DOS Ch-138

“Oh my fucking God!” Rihanna moaned in satisfaction, her voice a mix of exhaustion and contentment as she lay sprawled across my bare chest. Her hair, slightly damp with sweat, clung to her face, framing her flushed cheeks. “That was the best one ever. I think I’m addicted to you.”

“Glad you think so, love.” I grinned, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face before placing a lingering kiss on her forehead. My hand drifted down the curve of her back, the warmth of her skin soft under my fingertips. Each light caress sent a shiver through her, her body reacting instinctively with a sharp intake of breath.

Unfortunately, as tempting as it was to let my hands roam further, reality pulled me back. I stopped just at the base of her spine, drawing a disappointed groan from her lips.

“What?” she complained, lifting her head slightly to glare at me, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. “Why did you stop?”

“You know why,” I replied with a small chuckle, my gaze shifting to the side table. The soft amber glow of the bedside lamp illuminated the clock perched there, its ticking a reminder of time slipping away. “We barely got any sleep last night, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have to work today.”

Her pout deepened, a perfect display of playful defiance. She rested her cheek against my chest, her dark lashes fluttering as she closed her eyes. Her arms slid around me in a slow, deliberate motion, holding me tighter as if her sheer willpower could anchor me to the bed.

“I’m not letting you go anywhere,” she declared, her tone haughty yet laced with mischief. “Even if I have to keep you here as a hostage.”

I laughed softly at her cuteness. Leaning down, I captured her lips with mine, her warmth pulling me deeper into the kiss. Her lips parted almost instantly, inviting me in, and for a moment I forgot why I had to get up as our tongues met with passion, exploring each other with reckless abandon.

But, as always, reality had a way of cutting through. I pulled back after a long moment, offering her an apologetic smile. “I really have to go, Ri.”

Her expression hardened in mock defiance. “I won’t let you,” she said resolutely, her lips curving into a devilish grin. Before I could react, her hand glided down my chest, her touch slow and deliberate, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake from my neck to my sternum, circling around my pecs and abs and down the happy trail…

“Aah,” I exhaled sharply as her hand wrapped around me with purposeful intent, her touch both firm and teasing.

“Still want to go to work?” she asked, her voice deceptively innocent, though her eyes told a different story entirely.

In that moment, I doubted any man alive could resist the challenge she posed.

“Just one more round,” I said, my tone laced with mock seriousness as I leaned down to kiss her again, surrendering to the inevitable.

(Break)

“You’re late,” Imogen deadpanned, her arms crossed and one brow arched in judgment.

“It’s just half an hour,” I said sheepishly, scratching the back of my neck. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Are you sure about that?” Jamie grinned, his mischievous expression a stark contrast to Imogen’s stern demeanor. He draped an arm around my shoulders, leaning in playfully. “Because your neck says otherwise.” His fingers lightly grazed a sore spot on my neck that I hadn’t even noticed until now.

I winced and instinctively touched the area he’d prodded, feeling a faint tenderness. Imogen, ever the pragmatic one, sighed before fishing a small mirror out of her handbag. She handed it over without a word, her expression both amused and exasperated.

Looking into the mirror, I saw it—a glaring hickey standing out against my skin like a neon sign. Rihanna’s little gift from last night—or rather, this morning. Normally, I’d wear it like a badge of honor. But today? Not so much. We had a film to shoot, and Harry Potter couldn’t exactly have a love bite when he hadn’t even kissed anyone on-screen yet.

“I didn’t know,” I said earnestly, meeting their amused stares.

“Sure you didn’t,” Jamie nodded sagely, a mock understanding expression plastered across his face. “I’m just amazed—why the hell didn’t the makeup department cover it for you?”

I shrugged, genuinely stumped. It wasn’t like them to miss something so obvious. Maybe they’d been distracted or assumed it was intentional.

“Don’t worry about it,” Imogen said, stepping forward and pulling a small makeup kit from her bag. Her calm efficiency was oddly reassuring. “I can cover it up for you right now if you want?”

“Hell yes,” I said, nodding enthusiastically as I bent slightly to give her better access to the incriminating mark. I couldn’t exactly parade around set with my personal life on full display. Making a relationship public was one thing; broadcasting late-night escapades was another matter entirely.

Imogen worked quickly, her movements precise as she dabbed concealer onto my neck.

“Thank you,” I said when she stepped back to admire her handiwork. Standing this close, I realized just how much shorter she looked compared to me now. Not that she was tiny—Imogen was pretty average—but with my most recent growth spurt, most people seemed smaller in comparison.

At 6’3” (191 cm), I was towering over nearly everyone on set these days. Not to boast, but it was starting to become a minor issue. I just hoped I didn’t grow anymore—finding roles for a protagonist who wasn’t supposed to be the tallest guy in the room might turn into a nightmare.

“No problem,” she said with a smirk, slipping the makeup kit back into her bag. “I bet you had loads of fun getting that hickey.”

“I would tell you,” I replied, straight-faced. “But you’re too young to know the details.”

“I’m the same age as you!” she protested, her cheeks coloring slightly as she glared at me.

Turning to Jamie, I raised a questioning brow. “What do you think, man?”

He grinned, grabbing Imogen by the shoulders and pulling her protectively to his side. “Definitely too young. I can’t let my younger sister hear all this filth from this degenerate.”

We stayed like that for a full minute before breaking down into peals of laughter which echoed across the set. It felt good to blow off some steam before diving into the day’s work.

“You guys ready?” Rian Johnson’s voice cut through the moment as he approached, clipboard in hand and his usual focused expression in place. He’d been busy coordinating with the crew, making sure everything was perfect.

“We are,” I said, glancing down at the Quidditch uniform I was wearing. The material felt heavier than it looked, but it moved well enough to be practical for the stunts.

Initially, there had been a debate about cutting the Quidditch scenes entirely, but Rian had insisted on keeping them in. He claimed they were his favorite parts of the first two films, and his enthusiasm had been contagious enough to win over the studio.

Today’s shoot focused solely on the flying sequences. These were notoriously CGI-heavy, which meant Emma wasn’t here since Hermione didn’t fly in the story.

The three of us made our way to the broomsticks, which were suspended on intricate rigs designed to simulate midair acrobatics. The equipment had come a long way since the first film. Back then, spending hours suspended in the air with a thin stick between your legs had been a form of medieval torture. Now, the rigs were more comfortable, with cushioned seats and better balance to make the long shoots bearable.

I swung a leg over the broomstick, settling into position as the crew made final adjustments. I just knew that today was going to be intense, but I couldn’t help the excitement bubbling up. It had been literal years since I had shot a quidditch scene, and I was very excited for it.

(Break)

Imogen was savoring every moment of shooting [Harry Potter]. The experience was surreal, a dream she had chased for years. She still vividly remembered that fateful day when she auditioned for Hermione Granger, just like thousands of other hopeful girls. The audition process had been grueling, but she had made it all the way to the final round. Neck and neck with Emma Watson, the competition had been fierce.

Unfortunately, the role wasn’t meant to be hers.

For weeks afterward, she’d wallowed in disappointment, certain that her dream of being part of the magical world had slipped through her fingers. Then, seemingly out of the blue, the phone call came. They wanted her to play Ginny Weasley.

Ginny Weasley.

At first, she’d been unsure. Ginny was a background character in the first film, with nothing more than a single line—“Good luck”—spoken as Harry made his way through Platform 9 ¾. Imogen had even had to dye her hair for that fleeting moment on-screen. She’d almost declined the offer, thinking it wasn’t worth it.

It was her father who convinced her otherwise.

Thank God he had.

While her role in the first movie was forgettable, she’d been given a much larger part in the second film. Then it was back to the sidelines for the third and fourth installments. But now, with the fifth movie, her character was finally stepping into the spotlight. Ginny’s arc was expanding, and while she didn’t know the full reason for it, Imogen suspected it had something to do with the sixth book, which hadn’t been released yet.

Shooting alongside Troy and Jamie was always a highlight of her days. Despite being a literal superstar, Troy Armitage was one of the most grounded and down-to-earth people she’d ever met. He treated everyone equally, never letting his fame make anyone feel small. Sure, there had been some tension during the second movie—something to do with personal drama he’d been going through at the time—but those days were long past. Now, the set was a place of laughter and camaraderie, where work felt less like a chore and more like a shared adventure.

She sometimes found herself wishing the day would stretch on endlessly so she wouldn’t have to leave the warm, welcoming environment of the set.

But, unfortunately, the day was over, and with no excuse to linger, she headed toward the changing rooms to get out of her Quidditch uniform.

“Hey, Imogen!” Troy called out, his voice cutting through the chatter of the departing crew. She turned to see him walking toward her, Jamie close behind.

“Yeah?” she asked, pausing mid-step.

“Jamie and I are going out to a concert. Do you wanna come along?”

Imogen’s curiosity piqued. She hadn’t made any concrete plans for the evening, and it was Saturday—a perfect night for a spontaneous outing. “Which singer is it?” she asked, tilting her head.

Before Troy could answer, Jamie grinned and cut in. “The same one whose artistry you hid this morning.” His gaze flicked meaningfully to Troy’s neck, his grin widening.

Troy didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, he nodded casually, unfazed by the teasing. “Yeah, it’s Rihanna. So, wanna come?”

Rihanna. The name wasn’t as big yet as some of the other singers, but her talent was undeniable. Most of her notoriety, though, came not from her music but from the media frenzy surrounding her relationship with Troy. Tabloids on both sides of the Atlantic had gone wild when the news broke, and Imogen could only imagine the paparazzi chaos that followed them everywhere.

Still, Imogen had never attended a live concert before. This seemed like as good a chance as any to change that.

“Okay,” she said, trying to keep her tone nonchalant despite the excitement bubbling beneath the surface.

“Great then,” Troy said with a grin. “Let’s all change and meet near the parking lot in fifteen minutes.”

Imogen nodded, but inwardly she was cursing herself. She didn’t have anything remotely fashionable enough to wear to a concert, let alone one with Troy Armitage. He was bound to show up in some effortlessly cool, designer outfit, while she’d look like a country bumpkin by comparison.

Still, she got ready in record time, throwing together the only outfit she had on hand at the moment. Before heading out, she gave her mother a quick call to let her know she’d be home late. As she approached the parking lot, she spotted Troy and Jamie already waiting.

To her surprise—and relief—Troy was dressed in casual jeans and a simple T-shirt. He looked like any other teenager, though his tall frame, broad shoulders, and chiseled features set him apart. It was almost unfair how good he looked while barely trying.

“Let’s go,” Troy announced, leading the way to his sleek black Range Rover.

“Don’t you have a Lambo?” Jamie asked as the three of them climbed into the back seat.

“I do,” Troy replied casually. “But it’s back in California. And since I don’t have a license here, my dad didn’t bother getting me a car in the UK. Just six more months and I’ll have it.”

“And a Lamborghini’s a two-seater,” Imogen pointed out, glancing at the bodyguard-slash-driver in the front seat.

Jamie raised an eyebrow at her. “How do you know that?”

Imogen shot him a deadpan look. “Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I don’t know a Lamborghini only has two seats. The only four-seater Lambo was discontinued in the 70s.”

Troy burst into laughter. “Excuse Jamie,” he said, smirking. “He’s just being a sexist pig.”

“Hey!” Jamie protested, but his mock offense only made them laugh harder.

Their banter carried on lightheartedly until they arrived at the concert venue. The hall wasn’t massive—Rihanna was still an up-and-coming artist—but to Imogen, it felt enormous. The buzz of the crowd, the flashes of lights, and the hurried movements of security and staff were overwhelming. She hadn’t experienced anything this fast-paced before, and it showed.

“You okay?” Troy asked, his brow furrowing with concern as he noticed her hesitation.

“It’s nothing,” Imogen said, brushing it off with a small wave. “Just... my first concert. Ever.”

Troy’s face lit up with an encouraging smile. “Then you’re gonna love it,” he said confidently.

Imogen wasn’t so sure. She wasn’t a Rihanna fan—truthfully, she hadn’t even heard any of her songs. It felt strange to be at a concert like this, but the excitement radiating from Jamie and Troy was infectious.

As they approached the entrance, Troy’s bodyguards closed in around them, forming a tight perimeter. Imogen felt a surge of unease as fans began to recognize the trio. A murmur rippled through the crowd, growing louder with each step. People pointed, shouted, and even called out their character names.

“Troy! Over here!” someone yelled.

“Troy! Ron! Ginny!” others chorused.

Only Troy’s real name seemed to rise above the noise. Despite the attention, he kept his composure, offering the occasional wave and a polite smile but otherwise staying focused on their path.

“Mr. Armitage,” a security guard at the entrance called, stepping forward and gesturing to a side door. “If you’ll come this way, I’ll show you to the VIP entrance.”

“Thank you,” Troy replied with practiced ease. Turning back to Jamie and Imogen, he added, “Come along, guys.”

Imogen followed closely, feeling the weight of the crowd’s gaze on her. She wasn’t used to this kind of attention—her role in the films was minor, and she rarely got recognized. But here she was, walking beside Troy Armitage, the star of one of the biggest franchises in the world.

As they slipped through the VIP entrance, the noise of the crowd muffled behind the heavy doors, and Imogen exhaled in relief. For Troy, this was routine. For her, it was an entirely new world.

Imogen couldn’t help but think it was a little rude of Troy not to interact with his fans outside, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

“Wondering why I didn’t stop to talk to them?” Troy asked, glancing at her as they walked through the corridor leading to their seats.

Imogen chuckled sheepishly. “Am I that obvious?”

“Yes,” Jamie interjected with a smirk. “It was written all over your face.”

She rolled her eyes at Jamie but directed her question to Troy. “So, why didn’t you?”

“Because this is Rihanna’s day,” Troy explained, his tone casual but firm, as if the answer was self-evident. “People should be here to see her, not me. I don’t want this night to become the day they met Troy Armitage. It should be about them experiencing her live performance.”

Imogen found his reasoning unexpectedly thoughtful. She’d seen him interact with fans at various Harry Potter premieres and events, always with genuine enthusiasm. For him to hold back for Rihanna’s sake was, admittedly, kind of sweet.

When they reached the VIP booth, it was mostly empty at first, offering an unobstructed view of the stage. Over time, more people trickled in, filling the surrounding seats. A few individuals recognized Troy and approached their group, excited to meet him. Troy, always polite, chatted briefly with anyone who came up but declined requests for photos and autographs, repeating his earlier sentiment about keeping the focus on Rihanna.

“How you doing, London!” Rihanna’s voice boomed confidently as she stepped onto the stage, instantly commanding attention. The crowd erupted in cheers. She waited for the applause to die down slightly before continuing.

“It’s good to be here again,” she said with a warm smile. “The first time I came here, I met someone, and I quickly found out what it meant to date an English gentleman.”

The crowd went wild at the veiled reference to Troy, who chuckled softly, his smile understated but unmistakably proud.

“So, I thought it’d be a good idea to open this concert with a duet,” Rihanna added, glancing mischievously toward the VIP box. “Troy, love, would you please join me on stage?”

Troy’s expression morphed into surprise. He muttered under his breath, “Why are you doing this, Ri?” Imogen caught it clearly despite the noise. “I didn’t want to steal your spotlight.”

“He seems a little shy,” Rihanna teased, grinning playfully. “Maybe you guys can help me get him up here. Come on, everyone! Troy, Troy, Troy…”

The crowd quickly picked up the chant, their voices growing louder until it was impossible to ignore. With a resigned sigh but an amused smile, Troy stood and made his way toward the stage. The crowd’s cheers reached a fever pitch when he stepped under the lights.

Once there, Troy pulled Rihanna into his arms, giving her a quick kiss on the lips. The audience’s reaction was deafening, a mix of cheers and whoops that reverberated throughout the venue.

A second microphone was handed to Troy, who took it with a chuckle. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to sing here,” he admitted, his voice amplified across the room.

“I do,” Rihanna said with a sly smile. “The last song we sang together.”

Troy raised an eyebrow, then nodded. “Ah, that one. I don’t mind an early release.” He turned to the audience, addressing them directly. “This is a song that hasn’t been released yet. Rihanna and I worked on it together for our upcoming movie, [Echoes of You].”

The crowd erupted again, clearly ecstatic at the unexpected announcement. A movie starring both Troy and Rihanna? And with a duet? It was almost too much for some fans to handle.

Behind them, the band smoothly transitioned into the opening notes of the song. Troy took a deep breath, caught Rihanna’s eye with a grin, and began to sing the first verse.

[We Don’t Talk Anymore - Charlie Puth and Selena Gomez]

~: We don't talk anymore, we don't talk anymore

We don't talk anymore, like we used to do

We don't love anymore

What was all of it for?

Oh, we don't talk anymore like we used to do :~

As soon as he did, his beautiful voice took over the stage and the entire hall. Imogen didn’t mind that she didn’t know the song, because no one did, yet everyone was enjoying the beautiful melody coming out of Troy and Rihanna.

She turned to the only other person beside her that she knew and said, “I’m so glad I came here.”

“Me too,” replied Jamie before the two focused back on the beautiful melding voice of the two singers on stage.

_____________________

AN: I have tried something new. I wrote the whole chapter myself and told AI to improve it. Which for some reason made it a lot longer that it was initially. Tell me honestly if you prefer this or should I go back to my original writing style. Don't worry, I'm not replacing my writing with AI ever because I don't like it. Just an experiment for this chapter.