Harry Styles Shorts and One Shots

Short Story: Bodyguard

Story Request by: @madxxstyles

18+ only

Tw: murder, enemies to lovers, mention of death, bodyguardrry, arms dealing (guns), drug abuse, alcohol abuse, rough smut, slight dom/sub vibes, possessive/jealous Harry, dirty talk, degrading, pain kink, praising, unprotected sex, creampie, kidnapping

I may add more TWs as the story progresses, so please always check back every chapter update! ❤️

Word Count: 3,300

Harry

  Keep going, Harry. How the fuck do you expect to keep her safe if you can't push past your limit?

Berating thoughts towards myself wrack my brain, sweat pouring down my face as I incessantly punch at the hanging leather sack that's tethered to the ceiling. My knuckles ache along with my biceps, as well as my abdomen from being so harshly flexed this entire time.

You let him die because you weren't good enough.

I grunt out in frustration, swinging my tape-wrapped fists at the punching bag blow after blow. My body dodges imaginary punches, a sharp exhale coming from my lips with every forceful throw of my arms.

He died on your fucking watch.

"Fuck," I curse, hanging onto the bag to stop it from swinging as I pant against it.

The gunshot echoes in my mind as it has every day for the past six months. My heart is throbbing intensely in my chest, both from the exertion of my training, and the haunting memory of my life's biggest fault.

Everything had gone smoothly the entire night with Mr. Davis making one of the biggest arms deals of his underground career. I had worked for him for about two years by this time, and I knew he was excited about all the cash he was about to receive.

We arrived at the meet, several of Mr. Davis' men surrounding him, myself included. I was always his head bodyguard, making sure everything went according to plan and nothing was ever messy. I'd always done extensive, deep, and sometimes illegal background checks on anybody we ever dealt with.

The man we met that night, Mr. Jimenez, his record was nothing out of the ordinary, and squeaky clean. He didn't even have a fucking parking ticket since he got his license back in the 80's. I should've known he was too unsuspecting, but nothing triggered my hesitation. He was just another wealthy customer wanting guns for his security detail in Beverly Hills.

I stood right beside Mr. Davis, my guard up as always, but eased by Jimenez' charismatic words and body language. My hand never left the gun on my hip, but I wasn't quick enough to the draw.

The conversation between Davis and Jimenez changed. Jimenez was growing arrogant and more demanding, insisting for cheaper prices that were absurdly low; nearing unprofitable for Mr. Davis.

My entire body shook when the bullet from Jimenez' gun fired straight into Mr. Davis' sternum, knocking him flat onto the pavement as he let in a sharp breath.

Guns began firing like mad, my training immediately making me duck for cover as I withdrew my pistol from my holster. Jimenez had disappeared from the scene before I was able to get a good look at what was happening, and a stray bullet even caught me in my shoulder, sending me pummeling to the asphalt.

I cried out in agony, but stood up regardless, using our SUV as cover from the war happening in front of it. My head stuck out from around the back, aiming my pistol at one of the men who had just shot at me. He was dead within seconds, the headshot I gave him knocking him down instantly.