Want You Bad (Louis Tomlinson fan fiction) [completed]

Chapter 12

(Long A/N ahead, sorry :( )

So... I woke up and I was home alone. But my stepmom gave me the wifi password and there's a thing of cinnamon rolls here I can make, so that's happening. I struggled a bit writing this chapter, just no motivation, but it's finally here. ALSO!!! If you didn't already know, this song got it's name from and was partially inspired by The Offspring's song 'Want You Bad,' which you should totally listen to because it's great. I love them so much. If I was a teenager in the 90s, I would have been their groupie for sure.

ANYWAY. This chapter has some sex and recreational drug use in it. Sorry not sorry. To the side is Nat's bodyguard Brad. If you watch the Challenge on MTV, you'll know him as the beast that is CT, also known as the actual love of my life (EVEN THOUGH HE AND DIEM ARE MEANT TO BE I SWEAR IT).

Without further ado; here's chapter 12!!

Chapter 12:

Airports are the worst places in the world, I'm convinced of it. Not only are there crying babies, but there are kids running around trying to play on things, slow walkers (the bane of my entire existence, I swear it), rude people shoving you around, heartbreaking goodbyes, and heartwarming reunions, but there are also paparazzi. At least that was the case for me and other people lucky enough to be followed around at inconvenient times, pardon the sarcasm. I don't even know how they knew I would be in the airport today, but there they were, crowding around me, making it nearly impossible to move. Rick had assigned me a bodyguard for my trip, an attractive, jacked, rugged young man named Brad who'd done work for the band before. Unfortunately, Brad was only one man, and there were at least 15 scumbags with cameras crowded around, yelling things, snapping away, trying to get a photo of me, pissed off, looking like shit in an airport. Joke's on them, though. I looked really fucking good today and I was excited as all hell to go on this vacation, so they could find their photo elsewhere. Maybe Justin Bieber is around in those saggy pants that look like he's wearing a soiled diaper. I'm sure he'd love to cause some ruckus for them. I was wearing a pair of black jeggings (because I'm not wearing jeans on a plane, hell no), a gray Bon Jovi V-neck that showed off a good amount of cleavage, a black leather jacket, and there was a black beanie on my head and my makeup was perfect. I had black slip-on Vans on my feet so security wouldn't be a hassle. The paps couldn't ruin my day if they wanted to.

"Natalie, where are you headed?"

"Natalie, who's this guy?"

"Natalie, is this your new boyfriend?"

"Natalie, over here."

"Natalie, is it true that you talked shit about Ariana Grande?"

"Natalie, can you even name five Bon Jovi songs?" I laughed at that guy. Paparazzi who knew nothing about the people they followed were the best.

"Is it true that you had sex with Dave Franco?" If only. We were at the same club a week ago, but our paths never crossed.

I only had to endure a few more minutes of stupid questions before we reached security and the paparazzi were forced to stay behind. I smiled and waved at them as I escaped. Security and customs were as tedious as ever, and then it was time to wait for boarding. Brad sat next to me on a leather couch in the VIP waiting area.

"So, Brad, ever been across the pond?" I asked him, deciding to get to know the guy that would be a constant fixture for the next two weeks.

He shook his head. "No."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-six."

"Do you have a girlfriend, boyfriend, romantic partner?"