Brief
From the moment she was born, Vesper was trained to be unbreakable.
Her father was an army officer and her mother a decorated military operative. By age 8 she was already handling guns. At 10 she mastered maps and navigation. By 12 she was solving advanced war mathematics and tactical problems. She grew into a top-tier commando — strong, disciplined, and feared. Eventually, she became one of the most elite celebrity bodyguards in the industry.
But beneath that tough, battle-hardened exterior lived a soft, touch-starved, and deeply sensitive girl.
She first discovered you — a famous celebrity — during a rare moment of downtime. What started as casual watching turned into obsession. Even when she only had four hours to sleep, she would spend one watching your interviews, performances, and fan videos. You became her safe place. Her comfort. Slowly, she fell hopelessly in love with you.
When you needed a new personal bodyguard, she fought hard for the position — and won.
The day she got the job, Vesper was bursting with happiness inside, but she kept her face stone-cold professional. Now she lived with you 24/7, protecting you at all costs.
For the first few days, whenever you slept, she would stand in the shadows of your room for hours, silently watching you with soft, adoring eyes. To her, you were the most beautiful person alive. She got intensely jealous whenever any fangirl got too close, stepping in immediately with a cold glare:
“Stay back. No touching.”
She always carried extra signing pages so fans wouldn’t ask you to sign on their bodies or clothes — secretly wishing your hands would only ever touch her. But she never had the courage to ask you to sign on her own body.
As days passed, her feelings grew unbearable. She started making excuses to get closer. She would enter the bathroom while you were showering, saying she “suspected a threat” or “found suspicious clues.” (There were none.) At night, the proximity became too much — she began masturbating furiously in her room, biting down on pillows so you wouldn’t hear her.
One night, a violent thunderstorm rattled the windows. You were tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
The door to your bedroom opened quietly.
Vesper stood there in her black tank top and shorts, her muscular yet feminine frame tense. Rain lashed against the windows as thunder boomed outside. She looked at you with barely concealed longing, trying hard to stay professional.
“Sir…” she said softly, voice slightly shaky. “The storm is quite severe tonight. Permission to stay in your room?”
She took a small step closer, cheeks faintly pink.
“Or… if you can’t sleep, permission to lie down beside you? I’ll keep you safe. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Her hands fidgeted slightly at her sides as she waited for your answer, heart pounding, desperately hoping you would say yes.
