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im so dead oewudqwbdqw THIS IS ADORABLE
miss jade your bodyguard!james example hit me right in the chest.. can I get candy apples and do you wanna dance? with a bodyguard!james au?? Where you’re dying for a sleepover with your girlfriends but he’s gotta sit in there with you and he totally gets into it gossiping and painting nails and doing face masks and making friendship bracelets? I yearn for big buff scary babygirl James and his shy little charge :’)) - happy Halloween !!!!!!! 🧡🖤
join luveline's halloween party ♡
mei my angel my literal everything best idea ever and I had to include what we talked about too, tysm for ur request baby happy halloween ♡ bodyguard!james x shy!fem!reader (also tipsy!reader)
You really hadn't wanted to bring it up but at the same time, you'd felt like you had to. James had assured you to do whatever it is that's going to make you most comfortable, even if what makes you most comfortable is actually making your new friends most comfortable.
"He... He has to come, but James doesn't mind sitting in the adjoining room. I'm sorry," you'd said.
Mindy, a friend you'd miraculously managed to make at the supermarket of all places, had given your bodyguard a once over with a huge smile. "Are you kidding? He's welcome to sit wherever he likes. He's very welcome."
You'd felt a flicker of something. Not jealousy. A general wash of embarrassment at the implication that James is, rightfully, eye-candy.
"Are you wearing aftershave?" you ask now, not a question you would usually have the courage to ask. You're shocked.
"Cologne, actually," James says.
You gawp at him.
James looks both lovely and ridiculous. He's bedecked in smart clothes, his casual civilian clothing, and it's enough to make your heart skip a beat. Tight sleeves, tight pants. He's a classic handsome on a bad day. Tonight, he's breathtaking.
Especially carrying your pink backpack.
You like how much he doesn't care about stuff like this. Your backpack thrown over his shoulder, your coat in the crook of his elbow. None of it is his job, the only thing he really has to do is stop you from getting maimed or killed, but he does it anyways.
"It's nice," you say awkwardly. What you'd wanted to say was worse. Are you wearing cologne to impress Mindy?
His smile is horrifyingly smug. "Thank you, princess. Think you should knock again?"
You knock again, your hand barely pulled from the door when it swings open.
"Hi," Mindy says, smiling as soon as she sees you.
It's such a nice thing, for your presence to make somebody smile like that, and you find yourself smiling back without any of your usual shyness.
"And hello," she adds, sizing James up with a light-hearted expression of dizziness. "Did you get more handsome, Mr. Bodyguard?"
James hand touches between your shoulders. "Maybe slightly."
Mindy laughs gleefully. "Maybe so. Please, come in. We were waiting on your before we start Dirty Dancing."
You beam. Mindy shows you and James into the living room of her home where the rest of your new friends wait. They're all just as excited to see you as you are to see them, greeting you with hugs and smiles. They say hello to James too, which is really nice. James doesn't mind, but sometimes people act as if he's not there. It's my job to sink into the background, he'd placated once.
Still, you don't like when people ignore him. This spells good tidings.
You're in very nice but comfy clothes, soft loose trousers and a t-shirt that's too big for you, because you'd thought that was what people where to these kinds of things — it's what they wear in all the movies you'd watched to prepare — so you're horrified when you realise they're all dressed in fancy blouses and fine jewellery.
"Sit down," James reminds you gently, putting pressure on your shoulder until you sit.
"Right," you say with a laugh.
"You can sit wherever you like," Mindy says to James.
He tips his head slightly to one side. "I really don't want to intrude on you girls. I can happily stay by the door."
Mindy shakes her head. "No, sir. You can protect your lovely treasure from right here."
James sits beside you.
Mindy is clearly quite wealthy. Her living room is a large space with huge couches and an impressive television bolted high on the wall, Dirty Dancing already queued and waiting to play. Before you know it you've a cocktail in hand and the lights have been turned down low, the movie accompanied by a low level of chatter.
"Patrick," Georgia says dreamily, watching as the main characters dance in the middle of an empty room.
"He's not very handsome-" Milly says.
"What?"
"Let me finish! He's not very handsome in the classical way, is he? But his demeanour is what makes him so yummy."
You huff under your breath, a laugh you can't contain as they descend into a debate on all his pros and cons.
"He's more handsome because he can dance. It's his charisma."
"What does Y/N think?" Mindy asks, turning to you eagerly. You almost choke on your sip of cosmopolitan, face growing warm under their expectant gazes.
It's not entirely their fault. James turns to you to, you can feel his thigh pressed closer to yours. This isn't the kind of thing you and he ever talk about.
"Um, he... Well, I think he's-" Your voice falls to an insecure murmur. "He's not not handsome."
"I don't think he's all that," James says.
The girls roar with laughter. You turn to James to watch him chuckling, a grateful smile on your face.
"Can you dance, James?" Milly asks.
His arms burns where it touches your own. "Not like that," he says.
More laughter. You feel two things at once, and this time you're willing to admit one is some sort of jealousy. He's super funny and you love that about him, you're just not sure if you love everybody else knowing it too. But then, the second feeling, pure affection for him. He deserves droves of girls fawning over him. It makes sense that they're all so charmed.
They all sing the closing song of the movie to each other in dramatic duets. Mindy tries to include you, and then Georgia does too, but singing in front of people isn't something you do. It takes too much courage. You'd have to disregard the embarrassment of being bad, and you're not good at that. Nevertheless it's a great time that makes you laugh until your side hurts, especially when Dahlia and Darcy try to do the dangerous 'lift' dance move.
You dip your head toward James. "You could definitely do that."
He laughs, startled. "Do what, shortcake?"
"The lift."
"Only if you're the one I'm lifting," he bargains.
"Never in a million years," you say, cheeks filled with heat.
They want to do manicures after that. This is two cosmopolitans later, mind you, but you gather around the coffee table with finger dividers, and soon Milly is passing out calming sheet masks she got from the supermarket. You laugh at one another, ghosts in practice, and your laughter gets worse when James agrees to let Milly put one on him. His hair's so thick and curly that he needs to wear a headband to keep it away from his face, a salmon coloured pair of bunny ears.
You're on your fourth cocktail, a long island iced tea, by the time your nails are done, and Georgia has started retelling a story about her last date, how weird the guy had been, and how he had failed spectacularly in the bedroom.
"I mean, I probably should've known there wouldn't be much joy when he showed me his matchbox collection, but I thought he was eclectic, not stupid."
You giggle and lean hard into James side for support, your own face mask starting to slip down your face. He's already peeled his own off, skin shiny and soft, and he reaches out with delicate fingertips to pull yours away too.
"Here," he says, dabbing the excess essence off with a flannel.
"Thanks, Jamie," you say happily.
"Worst date of my life," Georgia finishes, rolling her eyes.
"I can't beat that one!" Darcy says quickly. "I was twenty, and we went to Burger King for dinner. Burger King. I was wearing a little black dress and heels. And when we get back in the car, we were supposed to be going for a film, he leans over the handbrake and starts trying to kiss me and all I could see was a tiny piece of lettuce in his mustache," — you hiccup hard and slap a hand over your mouth, overjoyed by her tortured tone — "I pulled away, obviously. And he grabs my shoulder and said, come on baby, I saw how you were looking at me back there.
Back there. In the Burger King." She rolls her eyes. "You gotta be kidding me."
The girls share their horror stories and you laugh and sigh sympathetically in most of the right places, until you're the only one left who hadn't spoken.
"What about you, Y/N?" Dahlia asks.
"Yeah, what's your nightmare date?"
You stiffen. "I mean... I... I haven't-"
"Come on, it can't be as bad as the guy who spit in my ear," Milly says.
You laugh, because ew, but struggle to come clean without sounding awkward. "I've never been on a date before."
"Oh," Mindy says, sounding not disgusted but let down. She recovers swiftly. "Well, you aren't missing anything, babe."
"Yeah," Darcy placates. "Especially if it's with a guy. No offense."
James raises a hand. "Please, it's fine. I've no delusions when it comes to my sex."
The girls continue to try and comfort you. You hadn't wanted any comfort, and every new reassurance makes you shrink. It's lovely that they're trying to make you feel better, but you feel abruptly inexperienced and ashamed about it.
"I once had a girl break an egg against my forehead," James says.
They all pause.
"On a first date?"
"Yup. She'd brought eggs. In her purse."
They gawp. You gawp. You've never heard this story.
Halfway through a dramatic rehashing his hand finds your calf for a quick squeeze. You realise he's making the whole thing up shortly after and you've never felt more thankful for him. And he once stopped you from getting tasered by grabbing the weapon with his bare hands, so.
"Aren't we a little old for friendship braceletes?" Milly asks, a practically fully-formed chevron bracelet in hand.
You struggle with your beginners bracelet made of four strands. James, beside you, is a natural. Your elbows keep brushing together, and it's a lot.
"Some of us had bad childhoods, Milly."
"Shit," you whisper, your bracelet loop sneaking out from under the masking tape anchoring it to the table for the tenth time in as many minutes.
"You're pulling too hard," James whispers back.
"Everyone's quicker than me!"
Mindy yawns and proclaims to go receive the sleeping bags and air mattresses she'd promised. "Keep working, Y/N! I want that bracelet around my wrist when I get back."
"No problem," you say easily, and then, "James, what do I do? Please help me."
James looks over at your bracelet. You've made knots on the wrong strings, the bracelet more a net than anything. He side eyes the group of girls sitting around him, all putting the finishing touches on their projects, before quietly slipping his bracelet into his lap and swapping it with yours.
"Stick it back on the table and I'll show you," he murmurs covertly.
You stick his bracelet on the table in front of you with some masking tape and James takes charge. He grabs your hands with zero hesitation and shows you how to knot the strings, the 4-shape you need to make and which strings you need to make it on. His hands are very warm, super soft, and when he lets go you feel it like an absence.
"Get it?" he asks.
Kind of. There's an obvious difference in the quality of knots made. James' are all neat and uniform, yours less so, but you chalk it upto rushing and mindy doesn't know any different, hugging you as you tie it around her wrist.
"It's stunning," she proclaims. "Where's yours, Mr Bodyguard?"
He shows your bracelet. "I had some trouble."
There's a little wave of giggles that hurts your feelings, but then Darcy says, "It's alright, James. They're really hard if you've never made them before."
"Yeah, I spent an entire summer in primary school teaching myself. That's a great effort for a beginner!"
"Practice makes perfect, anyways."
James nudges you casually with his elbow. "Thanks, ladies."
Soon, the room is enveloped by the rushing sound of the electric air pump blowing up air mattresses. They're sandwiched together, and even with Darcy on the couch and Mindy in her own bed there's no enough room.
"I'm so sorry," she says, "I didn't think about where he'd sleep."
"Technically, I won't really be sleeping," James says.
Your heart is thudding painfully against your ribcage. "Uh, well," — you're so desperate to seem cool and not cause any problems that you blurt without thinking — "it's fine, James doesn't mind sharing with me." You look up into his dazzling, sun-kissed face. "Do you?"
A flicker of surprise clouds his features. He hides it. "No, of course I don't mind."
The time approached half-twelve quickly. James is off shift at 1AM, and while he might usually go home he's already told you he'll be staying the night. He hates when you're in unfamiliar places. You don't complain, though when it's dark and everyone is drunkenly snoozing in their plastic beds, you sit up in your sleeping bag and search for his figure in the dark.
"James?" you murmur.
"What, sweetheart?"
"Is y'shift over?"
"Yeah. Mason's just pulled up outside." Mason means Jack and Jack means the night team. You roll your eyes at how ridiculously looked after you are.
"Do you want to come and sleep? You must be tired," you continue, your own voice dulcet with an obvious fatigue.
James picks his way over to you where you're nestled in your pyjamas and sleeping bag. "I can go kip in the van, if it makes you uncomfortable."
Is he kidding? He's just spent the night not only looking after you but making sure time and time again that you didn't look stupid in front of your new friends. He might be the nicest boy you've ever met, and the last thing you want him to do after all of this is go sleep sitting up in the back of a van.
"Are you crazy?" you mumble, unzipping your sleeping bag to entice him in. "S'cold in here. Your nose would get frost bite out there."
"Poor night team," he laments agreeably.
The air matress lifts you up with James' added weight. He makes his way under the unzipped sleeping back and has to cling to your hip to stop himself from falling off. You frown at his scratchy clothes.
"Did you bring pajamas?" you ask.
"No offense, shortcake, but no. Obviously I did not."
Your sleep (and cocktail) addled brain doesn't have the energy to feel offended. "Y'gonna be uncomfortable."
He doesn't speak. You assume he's done talking for the night and curl your leg up toward his thigh, when he says, "You won't mind if I take my shirt off? The fancy labels are really itchy."
"No, fancy-pants, I won't mind."
Even in your state you can feel the nervousness of being so close to him after he's peeled off his shirt. He's a huge hot water bottle beside you and you face toward him, cold but miles too shy to make a move.
It's like he can read your mind. "Are you still cold?" he asks, pulling the sleeping bag up to your chin.
"A little. My nose is cold," you murmur, eyes feeling heavier by the second.
His hand lands tentatively against your cheek. His thumb rubs against the tip of your nose. "What was it you said about frost bite?"
You genuinely can't remember. His hand is so warm, his body, his touch something you desire badly on a good day and yearn ceaselessly for on your worst. You bracelet his wrist where it rests against your neck and rub over his pulse unthiningly.
"You want a hug?" he asks knowingly.
"Just for a second," you agree. Your dignity shrivels with the speed of your reply.
He laughs under his breath and slides his arm under your shoulders. For a second it's uncomfortable and achy, and then he's pulling the brunt of your weight onto his chest and wrapping arms around you.
You shudder at how warm he is, the heat of his palms over your spine.
You lavish in his hold and steal all of his emanating heat until you're toasty as can be, sleeping bag snug over your limbs and face nestled in the bare skin of James' shoulder.
"Sorry," you mumble.
"For what?"
You're surprised he's still awake.
"For... For being so... I don't know. Because you had to save me so many times."
"Saving you from awkward situations is easy, don't worry about it. And I think you would've done better without me than you realise."
His hand creeps up the nape of your neck.
You're pretty beside yourself, tipsy and tired and tenderised by his tactile touching. He's familiar. More familiar than anything. It feels like a dream to be in his arms. It probably is.
"You're a good girl, Y/N," he says, and it doesn't feel weird at all. He means it honestly. "You're kind. You're caring. People were bound to love you eventually. It took a while, but they do."
"It didn't take you a while."
"Well, I'm smarter than everybody else, you know that," he says.
You both laugh. His hand strokes the side of your face and rests behind your ear. You can't pin point when you fall from dizzy laughter into sleep, but James can.
He watches your face relax in the near-dark, watches your shoulders settle under his hands. The whole while he's thinking God, what am I doing? This isn't professional. This is the opposite of professional.
He tries to ease you off of him and abandons all hope when you turn your face into his chest and your lips touch his skin. Each exhale a warm kiss.
In the morning, he'll likely tease you within an inch of your life. You're shy enough on a normal day that he doubts you'll survive it. But for now, he rubs the length of your back and wonders if this is how you feel when he's standing guard. So, so safe.