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moonchildstyles · 3 months ago

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bardot

y/n is an aspiring model, and harry just might be the person that could help her

wordcount: 12.5k+

this is a patreon exclusive, with every part after this one only available on my page!

—————

A chill touched the base of (Y/N)'s spine as she padded over the cracked tiles lining her kitchen floor. It was enough of a disturbance to cause a pinch in her brows, though she still couldn't manage to peel her eyes open more than a crack. If not for the fact that she had to run a couple of errands before her shift tonight, she wouldn't even be awake at the moment.

Working through that fatigue, she rubbed her eyes as she reached for the box of Cheerios on the top of her fridge. Her movements were lethargic as she made her breakfast, taking her time as she attempted to wake up despite the late night she'd had, closing the restaurant. Before sitting down with her cereal, she made a point to draw open her curtains, allowing bright beams of sunlight to filter through her apartment, a tactic she opened would wake her up.

Feeling the warmth on her skin, her tired eyes fluttering against the bright light, it was all something she was still getting used to. The California sun was still so novel to her compared to the weather she'd grown up with back home. Though she missed the multitude of sweaters she'd left behind at her parents' home, she would trade those knits to get this kind of sunlight any day.

(Y/N) pulled in a deep breath, imagining the specks of sunlight bumbling through her lungs. It didn't feel so bad then to sit down with her breakfast, a selection of new, glossy magazines sitting in the middle of her coffee table—a gift from herself after getting through her shift the night before.

Spooning a bite to her mouth, she picked up the first magazine with VOGUE stamped across the top. The cover held a glimmering photograph of a woman draped in a brightly colored dress, her hair teased high, and the kind of makeup (Y/N) had attempted to achieve in her bathroom mirror—though it never turned out as clean. The headlines had printings about the best summer pieces to have to get that "California Style", along with spreads about the new "Paris Chic" and the best eye makeup for your eye color.

This was her morning news. Everything she wanted to know was between the glossy pages, every photograph a part of her morning routine. Flicking through, (Y/N) admired the models printed on the pages, each of them exceptionally beautiful and holding a kind of poise she wondered also ran through their real lives.

Did Jean Shrimpton always look that perfect? Was Donyale Luna even able to leave the house without someone stopping her for just a momentary look at her cheekbones? Did any of these women ever admire themselves on the page the way (Y/N) did?

Though she skimmed the articles as she went, she no doubt had eyes for the photos themselves. If she squinted hard enough, she could almost see herself instead of the leggy body on the page.

After finishing off her cereal, she flipped the page just as she began to rise to tow her dishes to the sink, though the ad on page had her lagging for just a moment.

Corseted into an hourglass shape, complete with a puffy bunny tail and a set of ears on her head, was a woman with blonde hair teased high holding a silver serving tray. Black stockings molded around her legs, showing off the curves like the smile on her lips. Beneath her was a bold black font, detailing the opening of a new club in Los Angeles.

Playboy.

(Y/N) was familiar with the branding and the general idea behind the company, but it wasn't something she gave more than a passing thought most of the time. It was never something that really appealed to her, piquing nothing more than her curiosity over how many models—well known and hidden, alike—had been able to feel that kind of confidence to be able to pose the way they did. While she'd never seen anything for herself, there was always the talk about the centerfolds of the magazines, and what exactly was sandwiched between the pages.

It was definitely a departure from the kinds of modeling she had pictured for herself when she made the move out to the west coast in the first place, but she wondered, while looking at the corseted woman, what it could feel like to be in that spot. Would the confidence come naturally? Would the perfect posture and the perfect smile come on instinct, or were those women directed and directed until they were what the men around her told her would sell?

She couldn't be sure, the idea being too much for her to figure out since she hadn't even been on a set herself yet. She didn't know what it would be like to have a real photographer put their camera in her face normally, let alone with only the smallest amount of clothing on her body.

Casting one more glance at the page, she rose from her spot on the couch to take her dishes to the sink. With the corseted woman out of sight and out of mind, (Y/N) was instead distracted by the calendar pinned to the wall beside her sink. Today's slot was marked with all of the day's errands as well as her shift time, though she was distracted by the following day.

There wasn't anything particularly special marking the space, but it would commemorate the six month anniversary of her official move to California.

If she thought too hard about it, she would focus on the lack of auditions she'd been on after the move, the zero number of scouts that had seen her on the street and begged her to join their agency, the amount of times she wondered if she had actually made the right decision when she asked her parents to help her pack up and move across the country.

Instead, she reminded herself of the same thing she always did when all of the change had become overwhelming: just because it hasn't happened for her yet, doesn't mean it never will.

She was an optimist at heart, and she would continue to be optimistic about her future in this city. One day she would be plastered on a billboard, or showcasing a new Maybelline mascara with her eyes fluttering in a commercial. She could even find her way to Vogue someday.

For all she knew, today could be the start of her big break.

—————

"Thank you for covering, Gabby!"

As soon as (Y/N) stepped out into the makeshift break room in the alley behind the restaurant for her lunch break, the bubbly smile on her lips fell. Closing shifts always took the breath out of her, especially during the dinner rush on Friday nights like this.

These thirty minutes away, hiding in the back alley at one of the small tables set up in lieu of a proper break room, was precious to her. Despite just how loud the restaurant was, the sound overspilling into the alley, the space was just removed enough to help her brain quiet down for the time being. As much as (Y/N) loved the way her body looked and the way her legs seemed to stretch on for miles when she slipped on high heels, there would never be anything that could rival the relieved feeling that came with slipping them off for even just a few minutes during this time away.

Leaving her feet only loosely in her shoes, she didn't waste any more of her break time, pulling out her packed sandwich and the bottle of apple juice she brought for her dinner. She had tucked a small magazine into her purse, but the thought of adding anything extra to her head at the moment wasn't appealing. Instead, she listened to the overflow of conversation from the server's station just by the swinging door of the alley as if it were a program from her television set.

Just as usual, she heard some of her coworkers debating over if there were any familiar faces seated in the dining room for the night. It wasn't unusual for famous patrons to take a seat for dinner with them, though (Y/N) highly doubted Elizabeth Taylor was currently at the bar, but the debate of whether or not one of the waiters should approach her and ask if he could be in her next movie (or next husband) was enough to bring a smile to her face between her bites of dinner.

By the time she emptied her bottle of apple juice and had her lunch reduced to a few crumbs, the server's station had been cleared out with the only noise of the kitchen filtering out to the alley and keeping her comfortable. Just as she moved to pack everything away, her ears perked at the sound of quick footsteps heading outside to join her. Peering over her shoulder, (Y/N) just caught the way Misty, one of the hostesses she was closer with, all but barreled out onto the pavement.

It didn't take very long to spot the difference in Misty's demeanor with the way she didn't seem to notice (Y/N) was out there at all, instead immediately beginning to pace before the door with her heels clicking over the pavement. There must have been a conversation going on in her head with the way she flapped her hands before her like a talk show host, and the silent muttering of her lips. As far as (Y/N) knew, Misty's break wasn't scheduled for another hour, even.

"Mist?" (Y/N) prodded in a gentle voice, "Is everything okay?"

Stopping in her tracks with a stutter to her steps, Misty looked to her with wide brown eyes and a hand to her throat. "Oh my god, you scared me."

"Sorry," (Y/N) offered with a cautious smile, "Are you okay? You seem really freaked."

"Yeah," Misty said, though she was less than convincing with her response, "Did you see my sister came in?"

(Y/N) nodded, looking up at her friend from where she sat at the wobbly wrought iron table. "Is she okay?"

Misty's shaken demeanor shifted then as she rolled her eyes, heaving a big sigh. "She's fine," she started, irritated, "just stupid. We were supposed to go to this party tomorrow night in the hills, but she's bailing on me so she can meet up with her ex. They're going to 'work it out', apparently."

"Wait, the one that cheated with your cousin?" (Y/N)'s brows furrowed, with her mouth dropping into a gape. It couldn't be that ex, right?

"That's the one," Misty chirped, also less than impressed with her sister's choosing, "I know, she's being an idiot but not even my mom was able to talk her out of it. But, she was going to be my ride tomorrow, and go with me so I wasn't alone."

(Y/N)'s face fell when she heard how dejected Misty sounded. While she didn't know much about this party in "the hills", she was sure that hearing about her sister's reconciliation with a terrible ex—and that she would rather hang out with a cheater than Misty herself—was more than enough to get her down.

"I'm sorry, Mist," (Y/N) said, her eyes softening with her lips falling into a pout, "It's not fair to leave you hanging like that."

Settling some, Misty took the chair across from (Y/N) offering a small smile. "It's okay," she shrugged, "It's just frustrating. She knows this party is important to me, but she's going to go see some guy that cheated on her, instead."

"That sucks," (Y/N) interjected, sure her friend wasn't looking for a solution more than she wanted to vent at the moment, "Is it a birthday party, or?"

Misty shook her head, her long black hair wisping over her shoulder, "It's an industry party. One of my friend's has an older sister who works across the street from this office that has a bunch of these music people. Apparently there's a big party happening tomorrow night at some executive's house, and she was able to get me and my sister an invite, but now I don't know if I'm even going to be able to make it there."

(Y/N)'s lips thinned, her eyes falling to the latticed surface of the table where she fiddled with the strap of her purse. An idea pinged through her head, though she was more than unsure of voicing it.

She'd never been to an industry party before, but there was a first time for everything—especially if it meant she could help her friend. If she was lucky, there might be even a few people she could get to know, other models or someone that could help in her own dreams.

"I—" she started, catching her tongue when she was unsure of her next words. Flicking her eyes up to Misty, where it was clear on her face just how hard she was thinking about whatever plan she could conjure for the next twenty-four hours, (Y/N) tried again. "Okay—um—stop me if I'm doing too much, but I... If you want, I could go with you? Just so you wouldn't be alone, and I could drive you up, and everything. I don't want you to miss this if you think you'll be able to meet someone that could help you with your singing, but don't feel like you have to take me. If you can't find anyone else, just know I'm willing."

Feeling herself rambling, (Y/N) forced herself to zip her lips in favor of watching for Misty's reaction.

"Wait, really?" Misty said, a bubbling lilt to her voice, "You'd drive and everything, even though it's kind of far away? You don't, like, work tomorrow or anything?"

Her rapid fire questions did little to hide the light that sparkled in her eyes and the smile that crept on her lips. (Y/N) only shrugged, feeling herself light up. "I work tomorrow night, but I should be home with enough time to get ready as long as we don't have to be there too early."

The giggling squeal that left Misty's lips had (Y/N) letting out her own laugh just before her friend reached for her hands across the table. "(Y/N)! Thank you so much—I would love to have you come with me! We're going to have so much fun, thank you!"

(Y/N) felt herself perking up, matching Misty's energy as she squeezed her hands. "I'm so excited, thank you," she bubbled.

The dejection she came out with had melted away leaving room for her to be back to her bubbling, loud self that ran the front of the restaurant. "No, no, thank you! Really, there's going to be so many people there—important people—this could be really good for us. And now, we both get to go!"

Despite feeling a little nervous, accepting an invite to a place she'd never been before along with the host being someone she had no real connection to, (Y/N) couldn't help but to feel a warmth in her stomach over the kind of luck she'd stumbled into tonight. While she was sure there was going to be majority of people from the music world in attendance—people who were going to be important to Misty and her dreams of having a singing career—there has to be at least a couple of people who knew someone who could help her encroach on her own modeling aspirations.

The remainder of her lunch time (as well as Misty's impromptu break from her hostess duties) was spent ironing out the details of the next day. A to-do list came together in (Y/N)'s head, starting with raiding her closet as soon as she made it back to her apartment tonight, hoping she could find something in the back of the racks that might be suitable for the kind of party Misty was describing to her. She couldn't wait to force a map into Misty's hands to navigate them to the hills she kept mentioning.

"I heard there might be valet there, but I don't know if that's true or just something Angelica—"

"(Y/N), do you know where Mist—Oh, there you are," Marcus, one of the waiters, said, popping his head out into the alley, "I know you took a fifteen, but we need your help."

Misty deflated at the request of her presence, a pout itching to settle on her lips. "I'll be up in a second."

"Okay. Molly's drowning right now, though, so be fast."

Before he could catch the roll of Misty's eyes, Marcus disappeared back into the bustling restaurant.

Turning to (Y/N), Misty started for the door, standing from her spot across from her friend. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay? We'll figure out what we're wearing, and I'll tell you the exact address when I get the note back from my sister."

"Okay," (Y/N) smiled, eyes following her friend as she approached the door, "Thank you again, Misty—I'm really excited."

She paused in the doorway, one foot inside the restaurant with the other in the alley. "Me too. See you in there."

With a wave, Misty slipped inside the restaurant leaving (Y/N) with a remaining five minutes alone.

She quietly packed up with a smile on her face. By the time she slipped her feet back into her heels, the pain in her arches didn't feel so bad.

For all she knew, tomorrow night could be the start of her big break.

—————

The waning summer sunlight reflected off the silver sequins decorating (Y/N)'s dress as she drove to Misty's. With the open back of the garment, the cool leather of the seat pressed into her back. The feeling had her hearkening back to the last few times she'd worn this dress, to a handful of auditions she went on before realizing that agencies didn't really want to see a cocktail dress on a potential employee at ten a.m. The patent white leather of her thigh high boots squeaked as she shifted in her spot, her eyes peering through the windshield at each passing street sign marking the unfamiliar neighbourhood.

Coming to a slow stop at the curb, (Y/N) checked the map she had splayed on the passenger seat and the note with Misty's address half a dozen times, comparing it to the powder blue house she pulled up in front of. Hopefully, she'd made it to the right house.

Putting the car in park, fluffing her hair one more time, (Y/N) stepped out onto the warm pavement. The sunset reflected pink across the silver of her dress, warming her skin as if she were under the flashes of dozens of cameras.

Scaling the driveway to Misty's home, she had her eyes on the door, catching the way the knob spun before (Y/N) even made it to the porch. Misty waved to someone behind her, the length of her hair swishing at her waist as she spun around to face (Y/N) with a bright smile. A rich red dress hugged her figure, the halter top neckline framing the slide of her neck and the cut towards her cleavage. Her heels clicked with every step she took over the concrete towards (Y/N), glimmering makeup sparking on her eyelids.

Misty forged ahead, pulling (Y/N) in for a giddy hug that had her wobbly in her boots. "Hi! How are you? Are you excited? You look so pretty!"

(Y/N) laughed at the onslaught of questions, falling in line with Misty as she headed towards the car parked at the curb. "I'm good—excited! You look really pretty, too, thank you! I've never seen your hair down like this."

To make a show of it, she flipped a hand through her hair with a smile on her lips. "Tonight could be the night, (Y/N)—had to pull out all the stops."

Laughing, she followed after Misty as she started towards the car. Misty's confidence was contagious, enough to spread to (Y/N) as she settled in behind the wheel, sliding a pair of sunglasses on the line of her nose.

As they drove towards the hills, a map splayed out in Misty's lap, they had the windows cranked down with the radio up. (Y/N) couldn't help but to sing along with the selection going through her speakers, ranging from the croons from The Zombies to belting tones from The Supremes.

She was going to a party in the Hollywood Hills! A party where, if she's lucky enough, she could end up on the billboards they were driving past. Even if that didn't happen, she would still be fulfilling a part of her dream when she moved out here in the first place—getting to see places she'd only ever seen in movies or on the glossy pages of her magazines.

"What do you think it's going to be like?" (Y/N) asked, shouting over the whipping wind and beats from James Brown.

"Hm?" Misty hummed, looking back from where she had been gazing out the window, "The party?"

"Yeah. You said there'll be lots of music kinds of people, right? Do you think we'll see anyone we know?"

Misty shrugged, a beaming smile. "Maybe—hopefully! Angelica called me this morning and said there's supposed to be a lot of executives, so I don't know if we'll see any singers, but we'll meet the people who made the singers! How exciting is that?!"

(Y/N), even through fleeting glances, could spot the excitement in Misty's gaze. While modeling (maybe even movies, if she was lucky enough) was (Y/N)'s dream, she was more than okay with being there for Misty as they rubbed elbows with the people that made possible all the music they were listening to now.

In between giving directions, Misty happily chattered away about all of the different hopes she had for the soiree. Outside, the sun sunk low in the sky before disappearing by the time they entered the hills. The world around them changed from the lengths of highway to the beachy suburbs of the coast, all the way until the Hollywood Hills surrounded them. With the windows up and the radio ticked down just enough, both she and Misty left their attention to the gorgeous homes that now popped up around them like clean white roses. Everything was made of strategic, precise lines, creamy and bright against all of the greenery planted around them. Cars she'd only seen in movies were parked outside the garages, painted in pale colors with chrome accents that gleamed under the waning light.

The sight reminded her of the Saturday morning episodes of the Jetsons she used to catch back at home as a girl. Seeing nothing more than the structures, she felt as if she were already meeting a handful of celebrities.

After a final set of directions muttered off by Misty, (Y/N) turned onto a long stretching street. Before, while the houses were modern and clean, these were nothing short of extravagant. They were much further spaced out, gates planted before the driveways with plenty of greenery to help give even more privacy to whoever lived behind the walls.

"It should be on the left, I think," Misty muttered, her own gaze glossed out as she took in the homes around them.

(Y/N) silently nodded her head, pushing her sunglasses to sit on the top of her head. Peering to the left, she didn't have to peek at the numbers posted on the gates to know what home was where the party was being hosted. It was the only building with bright lights peeking through the greenery, reflecting through the darkening sky. While the rest of the street seemed to be luxuriating in quiet privacy, this one was beaconing those around them to come closer.

"This one?" (Y/N) asked, slowing as they approached the open driveway.

"This one," Misty smiled, giddy in her seat.

Turning in, (Y/N) found the biggest mansion she could have imagined to be shrouded behind the palms and draping vines planted along the perimeter. It was just as pristine as the others they'd seen before, new and perfect, but on a scale she couldn't imagine knowing what to do with. A dome thatched in glimmering bronze bisected the mansion, a large window cut out on what had to be the third floor of the home, showcasing a crystalline chandelier for all to see. Creamy lines made out the rest of the structure, cookie-cutter windows giving glimpses into the spaces inside. More greenery made its way closer to the structure in the form of pruned hedges, climbing flower bushes, and postcard perfect palm trees.

The rumor of there being valet at this soiree had turned out to be complete truth as (Y/N) drove further up the drive. Her hands grew clammy around the wheel.

"What do I do?" she rushed out to Misty, taking her foot off the gas to buy herself time.

"What do you mean? What?" Misty answered, knocked out of her own admiration of the space.

"The valet," (Y/N) said, slightly panicked, "Are they actually going to take the car?"

Misty seemed to finally notice the man clad in a simple black outfit stationed at the front dome, bored as he peered at the slowly approaching car on the drive. "Oh. I don't know. Do you keep the car on or just give them the keys?"

"I don't know," (Y/N) parroted, words bubbling off as she ran out of time the closer they drew to the dome, "I've never done this before!"

Before either of them had a chance to attempt to thread together a game plan, (Y/N) heavily stepped on the brake, stopping them at the front door. The valet made no move to greet them, standing at his station with a pleasant expression on his face as he waited. With clumsy movements, (Y/N) pulls her keys out of the ignition, and plucked her purse from beside her feet. Misty followed with the same amount of haste, both of them practically stumbling out of the car towards the waiting valet that looked on with surprise raising his brows.

"Hi," (Y/N) greeted, just barely remembering the sunglasses pinning her hair back on her head. She snatched them off, tucking them into her purse.

"Good evening, ladies," the valet responded, taking in their stumble, "How are you?"

"We're alright, thank you," Misty piped up, peering around the valet to get a peek into the home behind him, "And yourself?"

"I'm doing swell myself, thank you," he beamed, holding a hand out expectantly towards (Y/N), "How do you know the host?"

While he had a pleasant smile on his face as he took her keys, (Y/N) was sure he was well aware of how little they fit in within this space. She couldn't blame him for assuming there was a chance they weren't supposed to be here, if their stumbling and her less than trendy car was anything to go by.

"We work with him," Misty piped up, clearly preferring to bypass the roundabout way that she knew the host through three different people.

"Oh, yeah?" he prodded, brows bouncing above his eyes, "At the office or the studio?"

"The office," Misty clarified without a second thought.

The valet took her answer with a slow nod, palming (Y/N)'s keys before asking for her name and bidding them a good night once they were on the list. With that, he left the double doors behind him unattended. Misty grabbed (Y/N)'s hand who stumbled into step beside her, her gaze shot over her shoulder to watch as the valet took in the vast difference between her car and the others he'd already attended to throughout the night.

Pushing through the double doors, (Y/N)'s expectations for the inside of this mansion were blown out of the water. One of a kind art canvases were hung up on the walls, beautifully crafted vases and sculptures displayed through the halls, along with the extravagant chandelier hanging above their heads. This place felt straight out of a movie, perfect like a Normal Rockwell painting.

The deeper Misty walked them through the space, she took in the overflow of guests spread throughout the home. She'd never seen so many different sitting rooms, with so many different people. In the main space just off from the foyer was cleared out, leaving space for a bar being professionally tended and room for plenty of young women to dance along to the records spinning on the player with drinks in hand. Too many older men were placed along the perimeter doing nothing more than watching them.

"Um," Misty started, voice raised high enough to be heard over the different radios and gramophones playing, "I'm going to try to find my friend and her sister, and the host, but you don't have to come with me if you want to get a drink."

(Y/N) didn't have to think before she steeled her grip on Misty's hand. There was no way Misty was going to be able to lose her that quickly. "No, I'll go with you."

"Are you sure?" Misty asked, bouncing her brows above her eyes.

(Y/N) gave a nod, shooting her friend a look with a glance towards the men prowling around the young women. Misty seemed to catch her drift then, more than alright with (Y/N) tagging along.

While Misty was on the lookout for familiar faces, (Y/N) was happily pulled along with her curious gaze spread out to every branching hallway and living area. While the room with the women dancing around was the life of the soiree, there were other areas that looked as if they were board meetings plucked right out of the city complete with men dressed in suits, lounging with cigars in smoky rooms. Trays with food were being passed about in the hands of staff dressed in similar all black outfits as the valet out front.

She barely had a chance to settle her eyes on a single person or scene before something just as bright and bold called her attention away. Misty surged forward with their hands still clasped until they reached the glass door leading to the backyard.

If she had thought the inside of the mansion was wild, not even the drunken bar room had anything on the backyard.

With a shimmering pool setting the scene, there seemed to be a rule that only the prettiest of attendees were allowed in the grassy space. It only took a pair of steps out onto the patio for (Y/N) to feel like she had never actually seen Los Angeles before this moment. Her mouth was set agape as Misty dragged her along, heading towards a grouping of men (Y/N) barely glanced at when there was so much else around to steal attention.

A bar was stationed outside as well, though it looked much less professional than what was inside. Whoever wanted a drink was free to grab whatever, including the whole bottle if they so choose, with no one to bat an eye. More than a few people floated about the pool, some fully clothed while others were covered with only the help of the refractions glowing through the water. Drunken conversations were held between those about the lip of the pool, some wobbling close to the edge though they only laughed when the stumbles occurred.

Everything appeared entirely too glamorous to be real. The women's hair was too perfect, the men too picturesque. This was what shindigs in the Hills were like?

Suddenly Misty's voice piped up, having taken the straight to the grouping of businessmen she had eyed as soon as they made it out the door. "Hi! Mr. Vitacoma?"

Facing forward, (Y/N) watched as a tall man with broad shoulders turned around to face Misty, brows in a pinch. "That's me," he started, eyes visibly brightening when he took in who exactly it was that had approached him, "How can I help you?"

Misty's bright voice became a mumble as she introduced herself, and thanked this man for hosting the party. A conversation started, Mr. Vitacoma asking how exactly they were connected and how she'd found herself at his soiree. From what she was collecting, this man was some kind of executive at a record label, tonight's party being a "just because" occasion, and of course, he was so happy to have such a beautiful woman like Misty in attendance.

(Y/N) was vaguely aware of Misty's voice pattering on with confidence, though her attention was stitched elsewhere. The men around Mr. Vitacoma had gone quiet, impressed with Misty's gall to have approached their group in the first place. It was interesting to see these men as suits, the kind running the studios and labels instead of those in front of the cameras and microphones.

One of them in particular had (Y/N) flicking her eyes away more than once, his face almost too pretty to look at for longer than a moment before needing a break.

His bone structure was sharp, jawline cutting with high cheekbones, a layer of stubble creeping up his cheeks. From his profile, his nose was a perfect straight line; cinnamon colored freckles were dusted over the bridge, faint under the lowlight. His hair came in textured waves of dark brown, playing off of the bright green hue of his eyes. His white button up was undone, displaying the white undershirt pasted to his torso. Just the faintest peeks of different tattoos bled through the thin fabric, including the tips of a chest piece peeking over the neckline of his tank. A small peach colored, paisley printed silk scarf was hanging around his neck, untied through the wrinkles in the material made it clear it had been knotted earlier in the night. A pair of black pants were belted around his hips with a shimmering pinstripe running through the garment, playing off the ambient lighting through the backyard.

(Y/N) couldn't keep herself from following the line of his form. Broad shoulders and strong chest gave way to a tapered waist, each block of muscle visible through the cling of the top.

By the time she dared to flit her eyes back up to his face, (Y/N) had to blink back her shock at finding the green lilypads of his eyes already trained right on her. A small smile touched at the corner of his mouth, amusement sparking across his graze.

Feeling her skin heating, she was suddenly too aware of herself. She hadn't meant to glaze her eyes all over him, let alone be caught doing just that. Flicking her gaze away on instinct towards Misty still schmoozing over her executive, (Y/N) shuffled in her spot, patent leather of her boots squeaking. Her hands suddenly felt too empty, especially feeling his eyes still warming the side of her face. She didn't think before she had her hand reaching for her hair, searching for some kind of flyaway or anything out of place to play with, just before her fingers collided with her forgotten sunglasses. If there wasn't already enough embarrassment coursing through her system, the fact she had left her accessory messily holding her hair back could have been enough to have her melting on the spot.

It wasn't bad enough she was caught ogling a stranger, she also had to have stray pieces of hair standing straight up on her head while she was at it.

Fumbling around, she plucked the sunglasses from the top of her head and made to shove them into her purse. A breathy laugh sounded, so quiet she wouldn't have heard it over all the noise had she not been hyper aware of the man standing only feet away from her.

Peeking up through the stray baby hairs falling in her face, (Y/N) saw the man with the peach scarf looking at her with an amused smile on his face, dimples in his cheeks with his green irises bright. He bounced his brows above his eyes when he caught her gaze, gesturing down to her stumbling hands and fingerprint laden glasses with a tip of his chin.

(Y/N)'s blood burned under the apples of her cheeks. She could only sheepishly shrug, a shy smile on her lips in hopes of looking more nonchalant than she clearly was.

Another small laugh plumed from him. Her shoulders relaxed some when she realized he wasn't making a joke of her, merely quietly teasing her over something only the two of them know about. A small inside joke was being threaded between them in the middle of the patio.

Stepping away from the congregation, the man made a step towards (Y/N). Her heartbeat picked up in her chest. It would only take a few of his long strides to close to space between them.

"This is (Y/N)," Misty chirped, tugging her forward and away from the stranger that had taken her attention. "My sister bailed, and (Y/N) stepped up to come with me tonight. I wouldn't be here if she didn't agree to come out here."

A slight daze had (Y/N)'s attention split between the present and moments before. She gave a placid smile to Misty's executive, offering a hand out for him to shake. "Nice to meet you. Mr. Vitacoma, right?"

He flashed (Y/N) a bright smile, offering his own greeting she barely paid attention to. Pleasantries were exchanged then, forcing her to play along as to not ruin this for Misty, though (Y/N)'s mind was decidedly stitched elsewhere. With every plastered smile and feigned attentive nod of her head, she could feel someone's—his—eyes on her.

If it wasn't disrespectful, she would have already disengaged from Mr. Vitacoma and given her attention back to the man with the peach scarf. As much as she warmed under his gaze, still feeling a bit of that embarrassment after being caught so obviously ogling him, she was thrilled to have seen him attempting to approach her.

She hoped she hadn't lost her chance to hear what kind of voice a man like that held, and what it may sound like wrapped around her name.

Hearing the beginnings of Misty's laugh, (Y/N) immediately joined in, having missed completely what she was laughing at but playing along anyway. Taking advantage of the moment, she turned her head just enough in hopes of catching sight of the peach scarf man from around Misty's back.

But, he was gone. Even with his height, she was unable to catch even a single swirl of his brown hair among the sea of the other executives congregating around them.

Before she had much of a chance to mourn the chance that had come and gone to know anything about this man, a scream sounding from beside the pool had her turning around. Misty and Mr. Vitacoma barely registered the noise, only offering fleeting glances in that direction before she was back to her half-flirting, half-schmoozing. (Y/N)'s jaw dropped when she saw what exactly had screeched beside the pool.

A woman with voluminous blonde hair and a drunken smile on her face had stripped down, her dress and undergarments sitting in a pile on the grass, and was running straight towards the pool. Those around the pool with drinks in their hands cheered her on, encouraging her just before she took a leap and splashed straight into the water. As soon as she surfaced, makeup running with her hair deflated and pasted her face, another round of raucous cheers cracked through the backyard.

Flitting her eyes around, (Y/N) expected to see others sharing her shock. Instead, she found people either not paying attention at all or smiling on as if this was nothing more than the scheduled entertainment for the night. While (Y/N) wouldn't consider herself a complete prude (she'd seen a few French films over the years, and they were certainly not for the pearl-clutchers back home), but she couldn't believe no one shied away at the sight of the woman's naked body. Was there a memo that Misty forgot to let her in on?

Nonetheless, (Y/N) found herself unable to pull her eyes from the commotion that was beginning over by the pool. It was as if the woman's display had been a gun firing off, signaling the start of the real party now that the sun had dipped and only the most fun remained for the rest of the festivities.

Those that had previously been lounging by the pool started up with their own soirees, some downing the rest of the drinks they had their hands before stripping and joining the woman in the pool, or plain watching on with heated looks on their faces. Even some men dared to strip down and join in, giving (Y/N) a sight she'd truly never seen before with her eyes going wide. Some of the couples she'd seen before had turned their attention to one another, lips and tongues meeting with reckless abandon. Blatant sexuality was put on show among the low lighting and the moon sparkling above their heads. Despite being in Los Angeles for a little over nine months, she'd never seen anyone behave this openly, acting as if there was no one else around other than those they wanted to see.

The most jarring came in the form of a trio—two women and one man—squeezed together on a pool lounger. The man had his arms around both of the women, but had his head bent towards one, kissing her with gusto. The other woman, skin a sparkling bronze with a thick headband holding back her curly hair, caressed her manicured hands across the lines of the redhead's body. The man didn't leave his other companion without, it appeared, his own brawny hand sliding down the cuff of her shoulder until it was dangling over the swell of her breast before brushing his fingers over where the peek had been hidden behind her dress. (Y/N) could spot the curly haired woman whispering something to the kissing pair, something quiet enough just for the three of them to hear just before the redhead smiled into the kisses though the man refused to break the contact and dove harder into the redhead's mouth. The curly haired woman looked at them with hooded eyes, eye shadow shimmering under the moonlight, as she reached out and combed her fingers through waves of red hair, fisting the strands back and out of her friend's face with a stiff tug. A blush touched the redhead's cheeks.

They moved as if they were on film. The touches from the curly-haired woman moved harmoniously with each caress from the redhead over the man's muscled chest, as if perfected from a script. A director could have been sat feet away, camera trained in their direction with the way every ideal angle was shown off to the rest of the party. (Y/N) wouldn't have been surprised if this whole night was nothing more than a setup for some magazine, a photographer waiting for the perfect moment before jumping out with a camera and the perfect lighting.

As soon as the curly-haired woman leaned across the man's chest and pressed a lingering kiss to the redhead's shoulder, a hoot sounded from one of the other onlookers in the backyard. It was then that (Y/N) remembered she wasn't the only one here, the only one watching. She had been seeing something like an editorial photoshoot with these people—a bit scandalous of a subject, but nonetheless boundary pushing—but the sound of a cheering comment had brought her back to the present to see this for what it was.

The artistic, pretty filter she had seen the moment in vanished, leaving what was gearing up to be much raunchier of a scene than she was sure any of her French films had shown.

Whipping her head away when the strap of the redhead's dress was pulled down, (Y/N) turned to see Misty and Mr. Vitacoma conversing with no indication that either of them cared to know what was going on behind their backs.

"Mist," (Y/N) murmured, feeling only a little bad to be interrupting, "I'm going to go get a drink inside, okay?"

Misty gave her a nod with a small smile. "Okay, I'll come find you later."

With that, (Y/N) gave Misty and her executive a parting nod before scurrying away to head back inside, her eyes staying on her feet and nowhere near the pool.

It was with a sigh of relief that (Y/N) closed the door behind herself. While there was much more commotion and bodies surrounding her inside the mansion, it was decidedly less pressure than whatever it was going on out there. Though she was alone this time around, which wasn't something she thought about until a group of men in suits passed her by, a few offering appreciative glances in her direction.

This place seemed much bigger without Misty at her side.

Meandering through the throngs of people and the puddles of liquor on the floor, (Y/N) wasn't sure where she was going, only that the closer she was to the backyard, the more clinging the atmosphere seemed to be. There were plenty of people around her, some with clear influence that she was sure she should have been using this opportunity to get to know, just like Misty brought her here for, but she continued on with no clear destination in mind.

She didn't feel comfortable inserting herself in the cigar room, not when the men had poured out whiskey and the smoke had turned into something heavier. More faces littered the halls, getting more and more packed the darker the night grew. Sticking close to the walls, (Y/N) couldn't help the owlish blinks that fluttered her lashes as she took in the raucous patrons of the party. She was well aware of the parties and the night clubs that livened up downtown LA, but she never figured something like that could fit between the walls of someone's home.

Inadvertently, she found herself approaching the first room she had Misty had spotted, full of women her age dancing and having fun with a bartender slinging drinks faster than the records spinning. While she wasn't exactly comfortable, this room felt a lot easier to wade through as opposed to the faux board meeting going on in the other with all of the smoking men.

Keeping company with the fridges of the room, (Y/N) had the lingering thought that maybe she wasn't cut out for this kind of industry. Whether it be modeling or becoming a movie star, she figured she should be able to make conversation with practical strangers instead of marinating in her own excitement all by herself. A real model—a confident star—would have found the spotlight without hesitation and made a group of friends and connections that would land her somewhere even more glamorous than this mansion in the Hills.

Instead, (Y/N) was stationed somewhere between the record player and the suede couch pushed against the walls, tucked out of the way and listening into the conglomeration of all of these conversations.

Out of seemingly nowhere, a woman with towering dark hair and a sleek black dress entered her field of vision. She wore a bright smile and eyes that were a bit glossy, red veins spidering over her sclera.

"Are you friends with Misty?!" she shouted, maybe a bit too loud even with the record player and sound system so close.

Taken aback, a whiff of heavy liquor radiating from this girl's breath, (Y/N) gave a small nod. "Yeah, we work together."

"That is so fun! I work with her sister, Angelica! Where is she?" The girl stumbled some on her heels, reaching out for (Y/N)'s shoulder to keep herself steady.

"Angelica is seeing a friend tonight, so she couldn't make it," (Y/N) started, stifling her laughter over this woman's sudden friendship with her, "And, Misty's outside talking to some record label guy."

Her mouth fell open, dark lashes fluttering. "Come hang out with me and my friends! You shouldn't be alone at a party like this! Oh my god, and you need a drink!" Every sentence tumbling out of this woman's mouth broadened (Y/N)'s smile. Other than some rowdy patrons at the restaurant, she wasn't around many drunk people, especially none this excitable. A gasp fell from her lips, stopping herself in her teetering heels with her hand clutched around (Y/N)'s shoulder. "Wait, what's your name?"

"I'm (Y/N)," she smiled, "What's your name?"

"Marguerite! Now, do you want to take shots or do you want an actual drink?"

(Y/N) followed after Marguerite with a bubbling smile. She hoped she would be able to find her spotlight now.

—————

Twirling in her boots, (Y/N) tossed her head back with her eyes closed. She could vaguely feel the condensation from the drink in her hand, glass slick in her hand. By the time she opened her eyes, dropping back into the moment with the group of women that had adopted her for the night, she couldn't figure out if the room was spinning because of her wiring or if it was her drinking.

From working at the restaurant, and knowing enough bartenders through her journey of becoming known, she knew most bartenders tended to water drinks down to keep people coming for more and giving some hefty tips, but it didn't seem this man had received that memo. These cocktails were heavy, full of sour heat as soon as it touched her tongue before being doused out by the collection of juices and citrus mixed throughout. Initially, she had turned down taking shots with Marg and her friends, but she figured she could have just done that and made it to the same state she was currently in.

But, that didn't matter. Anything from a couple of hours ago, no longer mattered. What mattered now was how each song she heard was now her favorite, every cocktail she tried was the best she'd ever had, and these girls were undoubtedly the best friends she'd ever had. (Y/N) was almost certain she'd never been this drunk before.

A night of firsts, she figured; first networking opportunity she'd ever gone to, and the first time she'd been drunk enough that her heart and the record player in the corner were made of the same rhythms.

She'd have to find her spotlight another time, it appeared.

Suddenly, the weight of someone's hand settled on the small of her back. Seeing her friends—albeit a bit blurry—in front of her, she couldn't imagine who exactly would be comfortable enough to place their hands on her.

Whirling around, the hem of her dress fluttering around her thighs, (Y/N) saw an unfamiliar face looking down at her. His hair was black like his suit, slicked back with enough product to make the strands appear wet. His eyes were just as dark and glassy, with the sclera full of red veins.

It was a distant memory, from a version of herself that was sober and no longer here, (Y/N) remembered the men that had strategically placed themselves about the room in order to gain the perfect vantage point to watch the women drinking and socializing as if they were a show on the television set. None of them had been so bold to approach anyone yet, but it only took a quick glance towards Marg and the others to see this must have been a team effort, everyone a touch distracted by these unfamiliar men.

"Hi, sweet thing," this man murmured, dipping his head unnecessarily close to her ear, "Having fun?"

"Um—"

"(Y/N)?"

Snapping away from this man, (Y/N) clutched her drink. A breath of relief touched her lungs when she saw it was Misty who had called to her. She looked just as pristine as when they had arrived, dress still clinging to her form, hair perfectly straight without a strand out of place. (Y/N) doubted her lipstick was anywhere near as perfect as Misty's still was.

"Mist! You're back!" (Y/N) cheered, grateful to be dismissing the man in favor of wrapping Misty in an enthusiastic hug. "Are you a singer now?!"

Misty shot her a bubbling smile, the corners twitching as if she was trying not to be as happy as she currently felt. "I might be," she muttered, sheepish, "I have a meeting—a real one—with Mr. Vitacoma tomorrow morning. I need to get home so I can sleep at least a little before I head to the office."

(Y/N) blinked, arms going limp around Misty. "Now?"

"Yeah," Misty nodded, mind obviously elsewhere, "Do you have your stuff?"

"Um," (Y/N) prattled, suddenly aware of her bag hanging from her elbow, "Yeah, but... I don't know, Mist. I'm kind of really drunk, I think."

Misty seemed to suddenly take note of her friend's state and the cold drink in her hand. "Wait. How many drinks have you had?"

"Three, I think," (Y/N) started, unwittingly beginning to sway to the new song that had started playing through the space, "But they're really strong."

Fitting her bottom lip between her teeth, Misty's face twisted into worry. "You don't think you can drive, right now? It's almost two."

Opening her mouth, (Y/N) felt like a guppy when she stood there and no words came. While she was far from sober, she was definitely beginning to feel the gravity of what Misty needed from her. She had a terribly exciting meeting set up for tomorrow morning, a real sit down with Mr. Vitacoma that would make her one of the voices etched into a vinyl. Misty had no idea how to drive, so (Y/N) needed to get her home before the sun started on the horizon.

"I—um—hold on," she said, dropping her drink to sit on a random surface, "I think I need some air, and after that I can drive us home. Do you know if there's any food around?"

Misty, working on one problem at a time, clutched (Y/N)'s hand and started towards the backyard. It was a deja vu moment, (Y/N) absently wondering what the grassy area had devolved into through the hours she had been inside.

"Get some air, and I'll try to find some bread or something," Misty thought out loud, pushing open the glass door with their shoes clicking over the cement patio.

The world spun a bit too fast for (Y/N) to catch anything going on around the pool, allowing her to simply follow after Misty as best she could in the boots that suddenly felt less than stable now that she wasn't dancing. Like a wobbly shadow, (Y/N) stayed close to Misty as she rounded to the side of the house, out of the way of the distant splashing and cheering from the pool.

"Are you okay to stay right here?" Misty asked, stopping (Y/N) on a soft patch of grass between the main home and shed field with whatever it took to maintain lawns of this size. From here, she could spot the height of the trees that had welcomed them when they made it here hours earlier.

(Y/N) nodded her head, sinking to sit down on the cool grass. "Where are you going?"

Misty looked at her with wide eyes, bottom lip being chewed between her teeth. "To get you something to eat. And, water, probably."

"Oh yeah," (Y/N) bubbled, a plume of laughter falling from her lips, "I'll be okay, I think."

Her friend hesitated for a moment, steps starting and stopping with one more look at (Y/N) in the safety of the secluded space before starting off for the house. Left by herself with her bare legs laid in the cool blades of grass and the sky clear above her, (Y/N) took in deep breaths.

Without smoke and thick humidity clogging the air, she was allowed a reprieve. Sitting here, she didn't feel all that drunk, but she doubted she would feel that stable if she made a move to stand up. Hopefully, whatever Misty found inside would help her get back on track, make it so she could have Misty home before the night had ended.

Pulling her knees to her chest, (Y/N) tried to concentrate. She wanted her mind to slow, her gaze to even, and her body to feel like her own again. She couldn't drive like this, she knew, but Misty was relying on her. (Y/N) needed to figure out how to get this alcohol out of her system in record time.

It was a frustrating goal, one she knew was going to be impossible to achieve when she couldn't get her gaze to focus on a miniscule chip in the white paint of the shed before her. Her gaze moved like the liquor that had sloshed in her glass inside.

Was she going to have to drive like this? Would they even make it back if she did that?

She hadn't realized her eyes had grown wet, tears puddling in her waterline until her sight ws that much more unreliable. She was frustrated and nervous, pressure coming from the fact that without a miracle, she was going to have to make sense of wavy lines while driving her friend home to prepare for the meeting of a lifetime.

(She wasn't a perfect driver, anyway. She doubted she'd be much better when she wasn't one hundred percent sober).

"Hey, are y'alright?"

Whipping her head up, (Y/N) caught only a glimpse of the new guest of her spot before wincing. Moving the fast wasn't a good idea if she was working on getting her vision to quit swimming.

"Y-Yeah, I'm fine," she stuttered, cracking her eyes open just enough to find the vague lines of who was standing before her, "I'm drunk."

A breathy laugh filled the air. One (Y/N) knew—had been hyper aware of just hours ago.

Blinking her eyes open, her vision having settled, she saw the man with the peach scarf. Right in front of her with the pretty green of his eyes trained on her, moonlight seeping through the swirls of his hair.

He was British. Interesting.

"Do y'want something to drink? It might be a good idea to eat something, too." The sharp planes of his face softened out, rounding with dimples in his cheeks and a kind smile curving his lips.

"My friend, she's already grabbing so-something for me," she hiccuped, "You met her kind of; she was talking to your friend."

Crouching to sit at her level, the man nodded his head. "She's something," he laughed, "Not many people come up to John like that. She has a meeting with him in the morning, right?"

(Y/N) nodded her head, squinting when her vision when spiraling once more. "Yeah, so I need to drive her home, but I think I'm still drunk. She's getting me some water, and then we have to go."

This man's reaction came in the form of a pinch settling between his brows, lips thinning. "She doesn't want to drive?"

"She doesn't know how," (Y/N) clarified.

He didn't seem to like this extra information much more. His tone was gentle when he spoke again, everything softened in this accent she'd only ever heard on television. "I don't know if 's a good idea for y'to be driving tonight. Maybe, we can go inside and see if there's anywhere y'can sleep for the night."

Reaching a broad hand out for her to take, he looked at her with encouraging eyes. (Y/N) shook her head. "I can't. She has that meeting in the morning and I have work tomorrow, we-we can't stay. I just need some water, and then I'll be okay."

A heaved sigh fell from his lungs. "I don't think that's how it works, love."

Before she could make heart eyes over the pet name he laid over her, (Y/N) saw a familiar form rounding behind her new friend.

"(Y/N)? I've got your water. How are you feeling?" Stepping around the man with the peach scarf, Misty had water and what looked to be a glass of dry cereal in her hands. She gave a sidelong glance towards the man that was not there the last time she'd seen her friend.

Lagging in response, (Y/N) blinked up at Misty. "I'm good—so much better! Let's go!"

Just as she put on her performance with an attempt to get to her feet, her flimsy cover was blown as soon as she stumbled into Misty with her arms pinwheeling at her sides. With her hands full, Misty offered an arm towards (Y/N) to brace herself, but it was the man with the peach scarf that steadied her before she had a chance to fall flat on her face. He reached towards her, settling his palms on her shoulders with (Y/N) touching his chest over the thin material of his top.

"(Y/N)!" Misty bubbled, eyes wide.

Blinking up at the man with her lashes fluttering around her uneven gaze, (Y/N) took in the sight of him with the moon acting as a halo behind his head.

Was her mouth agape? Was she still touching him? Was she unbelievably drunk, or was the rest of the world a blur, except for him?

"Are y'alright?" he murmured, concern dripping from his words.

Back on earth, (Y/N) shook herself away from the man, their hands dropping to their sides though she swore she could still feel the creases of his palms and length of his fingers around her shoulders.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she insisted, turning her gaze towards Misty, "Sorry, just—hold on, I can take us home, just give me a second."

Both Misty and the man gave her less than impressed looks.

He was the first to move, looking towards Misty with a bounce to his brows. "Misty, right?"

Despite (Y/N)'s clear favoring of him, Misty didn't knock the suspicious accusations from her eyes. "Yes. Why?"

He shot her that dazzling smile, dimples and all. "I know y'have an appointment with John tomorrow morning, but she's not going to be well enough to drive tonight. It wouldn't be safe to head home before she's had a chance to sleep this off."

Misty's shoulders dropped at the serious tone he served her. "But... I can't—We can't stay. I have to go home to get ready for that meeting, and she has to go to work."

Pursing his lips, the man settled his hands on his hips as the gears in his head began to turn. "Where's home?"

Even in her muddled head, (Y/N) could see the reluctance Misty held when she gave the general area they came from.

He gave her a nod, lips still thinned. Peering through his lashes, he looked at Misty before offering a fleeting glance towards (Y/N). "I can take y'both home. I haven't had anything to drink tonight."

Walls back up immediately, Misty gave an uncertain stare, brows pinched. She didn't have to say anything for man to start offering an alternative, (Y/N) letting out a plume of laughter.

"Or, I can call a taxi? I can't guarantee anyone will be available, or how quick they'd make it out, but 'm more than happy to pay for it." Sincerity lit up his eyes.

Misty didn't immediately have an answer, taking her turn to think over the direction the night had taken. The silence left (Y/N) a chance for the alcohol to wipe her own thoughts over the dilemma, her attention instead shifting to lay fully on the man that stood before her.

Maybe it was the vodka shining in her eyes, but she swore something angelic began to shimmer from the edges of him. He really was so pretty, (Y/N) thought. Earlier hadn't just been the product of an excitable mind seeing a bunch of important people for the first time since her cross-country move, he really was gorgeous.

Did he know that? Were enough people telling him that? Should she tell him?

For the second time that night, she was caught staring at him. A twitching of a smile touched at the corner of his mouth, his eye dropping into a wink.

She couldn't help herself, her own features brightening and molding into something giddy. She didn't need Misty to tell her what the best option was out of the two this man had presented, (Y/N) already had her favorite picked out.

"You'd really t-take us home?" (Y/N) hiccuped through her smile, clasping her hands in front of her middle.

"If that's what you'd prefer," he drawled, amusement dancing over his features as he took in her reaction.

Before he could send a precursory glance towards Misty once more, (Y/N) piped up, "I prefer that! Please."

A small plume of laughter fell from his lips at her outburst, Misty even taking a peek in her direction with a raised brow and half smile.

"Please, Mist," (Y/N) pleaded, a bright smile on her face, "Isn't he so nice?"

Another small glance towards the man was given by Misty. "What's your name? I'm not getting in someone's car when I don't know their name."

"'M Harry," he smiled, "And John is a good friend of mine, and he'd kill me if I messed up his schedule tomorrow by not getting you two home."

"And, you're not crazy, right?"

Another set of dimples touched his cheeks. "Not as far as I know."

"Fine," Misty settled, "Thank you, Harry."

"Thank you, Harry," (Y/N) parroted, a little too excitable.

Both Misty and Harry helped guide (Y/N)'s stumbling steps through the mansion, the water and cereal Misty grabbed for her being left behind as they made their way through the halls. More than once, she had the privilege of getting a touch from Harry's large hand on her arm or between her shoulder blades when her balance teetered.

He led them through the mansion and to the valet where a different attendant now stood at the station. Harry gave the man a small nod before taking them sharply away from the bank of cars that had been valeted out of the way, out of the way to a glossy forest green Cadillac.

(Y/N) gaped in awe. She'd seen plenty of nice cars while living out here, but she'd never thought anyone actually drove them—not anyone real, like Harry, anyway.

Harry made to stand by the passenger side, holding open the back door for them to slip inside. "This is yours?" she asked, "Like, you drive it and everything?"

"I do, yeah. Like it?"

"The color is really pretty," (Y/N) shared, holding back the detail that it reminded her of the flecks of darker hues in his eyes.

"Thank you," he smiled.

Misty guided (Y/N) into the backseat then, following in to sit beside her a moment later. An amused look was on her friend's face. "You're a flirty drunk, huh?"

"Am I?" (Y/N) bubbled. Was it terribly obvious she thought Harry was pretty?

"A little," Misty laughed just as Harry took his own spot behind the wheel. "But, it's alright. It's good for you—you don't do it enough."

"Jus' straight home, right ladies?"

"Yes, please." Misty reached ahead where a folded map was sitting on the bench of the passenger seat. "Do you want me to give directions?"

Harry shrugged off the offer, "I think I've got it. Y'jus' keep an eye on her."

Looking forward, into the rearview mirror, (Y/N) caught Harry's eyes on her, creases touching the corners as a smile spread over his lips.

—————

"Bye, Mist. Call me tomorrow, please. I want to know how your meeting goes."

"I will," Misty murmured, giving (Y/N) a tired hug before she started inching towards the door, "When you get home, eat something and have some water before you go to sleep. And take off your makeup."

As much as (Y/N) wanted to stick to Misty's instructions, she knew herself well enough to know that those words had gone right through her. Nonetheless, she nodded her head. "Okay. Love you."

"Love you, too." Pushing the door open, Misty took a glance over her shoulder towards Harry in the front seat, who was fiddling with the radio dials on the dashboard. "Thank you for driving us home, Harry. I'm happy you aren't crazy."

"Me too," he smiled, turning to face her, "'M happy I could get y'home safely. Let me walk y'up."

(Y/N) watched as Harry escorted her friend up to her front door, giving her a perfect view of all of the lines of his body. Being cramped up in his car almost made her forget the full length of his height. As if there wasn't enough she would be thinking about once she was at her apartment.

Taking his seat back in the front seat once Misty was inside safely, Harry turned to look at (Y/N) over the bench seat. "Wanna sit up here with me? Or are y'comfortable back there?"

She didn't even have to think before she was scrambling to make her new spot at his side. "I wanna sit with you."

Although she'd never thought of herself as particularly funny, Harry seemed to think she was hilarious. Everything she said drew a laugh out of him.

Nonetheless, she hopped out of the backseat and found her new spot up in the passenger side of the bench seat beside Harry. Turning the key in the ignition, he pulled away from the curb of Misty's house before shooting a quick glance towards (Y/N).

"Want to find some music for us? I can only listen to the same advertisements so many times, you know," Harry prompted, nodding to the radio with a dip of his chin.

"The McDonald's one is the worst," (Y/N) bubbled, reaching over to play with the dials, "It's always on."

Harry agreed with a hum, following the directions Misty had given before she left for the night to head towards (Y/N)'s apartment. "What kind of music do y'like?"

"Anything fun," (Y/N) offered, shooting him a bright smile, "But, I really love The Zombies right now."

Perking up at her words, Harry glanced at her as he came to a stop sign. "The Zombies? What's your favorite song?"

(Y/N) couldn't help the bubbling of conversation that sprouted from her lips then, the radio dials left behind in favor of talking with Harry. He was the perfect listener, even while he was carefully getting her home, she didn't doubt he was listening in. More than once, she wasn't sure if he was only being kind given the fact she was bubbly with alcohol, but he encouraged her ramblings, feeding her his own opinions and asking her what she thought. (Y/N) could have stayed curled up in this space for much longer than the short ten minutes between her apartment and Misty's home.

By the time he pulled up to her apartment building, (Y/N) almost wanted to pout.

Only the hum of the engine sounded as he paused in his seat, pulling his wallet from the pocket of his trousers. Casualy, he thumbed through the bills he had ticked inside the leather, grabbing more than (Y/N) would make in tips even during a busy Friday night shift at the restaurant. He passed the wad off to her.

"Use this to take a taxi to get your car tomorrow," Harry instructed, giving her a soft smile, "I know y'didn't really plan on leaving it overnight, so I'd like to take care of the drive back for you."

(Y/N) hesitated. "Are you sure? That's kind of a lot."

He shrugged, "'S my fault y'left it. I don't mind."

Gingerly, she pulled the cash out of his hand. "Are you going to be there tomorrow?"

"Probably not," he smiled, another laugh from his lungs.

Juxtaposing his amusement, the beginnings of a pout touched her lips. "So, I won't see you again."

"Not tomorrow," he clarified, raising a brow, "But, maybe soon."

Just like he did for Misty, Harry walked (Y/N) up to the door of her building, keeping her from stumbling up the stairs that led to the glass door.

"You're alright to get up by yourself, or do y'want me to go with you?"

As much as she would have liked to get him to spend a handful of minutes more with her, (Y/N) shook her head. He'd done a lot for her tonight already. "I'll be okay, but thank you. For everything tonight. You kind of saved the day for Misty.

"'S easier this way," he smiled, "And much more fun than trying to kick people out of the house with John doing nothing to help."

"Is he your best friend?" (Y/N) asked, stalling a bit despite her better judgment.

"A little," Harry said, lifting his shoulders in a shrug, "But he definitely doesn't have as good of taste in music as y'do."

Much like the first time she spotted him this evening, (Y/N) felt her skin warm at his words. "If you get a chance to listen to that album, let me know what you think."

"I definitely will, love. But, you've got to get to bed first."

"Right," she said, attempting to sober up with a nod, "Thank you again."

"Of course, (Y/N). Goodnight."

Harry waited until she was safely inside, where she went on to practically float up the stairs with the sound of his accent wrapped around her name echoing in her head. Now in the quiet of her apartment, among her things, the bubbling excitement she'd felt throughout the evening simmered down to a dreamy haze.

She'd had one of the most fun nights she'd had since moving to the city, and it ended with her being taken care of by one of the most beautiful men she'd ever seen. After tugging off her boots, she pulled out the cash he'd given her, counting out the abundant amount of bills he'd passed off to her. Thumbing through them, she stopped when she reached the middle of the wad, where a thick white business card was tucked between.

Separating the cash from the card, (Y/N) flipped it over to find black script printed over the paper.

Harry Styles.

She didn't even try to bite back the wide smile touching her lips.

—————

brigitte bardot, model, actress, and singer; a timeless icon of the 60's

ahhhhh! so happy to finally share this little part of bardot with you guys! once again this is a patreon exclusive with every part after this one only being available on my page! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any fun ideas please send them in!!!

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maxidentscene · 1 year ago

Text

healing

⚘ genre. fluff, comfort

⚘ members. ot8

⚘ synopsis. skz taking care of you after a hard day

chan gets you tucked into bed

As soon as you walked into the apartment, your heavy bags hit the tiled floor and disrupted the music coming from Chan’s room. He came prancing out, smile wide until he caught sight of the miserable look on your face

“What has you so sad, my baby?” He frowns, cupping your cheeks with his rough palms before bringing one to the back of your head, pushing you forward into his arms. “Do you wanna go out? I’ll treat you to dinner, we can go on a walk or go shopping, whatever you want.”

“I don’t wanna do much else today,” you mumbled into his shoulder, letting all of the tension today has brought leave your body. Now that you were in your safe spot, you could finally relax

He felt the way you melted and only nodded in response, awkwardly shuffling you to his room, giggling in the process at the way you refused to let go of him. Once you reached the foot of his bed, he gently pushed you down before fluffing up all of your pillows and tucking the fluffiest of blankets under your body

“This better?” His smile deepened when you nodded contently. Leaning down to place a kiss on your cheek, he left you to nap while he got back to what he was doing

lee know is quick to run you a bath

Minho disappears from your room without much of a word after you open up to him about how your day has went, and at first you felt a little offended. Then you were reminded of how warm and considerate he is when you heard the faucet creak on, the sound of water filling the bath

Once he’s back, he reaches a hand out for you to take. “There aren’t any bubbles but I dug out a bath bomb.” He leads you to the bathroom, giggling a bit to himself. “I think it’s a few decades old, though.”

The face you make at him pulls out a louder laugh and you feel your heart already getting lighter. Finally, the gentle heat hits your face as you enter the bathroom and you can’t help but get emotional

He’s quick to reciprocate when you wrap a lazy arm around his form, nuzzling your cheek into the material of his sweater. The two of you stay like that for a moment, basking in the fruity but peculiar scent of the exploded bath bomb in the water. “Thank you. What are you gonna do?”

“Look for an online shop and find some bath bombs that aren’t expired,” he huffs seriously, making your face light up with giggles

changbin offers the warmest of cuddles

Seeing you with a sad pout on your face has him thrown in a loop, his brain is scrambling for the perfect remedy. Finally, he settles with pulling you to the couch for a nice, long, well deserved cuddle sesh

“You’re all good here now,” he urges you to calm down, let your body mold on top of his as he runs a hand down your back. The scent of his cologne was wearing off but it still smelt so strong when you were in his arms like this. It was your favorite scent in the world

Bin smiled at the way you nuzzled yourself into him, a hand coming up to massage the back of your neck. It felt good to have someone to nurture and care for, he’s a natural giver and nothing makes his heart happier than helping you unwind after such a harsh week

“You smell good,” you sighed out, accepting defeat and letting your body rest onto his, planting your aching head into the crook of his neck and breathing him in. The long days felt doable if this is what you get to come home to

His chest moved with a hearty laugh, your head bobbing up with it. “I can’t stink in front of you!”

hyunjin cooks up your favorite meal

As soon as Hyune received a text from you saying that you’d be staying late, he got busy. He’s very observant and has caught on days ago that you were absolutely swamped with work and he finally gathered the ingredients to make you the most perfect dinner

This was something that he had planned out slowly but surely, wanting to get every detail right. If there was one thing that could throw Hyunjin off, it would be the fact that you were in a bad headspace. He just could not stand it

Determined to lighten you up a bit, he decided to do something special. Running around the kitchen left and right had proved to be quite the workout for him and he lost track of time

So, when you walked in only to be greeted with a sweet boyfriend who had stains all over his apron and his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, he was shocked to say the least. Your body went on autopilot and dropped your keys to the counter, not caring about how he looked a bit like a mad scientist. “You didn’t have to do all of this,” you wrapped tired arms around him

A hand came up to stroke your head, you could feel his lips forming a smile against your neck. “Just sit down and eat,” he placed a kiss before playfully pushing you to your seat at the table

han plans the perfect movie date

He knows how slumps are, he knows how exhausting life can be and he always wished that he had someone to hold him when times were rough. When you came along, he found what he had been dreaming of and he wanted to reciprocate this warm feeling, so a movie date scheduled outside seemed like the perfect fix for your busy life lately

Like the genius he is, Jisung kept strict track of your work schedules and asked you to come over on the one day you had open. From there, he bought blankets and candles and gathered a projector screen from the company

You were more than surprised to find the cutest set up ever. Blankets and pillows scattered in the grass, candles lit to keep the bugs away, a fire on the side and a projector ready to go with a movie the two of you had been wanting to see

“Do you like it?” He asked with a nervous bite to his lip, sprawled out on the fluffy pillows with his hand stuffed in a bag of jellies. The effort that all of this took had your bottom lip quivering and you could only plop down right next to him, letting him secure his arms around you

You felt so lucky to be loved by someone as thoughtful as him. Han had a magic touch to him, it was impossible to not adore him

felix offers up a famous massage

Just like every other day, Felix is waiting on the other side of the door like a puppy ready to greet it’s owner, eyes scanning and heart beating with anticipation for the door to fly open. He’s eager to hear your laugh and see the warm smile on your lips, eager to give you a kiss and help you settle, eager to have the company of his favorite person back

But, everyone has bad days. You weren’t laughing and you weren’t smiling, the exhaustion was practically radiating off of you, and he wrapped his arms around you immediately. The first thing he noticed was how awfully tense your shoulders were, and that couldn’t slip past Lee Felix ever

“Hey,” he ran a hand down your back before letting go and gracing you with a gentle smile. “How about you go change into those comfy pants you like and lay down for me?”

You already knew he was planning out the best massage of a lifetime and you were far from disappointed, nodding your tired head and doing exactly as you were told. The room enveloped you in warmth and your bed caught your harsh fall as you flopped forward once changed

His gentle, small hands were on your shoulders instantly. Every rub and knead at your muscles helped you slip into a sleepy haze, mind finally at ease and guard down. This was your happy place, Felix worked wonders with his hands and you now understood why the team would never shut up about his massage skills

seungmin sits and listens to your worries

As always, Seungmin is an advocate for communication. He encourages you to talk about the things that make you happy or upset and listens with open ears. The current moment is no different as he sits you in his lap, resting his cheek against your shoulder as you melt into his hold and let everything out

“Everything about today was exhausting,” you cover your face with your hands and he sits with patience, fingers playing with your clothes and heart steadily beating against your back. “Just glad that I have someone like you to come home to.”

That comment fills Seungmin up with pride, a smile so wide on his face that his cheeks hurt. All he has ever wanted was to become the safest space for the one he loves, he wanted to tend to your needs unlike anyone else who has done so before

You go on about the little things that added to your poor mood and he hums in response, the soft scent of his shampoo dissipating every negative feeling in your body. You become silent and it hits you that he smells like home, comfort, and warmth. He feels like security, he is love itself

Leaning behind you, you plant the smallest kiss on his cheek as a silent thanks. He reciprocates with one of his own, sliding a hand up your back and bringing it back down

jeongin plans a small but powerful gesture

It was no secret that the last few days have been rough on you, work and social life both beating you down at once. Jeongin would sit in bed with you and listen to your venting, his heart heavy with want and need to help you feel better. Alas, a lightbulb went off and a plan began formulating in his head after almost a week of stressful days

Without you knowing, your boyfriend had picked up a few items from a few different store outlets, consisting of sweets and jewelry and self care products. They were gathered into the cutest basket with the biggest bow tied on the handle, Jeongin was very proud of it

The icing on the cake was a small bouquet of flowers, carefully placed on the table in front of the basket. These were paired with a handwritten note, one that took him a long time to write. This had been the most effort that he had put into making someone feel better and it felt so right to do it for you

He wished he could record your reaction to watch back on bad days, but he wanted this to be as intimate as possible. All of the work and time spent was worth the big smile on your face and the slight mist building in your eyes

He had decided that he would put his entire being into loving you and taking care of you once you pulled him into a hug. Of course, he laughed his breathy laugh and kept his signature smile on as he accepted your gratitude

#bang chan x reader #chan x reader #lee know x reader #minho x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #in x reader #skz #skz x reader #stray kids comfort #skz fluff #skz headcannons #skz comfort #stray kids x reader

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lethalchiralium · 1 year ago

Text

Drag Me Under | Happiness Series

a/n: ITS THE LAST POST BEFORE THE NEW YEARS!

warnings: mentions of drugging

summary: One moment, you’re home - the next? You’re somewhere you don’t recognize with people you don’t recognize either, holding one of your most precious valuables.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

There’s Simon, the cuddly man who adores being a girl dad and being a good husband. He’s quiet, he smiles, he loves holding either of his daughters for long periods of time - you’d be surprised if Mellie even learns to walk. He loves to kiss your head, loves to hold you, loves to be near you.

He plays dolls, he does tea parties, begrudgingly dresses up when asked by Winnie, but he still does it all with a smile on his face. He brushes little teeth in the morning and night, he changes diapers before you could ever try to, he hates tying his daughter’s shoes since she cries about leaving home and her toys. He kisses skinned knees, fingers bitten by Mellie, and stubbed toes.

That’s your Simon.

So when you come home crying from what was supposed to be a “day off” to go shopping and a spa day, Simon is there. He took one look at you when you came in the front door, four hours too early, he knew something was wrong. He put the baby in her bouncer, gently patted Winnie’s head, and made his way to you.

His hands touched your elbows, your hands were up shielding your face. His hands slid up, pulling yours away to look at your tear-stained face. You told him what happened, that a man harassed you at the coffee shop you went to right before you were meant to go to the spa. You quietly repeated what he said through tears and soft sobs, not wanting to describe how the man touched your back, but still detailing how he followed you - how you remembered what Simon said, wove through back streets until you found a tram and made your way home.

It’s not the first time you’ve been harassed, but it was one of the scariest. You wrapped around arms around your husband’s neck, expecting him to mold right to your body but he didn’t. His hands settled on your cheek and hip, a chaste kiss on your ear before he said he needed to go out for a pack of cigarettes.

It wasn’t until fifteen minutes later that you found a fresh pack on the kitchen counter, just out of reach of the girls. His wallet, his keys, both on the tile far out of reach - two things were missing from his “pile”. His knife, which has your first date with Simon etched on the side, and a balaclava with a skull painted onto its face.

The man who left your house wasn’t Simon, you knew that for sure when hours after you had put the girls to bed, there was a soft knock on the front door. Three, pause, one, pause, two. The man you opened the door to had bloody knuckles, a ripped shirt, and prideful eyes.

You moved aside, closing the front door and watching the anomaly as it observed you, brown eyes detailing your face. The man who stood in your front hallway, coated in blood on his stomach and arms was called Ghost.

You were always weary of Ghost. Simon disappears under his armor to be someone else, something else - a machine. Well oiled, maintained, and reliable. No feelings, they only get in the way. Ghost was the monster your husband was made to be, but Simon was the man you made into a husband. So when you pulled off the balaclava to a smile full of red, blood beginning to drip from his teeth - your heart sank. Like a dog, he shows you his injuries so you can take pride in them. But you don’t.

“What did you do?”

“I-“

“No.” You shook like a leaf, you weren’t scared that he was going to hurt you - you were scared he had killed someone. For you. “Why did you do that?”

“He touched you.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “I didn’t tell you that.”

“Your body did.”

You fought tears then.

“Are you hurt?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“What did you do to him?”

It doesn’t take a genius to see that you were scared. And it doesn’t take much to see how the armor began to be broken, that Simon was slowly peeking through.

“I didn’t kill him.” He said, hand gently resting on your arm. “He’ll be spending a couple days in hospital, he learned his lesson.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know.” He nodded in acknowledgment. “But no one gets away with making you cry.”

•••

“She’s pretty.”

A cold hand touched your chin, you could barely move a muscle in your body. Your chest clenched with anxiety. Where were you? Who was talking? It sounded nothing like König’s Austrian accent, or anyone else you knew. Not any of the 141, no man you’ve ever heard.

“Did you get that baby to sleep?”

You felt sick at that exact second. Where was Mellie? Why couldn’t you open your eyes? You were holding her before… Oh god. Someone had gotten into the house, you were dragged out with Mellie - right past a bleeding out König. Nausea settled into your stomach like heavy ink, coating everything.

“Out like a light. Nothing a little morphine doesn’t fix.”

You could’ve thrown up at that second if it wasn’t for your body responding to any attempt to move, the air you took in to breathe was little. What did they give me? Why did they take Mellie? Is Winnie okay? Oh god, König. Laswell. Roach. Please have my daughter. Please save this one too.

“Boss said to leave them down here, right?”

“Yep. She should be waking up soon anyway.” There a slight chuckle. “Shame he won’t let us have our way like he usually does.”

“Apparently this one’s special, or whatever.”

“Sure. She’s married to a special forces operator. Boss knows which one, hope he knows what he’s doing.”

“The guy MI6?”

There’s a creak, a door slamming above you.

“Shit, he’s back already.”

“Let’s go. They’re fine.”

Creaking, more movement until a door opened, slammed shut, and there was a sharp metal thud - it sounded like a deadbolt. You could barely feel your fingers as you listened to the conversation upstairs, it seemed the floor was incredibly thin.

“Are they asleep?”

Lloyd.

Your thoughts were instantly engulfed in flames even though you were freezing cold; the ink turned to oil, your nausea turning into anger. Lloyd fucking Riley. Your father in law was behind this. Then it clicked. He was casing the house when he knocked. Laswell appearing must have thrown him off. He must have wanted to kidnap you himself.

It took all of your might, but your eyes sluggishly opened - your sight blurry, but you could see for the most part. The room you were in was dark, the only light seeping through was from the ceiling - in between rotting floorboards. You could see exactly where the men were standing; all right above you. You couldn’t tell feel much else, but at least you could see and hear. What did they drug you with? Hopefully the morphine they gave Mellie wasn’t enough to hurt her.

“Good.” A laugh. “She’s a darling little thing.”

“What, the baby?”

“Yes. And she’s beautiful too.”

“She is. Not sure why you’re not letting us-“

A step forward, four feet take a step back. “Touch her and I’ll slit your throats.” Silence for just a beat, boot snapped against a shin. “She is my plaything.” He then snapped in Russian, which you couldn’t understand a thing.

You tried not to be an angry person. You were committed to showing your girls that anger isn’t the answer. But it festered like a fever, slowly yet throughly seeping through your muscles. If anything happened to your daughter, you had no idea what you would do. Anything short of murder - you couldn’t even think of taking someone else’s life. That was Simon’s job.

Simon. Oh God, Simon.

There was hushed talking above you, you struggled to look around the room, trying to find your baby. Cardboard boxes, filled to the brim bins, a bookshelf with a broken shelf.

Find what you can use as a weapon. Nothing is off limits. If it can be used to stun or incapacitate your enemy, use it. Don’t let it go unless you have to. You could hear Simon speaking to you. He’d be here if he knew. You’d be out of here if he knew.

It’s okay. Stay calm. Find Melody.

You forced your legs to move, one by one and over the edge of the bed, you clenched your fists as best you could to gain more feeling in your arms. They definitely drugged you more intensely than they could have Mellie, it made you nauseous. You were able to sit up, your head spun and you fought to keep yourself from throwing up. You forced yourself to stand, you took a glance around. The closest things to you were a cardboard box, a broken laundry basket, and a ripped towel. You peered into the large cardboard box pushed against the wall and your shoulders dropped, anxiety flushed out of your chest as you instantly reached down to your sleeping daughter. “Oh Mellie baby.” Your weak arms scooped your sleeping baby, you kept her firmly against your chest as you moved back to the bed. You checked her over, making note that she wasn’t hurt - only a needle mark in her arm. It made you sick.

You kept her there in your arms for an hour, listening to hushed voices with fear in your heart. She barely woke up, forehead still warm - her fever having not broken yet. She was clammy. You were more terrified of your baby dying than you could ever be of the situation you were in.

You put Mellie on your bed for a few minutes after the first hour of being awake so you could scavenge the room for something, anything that they may have brought for you or Mellie. All you found was one of your old diaper bags with a handful of diapers, one bottle, half a bag of wipes and no medicine. You dumped it out into the raggedy quilt on the bed, pulling out all of the pockets with tears of worry in your eyes. You had nothing for her. You put what you had away, then returned to your spot - Mellie in your arms as she quietly slept.

The footsteps grew louder after a few minutes, then a door was opened - it sounded like the one at the top of the stairs. You held your baby even closer to your chest, pulling your legs up and trying to make her seem invisible. You watched as the figure you dreaded appeared - a distinctly harsher looking Lloyd Riley. He had cleaned himself up to case your house, now he was dressed in thick flannels, dark pants, and tattered boots. Clearly bundled up to fight the cold while you were left in an old t-shirt and sweatpants, your daughter in a thin onesie.

He reached the bottom of the steps, a sick smirk tugged at his lips before he spoke. “You lied to me.”

You didn’t say a word.

“You are married to my son. You’re my daughter-in-law.” He smiled. “You’re a Riley.”

Your baby moved her arm, you didn’t look down.

“That baby of yours looks so much like my Tommy when he was that small. Can I hold her?”

“No.”

“She speaks.”

“I need medicine.”

Lloyd’s arms crossed, you felt your chest grow tight with fear. “What for?”

“My baby is sick.” Your voice was quieter than before, anxiety settled in heavy increments in your body. “I almost broke the fever but then you fucking took us from our home.”

Lloyd took a step back, nodding slightly. “Fine. That’s the only thing you get to ask for.”

“I don’t care if I don’t get to ask for anything else. She needs medicine.”

He doesn’t say a thing, only turning and walking back up the steps. You heard the door slam, the deadbolt click, and the creaking footsteps. You would’ve used your energy to keep listening to him, but your daughter began to stir in your arms. You looked down at her, silent tears ran down your face.

Simon, please hurry.

•••

“Hey darling, you didn’t answer my calls yesterday or today. I know I’m probably reading too much into it and being paranoid, I’m just worried.

“I um- I’ll be going dark for a few days, and I’d like to hear your voice before then. So call me back when you can, yeah?

“I love you. Kiss the girls for me.”

Simon ended the voicemail, pulling the phone from his ear before slipping it into his pocket. The cigarette between his fingers felt heavy as he pulled it up to his lips, taking a long drag before flicking it onto the ground. He ground the cigarette butt into the tarmac before he pulled his balaclava back down, his hands gripped the rifle attached to his front.

He normally would keep his phone in his locker, but now he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He walked towards the overhang, where Soap stood with a concerned look.

“No answer?”

Simon fished the phone out from his pocket, handing it to his sergeant. “No. She’s busy with the baby.” His friend gave him a look, one Simon knew wouldn’t go away until he investigated further. But Simon was confident in the security of three operators in his home. “She’s fine. Laswell would call me and tell me if she wasn’t.”

“I gotta bad feelin’, LT.”

“Your bad feelings have been wrong before.” He stared at Soap, annoyed. He wasn’t more anxious than he already was about leaving them, why is everyone making such a big deal about it? “Soap-“

“Hurry up, Soap, put that phone in your locker.” Price barked as he marched in between Simon and the sergeant, Soap gave him one last look before disappearing back into the barracks. Price was quickly followed by Gaz, who waved for Simon to follow as well.

“Shit.” He muttered, knowing he was late. “What happened?”

“Spotted one of the goons near Piccadilly Circus.” Gaz answered, Simon began to jog towards them. “Overwatch thinks they have eyes on their hideout.”

“Let’s go get ‘em, then.”

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#happiness series #happiness #lethalchiralium #lethal chiralium #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x wife!reader #simon riley x wife!reader #simon riley x f!reader

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hurriane23456 · 24 days ago

Text

Through Another’s Eyes

Elliot Bennett had always thought his job was peculiar, to say the least. He worked at Mimic Studio, a company renowned for its hyper-realistic masks. These weren’t the kind of masks you’d find at a costume shop; they were masterpieces, crafted with such precision that they transformed the wearer entirely. Each came with a full outfit, contact lenses to match the eye color, and shoes to complete the look. Mimic catered to movie studios, high-end cosplayers, and a few private clients who didn’t explain why they needed to look like someone else.

Elliot was a junior marketing intern, responsible for social media posts. He wasn’t an artist; and never got close to the merchandise. That evening, he found himself alone at the studio, the whirring machines and half-finished molds silent around him. It was rare for him to have the space to himself, and as he walked into the Mask Room, he couldn’t help but feel the pull of curiosity.

The Mask Room was where the completed works were displayed—rows and rows of lifelike faces suspended on mannequin heads. The designs ranged from average-looking men to strikingly handsome models. The outfits accompanying them hung nearby, tailored to perfection. Elliot’s eyes landed on a mask he’d never seen before: a rugged, stubbled face with piercing blue eyes and a square jaw. The tag read: "Jason – Outdoorsman."

He hesitated but finally gave in, locking the door to ensure no one walked in on him.

Elliot unhooked the mask and carried it to the changing area. The accompanying outfit was folded neatly beside it: a flannel shirt, distressed jeans, and brown hiking boots. His fingers tingled with excitement and nerves as he stripped out of his work clothes, standing in just his socks before pulling on the jeans. They fit snugly, hugging his legs in a way that made him glance at himself in the full-length mirror.

The flannel shirt was next—soft, perfectly worn in, and rolled up at the cuffs. He slipped on the boots, their weight and rugged soles giving him the impression he’d just come back from a mountain hike.

Now for the mask.

Elliot picked it up, marveling at the detail: the faint freckles across the nose, the hint of crow’s feet at the corners of the eyes. He stretched it gently, noticing how pliable yet durable the material felt, before slipping it over his head. The inside was cool against his skin, and he adjusted the edges until they blended perfectly with his neck.

When he looked in the mirror, he gasped. Jason the Outdoorsman stared back at him. Elliot popped in the blue contact lenses, completing the transformation. His reflection didn’t just look like someone else—it felt like someone else. He smirked, tilting his head, running a hand over the stubble that felt impossibly real.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. He rolled his shoulders, suddenly feeling like he could chop wood or trek through a forest.

He could’ve stopped there, but the thrill was addictive. Elliot peeled off the mask reluctantly, placed it back on its stand, and scanned the shelves for his next choice. His eyes landed on "Mason – Business Tycoon."

The outfit was a three-piece suit: charcoal gray with a crisp white shirt, a silk tie, and polished black dress shoes. Elliot stripped down again, feeling a bit silly standing in his boxers in the sterile studio, but excitement overpowered his hesitation.

The suit fit him like a glove, the fabric smooth and expensive against his skin. He adjusted the tie, the Windsor knot sitting perfectly at his throat. The shoes, shiny enough to see his reflection, clicked satisfyingly on the tiled floor.

Mason’s mask was next. It had a clean-shaven jaw, slightly tanned skin, and sharp cheekbones. Once he slipped it on, he inserted the hazel contact lenses and stared at himself.

He looked powerful. Confident. Like a man who owned skyscrapers and never took no for an answer. He straightened his tie in the mirror and let out a low laugh.

“What’s my next big deal?” he joked to himself, his voice deep and commanding.

By now, Elliot was fully immersed in the game. He pulled Mason off, carefully reassembling the set, and reached for something more daring. His hand hovered over a mask labeled "Ryan – Rock Star."

The outfit was bold: ripped black jeans, a leather jacket, a fitted black T-shirt, and combat boots. There were even accessories—silver rings, a chain necklace, and sunglasses.

Slipping into the clothes felt like stepping into a different world. The leather jacket was buttery soft, the rings cool against his fingers. He placed the sunglasses on top of his head, letting them rest in his tousled brown wig—the mask came with hair this time, styled in perfectly disheveled waves.

Ryan’s face had a roguish smirk, a faint scar above his eyebrow, and piercing green eyes. Once he had the mask on, Elliot completed the look with the green lenses and stepped back.

He didn’t just look like a rock star. He felt like one. He struck a pose, pretending to hold a guitar, and laughed.

“This is insane,” he muttered, his voice raspy and full of swagger.

Elliot was riding a high. Each transformation was more thrilling than the last. He could feel the studio’s silence around him, but it only heightened the sense of intimacy with his newfound game. Placing the rock star set carefully back on its stand, he scanned the rows for his next choice.

His gaze landed on something unusual: a mask labeled "Liam – Athlete." The mannequin head sported a short buzz cut and a face glistening with sweat, as if Liam had just finished a grueling workout.

The outfit was a basketball jersey and matching shorts, complete with a pair of size-13 sneakers. A duffel bag sat beside the mannequin, holding accessories like a wristband and a water bottle.

Elliot couldn’t resist. He stripped down and pulled on the jersey and shorts. They felt cool and lightweight, clinging to his body in a way that made him acutely aware of every movement. The sneakers were enormous compared to his regular size, but they fit perfectly, thanks to the padding built into the soles.

The mask was different from the others—it came with a slight sheen, replicating the effect of perspiration. Elliot slipped it on, adjusting it carefully, and popped in the brown contact lenses.

The mirror revealed someone who looked fresh off a basketball court: a chiseled jawline, a confident smirk, and broad shoulders that seemed almost too big to be his own. Elliot flexed an arm experimentally, laughing at how the mask made his wiry frame appear like a professional athlete’s.

“Game on,” he said, his voice carrying a new edge.

As he returned Liam’s set to its place, Elliot felt something shift. The masks weren’t just disguises anymore; they were identities. Each time he looked in the mirror, he felt less like Elliot and more like the man staring back.

He hesitated, his hand hovering over a shelf filled with more masks. Should he stop? He shook his head. No one was here to judge him. He could stop whenever he wanted.

His fingers brushed against a mask labeled "Dominic – Undercover Agent." The face was rugged, with a five o’clock shadow and a slight scar running down one cheek. The outfit was a tactical ensemble: a black turtleneck, combat pants, and utility boots. A leather holster and fake earpiece completed the look.

This time, Elliot didn’t hesitate. He undressed quickly, feeling a rush as he pulled on the tactical pants and secured the belt around his waist. The turtleneck hugged his frame, making him feel both sleek and dangerous.

The boots were heavier than the others, clunking solidly on the floor as he paced. Finally, he pulled on Dominic’s mask, the material molding perfectly to his features. The scar added an air of danger, and the steely gray contact lenses gave his gaze an intensity that made him shiver.

When he stared into the mirror, Elliot felt like a stranger to himself. He reached for the holster, strapping it across his chest, and slid the fake earpiece into place.

“Agent Bennett,” he whispered to himself, testing the new persona. He turned sharply, pretending to clear a room, his movements sharp and precise.

Elliot’s exhilaration outweighed his caution. He scanned the shelves for one last transformation, his eyes landing on a mask labeled "Malik – Urban Legend."

The mask was striking, with smooth dark skin, a neatly shaped beard, and bold features that radiated charisma. The accompanying outfit hung nearby: an oversized hoodie, baggy jeans, and a pair of pristine white sneakers. A thick gold chain rested on the mannequin's chest, completing the ensemble.

Elliot hesitated for a moment. The set was unlike anything he’d tried before, and he felt a twinge of uncertainty. But the thrill was irresistible.

Stripping down, he reached for the hoodie first. It was heavy and warm, the fabric thick enough to feel substantial. He tugged it over his head, the hood settling comfortably around his neck. The jeans were loose, pooling slightly around the tops of the sneakers when he slipped them on. The chain was the final touch, cool against his chest.

Now for the mask.

Elliot picked it up carefully, noting the incredible detail: the texture of the skin, the subtle highlights on the nose and cheekbones, the natural sheen of the beard. Sliding it over his face, he adjusted it until it fit seamlessly. The brown contact lenses were a perfect match for the mask’s warm, expressive eyes.

When he turned to the mirror, the transformation was complete.

Elliot barely recognized himself. Malik’s broad shoulders and confident stance felt worlds apart from his usual frame. The oversized clothes emphasized a casual, effortless style that made him look like he belonged on a street corner or a music video set. He smirked, leaning into the persona.

“What’s up?” he muttered, deepening his voice. He laughed, shaking his head at how different he sounded.

He struck a pose, pulling the hood up over his head, and turned sideways in the mirror. The way the sneakers gleamed under the fluorescent lights added to the image, making him feel like someone who turned heads wherever he went.

Elliot was so absorbed in Malik’s reflection that he didn’t hear the faint click of the studio door unlocking.

-----

“Elliot. What are you doing?”

The voice froze him in place. He spun around, heart pounding, to see Mr. Calloway, his supervisor, standing in the doorway with one eyebrow raised. Calloway’s sharp suit and polished shoes looked completely out of place in the dimly lit studio, but his expression was impossible to misread: curiosity, amusement, and just a hint of annoyance.

“Uh… I… I was just, uh… testing the fit,” Elliot stammered. The deep voice of Malik spilled out of his mouth, making his excuse sound even more absurd.

Calloway took a step forward, folding his arms as he looked Elliot up and down. “Testing the fit, huh?” His lips twitched into a small smirk. “Well, you do look good, I’ll give you that.”

Elliot’s cheeks burned under the mask. He started to peel it off, fumbling with the edges.

“Stop.”

The command made him freeze. Calloway tilted his head, his gaze thoughtful.

“Put the hood back up,” he said.

Elliot hesitated, then obeyed, pulling the hood over his head again. Calloway paced slowly around him, inspecting the outfit from every angle.

“Hm,” Calloway said finally. “I always wondered how these looked in action. You wear it well.”

Elliot shifted awkwardly. “I-I didn’t mean to—”

Calloway waved a hand, cutting him off. “Relax. I’m not mad. But since you’re already having fun…” He gestured to the rows of masks. “Pick one out for me.”

Elliot blinked, unsure if he’d heard correctly. “What?”

“You heard me,” Calloway said, a glint of mischief in his eye. “If you’re going to play dress-up, let’s see what you can do with me.”

“You want me to… pick one?” Elliot asked, dumbfounded.

Calloway shrugged. “I’ve always been curious about these things. Might as well indulge.”

Elliot hesitated, but Calloway’s expectant look made it clear he wasn’t joking. Elliot scanned the shelves, searching for something drastically different from Calloway’s usual polished, buttoned-up look. His eyes landed on a set labeled "Jax – The Punk Rebel."

The mask had a youthful, edgy vibe: messy black hair with streaks of electric blue, a pierced eyebrow, and sharp cheekbones. The outfit was equally bold: a black leather jacket covered in studs, a ripped band T-shirt, tight black jeans, and heavy combat boots. A chain dangled from the pants, and fingerless gloves completed the look.

Elliot hesitated for a moment before pulling it down. He held it up with a small smirk. “How about this one?”

Calloway raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “You want me to dress like that?”

“Well,” Elliot said, a little braver now, “you did say you wanted to try something different.”

Calloway sighed but took the set. “Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Elliot stepped back as Calloway began changing. Watching his boss trade in his tailored suit for tight jeans and a leather jacket was surreal. The combat boots added a heavy stomp to his normally quiet, calculated steps.

Finally, Calloway picked up the mask. The punk's wild hair and defiant smirk were a far cry from his usual clean-cut look. He adjusted it carefully, making sure the edges fit perfectly before popping in the bright blue contact lenses.

When Calloway turned to the mirror, Elliot couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“Well?” Calloway asked, his voice a deep rasp that suited the rebellious persona. He adjusted the leather jacket, striking a mockingly defiant pose. “How do I look?”

“Like someone who’d get kicked out of their own office,” Elliot joked, still grinning.

Calloway chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve got a strange sense of humor, Bennett.” He stepped closer to the mirror, inspecting the transformation. “I have to admit, this is… fun. A little ridiculous, but fun.”

Before Elliot could answer, the studio door creaked open again. Both he and Calloway froze, the playful mood evaporating instantly. They turned toward the sound, expecting to see a coworker or perhaps security. Instead, a man in a black uniform with the company logo stepped inside, clipboard in hand.

It was Frank, the head of inventory.

Frank looked up and froze in his tracks, his eyes widening as he took in the scene: Elliot still wearing Malik’s oversized hoodie and baggy jeans, and Calloway transformed into Jax, the punk rebel.

“What the hell is going on here?” Frank demanded, his voice sharp.

Elliot’s stomach sank. Calloway, however, didn’t miss a beat. He stepped forward, his combat boots thudding heavily on the floor, and gave Frank a mischievous smirk.

“Relax, Frank,” Calloway said, his raspy, rebellious voice a perfect match for the punk persona. “We’re just… testing the merchandise.”

“Testing?” Frank repeated, incredulous. His eyes darted between the two of them. “Do you know how much trouble you could get into for messing with inventory like this? These are high-value items!”

Calloway waved a dismissive hand, clearly enjoying the role he was playing. “Come on, Frank. Don’t act like you’ve never been curious.”

Frank sputtered, clearly caught off guard by Calloway’s brazen attitude. Elliot, meanwhile, stood frozen, unsure whether to defend himself or stay silent.

Then, to Elliot’s shock, Calloway grinned and gestured toward the shelves. “Why don’t you join us? Pick one out. It’s not every day you get to see yourself as someone else.”

Frank blinked, his indignation faltering. “What?”

“You heard me,” Calloway said, leaning casually against the wall. “You’re always talking about inventory this, inventory that. Why not take a closer look? I mean, really experience it.”

Elliot stared at Calloway, his heart racing. Was he seriously inviting Frank to join them?

Frank hesitated, his grip on the clipboard tightening. Then his gaze shifted to the rows of masks, curiosity flickering in his eyes despite himself. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Maybe,” Calloway said with a shrug. “But you’ve got to admit—it’s tempting.”

Frank sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is a terrible idea.”

“And yet, you’re considering it,” Calloway pointed out, his smirk widening.

After a long pause, Frank set his clipboard down and stepped toward the shelves. Elliot exchanged a wide-eyed look with Calloway, who winked.

“What’s the craziest one here?” Frank muttered under his breath, scanning the options.

Elliot’s anxiety began to shift into a strange excitement as he realized the night had taken a completely unexpected turn.

Frank scanned the shelves, muttering to himself as his eyes darted over the masks. He stopped in front of a set labeled "Boone – The Outland Ranger."

The mask was rugged and wild-looking: sun-kissed skin, a thick unkempt beard, and sharp, weathered features. The outfit hanging nearby was equally striking: a sleeveless leather vest adorned with various patches, a pair of tan cargo pants tucked into scuffed combat boots, and a wide-brimmed hat with a feather stuck into the band. A leather holster with a prop revolver hung at the side, completing the ensemble.

“This one’s ridiculous,” Frank muttered, pulling it off the rack. He turned to Calloway and Elliot, holding it up for them to see. “What do you think?”

Calloway smirked, crossing his arms. “Perfect. Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes to be a ranger.”

Elliot bit back a grin as Frank sighed, clearly regretting every decision that had brought him here, and began stripping out of his uniform. He folded his shirt neatly, shooting a glare at Calloway when he caught the boss smirking.

The transformation began with the cargo pants, which fit loosely but comfortably. The leather vest was snug, its patches adding a gritty, rebellious touch. Frank hesitated at the holster but eventually strapped it on, adjusting it with a scowl.

Finally, he picked up the mask. It was heavier than he expected, the craftsmanship so detailed it seemed almost alive. He slipped it over his head, adjusting it until the edges vanished seamlessly into his neck. The transformation was instant: the tired, middle-aged inventory manager disappeared, replaced by Boone’s rugged, outdoorsy persona.

Elliot handed him the hazel contact lenses, which Frank inserted with surprising ease. Then he placed the wide-brimmed hat on his head, completing the look.

When Frank turned to the mirror, he froze.

“What the…” His voice was rough and deep, entirely unlike his usual tone. He leaned closer to his reflection, running a gloved hand over the mask’s beard. “This is insane.”

Calloway chuckled. “Told you. Looks good on you, though.”

Frank adjusted the holster, his expression a mix of disbelief and intrigue. “I look like I just stepped out of a western.” He struck a mock pose, drawing the prop revolver from its holster. “Bang, bang,” he muttered, smirking despite himself.

Elliot couldn’t hold back a laugh. “You’re a natural.”

Frank turned to face them, crossing his arms. “Okay, fine. I’ll admit it—this is… kind of cool. But if anyone finds out about this, we’re all getting fired.”

“Only if you don’t look the part,” Calloway teased, adjusting his leather jacket. “Now come on. Let’s see how these characters look together.”

Frank groaned but followed as Calloway led him and Elliot to a larger mirror on the other side of the room. The three of them stood side by side: Calloway as Jax, the rebellious punk; Frank as Boone, the rugged ranger; and Elliot as Malik, the urban legend.

For a moment, the absurdity of the situation faded, replaced by a strange sense of camaraderie.

“You know,” Calloway said, grinning, “we could pull off one hell of a heist looking like this.”

The three stood in front of the mirror, their reflections almost unrecognizable. The transformation wasn’t just physical—it was as though stepping into these personas unlocked something freer in each of them.

Calloway adjusted the chains on his jacket, his smirk now almost cocky. “You know, I’ve been running this place for years, and I’ve never actually tried these on. I gotta admit, they’re pretty incredible.”

Frank snorted, tugging at the brim of his hat. “Yeah, well, I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you’re dressed like a punk rock delinquent.” He gestured toward Calloway’s combat boots. “Those are a far cry from your usual loafers.”

“Hey,” Calloway shot back, “at least I look good. You look like you just walked out of a survivalist convention.”

Elliot chuckled, finally feeling relaxed enough to join the banter. “And I look like I should be running a streetball tournament.” He spread his arms, taking in his oversized hoodie and sneakers. “Guess we’ve all got our alter egos now.”

Frank shook his head, but a small smile crept onto his face. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Calloway said, raising an eyebrow. “Frank, look at us. We’re living the dream. For years, people have been buying these masks to become someone else, even just for a moment. And here we are, actually getting to experience it ourselves.”

Frank sighed, leaning against the counter. “You’ve got a point. It’s… kind of fun.” He glanced down at the prop revolver, spinning it idly before sliding it back into the holster. “Not gonna lie, I do feel pretty badass.”

“Exactly!” Calloway said, clapping him on the back. He turned to Elliot. “What about you, Bennett? Feeling like a whole new person?”

Elliot hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, I guess I do. It’s weird… but in a good way.”

The three of them fell into a comfortable silence, staring at their reflections. For a moment, they weren’t coworkers—they were characters, living in a shared fantasy.

Finally, Calloway broke the silence. “You know, we should make this a team-building exercise. Let everyone try on a mask, get a feel for the product.”

Frank groaned. “Please don’t. I don’t think I can handle seeing Jerry from accounting dressed like a Viking.”

Elliot laughed, picturing it. “Or Martha from HR as a biker chick.”

Calloway chuckled, shaking his head. “Fine, fine. But we’ll keep this between us for now. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Frank and Elliot said in unison.

“Good,” Calloway said, straightening his jacket. He turned to the mirror one last time, his expression softening. “Well, gentlemen, if nothing else, this has been a night to remember.”

Frank smirked. “Just as long as no one remembers it tomorrow.”

Elliot grinned, feeling a strange warmth in his chest. For the first time in a long while, work didn’t feel like work—it felt like an adventure.

Calloway leaned back against the counter, looking at Frank and Elliot with a mischievous glint in his eye. “All right, gentlemen,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “We’ve tried on our alter egos. Now let’s take it up a notch.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by ‘take it up a notch’?”

Calloway smirked. “We switch. Each of us gets to experience someone else’s transformation. It’s only fair.”

Elliot blinked, his pulse quickening. “You mean… you want us to trade outfits and masks?”

“Exactly,” Calloway said, pushing off the counter. “Come on, don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little sweat.”

Frank groaned, rubbing his temples. “This is getting out of hand.”

“And yet,” Calloway said, pointing at him, “you’re not saying no.”

Frank hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

Elliot swallowed hard, feeling both nervous and intrigued. He glanced at Calloway’s punk-inspired outfit, then at Frank’s rugged ranger look. Both felt so far removed from his own urban style that the thought of stepping into either was dizzying.

Calloway clapped his hands. “All right, here’s how this works. We’ll go one at a time. Frank, you’ll start by switching with me. Elliot, you’re next. Sound good?”

Frank shrugged. “Might as well get it over with.”

Frank unbuckled the holster from his waist, the leather strap creaking as he handed it to Calloway. “Here. Start with this.”

Calloway took it, slipping it on with ease before removing his own leather jacket. The studs glinted under the studio lights as he passed it to Frank. “And this is yours.”

Frank slipped the jacket on, the heavy material fitting snugly over his broad shoulders. The band T-shirt came next, and he grimaced as he pulled it over his head. “This thing’s damp,” he muttered, feeling the residual heat from Calloway’s body.

Calloway laughed as he tugged on the ranger vest. “That’s the price of admission.”

The pants were next, and Elliot couldn’t look away as the two men swapped. Frank struggled to wiggle into the tight black jeans, muttering under his breath about how restrictive they were. Meanwhile, Calloway adjusted the cargo pants, clearly amused by how loose they felt compared to his usual attire.

Finally, they exchanged masks. Frank hesitated as he peeled off the Boone mask, revealing his flushed face beneath. The inside of the mask glistened with sweat, and he handed it to Calloway with a grimace. “This is disgusting.”

Calloway took it without hesitation, slipping it over his head. He adjusted it, the bearded face settling into place seamlessly. “There we go,” he said, his voice now rough and deep like Boone’s.

Frank picked up the Jax mask, grimacing at the sticky interior. “I swear, if I get a rash from this…” He trailed off as he slid it on, the punk’s sharp features replacing his own.

When they turned to face the mirror, Elliot couldn’t help but laugh. Calloway, now dressed as the rugged ranger, looked completely at ease, while Frank’s transformation into the rebellious punk was hilariously out of character.

“How do I look?” Frank asked, his new voice rasping like sandpaper.

“Like you’re about to start a bar fight,” Calloway said, grinning.

Calloway turned to Elliot. “Your turn, Bennett. Let’s see you handle Boone’s look.”

Elliot’s heart raced as he began peeling off Malik’s hoodie. The fabric clung to his skin, damp with sweat, and he handed it to Calloway, who took it without complaint.

“Man, this thing’s heavy,” Calloway said, slipping it on.

Elliot kicked off the sneakers and struggled out of the baggy jeans, feeling oddly self-conscious as he handed them over. Calloway, now fully dressed as Malik, adjusted the oversized clothes with ease.

Meanwhile, Elliot reached for Boone’s outfit. The vest was stiff and warm, the leather almost alive with the residual heat from Calloway’s body. The cargo pants felt rough against his skin, and the holster added an unfamiliar weight to his side.

Finally, it was time for the mask. Elliot hesitated as he picked up Boone’s rugged face, the beard still damp from Calloway’s earlier transformation. He slid it over his head, shivering as the sweaty interior clung to his skin.

When he turned to the mirror, he barely recognized himself. The rugged ranger stared back at him, and for a moment, he felt a strange sense of power.

Frank, now fully dressed as Jax, smirked at him. “Not bad, Bennett. Not bad at all.”

The three of them stood side by side, now fully inhabiting each other’s original roles. Calloway, as Malik, looked imposing and confident. Elliot as Boone, had a rugged ease about him. And Frank, as Jax, felt like a completely different person.

“This,” Calloway said, his deep Malik voice booming, “is what I call teamwork.”

#male body suit #male costume switch #male bodysuit #malebodyswap #body switch #male transformation

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