„Omg thank you, thank you, thank you“ you cheer running up to him and giving him a quick hug.

20 minutes later and you have arrived at the club.

You walk in and immediately spot your group of friends quickly rushing over to them …ghost following behind you. 

“Hi guys sorry I’m late” your friends quickly greet you before quietly asking who the giant of a man behind you is.

“Oh no he’s not my boyfriend, just my bodyguard” you explain.

You get involved in a conversation with your friends, while ghost just stands beside you clearly not interested in the conversation or your friends. 

In the corner of your eye you spot a cute guy seemingly without a companion or a girl clinging to his arms.

Your friends follow your eye line and immediately hype you up saying you should go to talk to him and that you desperately needed some ,dick’.

you turn to ghost „hey im gonna go to that guy over there” you say. 

ghost nods and immediately stands up wanting to follow you.

"no can you like stay here” you ask. Ghost grumbles out a quiet “fine”.

you walk over to the guy and tap him on the shoulder. 

he turns around hungrily eyeing you up and down. “ what’s up pretty girl ?” 

the whole time you were talking to him you felt like someone was watching you the entire time.

15 minutes later of talking and flirting things were getting more…heated.

you currently making out with the boy,until suddenly someone completely rips you off him.

„i uh what” you shriek looking up at simon confused.

“were going home.”he says sternly not leaving room for the discussion, before hes already lifted you up over his shoulder and was carrying you out of the club. 

"what what are you doing” you ask still kind off confused, the frew drinks you’ve had definitely not helping your comprehension. 

“what you want or need…” ghost grumbles.

He quickly opens his car’s door and shoving you to the backseat,before climbing in himself.

The way he’s looking at you makes you feel way smaller than you already are compared to him.

he’s looking like a predator catching it’s prey…

he quickly pulls you toward him and onto his lap holding you secure with his big hands on your hips. 

“hmm baby this what you wanted ?” he asks rhetorically. While his eager hands are already squishing and groping at your butt.

your so confused this is all happening to fast and your earlier alcohol consumption was not helpful.

“said ya needed some dick” ghost says while already punching up your dress at your hips. 

“don’t worry baby i’ll give ya som’” ghost looks down at your body with hooded eyes “no panties baby, damn you want it bad…”

ghost makes quick work off undoing his belt and pushing down his pants and boxers.

you look down and to say you were shocked was an understatement…

“si, no th-thats never going to fit..” you shriek out.

“dont worry baby i’ll make it fit” ghost says while giving his cock a few strokes “mhmm fill ya up nice wont it ?” 

ghost quickly takes two off his fingers before spitting on them and rubbing them trough your folds and tapping them at your entrance.

“fuck baby, your so wet” ghost chuckles.

to be fair you had always found ghost attractive so you weren’t surprised.

ghost pushes his fingers inside while you let out an almost pornograpic moan.

“fuck so t-tight-wonder how you gonna react to my cock” ghost mutters 

ghost presses his thumb to your clit rubbing it in circles.

“g-ghost mmm gonna c-cum” you say through whimpers 

“yeah baby ya close ?” 

a loud moan is your only response before your climax is already coming.

ghost slowly pulls out his fingers while you whimper softly and lean your head on his shoulder.

“think ya ready for my cock now ?” “mhm” you mumble softly.

ghost quickly flips you onto ur back “press ur knees to ur shoulders” he commands 

you quickly obey and are now laying in a mating press.

ghost teasingly rubs his tip up and down ur folds.

before slowly pushing his needy tip inside ur little hole.

“fuck baby gripping me like a fucking vice” he grunts.

you just mewl and stir under him already overstimulated at the feeling of his fat tip dragging against your walls.

“gonna go futher now,ok ?” 

a simple nod is all that comes from you but thats enough conformation simon needs to push his dick fully in.

“god baby so tight” “not gonna last long this way” he groans while making quick work with his fingers at your clit hoping to get your more relaxed and open for him.

fuck, you feel so full and the occasional twitching of his cock inside you just makes it all better. 

“mhm gonna move now kay ?” 

“mhmm please si” you moan out wanting him to hurry up and finally start fucking you.

and Simon does exactly that pulling out till only his tip is left inside you and then snapping his hips back against you.

your both moaning now trough ghosts thrusting but ghost makes a quick work at shutting you up by capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss. 

“fuck baby was so jealous earlier” ghost grunts “that frat dude didnt deserve ya need a real man” 

ghost gives his words more meaning by accentuating each of them with a hard thrust deep inside you.

“f-faster si-i” you moan out.

“yea you want it faster” ghost ask teasingly while increasing his pace almost machine like 

you cant even think anymore all you feel his..so,so deep inside you. 

“fuck baby cant even think no more can ya” ghost chuckles 

all you can do is weakly nod drool running out your mouth and everything while you helplessly moan and whine. 

“look baby” ghost says pointing at your stomach.

you tiredly look down and there right under your belly button is a little bump that moves with each of ghosts thrusts.

simon presses on the pump and thats it for you.

with a long high pitch moan your squirting, wetting the car seats and also simons torso.

“oh god baby” simon groans seemingly also close himself

with a few more thrusts ghost empties himself coating your insides in his sticky white sperm.

ghost collapses on top of you “did so good princess” “so proud of ya took it like a champ”

“mhm” you mumble still exhausted lazily dragging your nails across his back in a comforting manor.

“should flirt with random boys more often” you giggle 

“don’t ya think bout it baby” ghost mumbles softly in your ear before pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

Banner from @benkeibear

[lov-3-rs]

Let’s be Honest

Simon Riley (Bodyguard) x Reader!!

(mdni 18+)

Your father is an undercover investigator working a dangerous case on a human trafficking ring. Unfortunately, they somehow discovered his intentions, and now they're out for revenge. So, they’ve put a bounty on your head, claiming you’re worth millions to whoever is able to find you and sell you to the best bidder. Despite the danger, your father can’t abandon his mission as there were other lives on the line. He’s too close to cracking the case, rescuing the victims. To protect you, he hired someone no one would see coming for them and that was going to be protecting you. He hired a Ghost.

————————————————————————————

The moment you saw the brute, you couldn’t believe it. This 6’3”, 220lb, constantly masked man was supposed to be by your side for who knows how long. The sheer size of him was intimidating enough, but the mask? It kept you wondering what kind of man was beneath it.

You couldn’t argue with your father, though. He wanted you safe, and you weren’t about to be taken and sold off to some creep. So, you dealt with it. But now it’s been two months too long. Two damn months of constant monitoring, endless rules, and the same warnings: 'You need to listen to me Y/n,' 'Stay by my side,' or ‘It’s not safe.' It was honestly getting sickening at the fact he had complete control over your day to day life now.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“I was thinking of going shopping today, get some fresh air,” you say, taking a bite of your breakfast. He stands near the window, eyes scanning the street outside like he always does. “Maybe,” he says, his voice low, almost disinterested. You roll your eyes. “Jesus Christ, why not? It’s just us walking down the street, Simon.”

You started using his real name after weeks of pestering him to tell you. It felt weird calling him “Ghost” all the time—like something out of a video game. What good was being around someone this long if you didn’t even know their name?

He glances back at you, his expression unreadable behind the mask—if there’s an expression at all. Then, just as silently, he turns back to the window. “You never know.” You put your fork down and stop eating, “Simon, I can’t keep going days without stepping foot outside, i’m literally going insane”, he steps away from the window and pulls a chair out to sit beside you. “Everything I do and everything I say is to protect you, that is the whole reason I am here”. you looked into his hauntingly dead eyes. “Please you can’t keep me trapped in these walls”. You say with hesitation in your voice wondering if this will be another useless plea to let him agree for you to get out the house. He paused for a moment before nodding his head in agreement. You smile, “oh my gosh really? we can go?!” you say quickly standing from your chair in excitement. “yes. but the moment I feel something is off we leave, immediately” he says sternly. You were already putting your plate away and running to your room to get ready.

You visited a few of your favorite stores near your house, picking up small items here and there. Simon stayed close, as usual, walking silently beside you. As you stepped out of another shop, he leaned in slightly, his voice low. “We’re going to one more store, then we’re heading home. Do you understand?” You shot him a side-eye but nodded, not in the mood for another argument.

The last stop was the lingerie shop—you had been eyeing their new fall line for weeks. You grabbed a few panties and bras before something else caught your eye: the most stunning, sexy set you’d ever seen. You had to try it on. Walking into the dressing room, you slipped out of your clothes and into the delicate lace set. The fabric felt luxurious against your skin. You peeked your head out, only seeing Simon waiting, his posture as stoic as ever. You stepped out to check yourself in the mirror, admiring the way the set hugged your curves. From the corner of his eye, Simon caught sight of you. His jaw clenched almost immediately as he tried to keep his focus elsewhere, but it was impossible. He’d been around you every day for two months, and he had seen plenty—your tight shirts with no bra, shorts that barely covered anything. He’d always kept his cool, reminding himself that you were off-limits, and he took care of himself whenever you were asleep or when he took a shower. But seeing you now, in something so revealing, stirred something deeper in him that made his jeans tighten. He forced himself to remain still, but the tension in his body betrayed his thoughts. Respect for your father, the job—those were the only things keeping him from acting on what he felt. And he had to keep it that way, or at least he was trying to.

You caught Simon’s gaze in the mirror, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to shift. His eyes were unreadable behind the mask, but you could feel something he wasn’t saying. You quickly looked away, clearing your throat. “What do you think?” you asked casually, but your pulse quickened. You didn’t know why you even asked—it wasn’t like you cared what he thought about lingerie. Or did you?

He blinked, caught off guard. “About what?”

“The lingerie,” you teased, crossing your arms. “I thought I’d get a professional opinion.” His jaw tightened more, but you caught the flicker of something in his eyes. “You don’t need my opinion.” You stepped a little closer, testing his boundaries. “Maybe I do.” He stayed still, but you could see the tension in his stance. His voice, when he spoke, was low. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.” You laughed lightly. “What? Shopping?” His eyes met yours, and for a second, there was nothing but silence between you. “No,” he said softly, almost reluctantly. “This.” The weight of his words hung in the air. For a moment, neither of you moved. His response was a beat too slow. “You should hurry up,” he muttered, his voice deeper than usual. You rolled your eyes, but his tone made your skin tingle. There was something about the way he held himself that made you wonder—did he see you the way you were starting to see him? You slipped back into the dressing room to change, but the tension lingered, thick in the air. When you came out, dressed again, Simon stood up immediately, his shoulders tense. “Let’s go.” The rest of the walk home was quiet, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had shifted.

You walked into the house, setting your bags down and slipping off your shoes. Simon followed closely behind, immediately locking the door and heading to the windows like he always did, scanning the outside for any sign of danger. But your mind was elsewhere, replaying that one word—this—over and over again.

What did ‘it’ mean? You had to know.

“Simon,” you called out softly, still unable to meet his eyes. “What did you mean earlier?” He stiffened immediately, turning to face you. He knew exactly what you were talking about, but he’d been hoping you would let it go. He didn’t mean to let that word slip out, and now he was trying to think of a way around it. “What do you mean?” His tone was even, but there was a slight edge to it, a hint of tension. You swallowed, gathering your courage. “You said I was making this hard. I’m not sure what that means… I want you to tell me.” Finally, you looked up at him, meeting his gaze. For a moment, Simon just stared at you, his jaw clenching and unclenching like he was fighting with himself. His silence hung in the air, thick and heavy, as though he was weighing whether or not to tell you the truth. He turned back to the window, staring outside as if it would give him the answer he needed. “You’re making my job harder,” he said after a long pause, but there was something in his voice—a hesitation. But you had a smirk on your face knowing exactly what it was, “it was the set wasn’t it?” there was a pause, “you thought I looked good, too good right?” you stepped closer to him testing his limits wanting more reaction out of him. “I think you should keep this fantasy shit to yourself” he said quickly snapping back at you, but you kept pushing, “I don’t blame you Simon, I bet it’s been months since you got laid and I won’t lie it’s been a hot minute for me too with you being around me all the time, having me cooped in this house” you can see his brows furrowing. “you’re crossing the god damn line” that’s what he was saying but the raging boner in his pants said completely different about your attitude.

Before you knew it, he was stepping toward you, his hand gripping your arm firmly. “You’re pushing me too far,” he said, his voice low and rough. You met his gaze, feeling a mix of fear and excitement. “Maybe I need you to push back,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The moment was charged, and without warning, one of his hands let go from your arm to lift up his mask above his nose exposing his lips. your eyes widen never seeing anything but his eyes for the last few months. Before you knew it his lips were on yours, It was intense and consuming, leaving both of you breathless and more entangled than before.

He picked you up and put you on the dining table. the kiss became more passionate with his hands tangled in your hair, you could feel your core throb waiting to be touched. Simon pulled away from you and looked into your eyes, “you don’t understand how long i’ve wanted to touch you” he says breathing heavily. “all those times you walked around with no bra and I could see your fucking nipples through your shirt and the times you walked around with your ass out, god I wanted to bend you over, i’d fuck you right there and don’t even forget about the times I could here you moaning in the shower doing god knows what to that pussy, ya fuckin minx” your cunt was practically dripping at his words, your breathing became more heavier, “Then do it Simon, bend me over and fuck me” before you could say anymore he already was turning you over on the counter and pulling your pants down. “already planning on it love”. Simon pulled your pants down then slowly pulled your panties down revealing your wet pussy. he bent down to get eye level with it bring his fingers up to your folds and playing with your clit. You moaned at his touched, “fuh-fuck”. Simon pulled his fingers away and replaced it with his tongue, licking your throbbing clit and making you squirm.

He ate you out till you came on his mouth, “Si please”. Simon got up and looked at your bent over form while he started unbuckling his pants, “please what love?” he already knew what you wanted and he wanted it just as bad. “fuck me hard” he smiled at your words taking his hard cock in his hand rubbing his pre cum all over the top of his head giving it extra lubricant. He aligned his cocked to your hole and slammed into you making you jump, “Shhhhhhhit” you hiss out the word from the painful pleasure. He started to thrust in and out of you hearing your moans made him want to cum already but he couldn’t, it felt too damn good to stop now. Simon bent down to your ear, “All those fuckin times you were playing with this tight cunt in the shower, who were you thinkin about huh?”. You didn’t want to answer out of embarrassment but you did it anyways, “y-you si, I thought about sucking your cock and you cumming all over my tits” that snapped something in him when you said that, his pace picked up he started fucking you harder, his balls slapping against your clit. “what would ya daddy think of the man he hired to protect you fucking your pussy raw?”. You could feel your self about to cum, “Si I’m gonna cum on your cock” his thrust became sloppier feeling himself about to finish too, “cum baby, cum”. Simon thrusted harder into your cunt making your back arch more and your ass jiggle against his hips the sight was pushing him over the edge, “god damn baby i’m gonna to cum” his hands gripped into your hips harder. “Simon cum inside me god please”. He busted a load in you, pushing his cock feel in you making sure nothing came out, “fuckin hell”.

After the intensity of the moment subsided, Simon and you lay there in the aftermath, the room now quiet except for your shared breathing. He gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender. “I didn’t plan for this,” Simon said softly, his voice filled with a mixture of regret and affection. “I never wanted to cross that line.” You turned to face him, your own emotions swirling. “Neither did I, but… it felt right in the moment. I just want to know what this means for us.” Simon looked at you with a conflicted expression. “I don’t have all the answers. This situation is complicated, and I’m still trying to figure out how to balance my feelings with my responsibilities.” he says lowly “I understand,” you replied, taking his hand in yours. “I just need to know where we stand. Do you want to try and make this work, or is this something we need to move past?” There was a pause as Simon considered his words. “I care about you more than I should,” he admitted. “But I also need to focus on keeping you safe. We’ll have to navigate this carefully.” You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and uncertainty. “We’ll figure it out together,” you said, squeezing his hand.

“As long as we’re honest with each other.”

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I Never Missed You 1/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 3.5 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: 1/3 You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. The first chapter features banter and pining. If you're here for smut, stay tuned. There is an entire chapter of it coming right up.

Your lawyer says it would be a good idea. He even dares to look at you from under his brow like you're a child who doesn't know what's good for her.

And you don't.

Because that's exactly how you feel like: a grown woman who's stunted to a kid, now being supervised by adults. 

The bodyguard they assigned you - the one you accepted because he was your lawyer's first choice - is exactly the broad, brooding type you have always imagined bodyguards to be like.

But he's not wearing sunglasses, and he's not wearing a suit. He says the point of a bodyguard is that they don't look like a bodyguard. 

The first thing you actually pay attention to is the milky-white eyelashes. Only days after you hear that this man rarely shows his face. You were given a file on him, but you never peeked inside it because you were pissed that such drastic measures had to be taken in the first place. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now you pry it from the pile of papers you buried it into, open it, and the first - and only - photo you see is a perfect portrayal of what Death looks like. 

He's the Reaper himself when adorned with that human skull. Keen but emotionless eyes stare from the pits of the sockets to somewhere in the distance, but that look is a stare into the past. The photo raises thousands of questions, and not only the need to know why this man prefers to wear human bones when he's shooting people.

Because apparently, that’s what he used to do before he became a bodyguard. He's buff, that you already know. But in that picture, he looks even more packed, with what you suppose is a bullet vest beneath that blouse. He’s holding an ugly-looking gun – not a pistol, but a rifle of some sort. The gear on him no doubt weighs something close to 60 pounds. His sleeves are rolled up and expose the crisscross veins on his forearms along with war-ugly, crude tattoos, and you swallow. 

Were you really looking at a picture of a barbaric soldier like it was some peculiar soft porn now?

You flip the file closed and toss it on the table, rather disgusted with yourself.

The next time you see him, you look into those brown eyes a moment longer. That stoic stare is the only thing you recognize as that of the man in the picture. That, along with his size, although photos really can't convey how this brooding grunt makes you feel: small and insignificant. Nor do they illustrate how the man looks like he’s the most graceful bull in a china shop when moving inside your house.

You suppose he grew up poor, the way he looks at your furniture, your half-a-mile bookshelf, and the latest art piece you got last month in your living room. He's judging you. 

You're posh. And clueless. And a child.

And this brute lives with you, for now. He's placed downstairs until the target is neutralized. And he's not just a bodyguard: he's hunting the hunter while you're the bait.

It should give you a thrill; your friend giggles when you two gossip about him over a lunch while he's standing only a few feet away. But this situation does not give you a thrill. It just makes you pissed.

And it's not just the situation, it's this... Simon Riley who makes you pissed.

Couldn't they teach manners, some conversation skills at the bodyguard school or wherever the hell this pale, emotionless Hulk came from?

You recheck his file and snoop some more details about his past. He didn't go to bodyguard school (of course he didn't); he used to work for some PMC. The brute's a cold-blooded, cold-hearted mercenary. To put it more eloquently, he's an elite soldier of some tactical unit. But all of that is classified, as is almost every other detail about him. The only thing you are left with is that he's British through and through, but you can already tell that by his accent - the thick Mancunian that makes your stomach and heart flip.

It's gruff – of course it's gruff – and sometimes chafes your ears like they were being grated with the softest grater. You find yourself thinking about him while you're in the shower, when your fingers start to drift and wander.

And for the love of god, you are not thinking about that accent and those eyes while you're masturbating. You're not going to mourn the fact that he never rolls his sleeves when he's with you. When he's at work.

"I saw your file," you start to chitchat over breakfast one day.

"I reckon."

He won't even touch the coffee you poured him but proceeds to drink almost all the tea. The delicate china looks miniature in his hands as he pours the Earl Grey into his cup. The cups are dainty, too – this savage would prefer a large, black mug, perhaps, from which to gulp his tea.

"So. What made you become a soldier?"

"Joined the SAS when I was 17."

And another thing he won't do is look at you when you speak. No manners at all in this man, only rough, sharp edges. He sits as far from you as he can, at the other end of the table, as if you were in a meeting. Or a war council.

"That's not what I asked."

"I know."

You roll your eyes. Conversation skills, god. Just give this man at least some charm…

"I'm going to do some shopping," you declare. "You can stay here."

Finally, he raises his stare. It's full of tired distaste.

"Nah. That's not how this works."

You rise from the table, gracefully and with a neutral face, indicating that you are an adult and won't be needing a babysitter at a store.

"Lady." 

The command is dark and stops you before you have taken one step from the table. It's a slur, almost.

He rises from the table too, and you almost feel sorry, noticing he hasn't yet finished his toast.

"You hired me. And I'm gonna do my job."

He looks big and broad, like a beautiful storm, with that piercing stare and the most alluring lashes you have ever seen on a man. Your voice turns into a meek, pitched attempt to reason with a giant.

"...I'm just going shopping."

His head tilts with a mock: you're only a child in his eyes. 

"Then let's go shopping."

…......…......

Sitting next to this giant in a taxi must be a hilarious-looking scene. A charming, vibrant lady and a sullen, intimidating Theseus – what a pair.

You've also never been this close to him. The man always sits with a wide spread. One heavy thigh almost touches your knees, which you have turned towards him for some unfathomable reason. You were taught to sit with knees closely set together, and that’s what you’re trying to do now: make yourself as small and feminine as possible. It only accentuates this man's size compared to yours. There's a pile of shopping bags between you two, and your gaze is directed outside the window, but you can feel his presence like there's a thrumming monolith beside you.

And he's always dressed in black. You kind of enjoyed how you two looked at the store: you in your heels and a pearl white suit, he in black, tactical ripstop and boots. You wouldn't define the man well-dressed… but he is sharply dressed in his own field, that's for sure. Even a commoner like you could see that.

He had complained about your clothes. White draws too much attention and makes for a bigger target. You had brushed him off with a scoff. You’re not going to change the way you dress because of this.

"You're from Manchester, right?"

You're only trying to make the journey home more enjoyable, but feel like you're snooping again, this time from the man himself. The less you know about Simon Riley, the more you want to learn who he is. It is only natural to get a little curious when his file barely had two paragraphs and a photo. You suppose even that single picture was taken and given forward with reluctance. 

And the only thing you learn is that small talk is a completely foreign concept to this man.

"You're quite the Sherlock," he mutters with that fat accent that gave him away the minute you two shook hands. You Sherlock about some more, look at the left hand that rests on his thigh.

There's no ring. Not even a tan line. He must be lonely: no relationship could stand working hours like these.

"Do you still live there?"

"...No."

"Do you miss the place?"

"No."

The short answers are guttural and spoken from the back of his throat. You don't know if he's doing it on purpose, or if this Simon is like this with everyone. He's not annoyed, though, not the way you're beginning to be.

"Aren't you a chatty one…" you mumble while watching cloudy London pass by. You figured he might hear it, and perhaps that was your purpose, even if your voice was barely a whisper.

"I'm not here to talk. Ma'am."

…......…......

You are told to stay away from the windows. The dinner table is moved so no one can aim at your head through a glass. And even then, most curtains must be closed at all times. 

He goes through doors first, and advises against going out at all. You get a list of things you should take into consideration if you do go out.

And you’re not going to give in to fear.

You simply take different routes to your friends and family, have lunches at different restaurants than usual. He says you should get an armored car, but you don’t have a license. Of course your brooding bodyguard could drive, but what will you do with some armored tank after you're finally through this thing?

What's far more interesting is that it turns out this Simon Riley is a smoker.

Disgusting, you think at first, then think about him all sweaty and grimy after some gunfight, reaching for a cig, curling those thick fingers around a pure-white coffin nail. No, wait – he had gloves in that picture; he wouldn't bother to take them off before he smoked, he would just lean on his gun and on some crumbling wall and sigh from the joy of being alive, of being bloodied and dirty and victorious before taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Ugh.

Reluctantly you agree that perhaps there is an odd charm to this man after all. Either that, or then you are in need of some serious therapy.

Breakfasts are torturingly quiet with Simon, and you can hear the slow roll of eyes every time you make plans to go to a party or an art gallery.

Once, a zipper gets stuck and you have to ask him for help. It’s mortifying, and he doesn’t say a word, only mocks you with his eyes as you turn around for him to place a warm hand on your hip and another on your back to pull up the zipper you had fought to reach and drag up by yourself for at least 10 minutes.

A week passes, and he’s buried in work, not only because he’s guarding your body 24/7, but because he’s trying to locate the hitman. The fact that Simon Riley is technically speaking a hitman too - to think that you have hired a killer - is something you don’t have the mental strength to delve into right now.

"Found the one who's hunting you."

Another file is dropped before you at the end of the week. The man marches into your office like there's no door there at all. Doesn't even bother to knock. 

This isn't what you meant when you politely told him to make himself home…

You roll the glass of water on your temple and sigh. The file reveals another photo, this time of a man who looks like an executioner.

"Goes by the name König," he says and clasps his hands over his crotch while taking a wide stance in front of your desk. "Austrian war criminal. Skilled with knives… Likes to torture people first."

Nice. More brutes.

"Why are you telling me this?" 

You're tired, there's a headache approaching, and you really don't care to go over some details about a professional lunatic killer right now. But Simon Riley - codenamed Ghost, you’ve lately learned - looks down at you like a storm cloud over a carefree meadow.

"Because you clearly don't understand the danger you're in." 

He adds "Ma'am" as a footnote. Purposely forgotten...

And you wish he would forget that silly, overly courteous term.

"Well–" you sigh your frustration in the air between you two, then realize that perhaps you're being treated like a child because you behave like one. "What are you going to do about this man...?"

"Gonna kill him," he simply shrugs, the eternal, distant look in those eyes gaining a smug tone to them. 

He enjoys this. Enjoys killing, but what's even worse, enjoys seeing how his ruthlessness makes you shift uncomfortably in your chair. Or perhaps he just likes shocking you with that file with an image of a lyncher in it. You know perfectly well that you're in trouble and under threat. That's what you've tried to forget, but no one lets you forget.

Simon takes a deep breath before placing his humble petition before you.

"Ma’am. I'm gonna need your help."

And nothing in this man is humble. Even though he rarely speaks and never shows his talents, not to talk of showing off, he reeks of pride and testosterone.

You set the glass on the table and straighten the file to align with the leather pad on your desk. Your fingers are not trembling. Yet.

"What do you mean?" 

He gives a hoarse laugh. The sound drills straight to your core and starts to bloom there. You realize you have never seen him smile before. And he's not smiling now: the short laugh is just a dark chuckle that mainly stays inside his chest; it only makes those stocky shoulders rise and fall.

"Not like that," he looks down at you with a tad of mercy. "You're gonna serve as bait."

"Isn't… that what I've been the whole time?"

"Yeah. But this time, we're gonna lure him in."

The way he talks makes your thighs rub together without your consent. You wonder what it would feel like if you were trapped between that solid chest and a wall, what it would be like if those hands woke you up with a calloused caress of a thigh.

You don't quite understand the difference between bait and a lure but find yourself willing to do whatever you can to help him. Help Simon…

"Sure... I'll help you," you say as if this man wasn't on your payroll.

"That's the least you could do."

That barely hidden bite in his dry retort doesn't escape you. This man's audacity buries whatever odd want you have started to feel for him and replaces it with searing, womanly fury. 

He could be a little more sensitive.

You're the one who has a target on their back. You're the one who fears going to sleep at night and feels lucky they're alive come dawn. If he wasn't so crude and uncaring, you would've asked him to sleep in the same room with you from the start. But he has to be a brute, has to follow and mock you with those ink blot eyes at every turn.

You rise from the chair when he turns and walks toward the door. It's almost a snappy jump, an attempt to reclaim your power. You're sore and thoroughly peeved.

"I never wanted this," you tell him with an annoying timbre in your tone. He stops right before the door but doesn't turn.

"Neither did I."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Could be somewhere warmer with no damsels giving me their cheek."

The BDU blouse you saw in that picture was yellow, burnt yellow. Desert wear… He wants to be in a hot desert with a cold gun in his hand. Dropped straight from some plane, working alone, in a place where damsels aren't giving him their cheek. Where there are no damsels at all. 

You're relatively sure there is no Mrs. Riley. No woman could stand this man.

"Then go somewhere warmer," you snap, almost stomp your heel on the soft carpet. This man is simply intolerable. The way he never reacts to anything makes you want to throw things at him. 

He must be trained to be so calm, but you're not. You're used to making men a little stupid and flustered. You're used to men eating out of your hand. He's not behaving at all like he's supposed to. Simon Riley is just a mountain without emotion.

He turns with that eternal, downgrading look in his eyes. There's a flash of amusement there, too.

Soddy bastard…

"Nah. Not until I've done my job."

His voice is warm now; the gruff and gravel make way to a smoothness that goes directly to your knees. Your lips part, and his eyes fall on your mouth just before he lifts his chin a hair of an inch.

"Your job…" you breathe, too furious to even rage or shout. 

Your fucking job.

Why did you even want this job if it's so–

"Yeah. My job. Some people got one."

You have to take support from the table with your fingertips. 

"Excuse me?"

There's the tiniest curve at the corner of his mouth before he takes his leave.

"Good night, ma'am."

…......…......

The next day, you start the breakfast by apologizing. 

You barely slept that night, first because of this man's utter nerve, then because your wrath eventually cooled down into a bleeding consciousness of how you must look in his eyes. 

He has accepted this job, something different from what he usually does, for reasons unknown to you. He might not be on some faraway battlefield where bullets fly past, but this is no less risky. The picture he showed you, the file on König, haunted your restless sleep last night – when you finally did get some sleep. 

You have been running around like everything’s normal when it’s not. The man’s just trying to do his job. 

And you're the one who hired him. Not your lawyer.

"I want to make peace," you coo while spreading some jam on toast. You expect Simon to finally melt a little. You might even get a smile. You secretly hope your reward is that this brute turns into a tamed lap dog you can feed some treats every now and then. 

The situation is thrilling: the beefiest man you have ever seen is going to kill someone for you. Even if he's being paid to do so, he is prepared to die for you. There's something incredibly sexy about that.

But there is silence at the other end of the table. Only the crunchy sounds of toast getting sugar on top can be heard.

"That so?" 

He doesn't sound like he's melting. He doesn't sound at all domesticated. He only sounds more and more amused.

"Yes. I'm happy that you're here," you put the toast down and turn to look at him with angel eyes.

He laughs. When he stops, he looks you up and down, then laughs some more, a silent, shoulder-shaking chuckle.

"I'm… I'm serious," you hurry to add. "I mean it. I haven't been treating you the way I should–"

"That's for sure."

You see more warmth in those eyes. But it's not because of your humble apology.

His eyes are trekking down the neckline of your blouse, and to your horror, you notice – feel – how one of the top buttons has opened, revealing much more than just some skin. You're pretty sure he gets an ample view of the fuchsia bra you're wearing underneath.

If you reach for that button now, you underline that he's not supposed to look, even if it's your mistake that you're so obscenely exposed. If you close it now, you tell him he's not allowed to look. And that's not entirely true.

"Will you forgive me?"

You feel like you're offering peace, or at least a truce, with more than just that peepy question. Because your breasts swell inside that blouse. They rise and fall with your breaths, your nipples grow hard from that look that stays down a bit longer before drifting back up. 

"There's nothing to forgive," he says, voice dropping a note or two. 

"Good," you swallow. The following sentence comes out so weakly that it's almost a whisper. "After all, I hired you."

"Ain't that the truth."

The dim glint in those eyes still holds you as a prisoner, and his tea is growing cold.

"Are we going shopping today?"

"No," you utter, dreading the next inevitable question.

"What then?"

"I… I have a yoga class."

"Of course you do."

…......…......

Taglist: @cumikering

[gloomwitchwrites]

The 141 boys and the TikTok trend “everybody knows that I’m a good girl officer”

Firstly, I want to say that in this house, we say "fuck the police (derogatory)" every single day. However, I will indulge in this instance because it's our 141 boys and I think the trend with them would be absolutely smoldering. But I will change it up slightly, and pull from my Bodyguard!141 AU Post as well as lean into a security detail aspect for this one.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, dirty thoughts, flirting, secret relationship

Word Count: 1.5k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

Price adjusts the ear piece in his right ear.

The blasted thing doesn’t fit right. It keeps slipping. It’s irritating but it’s manageable. Not like Price is running anywhere. At least, he doesn’t plan on moving too quickly. His job is to stand and observe. To make look after a certain MP’s daughter, and to take her back to the hotel when she tells you she’s ready to leave.

You are no stranger. Far from it.

And it goes far beyond the grounds of appropriate behavior.

Price has completely stuck his foot in it, bedding you when he isn’t supposed to. Stealing kisses in dark corners, and fucking you behind closed doors. He was hired by your father to look after you, and instead, John has taken it much further than that.

But he doesn’t fucking regret it.

Not at all.

John adjusts his ear piece and scans the room from left to right. You’re not in sight but that doesn’t bother him. This ballroom is packed full of rich schmucks who couldn’t give a shit about him.

He scans the room again, and this time he finds you.

You’re walking toward him, hips moving in a sultry sway that steals John’s resolve. You’re gorgeous. Perfect. And he can’t stop staring.

The corner of your mouth quirks with amusement, and John straightens his shoulders, making himself appear bigger. He needs to look professional. He needs to look like he’s not thinking about all the ways he wants to fuck you.

But it’s hard to focus, and when you approach, you glance over your shoulder at him, words leaving your mouth that John doesn’t entirely catch at first. Your foot pops in the air, and the friend you’re walking with giggles, her hand pressed to her painted lips.

Everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer.

A good girl.

Yes. You are.

You’re John’s good girl.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

High-stakes missions have always been part of Kyle’s life. It is what he knows. What he thrives on. But between the missions, Kyle keeps working, and not with SAS.

Kyle mostly signs up for security detail at different places around London. Sometimes he might work as a bouncer for a club, or be monitoring people entering a music venue. Sometimes the gigs are swanky, and sometimes they’re not. Kyle doesn’t really mind as long as he’s paid.

That’s the whole point.

He’s saving. Wants to buy a house. Maybe find someone to settle down with. Life is going by fast. He needs some stability amongst all the violence.

And tonight? Tonight, he’s nothing more than a glorified security guard.

He looks the part in all-black tactical gear, and he isn’t the only one. There is an entire group of them all lined up in front of large windows, creating a bit of barrier. The event coordinator expected protests. All there is are a handful of people across the street with signs. They’re harmless.

Kyle doesn’t pay them any mind.

He does watch the regular people walking by on his side of the road. Some people are here for the event and others are just passing through.

Standing on the corner nearby is a small group of young women. They’re all dressed up like they’re heading to the clubs. Kyle pretends he’s not looking, but that would be a lie. There is one he keeps glancing at.

You’re fucking stunning. A beauty.

But Kyle has to remain calm. Aloof. He’s not here for you or anyone except the job at hand.

“Go over there.”

“I can’t!”

“Girl. He is so cute. Do it.”

Kyle casually turns his head, only to find you striding toward him. His throat drops into his stomach, and you waltz past him, pausing just to his right, flipping your hair, and batting your eyelashes at him and then your friends.

“Everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer.”

Your friends scream, and then you hurriedly run back to them as if you’ve done something you shouldn’t.

A good girl? Sure you are, love.

Kyle smirks and looks away, doing his best to hide a growing smile.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon sits in the driver seat of a large, black SUV. His fingers are itching for a cigarette. He needs the smoke—to feel the burn. To rid himself of some of this agitation.

It’s not annoyance. It’s not frustration. And it sure as shit isn’t anger.

No. Simon has a fucking rager in his pants, and his thoughts are filled with images of you. You—who he’s supposed to be protecting. Escorting you to and from events, pushing back the crowd, and keeping a firm lock on where you are at all times.

The black dress you’re wearing tonight is made of flimsy material. It clings to every curve and swell. Simon is hungry—a feral animal that couldn’t stop stalking you throughout the event.

Now, he’s about to take you back to your hotel. And he knows you’ll invite him in. He knows that the little black dress you wear will be nothing but a pile on the floor in due time.

But this need in his bones isn’t just Simon’s fault. You were a fucking tease all evening. You were bad. Openly flirting with other men in front of him, drinking more than you should have, and genuinely being a little terror to his sanity. All this behavior will only get you punishment. A punishment he’s happy to deal out once he has you behind a closed door.

A car door clicks, and Simon glances up, expecting to see you slide into the backseat. You’re not there. You’re next to him. In the front passenger seat.

“What the fuck are you doing?” asks Simon, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel.

You shrug and settle in. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, leaning on the middle armrest.

Simon can smell your perfume. “Buckle up,” he growls, and you do so casually, as if you don’t hear his irritation.

He pulls out into traffic, and the moment the two of you are clear of the building, Simon feels your hand on his thigh moving dangerously close to his dick.

“This bad behavior needs to stop.”

Your body shifts and you sing-song the next words out of your mouth. “Everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer.”

The words are bit slurred. You’re completely pissed, and Simon cannot help but laugh. No punishment then. Not tonight at least.

But tomorrow?

Absolutely.

John "Soap" MacTavish

This isn’t Johnny’s usual job, but it’s easy work.

Usually, hired security and local police take care of concerts and sporting events, but the military has been called in for this one, and Johnny is fine with that. Again, it’s easy work, and they’re paying him more for it.

He stands in one spot, scans the crowd, and acts casual while looking downright intimidating. The intimidation isn’t hard. They have him completely decked out in all-black tactical and balaclava included. All you can see of Johnny are his eyes.

It’s fun, actually. When he put it all on, he pretended to be Simon, only to receive a swat upside the head for it from the man himself.

Johnny has his hands casually resting on his bulletproof vest. No one is really looking at him, and those that do quickly look away. But there is one he can’t stop looking at.

You’re so damn cute, and you can’t stop glancing at him either. You’re with friends, and you keep smiling in his direction. If this were any other night, Johnny would approach you, flirt a bit, maybe even ask for your number. Might even take you home with him if you were open to it.

But Johnny is on the job, and he can’t afford to do that.

As you move closer to him through the crowd, one of your friends keeps saying something to you, moving their hands as if urging you to do something. Johnny isn’t sure what, but he’s curious. You don’t look like danger, and there is nothing about your demeanor that says that you’re looking to cause trouble.

Maybe it’s the balaclava. That seems to be a thing now.

As you approach, there is a pop of your foot, a quick flip of your hair, and a stunning smile. Your friend holds up her phone and you turn away from Johnny briefly to say “Everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer.”

I bet you fucking are, love.

Your friends giggle with pleasure, and you quickly move away from him but not before you glance over your shoulder one last time, mouthing a silent “thank you.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@arrozyfrijoles23 @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @vrb8im

[angel5ofp0rn]

Bodyguard!Ghost who begrudgingly takes you to another nail appointment, knowing he’ll just have to stand there with his arms crossed while the nail techs and other customers all gawk and whisper about him, how big he is, how scary he looks.

Bodyguard!Ghost who nearly chokes on air when he notices you got a little ‘S’ painted onto your ring finger during your appointment.

Bodyguard!Ghost who holds your hand the whole drive home, glancing down at his initial on your pretty, manicured finger every chance he gets.

You, who has to think of what else ‘S’ could stand for in case your boyfriend asks.

[ghostlywhiskey]

i don't care how cliché this is. simon riley deserves a cliché plot that ends happy for him. i said what i said. but until then, cliché angst to build up to the happy ending.

bodyguard!simon who ignores his feelings, but also justifies any slip ups as him protecting you. when there's a crowd or he's simply guiding you in a specific direction, his hand doesn't just hover behind your back. fingers dig into your waist to keep you close, causing you to flinch the first few times he does it but after a while your body becomes used to the action. and your own subconscious action will have you reaching for his hand before entering a crowd, placing his hand there.

when you're out with friends and someone makes you uncomfortable, before your eyes even find his to give him a look that says 'help me', he's next to you. his large frame behind yours as one hand reaches to give your bicep a gentle squeeze while his eyes burn into the individual bothering you. "not makin' my girl uncomfortable, r' you?" the words don't even cross your mind as he says them, knowing he's just pretending for the moment to get the person to leave you alone. but in simon's mind, you're his girl in a way, just not in the way he wants.

and it's simon, who can't sometimes justify words and smaller actions and fights his mind after the fact. when he's sat on the couch, already dressed for the event that you are still rushing around getting ready for, he'll be up the second you call his name. knuckles knocking softly on the door to make sure you're decent before opening it all the way. the way he stops breathing for a brief moment when you turn to look at him enter, hands behind your back trying to zipper the dress. "need some help, please," you shamelessly act, the request made dozens of times before; only recently has simon felt it to be a torture method, unbeknownst to you. a small nod, he takes a few strides over to you and hands fiddle with the zipper briefly before tugging it up with ease. if he could drag out the moment, he would, but he's not confident he'd mask his emotions reflecting back to the both of you in the mirror. "beautiful," the word quickly spoken and quiet, followed by a fake clearing of his throat before he tells you he'll be waiting by the front door.

his favorite time is when you fall asleep on the couch after begging him to watch a movie with you. your body slumped before slowly finding it's way to lean against simon for support. his bicep becoming your pillow, and he knows well enough if your head is resting there, then you're a goner and deep asleep. but, he'll let the movie play to the end before he carefully picks you up from the couch to bring you to your room. and he promised himself after the first time he did it, he wouldn't do it again, but lips press against the top of your head as he lays you down. a soft 'goodnight' spoken into the dark bedroom, no response from you besides the sound of your soft breathing.

[midnightarcheress]

Simon has a new assignment.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader 1 | gold rush masterlist.

after years exhausting his body in the military and too many losses to count, Simon decided to retire. goodbye extensive deployments, food and sleep deprivation, constant adrenaline pump in his veins, hours spent washing the blood off of his fingernails. except he didn’t truly retire. life as a civilian again was too strange, too boring. he thrives in following orders and being the best at it. he missed having a purpose, even if it’s far from saving the world.

so, because of that, he agreed on joining a private military company as a contractor. never takes the dirty, mercenary-like jobs though – despite being rusted, his moral compass is still there, so he usually sticks with the security, training, bodyguarding type of work. easy enough to not take a toll on his body, and to not strain his conscience with the worry of ending innocent lives to cover up some bastard’s filth, but demanding enough to keep his mind out of his own life for a while.

the guy on the other side of the line doesn’t tell him much about the new task. bodyguard for an actress, indefinite time, details via e-mail. a few minutes later, the computer screen lights up with the case information and his eyes skim through the text; famous actress, has been receiving threatening letters and who ultimately has a stalker. a seemingly uncapturable one, as the police have not been able to trace them for months. incompetent wankers. in his prime he would locate terrorists with ease; nothing he couldn’t do right now, but his contract was strict – keep her safe and keep to yourself.

he doesn’t recognize the name, but the small picture attached to the message is slightly familiar, maybe from one of the times he spent hours flicking through the channels on the telly while battling a crippling insomnia. his brows knit together when he peers at the set of rules that accompanies the e-mail. no talking, no touching unless extremely necessary, must keep distance at all times.

in the months he’s been working in the company, he never had a job with an actual celebrity – mostly politicians and businesspeople, extremely straightforward and simple to execute, usually for a short period of time. he’s convinced that it will be the longest mission of his life, probably dealing with an entitled rich woman who’s used to having everybody begging at her feet.

dread fills his mind as he watches the trees quickly passing by his window on the car. the drive to the meeting is short enough to contain the rate of the antipathy brewing on his chest, but long enough to make him question accepting the assignment.

he pulls up on the driveway and walks towards a tall, modern building, filled with frantic people walking from side to side. glancing at his phone, he re-reads the details of the reunion; second door on the 23th floor, her manager will be expecting you. his fingers tap on the side of his thigh as the lift raises to the office level, eyes glaring at the mirror in the back of the platform. the image on the glass differs from the one on his past – military buzzcut and skull-printed balaclava replaced by messy blond locks and a neck gaiter, still covering a bit of his face even after all this time. old habits die hard.

the doors pry open right after the number appears on the screen and he walks down the hallway to the office, stopping on his tracks as he notices a feminine voice coming from inside the room. “i’m scared just as much as you, but is this really necessary?” she’s in there too? wasn’t the meeting only with the guy?

“yes, princess, it is necessary. do you want to make the front-page news as a corpse?” another voice can be heard responding, this time, male. must be the manager.  “in case you've forgotten, i’m also your friend, and i’m merely concerned about your safety. we cannot let that stunt from last week happen again.” stunt. he recalls part of the information on the file, depicting how she was almost assaulted by a weirdo that followed her on the street; however, the creepy prick was cleared from being the stalker and left the station on bail. great justice system. 

“we’ve already increased the security on your house, he was just hired to keep you safe on the outside.” he decides to stop eavesdropping and knocks sharply on the door. “must be him.” the man says, and he listens as footsteps approach the entryway.

“well, hello there. please, come in,” he steps aside, allowing Simon to enter the room. the office is fairly average, leather couch on one corner, portraits on the wall of what he assumes are the man’s clients, but all of the attention goes to the large windows showing a perfect view of the city. “so, i’m Daniel, the great manager as you may know," he smugly speaks, "and of course you already know her.” he gestures to the woman on the armchair.

the woman from the picture. the woman from the late night movie he was absentmindedly watching on a late night. you. you look the same as he'd seen before, but somehow entirely different. the warm sunlight coming through the glass shines on your skin when you stand on your feet, golden flecks twinkling in your irises as you offer him your name and extend a hand to greet him, sweetly mouthing “and you are?”

he shakes your hand with a firm grasp, stirring away the sudden void in his brain and swallowing the lump on his throat that hindered his words. “Ghost.” easy detachment. his gruff voice reverberates in the space as he repeats the orders in his head, the sense of doubt starting to cloud his judgement. keep to yourself. maybe the job won’t be as bad as he thought.

been a bit obsessed with this idea so i decided to write it and see how it goes.

[xo-cod]

how would bodyguard!simon be in bed with the reader if they hate one another 👀

"look at you, suckin my cock so fuckin greedily. so bloody desperate f'me, eh?"

it's easy to be harsh, to talk dirty so you don't see the tenderness lingering between his words. when you agreed to the one night stands purely for relief after a stressful day, he was convinced it would be so easy to shoot his load and be done with it. but he quickly realised how wrong he was. simon can't look at you, he can't promise how he'd react. taking a look at your sweet face crumpled with pleasure, eyes half lidded, his name a burning prayer on your tongue, it'd be too much.

so his go to position was doggy until one night, it was all too much for him. and he doesn't have it in him to be his usual rational self. he doesn't think anything through when he grabs you, walking straight to your room in the hotel ignoring everyone else. he locked your hotel room and placed the do not disturb sign clear on the door.

then he focused back on you, placing you delicately on the huge bed. he had you laying on your back this time, pillow under your hips while his cock strokes against your entrance, pushing forwards. his body trembles alongside yours, soft sharp hisses leaving his lips. his eyes are constantly on yours, balaclava pushed up to the middle of his nose while his lips brush up against your skin. he pushed your legs up over his shoulders, revelling in your moans and whimpers. the more rational part of him was screaming to get out, to leave and never look back. to quit this job and focus on being the cold hearted lieutenant, to summon ghost

ghost was cold, calculating and logical.

yet despite that, his thrusts were getting deeper hitting the bundle of nerves deep inside. his fingers dip deeper into the flesh of your hips no doubt leaving bruises under the compression, titling his hips to hit a more intimate angle. his hands covering the bulge he was creating in your stomach, a pant leaving his lips as he touched it. god he was so inside you and it still never felt close enough. perhaps because he knew that your heart wasn't his to have, that your heart could never love a shattered soul like his.

his fingers rub tender circles on your clit, bending down to press soft warm kisses against your skin. each one more desperate than the last as if he was trying to commit them to memory, trying to steal your breath and hold it hostage with his lips. he doesn't stop until you fall apart with pleasure, crying out his name when your climax hits you over and over. washing over you as you bathe in the afterglow.

still, his hips lazily rut in and out of your wet cunt, not yet ready to leave the tight wetness. trying to cling onto the last shreds of pleasure, caging you warmly between his huge arms. his face gently nuzzling against yours, secretly hoping that you were too blissed out on pleasure to notice his affections.

"that's it, sweetheart. did so fuckin' good f'me"

[yawnderu]

Shooting Star — Bodyguard!Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Popstar!Reader

Being a bodyguard for a 20-something year old pop star was the last thing Simon had in mind. Simon, the same man who had an uniform adorned by chest candy, the same man who was known as a Ghost, the same man who was a highly accomplished SAS soldier, forced to sit on your pink bed while you did your makeup on the floor.

The image was almost comical, the man in a black suit for the first time in forever, a bulletproof vest concealed underneath his white dressing shirt. It felt uncomfortable despite everything being the right size, tailored specifically for him upon your very extra request.

''Are you done? Bloody hell.'' You've been getting ready extremely slow just to spite him for making you wake up at 5am sharp, claiming it was protocol. Protocol my ass.

''I liked you better when you were quiet.'' You try to control the way the corners of your lips lift up when you hear the overdramatic sigh muffled by his black balaclava.

''Too bad.'' He gets up from bed, warm hands sneaking under your armpits.

''Up.'' He doesn't even give you the chance to stand up, simply pulling you up and smoothing out your skirt, hands treating the fabric delicately until the wrinkles you caused by sitting on the floor are gone.

''Don't manhandle me.'' There's something especially fun about annoying him, seeing him resist the urge to roll his eyes or take a sharp breath to calm down his witty tongue.

''I didn't manhandle you, brat. I lifted you up.'' He corrects, gently pushing you towards the door.

''Put this on and always make sure I can see you, yeah?'' He hands you a black surgical mask, meant to conceal your identity as much as possible to avoid being recognized by fans on your day off.

''Yup-yup.'' You put the mask on, adjusting the straps before leaving the house, Ghost following close behind, eyes quickly scanning the area before getting in the car, driving you to the fair you begged him to let you go to. It took 3 full days of begging before he relented, purely out of annoyance.

''Don't talk to anyone, don't look at anyone— don't even breathe at anyone. I'm not dealing with your bloody fans.'' He warns.

''Yes, dad.'' You roll your eyes, head leaning against the car window, the vibrations making a slushy out of your brain— probably.

''And don't take any pictures. If anyone recognizes you... punch them dead in the windpipe.'' You stifle a laugh as you hear him, knowing that no matter how blunt he is, he was joking... maybe.

''Go to jail forever if someone asks for a picture, got it.'' You jokingly plant your hand on his thigh and he slaps it away, side-eyeing you before he keeps driving, hoping you ignore the red lights he's speeding through.

[audisive]

♪ MILLION DOLLAR MAN. (💌)

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: you need a bodyguard, and simon's the only one you can trust. for now.

tags: fluff, angst (ish), hurt/comfort, romance, soft!simon, bodyguard!ghost, model!reader, trust issues, hints to a panic attack, you have a bad dad (and family)

        There's an ugly yellow folder on your vanity, sticking out like a sore thumb.

That's the first thing you see.

There's a hitch in your breath before you speak. "Vel," you walk over to your desk and call out to the lovely girl with your coat over her arm, your favorite maid. "What's this?" With manicured nails, you pick up the folder cautiously with the feeling of familiarity and déjà vu.

Veliana tilts her head to the side, the clueless little bird she is. "A folder, miss." You huff a smile out at her simple response, the pretty little thing never knowing better. "Please give Noah a call." You tell her and she nods her head automatically, still smiling at you.

When she carefully places your coat on the rack, she scurries off to who knows where. You're left in the comforts of your too-large room, a delicate piece of work that you'd paid thousands of dollars for after your face had snatched the interests of magazines, reporters, and such. You find that there are even uglier men inside when you open the flimsy thing in your hand.

Veliana is breathless when she comes back to you like the obedient girl she is, handing over the phone with your manager's name on it.

"What's wrong, darling girl?" Noah asks, annoyance seeping into his tone despite the usual pet name. "What's with the profiles?" you question right back, flipping through the folders, carefully scanning each gruesome man with horrifying detail. You already know the answer, but you dread it.

"About time you actually considered my suggestion," he voices out. "You need a new bodyguard."

  You find that your new bodyguard is just as noticeable as the folder you threw away without much thought. There's people staring at him when they would be gawking at you. 

Simon Riley is a trusted man; at least that's what you try to tell your manager. A remarkable 6'4 military man who should be off in a bar with beer – he drinks whiskey, imbecile – or resting in a broke-down apartment, not babysitting his model of a friend. Honestly, you wouldn't have minded it if he acted just a little annoyed at you, but he doesn't even spare you so much as a glare. You're not sure if you should be glad or not.

You have to admit that you do feel a little smug when your manager avoids yelling at you with Simon glaring daggers at him. Then again, there's this anxious feeling pooling at your stomach when he gets a little too close. He's certainly scarier than the last one.

His large hand calms you down when it lands on your lower back and sneaks his warmth through your thin clothing. You let out a breath, as if he'd just commanded you to do so without a word.

  Simon should be in his awfully empty apartment, sleeping the day off or making a small trip to the groceries for necessities fresh out of deployment. But when he opened the door to you, who's clearly so troubled and almost begging to help you out with.. whatever it was you asked, how could he say no? 

"It's just temporary, I swear. I just need some time to do a proper background check on the other bodyguards."

Given that your shitty father's in jail with unfinished as well as illegal business, it wouldn't be proper of him to let a civilian walk around with danger right at her back. That's what he says to himself, anyway.

He's just not so sure he signed up for the right job as a bodyguard. Truth be told, he would've preferred to be your boyfriend.. but as long as he has rights to protect you, then he won't complain.

He's well aware of the men coming for your neck for a variety of reasons. Some out of jealousy – Simon thinks that the fashion industry might as well be a warzone. Maybe that's why he accepted this in the first place – and some because of your problematic family.

He's also heard about your past cowardly bodyguards, if you can even call them that after they'd left you in the face of death. It's a wonder how you're still alive, but he wouldn't dare question it.

It doesn't help, not really, when there's an ear-deafeaning explosion and a panicked angel in his arms, clutching onto him for dear life. "Simon," you all but whimper, labored breaths and uncontrollable tears slipping out of you.

He hushes you, coos at you as sweet as he possibly can. He soothes you and cradles you against his chest as he shoots back at death and carries you to safety when the storm of chaos calms. And he never leaves. Not once.

Not even when you're well and sitting on the cold bed of an even colder hospital room. You'd begged him to stay and lay with you, and when he does, you insist that you owe him your life, and he tells you he's just doing his job.

Still, you can't help that you push yourself closer to him. "Thank you," you whisper, "for staying."

"'M yours to keep." Simon gruffs out, "my loyalty and life belongs to you. All of it." And so does his heart.

(bodyguard!ghost is just modern knight!ghost to me :3c)

        divider by @cafekitsune !

[grlpartdoll]

Hi here's anotha bodyguard ghost thingy bcoz I miss him :3 this is not proofread or nothing, crucify me or whatever !! 18+ but no smut in this one yet again!!! Oops. Maybe next time :] this one is about how you two became closer nn pretty much just reader being scared that Simon s'gonna leave her :(

At first, you had been so very reluctant to have a bodyguard, you'd actually hated the idea of having someone watching you day and night. After the day someone climbed through your window to get pictures of you sleeping, though, it had been a suicide mission to try and convince your team that you didn't need one.

You'd been given multiple choices for the head of your security team — and against all odds, you picked Simon. A disgruntled, ex-military with more scar tissue then he had clean flesh. Despite it, though, he was the one who seemed to genuinely care the least when you interviewed him with your team. So you figured it'd be easy to avoid him, to live without having to have a shadow twenty four seven.

At first, it's a tense affair because you have never been so wrong in your life. Your bodyguard cared — and not even just in a casual way. He spent every second of everyday watching you, and you spent that same time trying to act like he didn't exist. You tiptoe around him, and he walks on eggshells around you. He doesn't like you, and you don't like him. Still, though, he refuses to hire more than what he strictly calls "his best men", and he refuses to have anyone else but him interact directly with you, so you have hope that with a team so small, and so avoidant of yourself, you'll be able to shake them off easily. But you're wrong, again.

So, as annoyed as you are at the situation, you act out. You disobey when he asks you to stay away from the barricades, and you treat your safety like it's something so very unimportant that Simon actually wonders if you're suicidal.

But now, after months of Ghost thinking he's fighting against an endless wall he can't actually break down, you start listening to him — or you're trying to behave, at least.

You're trying. That's as much as he can admit. He doesn't know if it's because the last time you were sick he actually stayed with you all night, and every time a cough roused you back to the real world, he rocked you back into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

He doesn't know if it's because he recently almost killed a man who had attempted to climb onto your stage during a performance at a festival.

But he knows that after that day — your eyes had become softer around him.

Generally, Around your staff, you always kept a professional, sharp-eyed look about you, always making sure your fans were treated with respect, always keeping them in check and always making sure they didn't overstep your boundaries.

But Simon, him, gets this doe-eyed, empty headed look from you whenever it's just the two of you. Whenever you're backstage, having your makeup done with him sitting on the couch behind you, and your eyes meet through the mirror, your spine mellows, and your constantly tapping fingers relax.

Or when you're in the rehearsals, and you leave the stage to fetch yourself some water. He finds you blanking out in the corner, staring at him as he goes over all the exits with the security team, two strong hands splayed over the blueprints of the obscenely big venue. He has his uniform on — the one with the bulletproof vest, which makes him bulkier — harder to move around. He wonders if you notice all of that, or if youre just spacing out in his presence because you feel safe enough to.

Simon doesn't know what, but something's changed.

It's late at night, the day after another incident forced him to shove someone out of your way, and then show the creepy fan the colors of his fists upclose when he tried to grab at you, that it all comes to a head. You haven't gotten out of your bed in what seems like days, and he can hear you crying at night — nightmares, he's learned, make you cry in your sleep.

Your manager has been trying to get into your room for hours now — only because the people you partnered with for the tour documentary aren't too happy you aren't giving them content, and it's only for his worry about the fact that you haven't eaten since you got home that night that he lets your manager bribe him into trying to coax you out.

He knocks at your door, his tell-tale rhythm igniting a sound from you. He's not sure what it is.

"C'mon, little one. Let me in."

This time he hears you drag yourself out of bed, and slowly pad to the door. He hears you unlock it, and then move back into your bed.

When he's sure the cameras won't catch you, he quickly slides into the room and closes the door again behind him.

He sighs, watching you for a moment as you sit on the edge of your bed, pushing a hand through your messy, tangled hair. You grimace, and lean forward onto your knees.

He steps closer, only because he knows that if he speaks too loud, his words could end up somewhere he didn't want them to be.

He crouches in front of you, forcing a gentle, rough and calloused hand up to cup your cheek, using the other to push your hair out of your face.

Your eyes are puffy and red, and your face pale from a lack of.. well, everything, really.

"Look'atcha." He grumbles. "Right mess."

You push his hands away, frowning in your short lived anger.

"I don't feel good."

"I know." He pins you with a severe glare. "Does tha' mean you don' got a job to do?"

You sigh, and shake your head, pressing two shaking hands between your thighs.

He nudges your chin, connecting your gazes again so you see the concern in his.

Before he can say what's on his mind though, you pipe up, hesitant and low. "The military — you see a lot of violence."

"Yes." He replies on instinct, not knowing why.

"But I'm... you..." a shaky breath makes it out of you, and you force yourself to keep eye contact in case he starts to think you're afraid of him. "You almost killed a man."

"I was doin' m'job, lamb."

"I know." You purse your lips. Shake your head. "But I'm not used to that."

"It's happened b'for. And it sure as hell g'nna happen again, love. Youre gonna have to get used to it."

You nod. Try to breathe regularly when you remember the sight of him — muscles hidden underneath his uniform rippling against the fabric, bloody fists, fury in those dashing, stormy eyes.

You shift again, your hands going to toy with the shiny thing at his neck. His dogtags.

"You killed a lot of people. Before." It's not a question.

Still, he replies, nodding his head once, even if he feels like you're speaking yourself into a downward spiral.

"Yes." You swear you hear a tremble of restraint in his voice, his eyes traveling to your hands playing with the dogtags.

"Does that bother you?" He asks when you say nothing.

"No.." you whisper. You knew who he was when you hired him. Had been made aware of his history, too. In vague words and short and sweet versions of the facts, but you could imagine. Which is what had made you choose him. You had imagined that, surely, his history would have made him aloof, bored by you, and exceptionally checked out of reality. But he had been the exact opposite — always so tuned into you, always so in sync ; catching you right before you tripped, as though he could see into the future, always ready with a water bottle when you were just about to ask a staff member for one. And he was aware of everything — of so much. And though somehow, you did miss your freedom a little, you couldn't say you didn't like such attention being veered towards you. It was.. different. In a non-shallow way you'd never had before in your life.

"Why are you here?" You ask, suddenly. "I'm not.. I'm just.. me."

"What are you asking, exactly?"

You didn't know, yourself. You are just you. A happy go lucky idol who somehow had made her way to immense fame. You weren't exactly the army, the grith and the danger and the adrenaline he needed.

And when you'd come across those accidents — at first it had made you feel safe, but now, after watching with how much passion your Ghostly bodyguard beat someone's face in, you wondered if he would get bored of you, if you weren't enough for him. Just when you'd been starting to get used to this careful attention, this devotion.

And that is the reason why, for the past few days, you've been hiding away and crying. Because you'd realized, too suddenly, that you couldn't let him leave. That as much as you hated the idea of having a bodyguard, you now hated the idea of him leaving you.

"Are you going to leave?"

Simon's eyes shift underneath that balaclava. He blinks. Twice. Thrice.

"My contract's not over, is it?"

You sigh, pushing at his chest. He doesn't even budge at all. "I'm serious, Simon."

He nods, moving his hand to encapsulate yours, which are still toying with the iron around his neck. He holds them tightly, warmth pooling between the two of you. He brings his face closer — barely a few centimeters away from your own now.

"I'm yours, little lamb." He murmurs. "For as long as you'll have me."

You swallow thickly, and though the words register, your brain immediately twists them around — making sure to put them down in the "DO NOT REVISIT OR OVERTHINK THIS SHIT" jar.

"I don't want you to go back there." You confess as quiet as your voice can go.

For now, you let your eyes close, and you try to convince yourself that it's fine. That he is not going anywhere.

"I'm not." He promises. He closes the space between you, and you feel the ghost of his lips behind his mask as he presses them against your forehead.

[cyberghouleo]

bodyguard! simon riley x celebrity! reader

To the displeasure of everyone I know, I got cod brain rot.

Inspired by: Celebrity by Slayyyter

When your manager suggested you hire a new bodyguard after your old one quit, you were not expecting a masked man with an accent to walk through your doors. 

At first, he sees you as a spoiled brat. He’s not used to being a bodyguard for someone famous, he is used to being hired as a hitman in more dangerous situations. He only accepted this job as the pay was good and his last job was nearby, but now he feels as if he's being toted around like a puppy, trailing behind you as you go along your normal day to day life.

Everything was a culture shift to him, he wasn’t used to following his clients while they shop or getting asked if you should purchase something, to which he always responded with “if that’s what you like.” He’s not used to sitting at lunch at a nearby table as your friends drill you with questions about him, questions about the mask and why he looked so differently than your previous guards. He was used to being in stressful situations, spending hours researching his client's attacker while being on alert 24/7, now he was just following you around with no immediate threats happening to you. 

While you're doing interviews or getting your makeup done before a photoshoot, he is sitting across from you in a chair with his arms crossed. He keeps his balaclava on and hardly speaks unless someone tries to deny him access behind the scenes with you. He speaks before you can, “I’m ‘er guard.” he grunts out as he keeps walking past them, following behind you. 

Trying to get to know him felt like pulling teeth, he’s standoffish and when he does answer questions, it's always short answers, even refusing to tell you his real name after you asked. You knew almost nothing about him, but that all changed once you’re alerted that your P.O box is being sent threatening letters, claiming to have a hit out on you. Ghost instructs that you are both to not leave the house until he can gather enough info about your threatener, leaving the two of you alone for several weeks.

These weeks alone cause him to slowly start opening up to you as the two of you have nothing else to do or talk about. You learn about his past clients, how this is his first high status bodyguard job, and his time in the military. He tells you bits at a time, not willing to spill too much at one time, almost testing to see how you respond to each bit of new information you learn about him. During dinner one night, he randomly speaks up. “Simon.” 

“What?”

“My name. Simon.”

It only takes a few weeks for him to track and find the person sending you the threats, and he reassures you that everything will be fine now. He doesn’t show any proof, but you trust him enough to believe him. The weeks you spent together did lead to some tension between the two of you, you are able to see a human side of him that you weren’t expecting, and you could feel yourself getting intrigued by what else you could learn about him. You scolded yourself for thinking this way towards a bodyguard, someone trying to do his job, but you also couldn’t deny the way you were starting to feel when you caught glimpses of his arms flexing underneath the tight black shirts he wore often. 

He slowly starts warming up to you and seeing you in a different light once he spends a few months inside your house. You aren’t as bratty or snobby as he expected. He tries to brush away any lingering thoughts as you ask him to help you zip up your dress, noticing how small your shoulders look under his gaze. Or when you ask him to help you put on a necklace, comparing how small your hands are to his when you hand him the necklace. 

The tension finally breaks when you are in a dressing room alone, waiting around as the photographer goes over the photos one final time before you could leave. You can feel him eyeing you up and down while you aren’t paying attention, his eyes studying the dress you were getting paid to wear and the way it hugged you. One offhand comment from you leads to him lifting you up onto the vanity counter, his mask pulled above his nose as his mouth finds yours, soft moans escaping you. Your panties are pulled to the side as his tongue circles around your clit, one hand pressed against your mouth to quiet you, so the staff doesn’t hear you cumming against his tongue. 

When in large crowds, one of his hands is always pressed against the small of your back as he guides you through the masses, the feeling of his touch lingering on your back even after he pulls away. His other hand resting close to the concealed gun he keeps at his hip, staying alert as his eyes scan through the faces to assess any threats. Crowds will naturally part once they notice how big he is and the way he towers over most of the fans.

The paparazzi gets a photo of you two together, Simon holding a few shopping bags as he trails behind you. The photo is captioned as if he was your secret boyfriend and your fans go crazy, tweeting how cute the two of you are together and how mysterious he was.

“Look, everyone thinks we are dating.” You say as you shove your phone in his face. His eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the photo, reading a comment on how good of a couple the two of you are. He only hums a response and rolls his eyes. He expects you to have a different reaction, shocked that you didn’t find it annoying but almost enduring. The idea of you being okay with the two of you being in a relationship and not just fuckbuddies ignites something deep in his stomach. 

You definitely talk him into taking a few photos of you for Instagram, instructing him on how to frame the photo as he stares blankly at the phone. When you post the photos, comments flood in asking if your mystery bodyguard was the one who took them. You often post stories with him lingering around in the background, only fueling the relationship speculation as fans talk about him living with you.

After the media starts to report more on the two of you, Ghost starts getting more offers from other celebrities to become their bodyguard. He gives them no second thought as he denies them. He will get approached with offers to pay him triple and he still waves them off, he plans on staying loyal as a bodyguard to you and you only, no matter how much they offer him.

Simon decides to make the two of you official by gifting you a necklace with his initial, something you wear and post about often, sending your fans into a bigger spiral. He finds the fans both amusing and slightly disturbing, showing how much love they have for you, yet you only get to call him yours. 

[ink-n-shadow]

Omg I am so head over heels for your bodyguard!simon AU ;w;

Nah because with my sensitive ass the “M’ not touching you again” would instantly make me sad like SO fast :’3

so, how would he react if she got all pouty because he said that? Because in all actuality she definitely wants him to touch her more often, yknow? Like it ain’t even gotta be sexual…probably-

🍋-

i like the way you think, anon🍋 >:) this one's not sexual (unfortunately) BUT it is cute and a bit angsty so enjoy

[ CRYBABY ] 𝜗𝜚 the one where you're drunk and bodyguard!ghost has to comfort you

𝜗𝜚 pairing: bodyguard!Simon "Ghost" Riley x rockstar!reader (link to all works in this au) 𝜗𝜚 cw: mean!ghost at first, then soft!ghost, crying for something small, drunk!reader

"what did i say when you were on vacation last month, hmm?" ghost grumbled as he lead you through the lobby of your apartment building, keeping a grip on your upper arm. "m'not. fucking. touching you like that."

you had gone out with the rest of your bandmates, having a few drinks (way more than you needed) to celebrate the upcoming release of your first album. you weren't completely wasted, but you were damn close—your face flushed, steps a bit wobbly, eyes bleary.

ghost kept as much distance between you two as he could, but he knew he had to help you walk. so he gripped your upper arm to steady your steps, walking slow enough to help you keep pace with him. he glared down at you, but when he noticed the pout on your face and the tears beginning to form in your eyes, his eyes softened.

it wasn't the usual bratty pout you'd use—no, this one appeared legitimately sad.

"y-you're so mean, ghost. i just—" your sentence paused in the middle as a hiccuped sob shook your chest, your free hand coming up to wipe at the tears and smearing some mascara down your cheek. "i just wanna hold your hand. but y-you don't like me. why don't you like me?"

ghost let out a frustrated sigh, shaking his head a bit as he approached the elevator and pushed the call button. he moved to stand in front of you, his grip on your arm falling away. "dove, c'mon—you're ruinin' that pretty makeup on y'face." he thumbed at the mascara on your cheek, frowning under his mask as the black only smeared more.

you tried to push his hand away, but the amount of alcohol in your veins made your movements slow and uncoordinated. "i don't care, ghost. just like you don't care about me."

"god—would you stop that?" ghost grumbled out in frustration as he ran a hand over his mask, trying to regain his composure before looking back down at your teary face. he lifted a hand up to grip your chin, forcing your eyes on him. "i obviously fuckin' like you. i wouldn't be walkin' you home from the bloody club if i didn't, 'kay? you're just drunk right now—and you get a bit emotional when you're drunk."

you sniffled up the tears lodged in the back of your throat as your unsteady eyes met ghost's, skin warming at the way his gloved fingers trapped your chin in his grip. "t-then why won't you just hold my hand? i-it's not like i'm asking you to kiss me or date me or somethin'. it'll make me feel better."

ghost let out a scoffed breath as he turned away from you, shaking his head and grumbling something under his breath before you felt his leather-covered fingers lace with yours. the elevator dinged and pulled open with a hiss, and ghost gently tugged you inside with a squeeze to your hand. "there—happy now? gonna stop being a little crybaby about it?"

as soon as you felt ghost's hand in yours, a drunken smile smeared across your lips, warmth coating your skin as you stumbled into the elevator behind him. "you have big hands."

"jesus." ghost muttered with a shake of his hand, using his free hand to punch the button for your floor and watching the elevator doors close in front of you two. "don't get used to this, 'kay? m'only doing this because you're bloody cryin' over it."