#amara you’re a bit of a womanizer babes

[boxdstars]

werewolf girlfriend werewolf girlfriend werewolf girlf—

i’ve been shot dead by two cute slytherins and it’s @the-ozzie’s fault GRAHHHHH

[artyandink]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 1

SUMMARY: You’re the first female president of the USA, having won the 2014 elections against Amara Shurley by a landslide. Now that you were a symbol of feminism, reform and a better country, it meant that there were a lot more assassination attempts bound to be on your head. For that, you needed a personal bodyguard, so you had to pick right. And you picked right in convicted ex-hitman Dean Winchester. Right?

TW: assassination attempts, ex-hitman!Dean, POTUS!reader, politics!au, politics, murder, gunfire, boss reader, angst, major sexual tension between reader and Dean but also romantic tension cause we love that, slow/quick burn, y’all will have to figure that out

A/N: In honour of our queen Kamala Harris, who didn’t win the 2024 elections, so I give you what could’ve been

NOW PLAYING: Power by Little Mix

office fever

God, the wait was killing you.

You were sitting in a bar, hoping that when the results of the final poll came you were drunk enough that you’d cheer and scream like a madwoman to counteract the inevitable news that you’d lose the 2014 presidential elections to your only eligible opponent, Amara Shurley. Either way, you both had incredibly good future legislations and laws, and whoever was elected there’d be a woman as the President for the first time, which was good. Really good.

“Come on, babes, cheer up!” Stephanie, one of your two best friends, drawled, checking her manicured nails while absent-mindedly sipping on a Long Island Iced Tea like it was merely water, but that was Steph O’Donnell for you, plain and simple. Eh, she was a bit nails-obsessed, but you loved her anyway for it, she did always look immaculate.

Bella, your other, redhead best friend, sighed and smacked Steph upside her blonde head, earning a gasp at the potentially ruined heatless curls (no, they weren’t ruined, she’s just being dramatic). “Maybe you just need to get less alcohol in your system.” She said pointedly, plucking the vodka shot out of your fingers.

“Bels, if anything, she needs more.” Steph pointed out after checking if her hair wasn’t frizzed up in a pocket mirror. “If she wins, it just means she’s capable of partying harder.”

Bella sighed and rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a small laugh, tsking internally at the notion. “She needs to remain sober for when she gets the results, and she’s going to win.” Bella turned to you with a sparkling smile and took your hand, squeezing it. “We’re here for you, girl. Sure, it’s totally possible that the Amara Shurley woman could win the election — she’s older — but if the country’s not stupid, then you’ll be the next POTUS.”

“I’m not sure whether to feel better or worse.” You playfully rolled your eyes, but let the vodka shot go and gestured to the bartender with a resigned sigh. Yeah, you could go without alcohol for tonight. “But ok. One mocktail, and surprise me with it. Cheers.” You looked to Bella with raised eyebrows, tipping your head slightly. “So, what if I lose the election?”

Bella tutted, and Steph looked up from her nails in shock— damn, that’s how you knew you were in deep shit. “Baby girl, you better get that thinking out of your head right now.” Steph gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in shock. “You are an icon for a feminist nation— a non-toxic feminist nation. If people don’t vote for you, I’m gonna kill those who didn’t, those who did can live.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Steph, no—”

“Yes—”

A loud squeal from Bella distracted both of you and almost made Steph spill the Cosmo that matched her nails and also made her shoot a you bitch look that she really didn’t mean, but then Bella started flapping her hands and making squealing and unintelligible, Brittany from Alvin and the Chipmunk-esque sounds that made you and Steph share a look. “You ok, Bels?” You asked in severe mild concern, while Steph just looked either repulsed or amused.

“Are you having a stroke?” Steph continued, checking for any signs of maybe a heart attack or an ice cube lodged down her throat so her speech becomes little whistles.

“Do you smell toast?” You waved a hand in front of your nose, but then her phone was shoved in front of your face so the screen and everything went blurry, not to mention the sting of the light on your eyes— shit, that burned until your retinas. Grabbing the phone from her, you held it at a distance and squinted (“grandma”, said Steph) but then saw the headline.

2014 PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS, FINAL POLL RESULTS

Then you scrolled down, with bated breath and clutching Bella’s hand like you wanted to rip it off, and you took a shaky look at the numbers.

AMARA SHURLEY — 36%

That means you got… 64% of the vote, now that you did the math. Holy shit. “Holy shit!” You gasped, letting out a Bella-reminiscent squeal just as Steph did, and you were smothered by two heavily-perfumed hugs, the wind knocked out of you, but did that matter? No.

You were the President. The first female President. POTUS. The youngest ever elected too, at 35.

Holy fuck, holy shit, holy crap. This was the most beautiful day of your life, beside the day you met Bella and Steph, that day was important. “You’re POTUS.” Steph grinned, waving for, like, six whiskeys for all of you to down.

“You’re POTUS, baby girl.” Bella giggled, squeezing your shoulders and then spinning around on her bar stool, pointing obviously to you and yelling “POTUS!”, earning a round of cheers and applause from the patrons that made you bury your face in your hands.

But you did it with a grin. You were the President.

Honestly, being the President was exhilarating, cause that meant you got to make real change, it was incredible. Your new security team had fended off the paparazzi from smothering you Bella and Steph style except more annoying as you were escorted into the White House, a woman only a little younger than you waiting with an eager grin and a clipboard hugged to her chest.

“Welcome to the White House, Madam President.” She grinned, holding out her hand nervously then retracting it— she didn’t know what new bosses wanted, alright? “I’m Becky Rosen, I’ll be your assistant. Anything you need, I’ll handle it. Do you want anything? Tea, coffee, water, a martini— if you want a martini I’ll have the barman get one ready and waiting for you in the Oval Office…”

During that time she’d been rambling you’d examined Becky, getting a feel for what she was like. Thank God your assistant was a woman also and she seemed like good fun, lively spirit, definitely someone who won’t make your schedule sound boring. But she looked overworked and tired, maybe from the last president— that’d be Raphael Easton, right? Yeah.

“Two things,” you started as you were walking through the halls to the Oval Office, “do you have the files for personal bodyguard applicants that I can cycle through before making official speeches?”

“They’re all on your desk, ma’am.” Becky answered almost immediately— damn, she was rather eager, and happy with her job, clearly, but also had dark circles and eye bags that made something twinge in you. It didn’t sit right.

You nodded, then gave her a warm smile, gently taking the clipboard. “How ‘bout you take the day off, yeah? It’s only my first day, I don’t need anything yet, and I can get the applicants from…” You looked through the labels on the file: FBI, CIA, private agencies, ADX Supermax— ADX Supermax?

“What’s wrong, ma’am?” Becky asked, seeing the way your words trailed off upon seeing the file amid all the other incredibly professional outlets for protection, an applicant from the ADX. Well, you did say unorthodox applicants can apply if they wanted to, you just didn’t expect a dude in prison to put his file through.

Oh. Upon opening it, it was just a letter.

You looked up to Becky, biting your lip in thought, cause if this guy’s in the Supermax, he’s prolific.

“Do I have a direct line to the director of the FBI?”

ADX Florence was a fortress, a high-tech prison designed to keep America’s most dangerous criminals sealed away from the world. It wasn’t a place where hope grew. Dean Winchester, prisoner 11347-7, wasn’t the kind of guy to expect hope anyway. A hitman with a list of bodies long enough to fill a small town cemetery, he had resigned himself to spending the rest of his days in this tomb of concrete and steel.

It wasn’t regret that gnawed at him in the sterile silence of his cell. Regret wasn’t his style. He’d made his choices, taken his hits, and lived by the only code he knew: survival. But that didn’t mean he liked being locked away. Dean had always been a man who thrived on freedom—the smell of asphalt under the Impala’s tires, the weight of a weapon he knew as intimately as his own heartbeat, the thrill of a job well done.

Now, his days were measured in three meals delivered through a slot and the endless monotony of isolation. Until that morning in 2008 when the guard, a surly guy Dean called Mustache, slid a newspaper into his cell along with the breakfast tray.

Dean didn’t read newspapers often. What was the point? The world moved on without him. But that day, boredom got the better of him. He skimmed headlines about wars, scandals, and the economy’s nosedive. Nothing he hadn’t expected. Then his eyes landed on something that made him sit up straighter on the cot.

“Wanted: Elite Personal Security for First Female President. Apply Now.”

The ad stood out like a neon sign in a desert. Beneath the bold letters was a glossy image of the President standing in front of the White House, flanked by Secret Service agents. The text outlined the need for a personal bodyguard—someone with impeccable skills, discretion, and a willingness to take a bullet if necessary. Experience required. Unorthodox candidates welcome.

Dean read it twice, then a third time, the words stirring something he hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t quite hope, but it was close.

ADX Supermax wasn’t the kind of place where people left easily. But this ad…this ad was a door, cracked open just wide enough for someone like him to slip through.

“Unorthodox candidates,” he muttered, smirking. “Guess I qualify.”

By lunchtime, Dean had a plan. It wasn’t perfect—nothing he did ever was—but it was a shot, and that was more than he usually got in this place.

He spent hours staring at the blank sheet of paper he’d salvaged from a previous legal memo. Writing wasn’t his strong suit. Hell, if he’d been good at words, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up in the killing business in the first place. But this wasn’t about flowery language. It was about convincing someone that a convicted hitman could be trusted with the life of the most powerful person in the country.

Dean leaned over the small desk bolted to the wall of his cell, chewing the end of his pen as he started to scribble.

To Madam President,

I am writing to express my interest in the position of personal security for the President. I realize my application may raise questions, given my current circumstances, but I ask for your consideration based on my unique qualifications.

Before my incarceration, I was highly skilled in tactical operations, surveillance, and neutralising high-level targets. My ability to assess danger and act decisively has been tested in some of the most dangerous environments.

Though I am serving time for my past actions, I believe in redemption. This position represents an opportunity for me to use my skills for a greater purpose. I have spent my years here reflecting on my choices, and I am prepared to dedicate my life to protecting someone who stands for hope and progress in this country.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I am available for an interview at your convenience.

Sincerely, Dean Winchester

He read over the letter a dozen times, making minor adjustments. It was rough, sure, but it was honest. And honesty was something he didn’t traffic in often, neither were fancy words, and he used a lot of them.

By the time he was done, his hand ached, and the paper was smudged from his grip. He folded it carefully and tucked it into the pocket of his jumpsuit.

The next step was trickier.

Dean’s lawyer, a wiry man named Feldman who’d been paid off by some shadowy client years ago to keep an eye on him, didn’t usually show up unless Dean demanded it. This time, Dean played the card of “urgent legal matter.” When Feldman arrived, looking mildly annoyed but curious, Dean slid the letter across the table during their monitored meeting.

“You want me to…submit this?” Feldman asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean nodded. “Straight to the President’s office. No detours, no ‘I’ll get to it later.’ This is priority one.”

Feldman stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You realize this is insane, right? You’re in here for life. They’re not going to let you out just because you can write a heartfelt letter.”

“They might if they’re desperate enough,” Dean countered. “And that ad says they’re looking for someone who can do the job, not someone who looks good on paper. I can do the job.”

Feldman sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “And if I say no?”

Dean’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You won’t. You owe me.”

Feldman muttered something under his breath but pocketed the letter. “You’re lucky I like long shots.”

Weeks passed. Dean didn’t hear anything, and for a while, he wondered if Feldman had tossed the letter in the nearest trash can. But then, one morning, Mustache appeared at his cell with an unreadable expression.

“You’ve got a visitor,” he said gruffly.

Dean frowned. “Who?”

“Didn’t say. Get up.”

Visitors were rare, especially unannounced ones. Dean followed Mustache down the cold, narrow corridors, his curiosity growing. When he reached the visitor room, his breath caught.

The woman sitting on the other side of the plexiglass partition was dressed in a crisp suit, her posture radiating authority. She wasn’t Feldman, and she definitely wasn’t a typical visitor.

Dean picked up the phone on his side of the glass.

“Mr. Winchester,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “I’m here on behalf of the President.”

He leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Guess you got my letter.”

Her expression didn’t change. “We did. It was…unconventional.”

“That’s me in a nutshell.”

She glanced at a folder on the table in front of her. “Your record is extensive. Multiple charges of murder-for-hire, conspiracy, weapons trafficking…” She looked up, her sharp eyes locking onto his. “Why should we trust you?”

Dean leaned forward, his tone serious. “Because I know what I’m doing. You want someone who’ll lay down their life for the President? Someone who’ll see the threats before anyone else does? That’s me. I’ve been on both sides of this game. I know how killers think because I’ve been one. And if you give me this chance, I’ll prove that I’m more than what’s in that file.”

The woman studied him for a long moment before standing. “We’ll be in touch.”

Dean hung up the phone, watching her leave with a mixture of hope and disbelief. For the first time in years, it felt like the world outside ADX Supermax wasn’t as far away as it seemed.

You’d been running interviews for a bodyguard for about a week now, and you’d only started them once Becky had gotten a good rest, as well as the rest of the staff at the White House so they could spend good time with their families. First few weeks of presidency were busy ones, so you wanted your employees to have some time for themselves before anything happened.

Nobody seemed suitable to you, even though you’d been presented with the best FBI, CIA and private outlet’s security detail they had, they’d each and all failed your every attempt to make them seem credible, you didn’t want anyone like that. Tabloids had already gotten to smearing your name regarding this, but you were more concerned with your final applicant.

Dean Winchester.

You’d asked the FBI to send over every file they had on him, and the list was — you hated to say it — extensive. Many assassinations of high and low-level targets, and he was credited with over 100 assassinations in the past two years— you had your doubts about this guy, the director of the FBI had said he was in there for a reason.

You’d find out if he was unhinged, or just a normal man.

Well, Dean had been escorted as covertly as possible with a bunch of military and secret service agents, which didn’t make sense as his hands were shackled to his feet. The only way he’d be getting out of these chains was if he was a magician, and he wasn’t, just incredibly good at marksmanship and fighting, thank John for that.

“Alright, alright.” He scoffed, almost tripping out of the car as he was practically shoved up the steps by the agents by his head. “I’m moving, I’m moving, Jesus fuck, you ladies are uptight.” He got to the door of the White House, and holy shit, he was really here. He got let in, hearing a Secret Service agent blabbing in his ear.

“Any funny business, 353, and we’re sending you straight back. You’re gonna address Madam President with respect, no cheek—” Ugh, the sound of his voice was grating, but all Dean could do was let out a terse nod as he was led to the door of the Oval Office and led inside. He stepped in, glaring at the service agent who had been yapping about decorum. Then, suddenly—

“Oi! Hey, hey!” A woman’s voice snapped, and he looked up from his shackles to see you, and boy, were you young for a president. You had to be his age, right? Yeah, and you were surprisingly gorgeous for a POTUS, but the way you’d stood up with a loud chair screech from your desk, snapped your fingers and pointing at Dean’s shackles with a livid expression, he knew the agents were in deep shit.

“The fuck is this?” You gestured to the heavy shackles on Dean’s wrists and ankles— they were quite heavy and uncomfortable, now that he paid attention to it, but he was more focused on how much of a little Spitfire you were. Young, but you were snapping at these middle-aged men as if they were 5 year old children. “You might as well put a chain around his neck, for God’s sake— whichever of you has the key, take those things off and leave my office, if he kills me, fine, just have Amara take my place, she’ll do a damn good job as well.”

The service agents stood there, stunned, and then a stern look from you — “Damn,” Dean muttered — got the agent next to Dean to shove the key in the lock to his wrists and ankles, letting the chains fall free, and they were promptly carried out. You sighed, returning to your desk, running a hand through your hair.

“I am so sorry about that, Mr Winchester, I’ve just always found those chains really inhumane.” You rushed the sentence, gesturing to your desk in front of you and sipping your coffee to calm down. Honestly, not your best option, it probably made you more jittery.

Dean didn’t argue, he didn’t want to get scolded, just made his way to the desk, grey jumpsuit — he was in protective custody in prison — rustling with every step until he sat down on the irresistibly comfy chair, cause wow, prison chairs were hard and low standard.

His ass felt like it was in heaven right now.

“No problem, ma’am, I see the point. Not exactly the cleanest slate.” He didn’t think it was wise to make a joke of how he’d assassinated people for hire, but it made you laugh, so maybe that was good going. Who knows? “And call me Dean.”

“I see that.” You smiled, then gestured to Dean with a warm smile, not something he was used to unless it was the smiles of his mom that he barely remembered. Otherwise it was either hungry, lustful smiles of desperate women and cunning smiles of ruthless businessmen and mafia bosses. “So, Dean, before we get started, would you like anything? Tea, coffee, water, beer, whiskey— one candidate asked for straight vodka. He’s not getting the job.” Damn. The new POTUS was cool.

“Water would be great.” Dean would have a drop of whiskey, but he wanted to make a good impression and hydrate himself with something other than low-quality prison water. So, when you passed him the water, he downed the tall glass in three gulps, but then paused when he saw you watching.

Then he swallowed. Shit.

But you weren’t judging him, you seemed understanding, that yes, prison water probably tasted like rat piss, so he finished the rest of the glass and wiped his hand with the back of his mouth. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise. Prison must be really rough, treat yourself.” You waved him off, shaking your head, then peered through his file. Rather interesting family background, how did he turn out that way? “Says here that your father’s a Marine Corporal veteran, thanks for his service, and your brother’s a prosecution lawyer that graduated from Stanford Law. Impressive.” You looked up at him, thumb playing with the ring on your middle finger, eyes focused on the paper.

Dean couldn’t help but note that you were beautiful. Not objectively, just factually beautiful. He’s not being a perv.

“My brother’s a nerd.” Dean stated with a smile as you talked about his family, he didn’t blame them, he wasn’t a bookworm, he wasn’t as smart as his little brother in that aspect, Sam was all about studying and being the good kid.

"Yeah, my brother used to say I was a nerd, now look at me." You chuckled, then nodded in acknowledgement. "You, however, you graduated just on the mark, no honours, didn't go to college and transactions show you started as a hitman when you were 20." You paused for a second, cause that was what you couldn’t put your finger on. "But the equal amounts of money went to Stanford in deposits. Why?"

Dean knew he was gonna be interrogated by the new President, that’s a given, and he made sure to prepare himself for the whole psychological evaluation of himself. His expression remained unreadable, only slightly surprised by how quickly you put together that he’d been paying for his brother’s college.

“He’s family. Sammy’s a good kid, he deserves to get away from this life.” Dean answered, it was a simple answer. It didn’t really dig deep into his past or his true relationships with his family.

Well, all you had to know was that his dad was paranoid after returning from deployment and taught him how to shoot like James fucking Bond and Sammy too, but Sam had left for college while Dean had nothing he could do for himself.

"Mhm." You hummed, looking through the rest of it. "Now my guys are finding that in the years since your brother left college, money you've earned from assassinations ordered by high level clients — that are now behind bars — has been wired to a rehab centre down in Delaware. I looked into it, and I found out your father's staying there. None of that money's going to you." Your voice wasn't judging. You instead sounded understanding.

The only reason why Dean wasn’t surprised or shocked by the fact that you knew this was the fact that you were the President. He should’ve guessed. He smiled slightly as you remained understanding about the whole situation though, most other politicians would’ve seen this as a chance to blackmail and threaten him.

“Yeah, my dad’s got severe PTSD. It’s the only good one nearby.” He explained as he crossed his arms. It would be hard to find a rehab centre that accepted his dad given the whole violent record he had.

You couldn’t help but feel sympathy at that. Dean’s juvenile record wasn’t the cleanest, so no shops would’ve hired him so he could make that money, only black ops would. It was strange, and you’d be under fire by the media if you voiced it, but you saw his struggle. “You did it for your family.” You were surprised at how softly you said that.

“Family don’t end in blood, ma’am.” Dean replied, honestly, and you were hit where it hurt by that statement. You were expecting a cold-hearted killer, not a man trying to do right by his post-traumatic father and little brother. “Not if I’m still breathin’. Sammy’s got a good life, a wife, by what I’ve heard. Don’t wanna burden him with all that shit, a-and I haven’t talked to him in a few years. My boy.” He cleared his throat to not get too emotional.

You had to do that too, just to be clear.

“I’m sorry.” But that wouldn’t just fix everything, so you took a moment to let that hang in order to give him some time. “Only important question I’m gonna ask. Hypothetically, we’re under fire at one of my events. You’ve gotten me to safety, and I give you the order to do the same for civilians. Do you do it?”

Dean took in the question, eyebrow raised slightly as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table as he studied you. That was a odd but interesting question. This was a job interview for real, it seems.

But this answer was simple.

“Civilians. I’d get the innocents out first.” He said, there wasn’t even a hint of hesitation in his voice. Civilians, innocent people will always come first before anything and anyone. He’d made sure when performing hits that no civilians, women, fathers, men, mothers, children— were safely out of the way before taking a shot. If they weren’t, he refused. He wasn’t risking it.

He was expecting you to refuse him on the spot, but instead two words came out that almost made him go “holy shit”.

“You’re hired.”

You’re. Hired. He could die.

“I-I’m sorry, Madam President, I’m what?” He practically gasped, hands clutching the arms of his seat, watching you take out some already prepared parole papers and walking to the door in your heels, handing the file to one of the service agents.

“Hired.” You said simply, a shrug and a smile offered as you walked to the desk. Fucking hell, Dean had never seen a stranger president in his life. “Your parole is being passed effective immediately, and I wanna get you in touch with my stylist and wardrobe guy so we can get you some new and frankly more comfortable clothes. You’ll be staying here, at the White House, you’ll have full access to my staff for anything you might need, but most importantly, you need to call your family.” You tapped your landline that you had prepared on the desk with a small, encouraging smile. “I have Sam’s number and the rehab centre’s number both in your directory file, I’ll give you some time to talk rather than waiting like a creep.”

As you walked out, Dean couldn’t believe his ears. He was now the President’s bodyguard, he got to live in luxury, no doubt there was a large paycheck and he got to call Sammy again. His Sammy, oh, holy shit.

His hand shook as he reached for the landline, opening the file and there it was, Sam’s number, and it’d changed since he got put in prison a good six months ago. His fingers fumbled, clumsily dialling the number and waiting a moment as the dial tone stopped and the ringing shook his eardrum. Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up, please pick up—

“Hello?” Dean’s heart broke upon hearing Sam’s voice again, and he took a shaky breath. Get a grip, Winchester, it’s only your little brother, the man you raised your while life.

“Bitch.” His voice sounded like he’d smoked cigarettes, and he’d quit that habit after high school, but all he could hear was the dead silence of realisation on the other side.

“Jerk.”

The motorcade pulled up to the white-brick colonial house just as the late afternoon sun began to dip behind the row of oaks lining the driveway. You leaned back in your seat, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. For months now, your life had been a whirlwind of campaign rallies, debates, and sleepless nights in cramped hotels. It all felt surreal. You were the President of the United States. Yet, somehow, coming home to this house—the one you’d grown up in—was what made it all feel real.

Secret Service agents stepped out first, scanning the quiet suburban neighborhood for threats. You glanced out the tinted window, catching a glimpse of the familiar front porch where your father had painted the railing a deep blue years ago. The door creaked open, and a small figure darted out onto the lawn before anyone could stop him.

“Austin!”

The call came from Eden, your sister-in-law, who appeared a moment later, balancing baby Wyatt on her hip. She looked harried but happy, waving at you from the porch. Austin, however, was already halfway to the car, his untied sneakers slapping against the pavement.

You smiled despite yourself. Rolling down the window, you called out, “Hold on, buddy, let them do their job.”

The boy skidded to a stop as one of the agents gently but firmly intercepted him, patting him on the shoulder and guiding him back toward the porch. Austin complied, but his excitement was evident in every bouncing step.

By the time you exited the car, your father, Mark, was standing on the porch steps, arms crossed but with a wide grin splitting his face. “There she is,” he said, his voice booming with pride. “Madame President.”

You felt your cheeks flush as you climbed the steps. “Dad, don’t start.”

“Oh, I’ll start, alright,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug. “My daughter, the leader of the free world! They’re gonna need to expand that Oval Office just to fit my pride.”

“Mark, give her some room to breathe,” your mother, Odette, chided as she stepped outside. She was smaller than you remembered, her hair streaked with more gray than the last time you’d seen her. But her smile was as warm as ever. She held her arms open, and you leaned into her familiar embrace, the scent of lavender and vanilla washing over you.

“It’s good to see you, Mom,” you murmured.

“We’re so proud of you,” she said softly, pulling back to study your face. “But I bet you’re exhausted.”

You nodded, glancing over her shoulder to see your older brother Ryan descending the stairs, a grin on his face. “Well, well, look who decided to come back down to earth,” he teased, reaching out to clap you on the shoulder.

“Someone’s gotta keep you grounded,” you shot back, the familiar rhythm of sibling banter falling into place as though no time had passed.

Eden appeared beside him, Wyatt still on her hip. She offered you a smile, and you leaned in to kiss her cheek. “How’s this little guy doing?” you asked, reaching out to tickle Wyatt’s chin. The baby let out a squeal of laughter, his chubby arms flailing.

“He’s teething,” Eden said with a weary smile. “So, you know…living the dream.”

Austin, who had been hovering impatiently at the edge of the group, finally couldn’t contain himself. “Auntie!” he shouted, throwing his arms around your waist.

“Hey, kiddo,” you said, ruffling his hair. “What’s new?”

“I got an A on my science project!” he said, looking up at you with bright eyes.

“That’s great!” you said. “What was the project?”

“Volcanoes,” he said, puffing out his chest. “Dad helped me with the lava.”

Ryan coughed. “Helped is a strong word. He mostly just told me what to do.”

“That’s because you were doing it wrong!” Austin protested, and the group dissolved into laughter.

Inside, the house was exactly as you remembered it. The worn hardwood floors creaked under your feet, and the faint scent of your mother’s cooking lingered in the air. The walls were covered with family photos—some old, some new—including one of you on election night, surrounded by your team, your face frozen in an expression of shock and joy.

Dinner was already laid out on the long wooden table in the dining room. A roast chicken sat in the center, surrounded by bowls of mashed potatoes, green beans, and your mother’s famous macaroni casserole. It was a far cry from the catered meals you’d been eating on the campaign trail, and your stomach growled in anticipation.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Odette said, ushering everyone to their seats.

You took your usual spot, sandwiched between Austin and your father, while Ryan carved the chicken. Plates were passed around, and soon the room was filled with the clatter of silverware and the hum of conversation.

Mark raised his glass of water. “A toast,” he said, his voice cutting through the din. “To my daughter. The first woman to sit in the Oval Office. You’ve made us all so proud.”

“Here, here!” Ryan chimed in, lifting his own glass.

You felt a lump rise in your throat as you clinked glasses with everyone around the table. For a moment, the weight of your responsibilities seemed to lift, replaced by the simple joy of being surrounded by the people who had always believed in you.

After dinner, you helped your mother clear the table, despite her protests. “You’re the President now,” she said, swatting your hands away from the plates. “You don’t need to be doing dishes.”

“Maybe not,” you said, grinning. “But I don’t think I’ve outgrown being your daughter.”

She relented, shaking her head with a fond smile, and the two of you worked side by side in comfortable silence. When the last dish was put away, you found yourself drawn to the living room, where the rest of the family had gathered.

Ryan was sprawled on the couch, flipping through a photo album with Austin perched beside him. Eden sat in the armchair, rocking Wyatt to sleep, while Mark stood by the fireplace, nursing a cup of coffee.

You sank into the armchair opposite Eden, your eyes drawn to the flickering flames in the hearth. “It feels good to be home,” you said softly.

Mark looked over at you, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve got a hell of a road ahead of you, kid,” he said. “But don’t forget—you’ve got us. We’re here for you, no matter what.”

You nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle in your chest. “I know,” you said. “And I’m going to need that. All of it.”

Ryan looked up from the photo album, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Think we’ll get to visit the White House? Austin’s dying to see the bowling alley.”

Austin’s head snapped up. “There’s a bowling alley?”

You laughed. “There is. And yeah, you’ll all come visit. But I can’t promise I’ll have much time for bowling.”

“Why not?” Austin asked, his brow furrowing. “You’re the President. Can’t you just…make time?”

The simplicity of his question made you smile. “It’s a little more complicated than that, buddy,” you said. “But I’ll do my best.”

Later that night, after the house had quieted and everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself standing in the backyard. The air was crisp and cool, and the stars above were brighter than you remembered. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the enormity of your new role settle over you like a heavy cloak.

The back door creaked open, and Mark stepped outside, a blanket draped over his shoulders. He joined you on the porch, handing you a steaming mug of tea.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Too much on my mind.”

Mark nodded, staring out at the dark yard. “It’s a big job,” he said. “But if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

“I hope so,” you said quietly.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “You’ve got what it takes,” he said. “And you’ve got us. Don’t forget that.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “Thanks, Dad.”

He smiled, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “Come on,” he said, gesturing toward the house. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep.”

As you followed him inside, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in months. No matter how hard the road ahead might be, you knew you wouldn’t be walking it alone.

The Oval Office was as grand as you’d imagined—perhaps even more so. Its high, curved ceilings and rich, historic decor exuded authority, yet the warmth of the afternoon sunlight filtering through the tall windows softened the edges, giving the room an almost serene quality.

You sat at the Resolute Desk, a stack of documents waiting for your signature. Each one bore the weight of history. Education reforms. Trade agreements. Environmental policies. Every flick of your pen carried consequences that rippled far beyond the iconic walls of this room.

Across the room, Becky, your ever-efficient assistant, was perched on the edge of one of the armchairs, tablet in hand. “After this meeting with the education committee, you’ve got a fifteen-minute break before the press briefing,” she said, scrolling rapidly through the day’s schedule. “Then at three, there’s the Cabinet discussion on infrastructure. And don’t forget the call with the German Chancellor at four.”

“Got it,” you replied, signing your name with a practiced flourish. “Anything else?”

Becky hesitated, glancing at her screen. “Oh, and your new personal bodyguard will be arriving shortly. Dean Winchester.”

You kept your expression neutral, though you’d been briefed extensively on this particular appointment. A former hitman, Dean’s resume wasn’t exactly typical for someone tasked with protecting the President. But his unconventional background—and the skillset that came with it—was exactly why he’d been chosen.

“Right,” you said, setting your pen down. “I’ve read his file. Has he been through security clearance?”

“Thoroughly vetted,” Becky assured you. “And cleared. He should be here any moment.”

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Let’s hope he lives up to the hype.”

Just as Becky opened her mouth to reply, the door opened.

You looked up, and the words you were about to say caught in your throat.

Dean Winchester strode into the room with the kind of presence that made people stop and take notice. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a casual confidence that hinted at years of facing danger head-on. He wore a dark gray suit that was tailored just enough to highlight his powerful frame but not so tight as to make him look polished or delicate. The crisp white shirt underneath contrasted against his tanned skin, and his black tie was slightly loosened, as if he’d deliberately left it that way.

Despite the formal attire, there was an undeniable ruggedness about him. His short, tousled hair was just slightly too messy to be regulation, and the shadow of stubble along his jaw added an edge that no amount of tailoring could hide. His green eyes, sharp and assessing, swept the room before landing on you.

You found yourself momentarily distracted by the way the suit accentuated his broad chest and tapered waist. It was a rare thing for someone to wear something so formal yet exude the kind of raw, unrefined masculinity that Dean seemed to embody.

“Madame President,” he said, his voice low and gravelly as he stopped a respectful distance from your desk.

You forced yourself to refocus, clearing your throat as you rose from your seat. “Mr. Winchester.” You allowed yourself a small smile, noting the way his gaze remained steady but professional. “You clean up well.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Thanks. I aim to please.”

Becky glanced between the two of you before standing. “I’ll step out and make sure everything’s ready for the committee meeting,” she said, gathering her tablet.

“Thanks, Becky,” you said, watching her leave before turning back to Dean.

For a moment, the room felt smaller. His presence was magnetic, and you couldn’t help but take him in once more, your gaze lingering on the way his shoulders filled out the suit jacket, the way his long fingers rested casually at his sides, the way they gripped his chair as he sat down. You snapped your attention back to his face before he could notice.

Dean leaned back slightly in the chair, taking in the sight of you as you scanned your schedule on the tablet in front of you. The soft lighting of the Oval Office seemed to highlight the sharp lines of your features, and the way you carried yourself—confident, composed, entirely in command—struck him in a way he hadn’t expected.

He’d done his research, of course. He knew your career milestones, your policies, even a few of your personal quirks. But seeing you in person was different. The photographs didn’t do you justice.

As you spoke, your voice clear and firm, Dean found himself watching the curve of your lips, the subtle tilt of your head when you emphasized a point. You had a presence that filled the room, a quiet strength that made it impossible to look away.

“Your main job,” you were saying, “is to ensure my safety, both here and when I travel. You’ll coordinate with the Secret Service, but your focus will be on close-range protection. You’ll accompany me to all public appearances, meetings, and events.”

Dean nodded, forcing himself to focus on your words rather than the way your blouse fit perfectly beneath your blazer. “Understood. Anything specific I should know about your routine?”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “It varies. I keep a tight schedule, but unexpected situations come up all the time. You’ll need to be adaptable.”

“I’m good at that,” Dean said, his tone confident but not cocky.

“Good.” You swiped at the tablet, then set it down on the desk. “I’ve read your file. Your skillset is…impressive.”

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “That’s one way to put it.”

You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a wry smile. “I’d call it unconventional, but that seems to be exactly what I need.”

Dean’s gaze flicked over you again, this time lingering on the curve of your jawline, the way your fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the desk. He’d worked with plenty of high-profile people before, but you were in a league of your own.

“Anything else I should be aware of?” he asked, his voice low.

You tilted your head, considering him for a moment. “You’re going to see me at my best and my worst,” you said plainly. “Long hours, high stress, bad days, good days. It comes with the territory.”

Dean nodded. “I’m here to do my job, ma’am. Whatever it takes.”

Something in his tone made you pause, your gaze sharpening as you studied him. “You’ve been in worse situations, haven’t you?”

“Let’s just say I’m no stranger to high stakes,” he replied, his smirk returning.

You leaned back in your chair, satisfied. “Good. I’ll need someone who can keep a cool head under pressure. And someone who doesn’t mind telling me the hard truth when I need to hear it.”

Dean’s smirk widened slightly. “I can handle that.”

The conversation shifted to logistics—your upcoming travel schedule, security protocols, and daily routines. Dean asked a few questions, his tone professional, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was studying you as much as he was listening.

If you noticed the way his eyes dipped to your collarbone when you leaned forward to make a point, or how his gaze lingered on the curve of your wrist as you gestured, you didn’t let on. You were focused, deliberate, every bit the commander-in-chief he’d expected.

When the meeting wrapped up, you stood and extended a hand again. “Welcome aboard, Dean. I look forward to working with you.”

Dean rose, his hand engulfing yours once more. “The pleasure’s mine, ma’am.”

As he turned to leave, you called after him, “And Dean?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“You really do look good in that suit.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Alone again, you returned to your desk, your mind already shifting to the next task. But for a moment, you allowed yourself a small smile.

It was going to be an interesting partnership.

“Ok, excuse me?” Bella had practically squealed when the door to your bedroom behind you, her and Steph had been shut by Dean, who was now waiting outside to give you some privacy, and thank God those walls were thick enough to hide this conversation. “You didn’t tell us your bodyguard was a Ben Affleck and Brad Pitt combo.”

Steph scoffed, shaking her head. “Girl, no. He’s better than that, he puts Adonis to shame— where’s he been hiding?” They both turned to you expectantly, clearly not aware that your Adonis-transcendent bodyguard was fresh out of the United States Penitentiary, Administrative Maximum Facility. Oh, that’s gonna be a hard pill to swallow, right?

“Prison.” You swallowed, clearing your throat awkwardly upon saying it, cause you weren’t often the bringer of news that a guy like Dean used to be a prolific criminal who kills for money. “ADX Florence. An ex-hitman, to be clear, with over 100 kills in the past two years.”

“So he’s a bad boy.” Bella giggled, clearly not phased, which kind of concerned you with which brain they both were thinking from, and hopefully not the downstairs one. “Even better, oh my god, I was getting worried he’s a goodie.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly grin. “Right? Like, you can’t just drop ‘ex-hitman with over 100 kills’ and not expect us to have questions. Or fantasies.”

“Steph!” you choked, glancing toward the door as if Dean could hear through the thick walls.

“What? I’m just saying!” She crossed her arms, leaning back against the bedpost. “Honestly, though? He’s got that whole ��dark past but reformed bad boy’ thing going for him. You’re living every romance novel heroine’s dream.”

Bella, not to be outdone, clutched at her chest dramatically. “Forget romance novels—I’d climb him like a tree. That man looks like he could bench press me and not even break a sweat.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can we not?”

“We absolutely can,” Bella countered, her voice rising with glee. “Seriously, you’ve got the hottest bodyguard in the country, and you didn’t think we needed to know this? Girl, where’s your sense of sisterhood?”

Steph was nodding in agreement. “Yeah, you’re withholding important information. Like, what’s he like in person? Is he all business, or does he have that smoldering, ‘I could kill you, but I won’t’ energy?”

Your cheeks burned, both from their shameless gushing and the mental image Steph’s words conjured. “He’s…fine. Professional.”

“‘Professional,’ she says,” Bella snorted. “Professional at looking fine as hell, maybe.” She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “Come on. What’s he like? Does he flirt? Does he give you those ‘I’m secretly in love with you’ stares when you’re not looking?”

You glared at her. “No. Absolutely not. He’s just doing his job.”

“Sure he is,” Steph said with a smirk, clearly not buying it. “But don’t think we didn’t notice the way he looked at you when he shut the door earlier.”

You blinked. “What? He didn’t—”

“Oh, honey,” Bella interrupted, waving her hand dramatically. “He totally did. That man looked at you like you were the last piece of chocolate cake at a birthday party. And don’t even get me started on how he stood. You know, all broody and protective, like some kind of…” She trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Alpha wolf guarding his mate,” Steph supplied helpfully.

“Exactly!” Bella snapped her fingers. “Thank you, Steph. That’s exactly the vibe.”

You groaned again, resisting the urge to bang your head against the nearest wall. “You two need help.”

“What we need,” Steph said, grinning wickedly, “is for you to admit that you’ve at least thought about it. Because if you haven’t, you’re lying.”

“I haven’t!” you protested, a little too quickly.

Bella’s eyes lit up like she’d just won the lottery. “Oh my God, you totally have! Look at you—your ears are turning red.”

“Leave me alone,” you muttered, glaring at the floor.

But they weren’t about to let you off the hook.

“Okay, okay,” Steph said, holding up a hand as if to calm the chaos. “Let’s be serious for a second. He’s obviously gorgeous, and clearly there’s some…tension. But what’s the story? Like, how did you even end up with him as your bodyguard? I feel like there’s a Netflix series waiting to happen here.”

You hesitated, weighing how much to tell them. “It’s…complicated. He was recommended through some very high-level channels. Apparently, he’s the best at what he does.”

“And what he does is kill people,” Bella said, her voice dripping with mock solemnity.

You shot her a look. “Not anymore. He’s reformed. He went through a rigorous vetting process before he was even considered for the position.”

Steph tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “So, he’s done bad things, but now he’s protecting the President of the United States. That’s a redemption arc if I’ve ever heard one.”

Bella sighed wistfully. “And he’s doing it all while looking like a Calvin Klein model who got lost on his way to the shoot.”

“Can we not turn this into a thirst-fest?” you pleaded, though you knew it was a losing battle.

Bella leaned closer, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, sweetie. It’s already a thirst-fest. You’re just in denial.”

The conversation spiraled from there, with Bella and Steph taking turns crafting increasingly absurd fantasies about Dean’s hypothetical love life.

“He probably has a tragic backstory,” Bella said dreamily, lying back on the bed. “Like, maybe he lost the love of his life in some tragic accident, and now he’s sworn to protect others to atone for his past.”

“Or,” Steph countered, “he’s secretly a billionaire who does this for the adrenaline rush. Like, by day he’s your bodyguard, but by night he’s funding orphanages and saving puppies.”

Bella clapped her hands. “Yes! And in his free time, he restores classic cars and writes poetry.”

You stared at them, equal parts amused and horrified. “You two have officially lost it.”

“Or,” Steph said, ignoring you entirely, “he’s secretly in love with you, and this whole bodyguard thing is just an excuse to be close to you.”

Bella gasped, sitting up suddenly. “Steph, that’s it! That’s the one!”

You buried your face in your hands. “I regret ever letting you meet him.”

“Don’t be like that,” Bella said, patting your shoulder. “We’re just saying—you’re sitting on a goldmine of romantic potential here. If you don’t at least consider it, we will.”

“Noted,” you said dryly, standing up and heading for the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have actual work to do. Unlike you two.”

Bella and Steph exchanged knowing looks as you opened the door to find Dean standing just outside, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

He straightened slightly when you stepped into the hallway, his eyes meeting yours. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” you said quickly, avoiding his gaze as you brushed past him.

But as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Steph and Bella might have been onto something.

The drive to Sam’s place was smooth, the kind of easy journey Dean Winchester hadn’t experienced in years. Maybe ever. The hum of the Impala’s engine, a comforting growl beneath him, was as close to peace as Dean could imagine. His day off had finally rolled around, and he hadn’t hesitated to decide how he’d spend it.

Sam had settled in a quiet neighborhood outside Washington, D.C., where tree-lined streets and neat, white-picket fences painted a picture of suburban serenity. It was a far cry from the lives they’d led growing up, but Dean couldn’t deny it suited his little brother.

Pulling up to the house, Dean killed the engine and climbed out, adjusting his leather jacket as he took in the sight. The two-story home was modest but inviting, with a tidy lawn and a swing set in the backyard visible through the side gate. He could hear faint laughter—probably from Dean Jr., Sam and Jess’s kid, who, much to Dean’s delight, was his namesake.

Dean’s boots crunched against the gravel path as he approached the front door. Before he could knock, it swung open, and Sam stood there, looking every bit the family man.

“Dean,” Sam greeted, his face lighting up in a grin. “Right on time.”

“Of course,” Dean said, stepping inside. “I’m punctual now. Didn’t you hear? I’ve got a government job.”

Sam chuckled, clapping Dean on the shoulder as he shut the door behind him. “I’m still getting used to the idea.”

Inside, the house was warm and lived-in. Pictures adorned the walls—Jess and Sam on their wedding day, little Dean Jr. blowing out candles on a birthday cake, snapshots of family trips to the beach. The scent of something delicious wafted from the kitchen, and Dean’s stomach growled in response.

“Jess is cooking?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

“She insists,” Sam replied with a shrug. “Says you need a proper meal after all that ‘White House food.’”

Dean smirked. “Tell her I’m not gonna argue with that.”

Jess appeared moments later, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. She was glowing, as she always seemed to be, her blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail and her smile bright enough to light up the room.

“Dean!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a quick hug. “It’s been too long.”

“Too long,” Dean agreed, glancing over her shoulder. “Where’s the rugrat?”

As if on cue, the sound of small feet thudding down the stairs filled the house. Dean Jr. appeared, his face lighting up when he saw his uncle. The kid was a spitting image of Sam, with floppy brown hair and wide hazel eyes, but he had Dean’s mischievous grin.

“Uncle Dean!”

“Dean-o!” Dean crouched, catching the boy as he barreled into him. “What’s up, kiddo? You keeping your old man in line?”

Dean Jr. nodded enthusiastically. “Dad says you work for the President now. Is that true?”

Dean ruffled the boy’s hair. “Sure is. Cool, huh?”

“Super cool,” Dean Jr. said, his eyes wide with awe.

“Alright, enough hero worship,” Sam teased, though his smile betrayed how much he enjoyed seeing his son and brother bond. “Come on, dinner’s almost ready.”

The meal was hearty—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and vegetables—and filled with easy conversation. Dean filled them in on the basics of his new job, skirting around the grittier details of his past. Sam and Jess shared stories about their life, from Jess’s latest work project to Dean Jr.’s adventures in Little League.

It was only after the dishes were cleared and Jess had taken Dean Jr. upstairs to bed that the conversation turned serious.

The brothers sat in the living room, each nursing a beer. The light from the fireplace cast a warm glow, and the house was quiet except for the occasional creak of the floorboards above.

“So,” Sam began, leaning back on the couch, “you gonna tell me how this happened?”

Dean took a long swig of his beer, then set the bottle down on the coffee table. “What, me working for the President? Thought you already knew.”

“I know the headlines,” Sam said, his brow furrowing. “But what I don’t know is how you went from ADX Florence to the White House.”

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Figured you’d ask eventually.”

“Of course I’d ask.” Sam’s voice was gentle but firm. “You were in prison, Dean. The kind of prison people don’t just walk out of.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It started with a newspaper.”

Sam blinked. “A newspaper?”

Dean nodded. “I was in my cell, flipping through this paper someone left behind. Saw an ad for a private security position with the President. They were looking for someone who could think outside the box, someone with…unconventional skills.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “And you thought, ‘Hey, that sounds like me’?”

“Something like that.” Dean’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Figured I didn’t have much to lose, so I wrote up a resume. Handed it off to my lawyer, told him to file it.”

Sam stared at him, his disbelief evident. “And they just…hired you?”

“No,” Dean said with a chuckle. “They didn’t even call me at first. Took weeks before I heard anything. When they finally did, they put me through the wringer—interviews, background checks, psych evaluations. The works.”

“And they still hired you?” Sam asked, shaking his head in amazement.

“Guess they figured my track record spoke for itself,” Dean said, his tone turning more serious. “I’ve done things, Sam. Bad things. But I’ve also done what needed to be done when no one else could. They saw that.”

Sam was quiet for a moment, processing his brother’s words. “And now you’re protecting the most powerful person in the world.”

Dean nodded. “Guess you could say I’m making up for lost time.”

Sam studied his brother, his expression thoughtful. “You know, Jess and I were talking about you the other night. About how far you’ve come. We’re proud of you, Dean.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably, not used to hearing such straightforward praise. “Don’t get all mushy on me, Sammy.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m serious. You’ve been through hell and back, and somehow you’re still standing.”

Dean took another sip of his beer, his gaze distant. “Yeah, well. Standing’s about all I’m good at.”

“That’s not true,” Sam said firmly. “You’ve got a purpose now. A second chance. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Dean glanced at his brother, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam returned the smile, then leaned back with a sigh. “So, what’s she like? The President.”

Dean hesitated, caught off guard by the question. “She’s…different.”

“Different how?”

“She’s smart. Sharp as hell. Tough, but not in a fake way. And she actually listens, which is more than I can say for most people in her position.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you respect her.”

“I do,” Dean admitted.

“And for your type…” Sam smirked, his voice taking on a teasing tone. “She’s pretty hot.”

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “Sam!”

“What?” Sam asked, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying. You’ve got a thing for strong women, and she sounds like she fits the bill.”

Dean shook his head, trying to suppress a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it,” Sam said with a grin. “Besides, you deserve someone who can keep up with you.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through him at his brother’s words.

The rest of the evening passed in easy conversation, the kind that only happened between brothers who’d been through it all together. When Dean finally stood to leave, Sam walked him to the door, clapping him on the shoulder as he stepped outside.

“Take care of yourself, Dean,” Sam said, his voice quiet but steady.

“You too, Sammy,” Dean replied, his gaze lingering on his brother’s home—the warmth, the love, the life Sam had built.

As Dean climbed into the Impala and drove away, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a place for him in this world after all.

NEXT UP:

“Dean,” you said, a touch of surprise in your voice. “I thought you were on your break.”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, his gaze locked with yours, and the air seemed to thicken. There was something different about him—an intensity in his expression, a flicker of something unspoken.

Without a word, he reached up and tugged at his tie, loosening it further before slipping it over his head and tossing it onto one of the chairs.

Your eyebrows shot up. “What are you doing?”

Dean didn’t answer. He shrugged out of his suit jacket next, draping it over the back of a chair with deliberate ease. His movements were slow, calculated, and impossibly confident.

“Dean?” you repeated, your voice catching slightly.

His shirt followed. Button by button, he undid it with maddening patience, his green eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitched as he peeled it off, revealing the broad, chiseled planes of his chest and the faint scars that crisscrossed his skin—a testament to a dangerous past.

By the time his hands went to his belt, your pulse was racing.

“What are you—” you began, but the words died in your throat as he stepped forward.

In one smooth motion, Dean swept the documents off your desk, scattering them across the floor. He leaned down, his hands bracketing you on either side as he effortlessly lifted you onto the polished wood surface.

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[pug-bitch]

That’s not why I’m staying (7)

Attention must be paid

Book: The Royal Romance, Book 2

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive, and a VERY steamy scene. This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18.

Word count: about 4,700

Notes: This picks up pretty much where we left off, starting with Maxwell’s POV.

*****

‘Morning, Maxxie,’ Amara whispers, between two sips of coffee.

Maxwell yawns and nods, all the while pouring himself a big mug. He’s gonna need it. He hasn’t slept much, just in intervals, ever since his interaction with Michael. He plants a peck on Amara’s cheek and sits by her.

She raises an eyebrow. ‘You look like hell, did you sleep at all?’

He dramatically slams his coffee mug on the table. ‘Well, Miss Suarez, this isn’t a nice way of greeting your friend in the early morning.’ He takes a sip. ‘I wish I could reciprocate the compliment but unfortunately, you look glowy as hell.’ He pauses. ‘Must be all the sex.’

Amara blushes and bites her lip. ‘You got me there. I’ll shut up.’

Maxwell chuckles. He looks around, unsure of whether he wishes to see Michael or not. ‘Where are the others?’ he asks.

‘They went for a run. You ok?’

Maxwell nods and sighs. ‘I’m good. Are we all alone, you sure?’

‘You’re worrying me, Maxxie,’ Amara frowns. ‘Talk to me.’

He rolls his eyes. He shouldn’t talk about it. Right? ‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing.’ He pauses, but Amara’s eyes are glued on him, expecting something else to come out of his mouth. He sighs again. ‘Fine. But you can’t say anything, not even to Drake.’

Amara nods and mimes zipping up her lips. Maxwell takes a deep breath.

He continues, ‘I couldn’t sleep last night, because Hana had a massive nightmare about bees—don’t ask. I went downstairs, and Michael was there. We had tea, then whiskey. We kind of…’ he trails off, unsure of how to define what happened last night.

Amara’s eyes light up. ‘Hooked up?’ She says in a hopeful tone.

Maxwell chuckles. ‘What? No! Amara, you dirty little minx.’ He can’t contain his smile. ‘Come on. Be serious for one second.’ He rolls his eyes playfully before continuing. ‘So as I was saying before you interrupted with your sick fantasies, Michael and I kind of...confessed how we feel about each other.’

Amara gasps and slaps her hand in front of her mouth. ‘Oh my God Maxxie! Really? That’s incredible!’

Max laughs lightly and places his hand on Amara’s forearm. ‘Alright, settle down, nothing happened. Well, he, um. He did take my hand.’

Amara gasps some more. ‘Oh my, Mr. Darcy. That’s some sexy shit! If we were in Victorian England.’ Maxwell shoots daggers at her and she bursts out laughing. ‘I’m joking, hun. Teasing you, because it’s so fucking cute I can’t handle it. He took your hand?’

Maxwell nods excitedly. ‘Yes. Told me he had a lot to process because he can see himself healing. But he wants to see me again.’

Amara drops the playful act immediately and Maxwell notices tears poking through her eyes. She grabs Maxwell by the shoulder and pulls him closer for a massive hug. ‘Sorry,’ she murmurs, ‘this is a bit excessive, I know, but fuck, Maxwell,’ she says as she pulls away and wipes away a tear, ‘this just makes me so happy.’ They both laugh. ‘Damn, it’s gonna be so hard to keep it to myself.’

*****

‘Let’s get some olives!’ Amara yells out to Drake, who is intently staring at some fish.

He nods and smiles at her, before pointing at the halibut fillets for the fishmonger to wrap up. Amara is delighted to see Drake in his element. The food everywhere, the vendors, the decisions he must make in order to entertain several people… She can tell that he’s enjoying himself immensely.

She has been tasked with picking up some fruit so she and Hana can make dessert, and some apéritif stuff for Maxwell and Michael to put together. Liv is bringing wine, and flying solo, since Rashad has to go to Serbia for a business deal. Since he’s not aware of her relationship with Drake, Amara can’t help but be relieved that it’ll be just them. Bertrand will join as well, and is bringing mini quiches, champagne, and vodka. They definitely won’t die of thirst. Maybe of alcohol poisoning, though.

They pick up a couple of types of olives, and Drake casually plants a kiss on Amara’s head as they walk away. Amara can’t stop this feeling of bliss. Sure, it’ll be exciting to roam around Europe on a train, it’ll be very Some Like It Hot, and there’ll be some investigating involved—after all, they have to find not one, not two, but three whole adult people, plus a baby—, but this domestic life they have been leading for a few days now is idyllic.

‘Hey babe,’ Drake says softly, ‘what do you think of apricots for your dessert?’

Amara smiles excitedly, ‘Oh yeah, great idea, and I’ll pick up some almondmeal to make some sort of frangipane!’ She places some apricots in a bag and hands it to the vendor. ‘Hello there,’ she says gleefully.

The woman gasps in surprise. ‘Oh my, as I live and breathe! Lady Amara, it’s you!’

Amara’s heart drops, and her face remains frozen mid-grimace. Shit, she thinks, she’s been so used to laying low that it’s been a while since she was last recognized. Since the bar fight, really. ‘Hi,’ she says with a nervous smile. ‘How are you?’

‘Oh, just wonderful,’ the middle-aged woman replies. She hands back the apricots and waves Amara off. ‘Oh, Lady Amara, those are on the house.’

‘No no, I insist, there’s no reason—‘

‘Please,’ the lady whispers. ‘I’m such a big fan. The country needs a relatable Queen, someone like you. It’s so unfair how the court has been treating you.’

Amara glances at Drake briefly, and says, ‘Ma’am, I assure you everyone has been lovely, no reason to feel this way. Now please tell me how much I owe you.’

The lady scoffs. ‘No. I refuse to take payment from a national treasure.’ Amara hears Drake chuckling next to her. The woman continues. ‘You’re so poised, and yet so sweet. Not like those nobles with,’ she pauses and gets closer to Amara in confidence, ‘some broomsticks up their asses, if you know what I mean.’

Drake chuckles some more and chimes in, ‘Oh, I know what you mean, Ma’am.’

She laughs. ‘Right, Mr. Walker gets it.’ She pauses and studies the two of them. ‘This is nice, seeing you two out and about. I’m glad you have supportive friends. And just so you know, most of us aren’t fooled.’

Amara’s heart is about to throb out of her chest. ‘Oh, uh, fooled about…?’ She manages to utter.

The lady snorts. ‘Fooled about those pictures!’

Amara exhales in relief. ‘Oh, yeah, I mean, I’ll address that soon, I just—I just needed to catch my breath. But, um… yeah, I’m glad people could see they weren’t what they seemed.’

The lady nods furiously. ‘Oh please. How convenient is it that Lady Madeleine gets to swoop in after you were framed? I’m telling you, my book club and I are not fooled. I told my husband, I said, those nobles, they’re threatened by your elegance and your natural grace, and so of course they had to retaliate.’

Amara can barely recall the second half of the conversation. She tips the woman generously and agrees to a selfie with her. As they walk away, Drake whispers to her ‘We dodged a fucking bullet, Ms. National Treasure.’

Amara’s eyes widen. ‘Tell me about it.’

*****

‘Hana, can you show me again?’ Michael asks desperately.

Hana hurries by his side to help him untangle the fairy lights they just bought at the corner store and place them on Drake’s terrace, interlocked in the flower pots. Hana has a knack for decorating, which does not come as a surprise, since the woman can do just about anything in grace and skill.

‘There you go!’ She exclaims, letting go of the lights.

‘Wow,’ Michael marvels, ‘it’s so much better when you do it.’

Hana chuckles. Maxwell walks onto the terrace, his arms full of plates and silverware. Michael hurries to help him. ‘Thank you,’ Maxwell whispers with a smile. Michael’s heart sinks. He can’t believe he’s leaving tomorrow. Who knows when he’ll see Max’s smile again?

‘Of course,’ Michael responds as his knuckles brush against Maxwell’s. They set the table together, in silence.

Hana plants herself in front of them and gives them a knowing smile. ‘We’re gonna miss you, Michael,’ she says in a sweet tone. Michael smiles. He’ll miss her too, he’s grown to love each of Amara’s friends in a very short time.

‘I’ll miss you too, honey,’ he says, holding out his arms to give her a quick hug. ‘You’ll have to come visit me in New York.’

Hana chuckles, ‘Lucky for you, it’s on the itinerary. We’re all going there after the Engagement Ball, at the end of the tour.’

Michael’s heart skips a beat. ‘All of you?’ He asks hopefully.

Hana nods. ‘Yup. All of us.’

Maxwell smiles. ‘You thought you could get away with an empty promise huh?’

Michael snorts. ‘Quite the opposite. I was hoping that day could come sooner, rather than later.’

Maxwell bites his lip. ‘Yeah. Just a few weeks away.’

‘Hello?’ Olivia walks in, carrying a wine bag with 4 bottles in it. ‘Was anybody gonna answer the door?’

Hana squeals. ‘Olivia! Sorry we were arranging lights for tonight! So good to see you!’

Olivia rolls her eyes as she sets the wine on the table. ‘Yeah yeah, you too, Lee. Can’t wait to see you drunk.’

Hana giggles. ‘With all the wine you brought, you definitely will.’

Olivia laughs lightly. ‘It only takes a glass with you, so I’m sure. How are you gentlemen doing?’

Maxwell walks towards her and gives her a tentative hug, which Liv meets with an exasperated grimace and a reluctant pat on the back. ‘Great, how are you, doll?’ He asks.

Liv shrugs. ‘Can barely walk after a night of goodbye sex with Rashad, thanks for asking.’

‘Oh good,’ Michael says jokingly, ‘we were wondering about that. Good to see you again, Olivia.’

‘Good to see you too, Mike Tyson,’ Olivia says with a smirk. ‘Get it? Because you punched a guy with your skinny little arm?’

Michael chuckles. ‘It was pretty obvious, yeah. Want a drink? Amara made a pitcher of margs before she left.’

‘Sure, let’s do it. Where are the disgusting lovebirds, by the way?’

Hana smiles. ‘They’re at the farmers market. Shopping for the bash.’

Olivia snorts. ‘Oh so they’ll be gone for hours. They’re probably gonna stop somewhere and bone.’

*****

‘Fuck, I really thought she was going to say something about us,’ Amara says with a sigh as they hop back into Drake’s Jeep. ‘I thought, that’s it, people are starting to suspect something, and tomorrow the tabloids will be all over it.’

Drake sighs as well as he turns on the ignition. ‘Yeah, I know. Well, we’re good, for now. Breathe, ok?’ He puts a reassuring hand on Amara’s knee.

She nods. ‘Yeah. She was pretty funny in the end.’

‘You’d think so,’ he teases, ‘she called you a national treasure. How does it feel?’

Amara chuckles lightly. ‘I don’t know, it’s a little surreal. I’m glad the perks involve free apricots, but beyond that… no clue.’

Drake laughs. ‘Hey Suarez?’ He asks.

‘Hm?’

‘Wanna stop by the beach for a second? I don’t feel like coming back to a house full of people just yet.’

Amara smiles excitedly. ‘Let’s do it.’

It’s a short drive to the beach, and Drake parks the Jeep in the shade, near a small creek that resembles the one they swam together in, when they confessed their feelings for the first time. Amara smiles at the memory. It feels like so long ago, and yet just a handful of months have passed. Hard to believe that she was still in her funk in Brooklyn before all of this.

They get out of the Jeep in comfortable silence, finding each other’s hand as soon as they close in the distance between them. Amara squeezes Drake’s hand and shoots him a smile. They take off their shoes to walk freely on the sand.

Sitting down on a rock, they contemplate the rippling of the Mediterranean. Amara can’t help but think of all the summers she spent with her family on the Delaware beaches, where the waves are high and the Atlantic is somewhat untameable. She was lucky if she could actually swim for more than a minute before being slapped by a wave. It was nice, though. There is something to be said about lively beach towns in America: the laughter, the saltwater taffy, the carnival rides, the candy stores, the hot dogs… does she miss it? Yeah, she does. But is this delightful?

Fuck yeah. The silence, the quiet spaces, where no one can see you. The cute little creeks where she can snuggle up to the man she loves. She peels her head off of Drake’s shoulder to look up at him. His kind eyes meet hers, and her soul is instantly warmed. He smiles back and presses a light kiss on her lips.

‘I wish we could swim,’ she whispers. ‘This place is so nice.’

Drake’s eyes darken. ‘Who said we can’t?’ He gets up and swiftly takes off his shirt. He looks down at Amara and gestures for her to follow suit.

He doesn’t have to beg her for long. She gets up as well and takes off her plain white T-shirt, before unbuttoning her jeans. Drake throws his on the rock and wraps Amara in a tight embrace.

‘You’re so fucking beautiful,’ he whispers before capturing her lips in a deep kiss.

They close in the space between themselves and the sea, and start walking into the water in their underwear, hand in hand. The water gets high fast, and soon enough it’s up to their waists. Amara holds her breath and immerses herself completely. Her makeup can go to hell. When she emerges, she cautiously opens one eye, then two. She takes in the beauty of her surroundings. The Portavira sun, glowing on the Mediterranean. The glistening water gently swaying on the rocks. Her beautiful man, right next to her, his body immersed, his face and hair wet. ‘Hi there,’ she says playfully. She wraps her arms around his neck, and kisses him deeply. She feels his hands grabbing her waist, pulling her closer. She feels his strong body against hers. Still enmeshed in their kiss, she wraps her legs around his waist. She can’t get close enough.

‘Fuck, I wish we’d ditched the underwear,’ Drake whispers into her kiss. She chuckles. Underwear has never stopped them. She reaches down to Drake’s boxers and swiftly pulls them down, freeing his already hard cock. He gasps.

‘Better?’ She asks, raising one eyebrow. Drake nods. He cups Amara’s ass with both hands, one of which is getting dangerously close to the seat of her panties. With one smooth motion, he pulls her underwear to the side and gently caresses her pussy lips, before teasing her entrance with one, then two fingers. Damn, she thinks. That’s all it takes, huh. She wants him, now, urgently. She lowers herself close to his cock, to the point where the tip of it is right at her entrance. She teases it with hip movements, bringing it almost inside. Drake groans loudly.

‘Fuck. I want you,’ he says in a low voice.

Before long, he’s inside her, both thrusting their hips in rhythm, completely oblivious of the world around them.

*****

Drake can’t believe they had sex in the ocean. Again. He can’t stop grinning as they walk back to the shore to find their clothes. Amara’s pale yellow bra immediately soaks up her white T-shirt, making it look like she went swimming in it.

She sighs, defeated. ‘I didn’t think it through,’ she laughs.

Drake takes her hand and pulls her closer. ‘Who fucking cares. I’m so glad we came. Pun intended.’

Amara bites her lip. ‘Me too. Is it illegal in Cordonia to walk around in a bra?’

‘Nope,’ Drake says proudly as he puts his jeans back on.

Amara follows suit and peels off her now wet T-shirt. ‘Alright, deal. Let me text Maxwell, let him know we’re on our way.’ She snaps a quick selfie and types a text. The familiar chime comes in about a second later. Max is a quick texter.

‘Ready to leave our love creek?’ Drake says, immediately regretting saying something so corny.

Amara chuckles. ‘Are you going mushy on me, Walker? Love creek, huh?’

He shrugs. ‘I knew you’d give me shit for it. I don’t care,’ he spreads his arms playfully, ‘take me or leave me, Suarez, I’m a big pile of goo when you’re around.’

*****

Bertrand debates what to take with him for tonight’s mini-bash. He’s so excited that he was included in the festivities that he wants everything to be perfect. He hasn’t been to the Walker cabin since… No, he can’t think about it. Not now.

Who is he fooling? He won’t be able to keep it together. He manages just fine when there are no memories of her around him, but over there, oh…

Get it together, you coward, he thinks. No one can know. It’s shameful enough that he fell for a woman over 8 years his junior, but to have treated her like that… To have engaged in sexual activity with her without providing any sense of commitment… his father would be ashamed of him.

What had he been afraid of, after all? It’s not like she was a kid. When it all started, she was in her early to mid-twenties, and he was a young thirtysomething. They fell for each other, that’s not so bad, is it?

But what could he have given her? With the blackmail payments, House Beaumont was not the wealthiest, and Bertrand himself, well… has never been the most fun-loving, the most pleasant man.

Savannah Walker deserved better than that.

When she disappeared, he tried to contact her. Called a few times, but when she picked up, he would instinctively hang up the phone. Too much of a coward, once again. He didn’t know what to say.

That’s why, a year into her absence, he finally found the courage to write an email. A long one, detailing how he had felt about her. Why he hadn’t stood up for her. Why he hadn’t shown her his love like he should have.

Yes, he found the courage to write that email.

But not to send it. It remains, to this day, in his drafts. Instead, he wrote her a brief, non-committal one, along the lines of ‘I hope you’re doing alright. I miss our talks.’

He does miss their talks. Her presence. Her aura. He hates himself for simply thinking this word, because it sounds so fakey, but when it comes to her, it’s not. She always raised his spirits. Made him smile. Made him forget the world, until the world reminded him that it exists.

And that day at the Walker cabin… when he’d driven her home after a bash and she had insisted that he stay over. They’d slept together, in the same bed, without anything happening. They’d cuddled, of course. But she’d been drinking, and Bertrand is not one to take advantage. So, he’d been there for her. Until the next morning when, at dawn, they both woke up and gave in to their desires.

He’ll never forget that day. Because it was the last time he saw her.

She had wanted him to commit, to be together out in the open, and he had been noncommittal, as usual. He needed time. He didn’t contact her again for over a month. By the time he did, she was gone.

No, he can’t think about it today. Not when he’s supposed to have a good time with his brother and their friends. This is a worry for another time.

*****

Liam clicks mindlessly on various files that need addressing. He doesn’t feel like doing any work, not today, not any day lately. He’s tired. He can’t wait until the tour begins, in just two little days. He’ll be able to see Drake, hang out with the guys, and see Amara again. He also misses Liv’s presence. It’s strange not to have her around, for the first time in over twenty years. Yes, the tour will be better.

He and Madeleine will have to sleep separately, on the tour. It’s tradition. The very thought of sleeping alone fills him with joy. For the past few days, she’s insisted on sharing his bed every night, and he can’t say no, because then she would be suspicious.

Now all he hopes for is that the whole scheme will be unveiled soon. They need to find Tariq. Find proof that the outings and the pictures were all staged, maliciously planted to ensure Madeleine’s place.

They need to. He can’t go on like this.

A light knock on his door. His neck tenses up. If it’s Madeleine, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. Probably cry into his hands.

‘Your Highness?’ Says a tentative voice.

He recognizes it instantly, and his neck relaxes a bit. ‘Ioanna? Come on in!’

He gets up to greet her with a handshake. She smiles at him. ‘It’s good to see you. I’m sorry to come in like this, but there was no one there to announce me.’

Liam remembers he told his secretary to go home. He had completely forgotten about his appointment with the Ambassador of Greece. ‘Don’t apologize, I’m very happy you’re here. And I told you to call me Liam. Take a seat!’

She obliges. ‘Thank you,’ she says softly. She frowns lightly. ‘Are you alright?’ She asks. ‘You look...I don’t mean to be insulting…’

Liam glances at his computer screen, where his reflection is staring at him haggardly. Yep, he looks like shit. Bloodshot eyes, bags underneath, everything. ‘Um, yes, I realize I’m not looking my best.’ He tries not to focus on his tie-less shirt. ‘I apologize. If I’m being honest, I had completely forgotten about this appointment.’

‘I can come back later if—‘

‘No!’ He interrupts a little too quickly. ‘No, please. I’m happy you’re here.’

She smiles. ‘Alright. The Ambassador is still not feeling a hundred percent, and he didn’t want to take any chances. He would never forgive himself if he gave you the stomach flu right before your Engagement Tour.’ She pauses. ‘Oh my goodness,’ she exclaims, ‘I realized I didn’t even congratulate you properly! So, congratulations on your engagement, this is wonderful news.’

He smiles at her sadly. ‘Thank you, Ioanna.’ He can’t muster up the strength to say anything else.

She senses it. He knows she does. ‘Liam, I hope I’m not overstepping,’ she whispers, ‘but if you ever need to talk to someone who’s completely outside of…’ she looks around and makes an encompassing gesture, ‘well, all of this, you have my contact info. I mean it, ok?’

Liam lets out an uneven breath, which almost sounds like a sob. ‘Thank you,’ he says with relief. ‘You’re not overstepping at all.’

*****

‘Hey!’ Amara yells out at she comes onto the cabin terrace where all her friends are sipping margaritas. ‘Sorry for the delay, Drake is putting the groceries away.’

She had put her T-shirt back on, but it’s very obviously still wet. Olivia glances at it with a smirk. ‘So that’s how you greet me, Suarez? With a wet T-shirt contest?’

Amara gasps. ‘Liv! You’re here!’ She holds out her arms.

‘No hugs, thank you very much. This is silk,’ she says, gesturing to her black blouse.

‘Fair enough,’ Amara chuckles, ‘and it’s a gorgeous blouse. I should go change if we’re daydrinking!’

‘Fuck yeah we are!’ Michael exclaims.

Amara laughs wholeheartedly. She loves Drunk Mike. ‘Alright honeys, I’ll be right back.’

She hops up to Drake’s room to choose an outfit. Parts of her want to be casual and comfortable, but this is a mini-bash after all, so some degree of dressing up is expected. Plus, this is Michael’s last night in Cordonia. Attention must be paid. So, a cute sundress it is. She picks a white one with green flowers and a plunging neckline. Brown strappy heels to match.

An hour later, she and Hana have made their apricot frangipane dessert, which is baking in the oven. Max and Michael are prepping a nice apéritif, Drake is cooking gleefully, and everyone is already drunk.

‘Hey Liv,’ Drake says, ‘since you’re not doing anything, can you chop that mango for me?’

Olivia looks at him, outraged, from the chaise longue on the terrace. She gestures at her blouse. ‘Have I mentioned that this is silk?’

Drake rolls his eye. ‘Fine, I’ll do it…’

‘Yeah,’ Liv mutters, ‘it’s not like what you have on is made of any precious fabric.’

Maxwell sighs. ‘Be nice, Liv, he’s making you dinner.’

Liv sticks out her tongue and takes another sip of her margarita.

A knock on the door is heard. Everyone goes silent, all that can be heard is the playlist that Maxwell is carefully curating. Amara takes a deep breath as she gets up. ‘Alright, it better be Bertrand,’ she says softly, ‘because if it’s Leo again I’m gonna fuck him up.’

They all chuckle nervously. Amara walks to the door and opens it slowly. Her face lights up. ‘Bertrand! You made it!’ She exclaims as she throws her arms around him.

Bertrand laughs awkwardly. ‘Oh, what a nice welcome, Amara, thank you for having me!’

Amara gestures for him to come in and leads him to the kitchen and the terrace. She can’t help but notice that he looks nervous. She’s gonna have to make him a big drink.

‘Everyone, it’s Bertrand!’ She yells. The others cheer and chant Bertrand’s name. He seems to let loose a bit and smiles more broadly as he places the huge cardboard box containing alcohol and mini quiches on the table. Amara continues, ‘I hope you brought your tassel PJs, Bertrand, because no one’s driving back home tonight,’ she exclaims as she passes him a fresh margarita. ‘Also I love your ascot.’

Bertrand opted for a purple ascot with squids on it, and Amara has trouble looking away from his shoes: matching purple moccasins with...tassels.

‘Why thank you, Amara, it’s very kind of you to say,’ Bertrand blushes. ‘Please dig into the mini quiches.’

*****

‘Truth!’

Hana is already giggling uncontrollably, and Drake hands her a glass of water as she prepares to answer the next question. The evening inevitably started with a very fruitful apéritif and a game of truth or dare.

Liv raises her hand. ‘I got one! Who’s the grossest celebrity you would fuck?’

Amara frowns, ‘Ew, Liv, what a weird question.’

Liv shrugs. ‘I stand by it.’

Hana thinks intently. ‘Hmm… I don’t think anyone is gross, Olivia, everyone is beautiful in their own way!’

‘Come on, Hana!’ Amara exclaims. ‘Lots of people are gross!’

Hana shakes her head. ‘I don’t agree!’

Liv rolls her eyes. ‘Alright, Saint Hana, then who’s the oldest celebrity you would bang?’

Hana’s eyes light up. ‘Oh, that’s easy! Ruth Bader Ginsburg!’

There is a deep silence, before everyone bursts out laughing.

‘Ok, your turn, Bertrand!’ Hana exclaims. ‘Truth or dare?’

Bertrand wipes off a tear from laughter. ‘Let’s say truth!’ He says hesitantly.

Hana thinks for a second. Drake can’t help but feel badly for Bertrand, who has to be thinking of Sav right now. Drake is glad that they’re keeping busy with games to divert the attention, because if he gets any closer to becoming Bertrand’s friend, he’s gonna have a very hard time keeping the truth to himself.

Hana gasps. ‘I know! Who would you rather’ she pauses to let out a giggle, ‘bone, between Queen Regina, Lady Madeleine, and…’ Hana can barely control her laughter, ‘King Constantine!’

‘Good Lord, woman,’ Liv chuckles.

Bertrand’s face hardens. ‘This is sacrilegious, Lady Hana. Why would I talk about our royalty in such terms?’ He pauses and smiles broadly. ‘I’m joking. I would bone Queen Regina.’

*****

Taglist:

@drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @andy-loves-corgis , @jovialyouthmusic , @mariahschoices @drakesensworld @thequeenofcronuts , @notoriouscs , @drakewalkerisreal @nikkis1983​ , @simsvetements , @alesana45 @iplaydrake @emceesynonymroll @lily1999love , @silviasutton1989 @dcbbw @texaskitten30 @furiousherringoperatortoad @hollygirl1269 @sirbeepsalot @ladyangel70 @thisperfectmemory @drxkewalker @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @mrsmairstanley @addictedtodrakefanfic @msjpuddleduck @kimmiedoo5 @furryperfectionlover @princessleac1

Thank you for your encouragements, everyone! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[the-inept-artist]

The Next Step

It's my first time doing a Destiel oneshot, I hope to make my fellow shippers proud! I'm also considering doing an animatic to be posted to my Tumblr, but I gotta figure out the tech and get the right software first, so that won't be for a LOOOOONG time.

Supernatural doesn't belong to me, nor does "Angel With A Shotgun", or any other song mentioned.

Anyway, as always, please enjoy and review!

~oOo~

It was over. It was finally over.

Castiel nursed his beer from his spot just inside the library as the sound of happy people washed over him. Conversation and laughter floated out of the war room—

No, not war room. Foyer. They had no use for a war room anymore. Cas needed to remember that.

It had seemed like ages since Chuck had surrendered. Somehow, two hunters, an angel and a nephilim had managed to bring down the almighty creator of the universe. And Dean—intelligent, cunning, wonderful Dean—made Chuck swear on his every creation that he would bring back everyone the four had lost to his little game, along with repairing the dimension that Michael had destroyed.

So that was why Cas was watching Mary Winchester chat animatedly with Charlie Bradbury and Jody Mills. Watching John Winchester stand awkwardly in a corner beside Crowley, tipping back his third beer of the night. Watching Sam nearly double over in laughter in response to Gabriel's joke, Balthazar rolling his eyes in mock-annoyance. Watching Kelly Kline grin excitedly after beating Bobby Singer and Rowena MacLeod at cards for the fourth time in a row that night. Watching Jessica Moore try to explain what college was to Amara. And many more revelers, all smiling and happy and alive.

"Hey." Cas nearly jumped from his seat as he noticed Jack standing beside him, looking at him concernedly. "Are you okay? We won, you should be celebrating."

Cas settled back, idly twirling his beer bottle and watching the alcohol swish around inside. "I know, and believe me, I'm ecstatic. It's just…I don't know."

Jack pulled up a chair and sat beside him. "Not sure what to do now?"

"Yes, that's it. Ever since I met Dean and Sam, there's always been an enemy to fight. Lucifer, other angels, the Leviathans…there's never not been a struggle." Cas sighed. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure if that makes sense."

"No, no, I get it." Jack leaned his arm on the table and shifted in his seat. "I am a bit restless as well. But I say we make it through the party tonight, and tomorrow we figure out what to do next."

Cas mulled over the nephilim's words. "That sounds…doable."

"Hey everyone!" Dean's voice echoed over the clang of the metal door. Kevin Tran peered over his shoulder, bucketloads of Chinese food in his hands. "Lookit what the kid and I got!" The two headed down the stairs. Cas got up off his seat and joined the throng of people, Jack not far behind him.

"A karaoke machine?" Mary said, reading the box Dean held. "Where in the world did you find that?"

"We stopped in a tech store on the way back from the Chinese place," Kevin said, moving to the table to unladen his arms. "Dean insisted."

Dean smiled sheepishly. "I thought it'd be fun. Any takers?"

Charlie shrugged, a smile gracing her face. "Why the hell not, I'm in."

Several others followed the redhead's example, nodding and murmuring their agreements. Crowley and John took a pass, but more or less the majority of the party decided to partake in the fun.

Sam came up to Cas as he was watching Dean set up the machine. "You joining in?"

Cas glanced at the younger Winchester before returning his gaze to the elder. "I may. Not sure."

Sam nodded. "Gabe's definitely doing it. I'd bet all my money that he'll do "Sexy Back"."

Cas cracked a small smile. "That's my brother for you. Do you think you'll sing something?"

"Ah, nah." Sam rubbed the back of his neck as Dean hooked up the mic. "I've never really liked singing, and certainly not in front of people. Dean, on the other hand—"

"I call first!" Dean yelled, quickly straightened up from behind the machine. He grabbed the microphone and started scrolling through the songs, ignoring Charlie and Kevin's playful boos.

Cas nodded sagely, fighting a chuckle. "I see."

For a time, Cas enjoyed the many performances put on. Dean gave a rousing rendition of "I'm Too Sexy", to which Crowley immediately groaned and left the room. Cas found his face a bit hotter than normal as he watched Dean move to the music. But as Charlie took the makeshift stage, he attempted to calm himself and focus on the coming acts.

Charlie sang "One Woman Army", and Kevin managed to stumble his way through "Die Young". Jess ended up being the jewel of the party, singing "I Wouldn't Mind" with the most beautiful voice. True to form, Gabriel performed "Sexy Back", complete with some more than inappropriate dance moves. Funnily enough, as Cas looked around a while later, neither Gabe or Sam were to be seen.

The two finally came back just as Amara was wrapping up "Never Enough". They seemed much more giggly and closer than before, Sam having an arm casually slung around the smaller angel. Though, Cas, noted, Gabe was wearing Sam's coat. And Sam's mess of hair certainly was…messier than usual.

Cas smirked to himself, turning his gaze back to the head of the room. About time.

"Oi, Cas!" Cas was startled for the second time as Dean materialized beside him. "You haven't sung yet, c'mon!"

"Oh, um. I don't know," Cas said lamely. Dean chuckled and pulled him up off his seat.

"Please?" The hunter wiggled his eyebrows, which made Cas's stomach explode into fuzzy bumblebees, tickling his sides and making his head feel light. There was something about Dean's ernest and hopeful expression that made his face flush and he couldn't help a small smile escaping.

"O-okay," the angel timidly agreed, letting Dean lead him to the stage. He waited, awkwardly staring out over the idly chatting audience as Dean bent over the machine.

"Alright, you touch here to scroll up, and here to scroll down," Dean explained. "Hit this to confirm your song, and have fun!" He stepped down the stairs and started chatting with Mary, leaving Cas to his own devices.

Cas looked through the music selection with trepidation. Nothing he saw immediately jumped out. Everyone had somehow found a song to describe them, yet he—wait. Cas stopped scrolling and eyed the song title. "Angel With A Shotgun".

Cas remembered this song. It was one of the songs that convenience store he once worked at had on shuffle. The first time he had heard it, his thoughts had instantly jumped to Dean, much to his confusion and mild embarrassment at the time. Though as he listened, waiting for the next time it would play softly over the store speakers, he realized that there was a certain…pull, to the song. To how it somehow took every puzzling feeling he had and explained it clearly and concisely.

The song had helped him admit to himself and accept that he had a—what did humans call it?—a thing for Dean.

Cas's eyes flicked from the karaoke machine to Dean. He had long ago shoved the small piece of hope to a remote corner of his heart, but now that hope was shining through, almost hurting his chest with its strength and brilliance. They were free now, with nothing to hold them back or worry about. Could he…could they have a chance?

"C'mon, Cas, pick a song!" Dean exclaimed. Cas was shaken from his thoughts as they rest of the party realized who was onstage and began to clap and cheer encouragingly. The bumblebees in Cas's stomach were now rocketing around, pinging lightly off their walls.

He took a breath and before he had time to back out, selected "Angel With A Shotgun".

The familiar opening started, and Cas relaxed a bit. It's not like you're doing this blind, he reasoned with himself as the backup singers sang their parts. You know the song, and you have the lyrics. You'll be fine. Glancing out over the audience, he caught Dean's eye, who smiled and gave a thumbs up. Cas's heart skipped a beat as he cleared his throat and hastily looked down at the screen. Probably.

"Get out your guns, battles begun

Are you a saint, or a sinner?

If loves a fight, than I shall die

With my heart on a trigger."

Cas knew his singing voice wasn't the best. He was a bit too low in pitch, and he was probably holding the microphone too close. But as people listened and he warmed up, he felt his nerves settle down. The bumblebees faded away.

"They say before you start a war

You better know what you're fighting for

Well baby, you are all that I adore

If love is what you need, a soldier I will be

I'm an angel with a shotgun

Fighting til' the wars won

I don't care if heaven won't take me back."

Cas couldn't help bouncing on his toes a bit. Jack whooped, and he felt a slight smile break out. Chancing a quick glance at Dean, he saw the hunter nodding his head in time.

“I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe

Don't you know you're everything I have?

And I wanna live, not just survive tonight

Sometimes to win, you've got to sin

Don't mean I'm not a believer

And Major Tom, will sing along

Yeah, they still say I'm a dreamer."

Cas never really understood who this "Major Tom" was, but he knew that human music could be vague and have odd references. He didn't think too much of it as he moved into the beginning of the second chorus.

They say before you start a war

You better know what you're fighting for

Well baby, you are all that I adore

If love is what you need, a soldier I will be."

He wasn't thinking anymore. He was openly grinning, moving in time with the music, even jumping about a little bit. He felt as though he were invincible. Is this how all humans feel during karaoke?

"I'm an angel with a shotgun

Fighting til' the wars won

I don't care if heaven won't take me back

I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe

Don't you know you're everything I have?

And I wanna live, not just survive tonight."

As the music slowed, so did Cas. He swept his eyes over the audience, landing on Dean. Dean was smiling, the lights reflecting in his eyes like stars over a deep green sea. He's so beautiful.

"Oh, oh whoa whoa oh whoa

Oh, oh whoa whoa oh whoa."

Cas kept his eye contact with Dean. The bumblebees returned tenfold, some appearing in his throat, stinging slightly. Yet he never faltered, never wavered. He wanted Dean to listen and understand what he was saying.

"Oh, oh whoa whoa oh whoa

Oh, oh whoa whoa oh whoa."

Cas stepped down from the makeshift stage, ignoring the amount of eyes that were on him. As the music all but stopped, he set down the mic and strode right up to Dean. The hunter's eyes widened in surprise, and though it may have just been the lighting or alcohol, Cas swore he saw his cheeks flush. He lowered his voice, gazing into Dean's eyes as his lips smiled with the unasked question.

"I'm an angel with a shotgun

Fighting til' the wars won

I don't care if heaven won't take me back."

And Dean—the man who once clung tight to him as they ascended from Hell, the man who always had his back, the man he had fallen in love with—took his hand, smiling as he nodded. Cas's head instantly felt weightless, and he thought his face would split from the size of his grin as launched into the final chorus.

"I'm an angel with a shotgun

Fighting til' the wars won

I don't care if heaven won't take me back

I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe

Don't you know you're everything I have?"

Almost laughing, Cas spun Dean around, pulling him closer. He saw in his peripheral vision people smiling joyously. Sam was giving an approving thumbs-up, and Crowley, Gabriel and Balthazar were going around collecting money from others. But his main focus was on the man in front of him, beaming widely, blushing freely.

"And I want to live, not just survive, tonight

And I'm gonna hide, hide, hide my wings tonight."

Dimly, Cas realized he should finish the song back on the steps. But as he went to reluctantly pull away, Dean tightened his grip and pulled him, if possible, even closer. Now it was Cas's turn to be surprised as Dean gently cupped his face and quietly sang the last few lines.

"They say before you start a war

You better know what you're fighting for

Well baby, you are all that I adore

If love is what you need, a soldier I will be…"

Dean trailed off as he pressed his lips to Cas's. Cas's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he relaxed, nearly melting against Dean. Sure, he had been hoping for a yes, maybe even a hug after the song, but this…this went beyond his wildest dreams. He could even ignore everyone going nuts and yelling in gleeful surprise.

Cas had no more doubts about the future now. No more qualms about the next step, or anxieties over what the rest of his life would be like with no enemies. No, he thought as he and Dean broke apart to grin at each other. I know what I want to do.

I want to be the one to make him smile like that for the rest of his life.

[justjessame]

Put Me In Coach Chapter 14

Fourteen minutes after the maid had warned us about dinner, I was considering whether to wear the sundress Negan had so deliciously removed from me before he showed me just how amazing my bed could be.  

“I’m thinking you might want a different outfit, princess.”  He offered, as he pulled his own clothes back on.  “And panties, at least if you want me to be able to carry on a conversation with your mother.”  

A part of me would love to test that hypothesis.  Would he be undone by the mere thought of me going sans panties?  Looking into his face, I could see the temptation I had was loud and clear on my face by the wicked glint in his eyes.  Yeah, he already owed me one punishment, I’d rather not add to it, just yet.  

“Here,” he tossed me an outfit that I hadn’t noticed him pick out while I was packing earlier.  A short lacy skirt in blinding white, a tank like t-shirt that was loose and had one of the many literary quotes I loved most written across the bust, and a short leather jacket because he already knew that my mom would glare at the shirt on its own.  Too bad, I wasn’t planning on covering up my shirt today.  

I raised an eyebrow as he also pulled out a pair of panties he hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing before today.  Silky and barely a slip of fabric, his fingers slid across them before he handed them to me.  “Found those as we were dumping your drawers into boxes, been holding out on me, sweetheart?”  

I smiled and pulled them up my legs to cover me.  “Couldn’t let you know all my secrets, Coach.”  I went to the box that held the contents of my underwear drawer.  “There’s a matching-”  I stopped when he held it up in front of me.  “Bra.”  My lips quirked as I took it from his fingers.  “When did you have a chance to dig through my stuff, Negan?  Were you slacking on the job?”  

Negan chuckled and sat down on my rumpled bed to watch me dress.  “Some things caught my eye, Amara.  I can’t fucking wait until I see you in the others.”  I looked up as I tugged the shirt down over my chest.  I shook my head as I watched him studying me.  My skirt was up and covering the satin panties he’d chosen, but I ignored the jacket.  “Won’t your mom get irritable that you’re wearing a tank to dinner, princess?”  

I was looking for a pair of shoes, since the flip flops I’d worn to pack wouldn’t cut it.  “Why do I care, not like I live here anymore?”  It came out muffled because I was digging through the box of shoes to find a pair that would work.  “Can’t believe you picked out everything except the shoes.”

“Who said I didn’t pick out the shoes?”  I looked up, bangs in my eyes to see him holding my keds.  “You assumed, Amara, and you know what they say about people who assume things.”  His dimples were full blown and I rolled my eyes.  

“Do you like dressing me up like a doll, babe?”  I asked, as I sat down in my vanity chair.  “Am I going to be Coach Negan’s personal plaything?”  

He bit his lip, and I knew I’d struck a dirty thought.  “I told you before, sweetheart, you’re perfect just the way you are.”  

I tilted my head as I stood up, with a glance in the mirror I knew my hair was a loose tumble of curls now, but it looked fine.  “Would it help it to know I’m not opposed to being dressed up by you?”  I moved forward to where he stood waiting for me to finish.  Touching his chest and looking up at him, I smirked.  “It’s kind of sexy, you know?  Having you choose an outfit I hope you plan on tearing off my body later.”  

He swallowed hard and then kissed me.  “We should head down,” his voice was raw and I knew he’d rather toss me back on the bed and rip the outfit off now.  “Before your mom sends that poor woman up to get us again.”  

Dinner wasn’t nearly as nightmarish as it could have been.  We were still forced to sit across from one another, but seeing as we’d basically ridden one another into multiple lathers for hours, we made due.  We were even early enough to sit in the den and managed to fit in some conversation with the parents first.

“When do you plan on leaving for the townhouse?”  Mom asked, as I sat on the sofa with Negan, his hand linked with mine.  

“A few more weeks,” he answered, since his new job started before my orientation.  “I have to pack up my office here, and we have to pack up my apartment, then we’ll head out.”

“All of the furniture in your rooms is yours, Amara.”  Dad reminded me, shocking all of us by his presence for once in the conversation.  “Take it or leave it, honey, but it’s yours.”  

“I know, Daddy.”  I answered, smiling at him.  “It’ll have to stay here until the moving truck comes, Negan’s place doesn’t have the room.”

We moved into the dining room and the conversation about our move, our new routine kicked into gear.  Mom was reminding me, us really, that our weekly dinners could be moved to whichever day worked best for the both of us.  She kept shooting me looks, but I refused to engage, mostly because talking to my MOM about why I’d been screaming Negan’s name in her house repeatedly wasn’t something I was willing to discuss or even broach at dinner.  Even if Dad had returned to his usual interest in the food.

“How much of your office is going with you, Negan?” She asked, realizing I was refusing to be baited by her nonverbal interest in outing my packing procedure.  

Negan was eating his salad with a vigor of someone who’d participated in some strenuous activity.  He chewed carefully as I bit my lip and stared at my own salad.  “Not a lot, but enough to need Amara’s help.”  My stomach clenched at the reminder of everything we’d done in his office at school.  I looked up to find him smoldering at me.  Fuck.  

“Of course, I’ll help,” it came out breathless, and I would have been embarrassed, but my mind was replaying me, him, and his desk on repeat in my head.  

“And I’m sure my replacement would like to have one last COMPLETE inventory.”  Shit.  My legs pressed together at the reminder of inventory and how being knee deep in his balls had started this entire thing.  

“That can be arranged.” Seriously, if this academia thing doesn’t work out, I could totally be a Marilyn impersonator.  

“Enough flirting,” Mom’s voice sounded almost, was she amused by us?  “Eat, and then you can go back up and finish PACKING.”  I chanced a glance at her and saw that her eyes were twinkling.  Holy shit, she was holding back laughter.  

“We’re almost done,” I replied, keeping my eyes on hers.  “There was a mild distraction.”  

“A loud distraction,” she offered, dropping her gaze and her lips quirked as she went back to eating.  

Negan’s foot met mine under the table and when my eyes met his I saw that he was barely containing his own glee.  Shit. Who knew that these two would bond over my loud sex life?  Shaking my head, I went back to my own food. 

We finished packing the last few things.  Then Negan and I carried the boxes that held what I needed most for the remaining weeks before we did our next move down to our cars.  Mom and Dad were there to hug us both, as though we wouldn’t be back within a week for another dinner, but it was nice to  know they would miss me.  

“I’m glad you weren’t distracted again, at least not while your father was home.” Mom whispered in my ear, and I felt her giggle.  “You two are something, aren’t you?”  I pulled away, feeling the blush of embarrassment, but laughing at the insanity of how calmly she was taking hearing the two of us.  

“He wanted to make sure my bed was right for the townhouse.”  I answered, giving her a wink and smirking through the heat of my face.  

“I heard.” She deadpanned, and we both giggled.  Jesus, who knew?  “I’m glad that the two of you are so happy.”  Another surprise.  I was sure she’d been taking internal bets on how long we’d last.  “He loves you.”  I nodded.  “Good.”  

And then she released me to my dad, and took Negan in for a hug.  He looked at me over her head and smiled.  Then I swore he went completely pale before barking out his own laugh.  Dad hugged me and told me how much he’d miss having me under his roof.  I smiled and told him I was only a phone call away.  He’d hugged Negan first, a shock to all of us, because Dad wasn’t really all that demonstrative, but I guess having their only child leave home was having an effect on both of my parents. 

We left in our own cars, both with boxes of my stuff inside, and as I followed him back to OUR first place, I knew this was a new beginning. 

[bob-giovanni]

I’ll Cover You - Part 20

Characters: Simon X OFC

Summary: As Emily pregnancy progresses, she and Simon have a talk about their future.

Warnings: Fluff

Notes: This chapter is a bit on the shorter side. I moved recently and am still sorta settling in so things have been a little crazy. Hopefully I’ll get back to writing these a little more frequently.

Emily put a hand on her back and sighed as she stretched a bit. She was at the kitchen window waiting for the order for her last table of the evening. Being 6 months pregnant and on her feet for 10-12 hours 4 or 5 days a week was starting to take a toll on her body. But she wasn’t going to quit and just sit around the house all day. Shortly after discovering she as pregnant she and Simon decided to start living together. Even though she loved her house and it broke her heart to let it go, it just wasn’t big enough for the two of them plus a baby and Amara so Emily moved into Simon’s house. As the cook set the plates down at the window, Emily grabbed a tray and placed the plates on it before bending slightly and lifting the tray onto her shoulder and walked over to the table of guests. She set part of the tray down on the table and placed each plate in front of each guest and smiled. “Can I get you guys anything else?” A woman who Emily assumed was the mother of the two children at the table smiled and shook her head. “No thank you, dear.”

Emily walked over to one of the POS stations and set the tray down before printing the check for her last table and slipping it into the pocket of her apron. She walked over to the bar and asked the bartender for a glass of ice water. Just then Simon came out from his office and smiled as he walked over to Emily and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “How are you feeling?” Emily smiled. “I’m ok. Tired. Just waiting for this last table to finish up before I’m done.” Simon nodded. “Why don’t you sit down?” I could have someone else finish up for you if you can’t manage.” Emily shook her head. “No, no I’m good. I’m fine, I promise.” Emily smiled up at Simon. “I know you are, baby doll.” Simon replied before pressing a kiss to Emily’s forehead. “I have a little bit of paperwork to finish up but I should done by the time you’re ready to go, ok?” Emily nodded. “Sounds good.”

After sipping on her water for a bit Emily slid off her stool and walked over to the table. “Is everything ok here?” The family nodded and smiled. Emily took the check from her pocket and placed it face down on the table. “You can pay this up at the front when you’re ready. Let me know if you need anything else.” She said before heading back over to the bar. About 10 minutes later the family slid out of the table and headed to the front to pay their bill. Once they left Emily walked over to the table and collected the tip that had been left and stuffed it into her pocket. Once she was done settling her checks she walked back to Simon’s office and stepped inside. Simon looked up from the paperwork he was doing and smiled. “All done?” Emily nodded and yawned. “Yes, sir.” Simon stood and walked over to Emily, placing a hand on the small of her back. “You know it drives me crazy when you call me sir.” Emily grinned and wrapped her arms around Simon’s neck. “Why do you think I do it?” He laughed softly as he leaned down and kissed her softly. Emily sighed against Simon’s lips. “Mm, ready to go?” Simon nodded and grabbed his and Emily’s hoodies from the coat rack.

The pair held hands as they exited the bar and walked to Simon’s car. Emily climbed into the passenger side while Simon got in the driver’s side. He pulled out of the parking spot and held Emily’s hand as he drove back to their house. It was still a little strange calling it ‘their house.’ Simon had been surprised when Emily said she would move in. He knew how much she loved her house and thought for sure it would cause a bit of a fight when he suggested that she move into his place. But she continued to surprise him almost daily. Simon pulled into the driveway next to Emily’s car. He climbed out of the car before hurrying around to Emily’s side to help her out. Most times she was fine but every now and then, especially after a long shift, she need a little helping hand. Simon watched as Emily made her way up the front steps. He felt bad. She was fairly petite so even though she was only 6 months along, her belly was huge. He knew that it was getting harder for her by the day to do normal things. Not just physically but emotionally too. Her hormones were raging so she sometimes would start crying for no reason and then fly into a rage almost as if someone flipped a switch. Simon knew that Emily wasn’t crazy about the idea of not working. She’d balked at the idea when he’d suggested it a few weeks ago. But he was growing more and more concerned for her.

Once they were inside Emily kicked her shoes off and sat on the couch, sighing as she wiggled her toes. Her feet and ankles were so swollen that it was almost painful. Simon sat next to her and she draped her legs across his lap. She put a couple of throw pillows behind her and leaned back against the arm of the couch. “Could you rub my feet for me, baby? They’re so swollen and gross.” Simon laughed softly as he took her left foot in his hands and started gently massaging it. “They’re not gross at all.” Emily smiled a bit and closed her eyes, sighing contently as Simon massaged her foot. “Mm, that feels amazing.” Simon smiled softly as Emily closed her eyes and tilted her head back. After a few moments of silence, Simon began to speak. “Hey, babe. I think we should talk.” Emily opened one eye and quirked an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound good.” She replied before reluctantly sitting up a bit.

“Listen,” Simon continued. “I know that you’re not too keen on the idea of not contributing, but I think it’s time that you seriously consider cutting back at work. We could probably move you to the hostess station. At least that way you’d be able to sit down.” Emily sighed. “Simon I know that you’re concerned about me but I assure you I’m fine.” “No, Em, you’re not. I can see this toll this is starting to take on you. Every morning it’s taking you longer and longer to get out of bed because of how sore you are. There’s no shame in admitting that and starting to take it easy.” Emily sat up and folded her legs underneath her, resting a hand on her belly and running another through her hair. “I know, Si. I just…” Simon reached over and put a hand on her knee. “I know, babe. I do.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Listen, I know you have the next few days off. Take that time to think, ok? You don’t have to decide right now.” Emily nodded. “Ok, I’ll think about it.” “Good.”

Emily looked over at Simon. “Why do I have the feeling that’s not all you wanted to talk about?” Simon laughed softly. “You see right through me, don’t you?” He adjusted himself so he was facing Emily. “I’ve just been thinking about stuff. Ya know, us…our future.” “What about it?” Emily asked. Simon took a deep breath. “Well, I mean, obviously we’re in this for the long haul.” He said motioning to Emily’s belly. “I just wonder how long of a haul…” Emily tilted her head a bit. “Are you talking about like…us getting married?” She asked softly. Simon shrugged. “I didn’t say that exactly.” “But you implied it.” “I guess so.” Emily licked her lips. “Simon, you know I love you more than words could ever describe. And to be honest if I weren’t pregnant I’d probably be all over this conversation. But right now I’m just trying to focus on staying healthy so I can have this baby. Plus, I’m not walking down any aisles looking like this.” Simon nodded. “So…you’re not saying no. You’re just saying not now?”

Emily smirked and moved so she was closer to Simon. “Simon, my darling, I am in a pretty good mood right now but I’m very hormonal so I wouldn’t press your luck.” Simon laughed before leaning in and kissing Emily softly. “I love you.” “Love you too.” After relaxing on the couch for a while Emily yawned and decided to go upstairs. Simon was going to the kitchen to grab some water for her and would be up in a moment. As Emily changed into her PJs and climbed into bed she began to think about what Simon had said about taking it easy at work. He was right that she was pretty sore all time but especially after working. Simon entered the room and put a cold bottle of water on Emily’s nightstand before placing another bottle down on his. He stripped down to his boxer briefs and slid under the covers with Emily. She cuddled closer to him as he placed a hand on her belly. She placed her hand over his before smiling up at him. Simon leaned in a kissed Emily softly. “Goodnight, my love.” “Goodnight, dear.” She replied with a soft laugh.

Emily was asleep in no time. She usually was nowadays. She got tired much more easily now. Simon rolled onto his back and just stared up at the ceiling. This is what had been happening over the last few weeks. Emily would crash and he would lay awake for hours just thinking. He gently sat up and looked over his should to make sure Emily was still asleep. He slowly opened the drawer on his nightstand and reached in towards the back until he felt the small velvet box he’d stashed there. He pulled the box out and slowly opened the top, staring down at the rings inside. He and Emily had stopped outside a jewelry store once and looked at the rings in the window. That’s when Emily declared that if Simon ever proposed she wanted something simple and unique. She didn’t want some huge diamond or something that was mass produced. Simon searched for months and went to a dozen different jewelers until he found something he knew Emily would love. The engagement ring was a rose gold band with a pear shaped moonstone which was surrounded by small diamonds but it still wasn’t too flashy. The wedding band was also rose gold and it was pointed to accommodate the pear shape of the engagement ring. It had a small diamond at the top of the point and on each side of the band were 3 rose gold leaves with even smaller diamonds in the middle of each leaf. He figured she’d probably want to wear just the wedding band so he wanted it to have a little bit of a design to it instead of just being plain. He didn’t buy himself a wedding band. He knew Emily would want to pick that out herself.

He ran his thumb over the rings and sighed softly. He wanted to give them to her so bad. But she deserved to be swept off her feet. And she was right. This wasn’t the right time to worry about a wedding. Once the baby was born and Emily had time to recover he would propose. “I’ll know when the time is right.” He thought to himself. He heard Emily groan softly so he quickly closed the box and shoved back into his nightstand drawer. He looked over at Emily as she stretched a bit. “You ok?” She asked sleepily. Simon smiled and nodded. “Yeah, of course. Just thirsty is all.” He said as he reached for his water and took a sip. Simon laid back down and wrapped his arms around Emily’s waist. She rested her head on his shoulder, pushing her face into the crook of his neck as she quickly fell back to sleep. Simon smiled to himself as he ran a hand gently up and down Emily’s back causing her to sigh contently. Simon looked down at her and felt his heart swell. He couldn’t wait to hold his baby and he certainly couldn’t wait to call Emily his wife.

Tags: @faith-lynn9 @collette04 @simons-savior86 @simons-thirst-squad @negans-castle @atticusboo68 @this-is-kuma

[punjabaex]

babies

requested by: @aria725 “An imagine where Erik wants to have kids with the reader? He got baby fever by seeing the reader interact with little kids!”

erik killmonger x reader

warning: hella cringe i guess lmao a/n: sorry this took forever! thanks for requesting, and hope this wasn’t to bad hahah x 

You were smiling into the kiss, as Erik’s hands were slowly making their way up your thigh, tugging at the hem of your skirt. Moments like this were a bliss to you, just you, Erik, and nothing but happiness and love. As things got more intimate, you heard the bell ring.

“Who the fuck is tryn’a cock block?” Erik laughed.

“Oh, shit shit shit”. You sprung from the couch, putting your hair up, fixing your smeared lipstick. “I totally forgot, Taci is coming over today”.

“Who the hell is Taci?”.

“Amara’s kid, babe. I’ve told you this, what, only a hundred time”. Amara was one of your best friends. She had asked you a couple of weeks ago to babysit her kid, and you had whole heartedly said yes, only to forget.

Erik rolled his eyes.

You opened the door, only to be greeted by the cheeriest four-year old. She jumped into your arms.

“Aunty y/n!” She screamed.

“Hey, pumpkin” you twirled her around.

You waved goodbye to Amara, and closed the door.

“Taci, I have someone I’d like you to meet”.

You plopped her down the sofa.

“Taci, this is Erik. Erik is my friend.” You looked over to Erik. “Erik, this is Taci”.

The little girl threw herself into Erik’s arms.

“Hi ehwik” she squealed.

She was a really confident little kid. Erik on the other hand looked beyond awkward.

“Hey” he mumbled, barely smiling.

You rolled your eyes at him. He glared back with the ‘fuck you mean’ look on his face. You were a little disappointed with Erik’s attitude with Taci. You knew he wasn’t one to warm up to anyone, but he looked genuinely terrified by this little human.

Taci started to run her hands through Erik’s dreads.

“Wowwww, you have really really pretty hair, Ewik. Can I braid it” she said clapping her hands.

You burst out laughing.

“Fu-“

“Erik” you said raising your voice.

He shot you a look.

“My bad. How do you even know how to braid, little girl? You’re like 2 years old”.

Taci pouted. “I’ll let you know, Im four years old. And I braid all my doll’s hairs. I was gonna help you out because you look like a mess, but I guess not”.

You were watching all this go down. Erik looked heated, Taci looked like she was about to throw some fists, so you interrupted.

“Taci, babe, do you want some Orange Juice”.

She smiled. “Yes” she said.

She sent a sassy grin towards Erik, and flipped her hair.

Erik just sat there, flustered as fuck. How this little kid be sending so much sassiness towards him, and he just can’t say anything back.

____

After a few hours, Taci had left, you and Erik were just laying around. You had your head resting on his shoulder, while he was watching some random anime show. Your apartment was a mess, pillows on the floor from the previous pillow fighting match, you, Taci, and Erik had, graham crackers littered around the carpet. Yes, children were tiring, but you wanted a few, with Erik.

Erik had noticed you were mindlessly just staring into space.

“Whats on yo’ mind” he asked.

“I don’t know, just thinking”

“ ‘Bout what?”

You bit your lip and looked up to meet him in the eyes.

“Do you think, I don’t know, we like, could ever have our own kids”.

“Kids?” He scoffed.

“Yeah. Like, mini versions of us running around”.

“You want kids with me?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yes, obviously motherfucker, who else” you laughed.

he smiled. A nice, wide, genuine smile.

“Yo, today I realized kids are savage as fuck, but yeah, yn, nothing would make me happier than having children with the woman I love”.

He lightly grabbed your jaw and kissed you.

“ Wanna start tonite, shawty?” he said smirking into the kiss.

[olivialourdefanfic]

Supernatural Fan Fic, Installment 18: The Vessel

(S11X14, “The Vessel”. Sophia and Dean have been secretly having an affair, while Sam is struggling with the emotional fallout of Lucifer’s stroll down memory lane. He has become almost obsessive in his drive to stop Amara, because he believes now that the responsibility falls on him. At this point, Sophia is strong, but unpredictable. She vacillates between violent and angry, and weak and sad. While she is trying a little bit to repair her relationship with Sam, she and Dean fight against how they feel for each other, feeling times are too dangerous for these attachments.)

Sophia: Dean, about Valentine’s Day…

Dean: Look, Sophia, you don’t owe me anything. It was what it was. We shouldn’t… we CAN’T let it be more than that.

Sophia: Took the words right out of my mouth, honestly.

Dean: I was always good at that, wasn’t I?

Sophia: Still are.

(They stare at each other for a long moment. Dean slams Sophia against the wall, lifting her into him and kissing her. They escalate to the point of losing their clothes, and Dean lands on top of her in his bed.)

Dean: We really need to stop doing this.

Sophia: I’d like to believe that we can stop at any time.

Dean: So let’s stop.

(They stop. Dean sits up, resting his feet on the floor beside his bed. Sophia is staring at the ceiling, pulling her shirt back on. She sits up, crossing her legs and facing him.)

Sophia: What’s wrong?

Dean: I keep trying to convince myself that we need to stop doing this. That we need-… I don’t even know what we need anymore, Sophia.

(Sophia puts a hand on his shoulder.)

Sophia: This is the one thing we feel in control of. We’re in a world where we don’t know what the enemy is doing. One minute, she’s a child. The next, a full-grown woman. I’m sick one day, I’m powerful the next. This is our way of taking control.

Dean: I don’t even know why you’d still want me after everything I’ve done to you. I’ve been nothing but poison and heartache for you, honey.

(Sophia eyes his broad shoulders and the muscles of his neck lustily.)

Sophia: Maybe I like the abuse.

Dean: Is that what this is?

Sophia: Not to me.

Dean: Maybe we both like it. Maybe we’re both addicted to the cycle. Maybe we keep coming back because we know it’s good and we know we’ll always be there.

Sophia: I’d like to think neither of us are here for that, Dean.

Dean: I wasn’t totally honest with you and Sam about the qareen. It appears as your deepest, darkest desire.

Sophia: I know. I’m not so naïve, Dean.

Dean: I know you’re not. It didn’t exactly appear as Amara. It did, at first. It scared the hell out of me. I knew it wasn’t her, but then you came in.

Sophia: What are you talking about? I wasn’t there. I was upstairs with Sam the whole time, Dean.

Dean: I know you were. It wasn’t you. The qareen, Sophia. It turned into you. You killed Amara and then you came after me.

(Sophia is stunned.)

Sophia: Wow. I get it.

Dean: You do? Because I’m totally lost here.

Sophia: You want me to kill her. That’s your deepest, darkest desire.

Dean: That actually makes a lot more sense. I’ve been agonizing over it, Sophia-

(Sophia suddenly becomes angry, and she stands up, pulling herself together in a rage. Dean is whiplashed at her mood swing.)

Sophia: No, I get it. You know you can’t kill her. Something has a hold on you with her. I get that. But you don’t want the sole responsibility to fall on Sam. It’s a huge weight, and he’s your brother. He shouldn’t have to carry it. He wouldn’t have to if he’d just listened to me in the first place.

(Dean is forlorn.)

Dean: I just don’t want anything to happen to him.

(Sophia pulls on her jacket, incensed. A few books fly off Dean’s bookcase from her rage, and Dean ducks.)

Sophia: So me. It’s the easiest option. I’m getting more control every day. I’m getting stronger. When the time is right, just send me, right? That way, you Winchester boys don’t have to get your hands dirty, even though you made this mess in the first place.

(Dean stands up, reaching for Sophia to hold her, which is what he really wants.)

Dean: Sophia, babe-

(Sophia jerks away, nearly tossing Dean into the wall on accident. Her eyes are filling with tears, but he misses them.)

Sophia: Don’t worry about it, Dean. Message received. I’m just your goddamn hammer, the way I’ve always been.

(She leaves, slamming the door so hard that it pops off its hinges. Dean picks himself up to the sounds of her retreating, and the pain in his eyes carries real weight.)

 (Sam and Dean have been giving Sophia space, but they need help translating Henshaw and Delphine’s correspondence. Sam knocks on her door.)

Sophia(from inside): What?

Sam: Hey, we need your help. Is it okay if I come in?

(Sophia opens the door without lifting a finger. Sam hands her the text.)

Sophia: What is this?

Sam: Hopefully, a lead on finding something to help us defeat Amara. You know what a Hand of God is?

Sophia: Yeah, of course. Allegedly, there’s only a few left- Delphine Seydoux. Okay.

Sam: Please tell me you can read French.

Sophia: It’s my fourth language, but once you learn one Romance language, they’re all the same. Give me some time.

(Sam kisses Sophia on the mouth, truly grateful.)

Sam: Thank you. Thank you so much.

Sophia: Easy, Slick. Mind your space.

(Sophia walks past him and out to the study. She grabs a pen and paper and begins translating.)

 (Dean runs into Sophia in the kitchen. She’s silent and sullen, but he slides his hands on her shoulders and rubs her shoulder blades gently. He tilts his head down to her neck, gently kissing the vein on the side of her neck. She rolls her neck, and within seconds, she’s turned around and has jumped into his arms to kiss him.)

Dean: Sam told me you really came through translating. Thank you so much. I’m so sorry about the other-

Sophia: Shut up, Dean. We only have a few minutes.

(She pulls him in to kiss her, and he obliges lustily. His hands slide all over her body, her hands on his cheeks and in his hair. After an incredibly hot and passionate moment, they separate. Dean grabs them beers, and she follows him back to Sam.)

 (Sam is disheartened to discover the ship was lost. Sophia listens quietly.)

Sam: Great. It’s lost.

Dean: Or is it?

Sam: I’d say so. I mean, tides took the wreckage. Submersibles have been trying to locate it for years. I mean, if James Cameron and his “Avatar” billions can’t find it…

Dean: Yeah, but… We have something that James Cameron doesn’t have.

Sophia: Nothing to compensate for?

(Sam looks at Sophia, then looks at Dean.)

 (Casifer has joined them, and Sophia is looking at him suspiciously. She can tell something is off.)

Casifer: Is something wrong?

Sophia: Not yet, but the day is young.

Casifer: I can get you back there.

Sam: Without wings? Cas, you can’t even teleport.

Casifer(lying, Sophia can tell): Time travel, it’s a whole different system.

Dean: Told ya!

Sam: Wait, aren’t there still risks with time travel? Aren’t there consequences…

Dean: Sam… This is the ideal scenario.

Sam: What?

Dean: That sub’s a tin can floating in the middle of the ocean, doomed to go down. You can’t really mess with history at 20,000 leagues. So we get in, get the weapon, get out. It’s a milk run.

Sam: That’s not a very good plan.

Dean: Well, if things get out of hand, then Cass’ll just zap me right back.

Sam: You?

Dean: You’re not going.

Sam: I beg your pardon?

Dean: You need to stay here.

Sam: Stay here?

Dean: Just in case things go sideways, somebody needs to be left standing to take care of the Darkness. We can’t risk us both, and at the moment, I’m the least valuable player. You all know that I can’t kill Amara, so the least I could do is get the thing that we need so you can.

Sam: So you expect me to sit here and ride the pine while you and Cass go play Jules Verne?

Dean: Yes.

Sophia: No.

(Everyone looks at her. She’s staring at Casifer, but not in the way she usually does. Sam and Dean don’t pick up on it, but Casifer can see that she doesn’t trust him now. He does his best impression of Castiel to keep up appearances.)

Casifer: I won’t let him out of my sight.

Sophia: Neither of you are going it alone. I’m going with you. You need all the help you can get, and you need all the power you can get. I’ve got plenty and I’m bored as hell.

(Sam looks at them in disbelief.)

Sam: You’ll stay by his side the entire time?

Casifer: I will.

Sophia: You can handcuff them to me if you want.

Dean: Sam… let me do this. Okay? I need to do this.

(Sophia catches Casifer breaking character, but he misses her gaze. She narrows her eyes.)

Sam: Be safe.

Dean: When am I not? (Sam scoffs, and Dean and Sophia stand, coming close to Casifer.) Let’s do this, guys. (looking at Sam, taking Sophia’s hand) Bon voyage.

 (Dean has jacked someone’s uniform and they are trying to make their way out.)

Dean: Wait, we can’t just walk around the sub together like this. Can you go invisible still?

Sophia: Don’t worry, I already am. Only you and Delphine can see me until I say otherwise. Come on.

 (Dean and Sophia finally find Delphine. Delphine immediately senses that Sophia is not human and instinctively knows not to mess with her, though Delphine herself is just a human.)

Delphine: Who are you?

Dean: Delphine… You might find this hard to believe, but…

(Delphine kicks Dean, barely missing Sophia. She pins him back against the wall, knife to his throat.)

Delphine: Not a soul on this ship knows my name, so I repeat, who are you?

Sophia(cocking her gun to Delphine’s head): I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I kill for less.

(Delphine steps back, lowering her knife.)

Dean: I’m a friend of Clifford Henshaw. I’m a Man of Letters.

(2 soldiers enter, and Sophia is still unseen.)

Petey: That’s him! That’s the guy. Captain.

(The Captain orders Dean searched. Sophia is standing back with Delphine watching her. The soldiers think she is talking to Dean, but she is really talking to Sophia.)

Delphine: You are Men of Letters?

Sophia: Not me. I’m a witch.

Delphine: That’s not possible. The ship is warded-

Sophia: My kind is impervious to your warding, no matter how powerful it is. There’s nothing that could have kept me off this ship, Delphine Seydoux.

(The soldiers find Dean’s phone. Delphine inspects it. She is beginning to believe them. When Captain Dearborn is told that a German ship is approaching, Sophia appears next to Dean. The other 2 soldiers gasp.)

Petey: What just happened?!

Sophia: Sorry, but there’s no time. My name is Sophia Blackwood, and I can kill everyone on this sub if I choose to. You should know that before you make any moves. I am not human, I am not of your world, and I cannot die. If you shoot me, nothing will happen, and the last thing you will hear is your neck snapping as I kill you.

Captain Dearborn: Why are you here?

Sophia: We are here for a purpose. This man here, Dean Winchester, is my responsibility, and it’s imperative that I make sure he gets what we came for. We don’t have time for this. Delphine, listen to me. What you have, it’s what we came for.

Delphine: The sigil- it was supposed to protect me from supernatural interference.

Dean: -And angelic interference.

Delphine: Angels aren’t real.

Dean: Actually, angels ARE real. One is our ride back. Look, the warding you put up to block any magic, it must have blocked him, too. I cleared the one. If there’s any more, we gotta clear those, too. Otherwise, she and I are stuck here.

(Sophia’s arms are crossed and her eyes are narrowed at Petey.)

Sophia: And the longer I spend here, the more violent I’ll get.

Dean: Delphine, you wanted the weapon to be at a Men of Letters safe house, right? We live in the bunker. That’s how we found you, from your communication with Henshaw. Now, if you clear the way, we can get it there for you.

Sophia: Sooner rather than later.

Delphine: And that’s why you came, to protect the object, the weapon?

Petey: Who’s the next President? You’re from the future!

Sophia: Can I hit him?!

Dean: Eisenhower- no, Truman. Now shut up! No, this sub is going down. But, the Allies to do win. But, from Man of Letters to Man of Letters? We’re fighting a war in the future. It’s not like your war. It’s big, biblical, end-is-nigh big, and I need your weapon to win. THAT is why we came.

Petey: But we all die? Me, the girl, the rest of the crew? I’m just trying to get your story clear.

Dean: Yes.

(Sophia softens a little bit. She steps closer to him, waving a hand in his direction.)

Sophia: It won’t hurt.

Dean: Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, especially coming from strangers.

Delphine: You’re not a stranger. “Man of Letters to Man of Letters”. I trust you.

 (Delphine opens the box.)

Sophia: We came all this way for that? Seriously?

Dean: THAT’S the Hand of God? Doesn’t look like much.

Delphine: No, I suppose it doesn’t. It must have been more impressive in its complete form- The Ark of the Covenant.

Dean: Oh, so full on “Raiders”.

(Delphine looks confused until she sees Sophia rolling her eyes at Dean. She laughs, liking their chemistry.)

Delphine: You say you are responsible for him, yet you treat him like a lover. Which is it?

(Sophia stares at Dean, who is staring at her. She doesn’t lie.)

Sophia: Both. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for him. His brother is back in our time, waiting for Dean to bring this back, and for me to bring Dean back. Our ride can’t get on here unless you ditch the sigils, Delphine. It’s the only way to get the weapon out of here safely now.

(Dean reaches for the Hand of God, but Delphine stops him.)

Delphine: Don’t touch it! No mortal can survive long with direct contact. I’ll remove the warding. I’ll be back. Promise.

(Sophia springs into action.)

Sophia: Sorry, Delphine, I’m not letting you out of my sight.

(Dean grabs Sophia’s hand.)

Dean: You promised Sam you wouldn’t let me out of your sight.

(Sophia smiles humorously.)

Sophia: Don’t worry. Huey here isn’t going to touch you.

(Petey looks confused. He doesn’t know who Huey is, because it doesn’t exist yet.)

Petey: My name’s Petey…

(Sophia follows Delphine. While Delphine is scratching off the warding, she eyes Sophia.)

Delphine: What are you?

Sophia: I’m a witch. Not a human one, not anymore, and not for some time.

Delphine: How long have you not been human?

Sophia: Long enough.

Delphine: Were you alive in my time?

Sophia: No. I was born well after.

Delphine: And him? He is immortal, too?

Sophia: No. He’s a human man.

Delphine: You love him.

Sophia: That’s a strong word for it.

Delphine: But it is the right one. I see the way you look at each other, Sophia. He loves you deeply. That look he gave you when I referred to you as lovers… it gave him joy.

Sophia: I bet it did.

Delphine: He is not only interested in your body, Sophia- he wants your heart. He wants you have his, but you won’t accept it.

(Sophia stares at the floor. She swallows uncomfortably.)

Sophia: You got all that from one look, huh?

(Delphine stands up.)

Delphine: Come. There is one more.

 (Delphine and Dean are hashing out their options. Sophia is silent until Dean says he wants to help the sub now.)

Sophia: Dean.

(Dean looks at her, and Sophia sees the look in his eyes.)

Dean: Is there anything you can do?

Sophia: I can make sure everyone’s death is painless. You’ve seen what happens when we mess with history, Dean.

Delphine: You have done this before?

Sophia: Well, sort of. A friend of mine unsunk the Titanic once, but it didn’t go well. Listen, Dean, accept it. This sub is a goner, as is everyone on it. The only thing I can do is make sure no one on it suffers.

Dean: How do we get out of here?

Sophia: We need Castiel back. He’s our ride. I can’t do it. I don’t know the terrain. I’ll land us back in the 1400s for all I know.

 (Delphine uses the Hand of God, and even Sophia is stunned. Casifer appears just in time, and Sam looks up to see the three of them together in the room.)

Sam: Guys… That’s not Cass!

(Sophia slams her hand onto Casifer’s chest, pulling out the information she needs. A deep noise comes from low in her throat, and Dean moves away from them.)

Sophia: I knew it. I knew it was you. How dare you. You lying sack of-

Dean: Sophia, who is it?!

(Sophia faces Casifer. He smiles at her dangerously and slams Dean into the wall. Her eyes narrow, and he reaches for the Hand of God.)

Sophia: Lucifer. He said “yes” to you?!

Casifer: Don’t feel too bad, Sophia. For once, Sammy said no. Cas was the good boy who said yes. I mean, who could blame him? He was probably dying for a goddamn break from you.

Sophia: Shut up. Let him go, Lucifer.

Casifer: We have a common enemy, you brat. You’ll never ice Auntie Amara without me.

Sophia: You wanna bet the whole farm on that, Lucifer?

Casifer: Look at you, Sophia! You can barely function on your own! You think you’re going to take on God’s SISTER, and win?! Don’t be such a child.

Sophia: Look, let’s just talk about this, okay? Let’s leave Dean and Sam and-

Casifer: Why? Because you don’t think anyone will figure out what’s going on here?

Sophia: Okay. What’s going on here, Lucifer?

Casifer: It doesn’t matter. I’m gonna kill Dean and Sam before this is all over, anyway, so who really cares which one of them you’re banging this week?

(Sophia’s power lashes out, slamming Casifer against the wall. She is calm, in control, and powerful. She looks at Casifer with a calm violence emanating from her. Her hand is held out, and her hand casually twists the pain inside, hurting him, causing no damage to Castiel or his vessel.)

Sophia: Like I said… You wanna bet the farm on that?

(Sam and Dean are shocked. This is the first time that Sophia has revealed that she has more control over her power than she previously demonstrated. She is frighteningly calm; even Lucifer is scared of her.)

Casifer: This is how strong you are now?

Sophia: I’m just getting started.

(A quarter turn of her wrist, and Lucifer is gasping for air and bleeding. Sam has already cut himself and is drawing the sigil.)

Sam: Sophia. Do we need him to ice Amara?

Sophia: He may be helpful.

Sam: Let him go.

Sophia: No. He’s MY bitch now.

Sam: Sophia, let him go. We need to keep him strong if we need him.

Sophia: We can’t hold him here. I can’t watch him 24/7, and your dungeons won’t hold the Devil himself for long.

Casifer: Well, you’re right about that.

(Casifer reaches out along her line of power, snapping her back on the floor. He holds her down, lowering himself on top of her. He punches her in the face, but only once, because he doesn’t have the heart to truly hurt her.)

Sophia: Get off me.

Casifer: It could all be so simple…

(Casifer caresses her cheek with his hand. She kicks him off her, and as he stands up to come for her again, Sam slams his hand over the angel banishing sigil, blasting Casifer far away.)

 (Outside on the pier, Sophia is sitting alone, her feet dangling off the side, completely inconsolable. Dean drops down next to her, discreetly letting his hand land on hers. She flinches, but intertwines their fingers together.)

Dean: What did Delphine say to you? You’ve been off ever since you went off together.

Sophia: I don’t want to talk about it.

Dean: Not even with me?

Sophia: Please, Dean.

(Dean is silent, watching her.)

Dean: Okay. Whatever you want.

(He gets up, walking away to sit in silence somewhere else. Sam finds them each off on their own, and heads to Sophia first.)

Sam: Hey.

Sophia: Hey.

Sam: Soooooo… Cass, huh?

Sophia: Yeah.

Sam: Look, I’m here if you want to talk.

Sophia: Sam, please stop.

Sam: Stop what?

Sophia: Whatever this is, just stop. I just want to deal with this alone. Please.

Sam: Message received.

(Sam heads for Dean.)

[i-write-supernatural-imagines]

Request: Loved

Request: May I request Mary (season 12 reference) coming to the bunker with dean and meeting the reader (she is a relationship with dean and told his mother about her)? :)

Word count: 1,130

<3

“Dean?” Your voice is barely a breath as you answer the phone, escaping as a transparent cloud on the cool spring air. It can’t be him – Amara and the bomb and Chuck and Rowena and… all of the jumbled, clouded images flit through your head at once and then disappear completely as he speaks again.

“Yeah, it’s me. Y/N, where the hell are you? Were you with Sam?” He cuts to the chase, and you quickly pick up on the panic in his voice – you’d know it anywhere on Earth.

“No.” There’s more shame in the word than you’d like him to hear – it wasn’t that you’d abandoned them. It wasn’t at all. It was more that the goodbye with Dean had been too much for you to bear, and you needed a few hours to be alone with your thoughts. The world may have been saved, but yours had been irreparably shattered, “And I’m about a mile away from the bunker. Probably less.”

“Good. Sam’s gone, there’s blood, and- and-“ His voice sputters and dies, “I can explain when you get here. Can you just…?”

You don’t have to pause, “Give me a minute. Maybe five.” You tell him, and then he’s ended the call – and that’s how you know it’s him, not some sick perversion like it was last time or a cheap imitation: there’s no goodbye, no ‘see you soon’. That’s it, it’s a given that you’ll be there.

***

“Dean?” The door creaks and clanks as you haul it open, gun in one hand. You creep down the stairs, not quite knowing what threat to expect, if any. However, by the time he’s taken three steps out of the war room, you’re on him, throwing your arms around his neck as the gun clatters to the floor and his arms wrap you up, strong and safe, lifting your feet clean off the ground. Dean buries his face into your shoulder, vaguely reminiscent of the hug you’d last shared – except this one is joy and relief, where the other had been sorrow and fear.

“God, Y/N.” His breath is warm and face scratchy and he’s alive. The last thing in the universe that you want to do is pull away, but when you finally open your eyes and look over his shoulder, you’re startled into pulling back.

A blonde woman stands behind him, watching you both with a mixture of intense confusion and affectionate amusement. You look from her, to Dean, and then back to her – for one, she’s wearing your shirt, and for another, she looks familiar in a way you can’t place.

“Y/N,” His arm remains tight around your waist, although he does let you back down onto the floor, “Meet my mom, Mary. Mom, this is Y/N.”

She quirks an eyebrow, and for a split second you realise that the mannerism belongs to Dean – many of her features do, in fact. It’s only then do you recognise her as the woman from the photographs Dean never has out of arm’s reach.

“This is Y/N?” She asks, and Dean nods in confirmation, smiling proudly – like this is a moment he’d always wished for; to introduce his girlfriend to his mother. Mary takes a slow step forward, looking you up and down – not scrutinising, but examining. Wanting to familiarise herself with you.

“You mentioned me?” You glance up at Dean, but his mother cuts in before he can even think of an answer.

“Oh, you’re all he mentioned. I was starting to think I’d had another child I didn’t remember until he specified that you were his girlfriend,” She smiles, and you can’t help but laugh a little at that, “Oh, Y/N, you’ll love Y/N. She’s so beautiful and smart and funny and…”

“Mom!” Dean interrupts indignantly, his face flushed red. Both you and Mary manage a laugh at that, despite the situation at hand – but the confusion and anxiety soon cloud her features again, and you look between the two of them for a few moments.

“Dean, babe, have you tried calling Cas? He came back here with Sam, and if that’s an angel-banishing sigil I see over there, he definitely was here.” You offer, lifting up to kiss his cheek before withdrawing, “Mary, I feel like you could use a cup of tea… milk and extra honey?”

For just a moment, she hesitates, looking between the two of you – and then she nods, relief flooding her features – an excuse to avoid the stressful situation for a little while, and to get her out of Dean’s high expectations so she can take a few breaths. You couldn’t be happier for him, but you know as well as anyone that he can be a bit of an overexcited puppy every now and again.

***

“So… you’ve done this before?” She asks, heaping more honey into the tea. You nod, giving a small smile and sipping your drink slowly.

“Once or twice. Sam and Dean have too, but we all lost count a few times ago.” At the look of horror on her face, you reach over and rest your hand over hers – the idea of her sons dying and coming back must be awful to her. Especially when her own experience of it seems to be going less than smoothly for her, “They always seem to come back. Dean always used to say it’s because angels were watching over them.”

Mary’s eyes widen slightly at her own words being echoed back from the mouth of an outsider, but she doesn’t seem to have the words of her own.

“There isn’t a day goes by when he doesn’t think about you.” You tell her softly, giving a small smile, “Don’t take that as pressure. But take it to know that you’re loved here, and always have been. I get it, fitting back in can be awkward. But I’m here, and so are Sam and Dean. And if you need to be stupid and quiet and go and get our nails done or do something menial, I’m always up for a girls’ day out.”

Again, she only seems to stare at you, and you fear that you’ve overstepped the mark – after all, you’re practically a stranger to her. But, instead, after a few moments, a wide, warm smile spreads over her face and her eyes wrinkle in exactly the same way that Dean’s do.

“I get it.” She says softly, her eyes twinkling, “I understand completely… what he sees in you. Why he loves you so much. Why you love him.”

All of those thoughts you’d had, growing up, about meeting your boyfriend’s parents and trying to impress them… this couldn’t be further from that if it tried. But you wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

[eve-daniels]

From the Very First Day (Pt. 1)

26 years ago

A young woman stood quietly by the bedside of the Lady of the house, wiping her mistress’ brow gently. A baby was coming, heir to the Barony of Lilydale, son or daughter to Lord Andrew Daniels and Lady Amara Hale-Daniels. What a lucky little child this will be, Hannah thought to herself as she brushed Amara’s fiery hair back from her face gently. “Almost here, my Lady, one more push and you’ll be holding your babe in your arms,” the midwife said encouragingly.

Amara cried out, gentle face a picture of the pain and strength it took to bring life into the world. “Well done!” the midwife said, patting the Lady’s leg gently. Nodding faintly, Amara rested her head back against the pillow, sighing with relief. The brief silence that followed was broken by the wails of the newborn, a girl, with Amara’s distinct red hair.

Hannah watched as the midwife and her assistant cleaned and wrapped the baby, Another Hale girl to serve, she thought to herself happily. The baby was passed to her adoring mother just as Lord Daniels entered the room. Taking his place by his wife’s side, he beamed with pride, at ‘his girls’ as he would later refer to them.

“You’ll help me look after her, won’t you Hannah?” The exhausted Lady asked of her favorite maid. “Of course, my Lady, she’s half Hale, after all,” Hannah replied.

22 years ago

“Eveline Amara,” Hannah called out, exasperated. “Come back now, your mother and father want you dressed for dinner.” She rounded the corner of the garden path and stopped. She knew full well where the little lady had hidden, but she wouldn’t ruin all of the fun by finding her right away. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she teased, brushing back the light brown hair that was blowing freely on the breeze.

“But I don’t wanna!” the cranky child replied, stepping out of her hiding place behind the bushes. “They just invited their friends,” Eve pouted. “It won’t be any fun.” Crossing her arms, Eve stomped her foot once for dramatic effect. At four, she had already begun to master the haughty look and defiant glares she would come to use frequently as she got older.

Kneeling down in front of her charge, Hannah smiled, kind brown eyes locking on to Eve’s emerald ones. “I know it won’t be fun, dear, but if you do as they command, I’ll sneak a bit of cake to you later. It is your birthday after all.” Hannah winked at the girl, sealing their secret by tapping her on the nose gently.

21 years ago

Hannah stared out the window of the carriage sunny spring day. Wildflowers dotted the rolling hills of the Highlands, the line of trees in the distance a verdant green. How fitting, she thought, for the woman to be buried in sunshine and flowers. Quiet sobs grabbed her attention, and she turned to look at Eve beside her. Dressed in black from head to toe, the child with bright red hair and dark green eyes took on the appearance of a macabre doll. She is not meant for mourning, Hannah thought to herself. Wrapping an arm around the broken-hearted girl, she tugged her close to comfort her. “Losing your mother is a pain like no other, I know, but you are strong. You cry when you need to, don’t you let anyone try to stop you feelin’ what you feel my girl.” Hannah cooed to the child.

“Hannah, you’ll never leave me will you?” Eve asked, staring up at her only comfort with wide fearful eyes. “No, my dear, you’ll never be rid of this one,” Hannah replied, giving the girl a squeeze.

9 years ago

“He means to do what?!” Hannah all but shouted at the guard, Ben. “Hey, hey, now Hannah. Ain’t my fault, ain’t my doin’, remember that, will ya? ‘M just passin’ along the gossip. The little Lady’s to be married to some lord or another. Her father fears you’ll interfere, so you’re to be sent back to the Hale estate ‘til she’s gone.”

Hannah glared at Ben, balling her hands into fists. “Well I’ll be goin’ with her. I’ve served that girl and her family for all o’ my life. I came to Lilydale with her mother when she married, and I’ll do the same with Lady Eve.”

Sighing, Ben shook his head slowly. He knew how much Lady Eve meant to Hannah, but he had orders. “Sorry, Hannah. You’re to leave now, before the the Lady wakes. Lord Daniels don’t want no interference from you.” Offering Hannah a kind smile he hoped would calm the storm he saw brewing behind her eyes, he added, “But, you’ll be back ‘ere at Lilydale soon as it’s done.”

Anger bubbling over, Hannah’s fist flew toward Ben’s face, but the young guard was more than prepared for the older maid’s attack. “Alrigh’ Hannah, alrigh’. Now just come with me and lets get you on your way.” Pained by the tears streaming down the woman’s face, he gently grabbed her by the arm and led her away.

[brookeandrylee]

Chapter Nineteen

Brooke downed her shot simultaneously, savoring the way it burned down her throat. She took the second one a moment later. She was having an amazing time with Rylee. “Oh my god yes! We definitely need to do this again sometime” she smiled, she wondered if she was being too flirtatious but she was getting too drunk to care.

She pelt a small pang of hurt at the girls second suggestion, she had no right to feel it, but she was jealous at the idea of Rylee having a relationship like this with another professor. She wanted what they had to be special to just them. She sipped on her drink as the music blared in the background.

“Most of the other professors aren’t as fun as me though” she chuckled, resting her hand lazily on the girls arm. She watched her with heavy eyes, intoxicated by the alcohol and the feelings counseling through her from Rylee. She could feel her nipples beginning to strain against the fabric of her bra, making her acutely aware of just how drunk she had gotten.

Ry smiled, glad that she didn’t take the comment to heart. “Oh I’m sure,” Ry said, smiling at Brooke as she started to drape her hand on Ry’s arm. “It’s a good thing I picked you out then, otherwise I’d get stuck hanging out with Dr. Harris.” Ry said, referencing the elderly man that sat as the communication’s department chair. Ry hoped Brooke would laugh at her joke.

Most of her comedy, up to that point, had just been about teasing Brooke. But she wanted Brooke to know that she actually enjoyed spending time with her and that she could make jokes that weren’t always at the woman’s expense.

“Did you have any plans that you were looking forward to this weekend, love?” Ry asked, surprised at her own words. As the pet name left her mouth, she wished she could rip it out of the air and put it back—or hide it away. Sure, she called all of her friends that, but she didn’t want to give Brooke the wrong idea. She was trying to respect the boundaries they had set.

Brooke laughed at the Dr. Harris comment. That man was less fun than watching paint dry.

“Hm?” She looked up, resting her cheek on her free hand and watching her with an adoring smile. “Oh! Oh, uh- I was gonna meal prep and play with the cat. I might call Birch or Amara, but I’m not really sure. I don’t usually do much on the weekends, I’m kinda boring.” She chuckled. “Do you have any plans dear?” She asked easily, enjoying the pet names they were giving each other.

Ry couldn’t stop looking at her, the way her cheek squished against the palm of her hand. How could one woman be so amazing, so....impressive. The same thoughts danced through her head. Only 27. Established. Successful. Smart. Beautiful. Talented. Strong. She couldn’t stop being impressed by her. She had an intense respect for Brooke, one that she didn’t think she had ever had for another person before.

“Oh, nothing really. Homework and studying, mostly,” Ry said with a smile. “If you’re not too busy, I could always come over to meet Squint this weekend. I’ll help you meal prep and we could watch tv or something. You might not guess it, but I’m actually a pretty good cook.” Ry continued nervously, afraid Brooke might reject her request. She wanted to see her again, but she didn’t want Brooke to think it was more than it should be, no matter how badly Ry wanted it to be.

“Or I could always meet Squint some other time...” Ry said, afraid of being told no.

“Oh my god! No -please- come over it’ll be so much fun~” she giggled and took the girls hands in her own excitedly. “We can cook together and do face masks and watch movies, I have popcorn and we can make cupcakes! Oh my god you have to come over. Officially.” She gave the girl a falsely stern look before breaking out into a fit of laughter.

She loved the way she could feel so comfortable and vulnerable around Rylee, she was glad that they could be friends after what had happened.

Brooke gasped loudly, “and I can totally help you with your homework!” She squeezed her hands in encouragement. “Squint and I would love to have your company” she smiled as she swayed slightly in her barstool.

Ry giggled, watching Brooke basically jump up and down, thinking to herself ‘and I thought I was the school girl’.

“Cool, I think that’d be a lot of fun,” Ry said, taking her hands from Brooke’s. She let one hand rest on Brooke’s thigh while the other reached up and finished her second drink.

“What’re you drinking Brooke?” She asked, reaching out signaling to Brooke that she wanted a taste. “Oh, god,” Ry gagged, laughing at Brooke. “How the hell do you drink this?” Ry handed Brooke back her drink. “I think I’ll be happy with just a water,” Ry laughed, eyeing the bartender.

Brooke pouted slightly when the girl removed her hands, but smiled warmly as the girl placed her hand on her thigh instead. She couldn’t help but be reminded of the way Rylee had come on to her the other night, she found herself daydreaming about the things she had done to her, how badly she wanted it to happen again, they could disappear into the bathroom and just-

“Huh? Oh my god” she laughed, pulled from her fantasies. “You’re crazy they’re so good! You just like all that fruity shit because you’re a baby” she reached out to pinch Ry’s chin softly and smirked.

Brooke grabbed the bartenders attention and got Ry a water before ordering herself one last drink. She knew she needed to slow down or she would start to get sloppy. “Are you having a good time?” She asked, turning back to face her, getting mildly lost in her gorgeous blue eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, of course! I’m just not one to get really wasted at the bar. I usually prefer, if I’m going to get sloppy, that it’s at home or at a friend’s house,” Ry explained. She felt bad that she wasn’t interested in drinking anymore, but she didn’t want to stop Brooke.

“If we hang out for a little bit, I can always drive you home so you can keep drinking. Then I’ll bring your car back in the morning when I come over for my date with Squint!” Ry said, she didn’t want Brooke to have to leave her car at the bar overnight, especially in a college town.

“I should probably slow down honestly” She mumbled, “if you don’t wanna stay I can get you a cab or something? I feel bad you’re stuck with drunk me” She looked a bit sad, the alcohol making her emotions feel about ten times bigger than they really were. She couldn’t help but feel insecure that Ry was feeling bored with their night out.

“But if you really don’t mind, that option works for me. I think you’ll like driving around in the soob” she giggled, taking a small sip of her drink. “Only if you’re sure.” She leaned in, staring intently at the girl.

Ry grabbed her hand and squeezed it lightly. “Oh my god, of course I don’t mind! Honestly, I was just trying to find an excuse to drive your car, you totally caught me.” Ry said, jokingly. She didn’t want Brooke to think that driving her home was chore. It was more like a privilege.

“Not to mention,” Ry said, leaning in closer to Brooke, her hand returning to her thigh, “I don’t want to end this night too soon. I’m having a really amazing time with you. Truly, the last thing I want to do is leave if you’re still here.” Ry said, knowing it held two meanings.

True, she was having a really good time with Brooke and wanted it to continue until Brooke was ready to leave. But there was also no way in hell that Ry was going to leave Brooke alone at a bar in the state she was in, no matter what.

She felt oddly protective of Brooke, despite her being 5 years Ry’s senior. She just had an aura about her, one that said she needed someone in her corner. Ry wanted to be that someone.

She smiled at Brooke, taking in the details of her bright green eyes. They were especially bright now that Brooke had drank so much.

Ry checked the time. ‘10:00,’ she thought to herself.

“So what do you say we hit the dance floor and we can leave around 11:00? That’ll give me an hour to really see your moves.” Ry laughed, she really did enjoy poking fun at Brooke. She hoped she didn’t mind.

Brooke smiled at her gratefully. She was happy to know that Rylee was having a decent time, she felt bad for getting so drunk so quickly.

She blushed and gave Ry a bashful smile as she leaned in, her eyes darted to the girls lips for just a moment before returning her gaze. “I uh- I’m having a really really super time with you too, Rylee” she stuttered, slurring her words just slightly. A small lisp could be detected, as a kid Brooke had gone to speech therapy for it because her mother thought it was unattractive. She hoped Ry wouldn’t notice, and if she did that she kept the teasing to a minimum.

The hand on her thigh made her head spin just slightly, she felt really warm and it was hard to focus with her being so distracting without any effort. ”yeah, yeah! Let’s dance!” She shimmied her shoulders a bit and giggled before hopping off the barstool, holding Ry close so she didn’t fall. “Sorry, I’m so clumsy.” She mumbled jokingly as she steadied herself.

Ry instinctually grabbed Brooke’s hips as she hopped off the stool, trying to help steady her. “Ahahaha, it’s okay.” Ry realized where her hands sat and she quickly pulled them back.

“Did you want your last shot?” Ry asked, brushing the ends of Brooke’s fingers. “You ordered it, but we can just leave it if you want.” Ry said. She thought about offering to take it for herself, but decided against it, since she would be driving in an hour.

Brooke thought for a moment, she really didn’t need another shot in her system when she was already so drunk. She turned back to the counter of the bar and downed the shot, never breaking eye contact with Ry as she swallowed and licked her lips. She grinned cheekily and took her hands, dragging her out to the dance floor.

“C’mon babe! Dance with me! I fuckin’ love this songgg~” she practically moaned the words as she pulled Rylee in by her hips, Brooke turned herself around and pressed her ass against Ry’s front, grinding slowly against her. She wasn’t really thinking, this was just the way she danced with her friends, and regardless of how badly she wanted more, they were friends. So Brooke didn’t see too big of an issue as she moved for the girl to appreciate.

She looked over her shoulder at the girl, her eyes were dark emerald green and her pupils were dilated, whether that was the alcohol or the desire was anybody’s guess, probably both. Definitely both.

Ry looked down at the pocket’s of Brooke’s jeans, surprise and a little confused. She looked up just in time to get hit in the face, lightly, with Brooke’s hair.

She looked into her eyes as she turned around, unsure how to respond. ‘She’s just drunk, dumbass, don’t make a scene. Chill out!’ Ry wanted more than anything to slide her hands down her Brooke’s sides, land on her hips bones, and pull her into her pelvis. But she was drunk. And they were friends.

Ry decided to go along with Brooke, but keep her distance. She held Brooke’s hands rather than her hips and danced with her, laughing and trying to keep things from gettin too hot and heavy.

Despite that, Ry’s nipples pressed against her bra, rubbing it lightly as she danced. She was still a little buzzed and it was hard to focus. ‘She’s drunk, she’s drunk, she’s drunk,’ Ry repeated one her head.

Brooke turned around after a while, wrapping her arms around the girls neck and continuing the show she was putting on for her. She smiled and giggled as they danced together, their chests were touching at one point. Brookes hard nipples brushed against Rylee and a soft sigh left her lips. She pulled back a bit as they continued to dance together.

11:00 rolled around sooner than Brooke anticipated. She was incredibly drunk, which she hadn’t expected. Her head spun with the room as she leaned into Ry, giving her a lopsided smile. “You’re so pretty” she mumbled, “we should get going, do you want me to call you a cab? I don’t know how I’m getting home” she mumbled as her face contorted in confusion. “I definitely can’t drive” she shook her head and seemed to be thinking about something.

[pug-bitch]

That’s not why I’m going (32)

As close as possible

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive, and a VERY steamy scene (I’d say above 30 diamonds!). This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18. 

Word count: about 4,500 (let me know if the ‘keep reading’ cutoff isn’t working well!)

Notes: This picks up exactly where we left off, during the car ride back from Portavira, starting with Amara’s POV.

*****

‘Do you guys want to come in for a coffee?’ Drake asks.

Amara bites her lip, hoping no one says yes. After all, they’ve all had liters of coffee this very morning, and she could use the alone time with Drake, who seems to regret asking as soon as the words come out of his mouth.

‘No, I promised Bertrand I’d come right back, he and Hana are gonna start setting up for tonight’s mini-Bash!’ Maxwell gasps, putting his hand on his mouth. ‘Fuck, I was supposed to keep it a surprise…’

Amara bursts out laughing. ‘We won’t say a word, Max. I’ll just stop here for a sec and get a ride from Drake, is that ok?’ She pauses. ‘I forgot my, um…’ She looks at Liv who is raising a suspicious eyebrow. ‘I don’t even need to make up an excuse, do I?’

‘No, you little minx,’ Maxwell chuckles, ‘just go. Don’t come back too late though, we’ll hang out on the patio!’

Max and Liv drive away, and Drake takes Amara’s hand to lead her into the cabin. Their fingers interlace, as if trying to fill in every little space gap between them. 

Drake opens the door and puts an arm around Amara, kissing the top of her head as she comes in. ‘It’s so good to be alone,’ he whispers.

As soon as the front door is closed behind them, their lips meet again, crashing together like there’s no tomorrow. Without wasting any more time, Amara slips her hands under Drake’s shirt, which she pulls up above his head, barely breaking their kiss for a mere second. 

‘Fuck, babe, I’ve missed you,’ he whispers into their kiss. 

Amara can’t say anything back. She’s trying, but nothing will come out. All the stress from the past few weeks is manifesting, and she’s afraid that, if she speaks now, she’ll cry of relief. For now, she just needs him close to her, she just needs to show him how much she’s missed him over the past couple of days. She needs to express how difficult it was to be right next to him without being able to hold his hand, without being able to kiss him. She needs to be in his arms, now.

Still kissing deeply, they make their wobbly way to the kitchen island. No time for the bedroom, she needs him now, here, where they’ve made love several times over the weekend. He props her up on the island, and starts kissing her neck, his hands expertly undoing the zipper of her sundress, then the clasps of her bra. Her breasts finally free, he holds them in his hands, and nips at them lovingly. He pays special attention to her nipples, erect with desire. He’s always worshipped her breasts, and she wonders for a second if he has ever been this attentive to any other woman’s. But who cares, really? No one they’ve known before matters. 

His lips still on her chest, he reaches under her dress to take her panties off. Amara can’t help but moan as his fingers start exploring between her legs. ‘Mmmm you’re so wet,’ he whispers in her ear. He slides one finger inside her, then two, before lowering his head right between her legs. Soon enough, his lips are on her core, suckling at her clit, and his tongue licks her folds before venturing inside her, making her walls tighten more and more. She grips at his hair, still unable to speak, but aching to tell him how good it feels. She wants to tell him how wet she is for him, how much she loves it when he goes down on her, how she’s never had such intense orgasms as she does with him. She wants to tell him not to stop, please, because she’s incredibly close to coming. She doesn’t need to tell him, though, because he knows. He knows her soft moans, her hip movements, and the pulsations of her walls. He knows when to intensify, which he does, until she comes for him.

Still reeling from her intense orgasm, she captures his waist between her legs and undoes his belt, finally setting free his increasingly hard cock. She can see how much he wants her, just as much as she wants him, and she swiftly guides his penis to her entrance. She takes all his length in one single motion, making them both let out a low groan. He fucks her gently, but urgently, their lips once again glued to each other’s. She feels his cock throb more and more inside her, and she bucks her hips in rhythm with Drake’s movements. Soon, he can’t take much more, and his moans are getting more frequent, more desperate. ‘Babe, I’m gonna come,’ he whispers in her ear. He’s not lying; a few seconds later, he fills her with his pleasure, and all she can say at that moment is ‘I love you,’ softly, in his ear.

*****

Drake doesn’t want to be outside of her. He’s been wanting to make love to her for days, that’s all that’s been on his mind. Not just for the sheer act of sex, but to be close to her, as close as possible. To hold her, to kiss her, to be with her. He’s still inside of Amara, unable to move away. He kisses her tenderly. ‘I love you too, Amara,’ he whispers.

Her hands cup his face, and he notices that they’re trembling. He kisses her again. 

‘Are you ok?’ he asks.

She takes a deep breath. ‘Yeah,’ she smiles, ‘I just needed you really badly. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be weird.’

He chuckles, finally pulling out and proceeding to get dressed again. ‘You weren’t weird. It was incredible. Thank you.’ He kisses her lips softly.

‘I’ve been stressed out. I needed to be with you.’

He nods, as he puts his boxers back on. ‘Me too. Hana told me you’ve been having nightmares again.’

Amara sighs. ‘I have. I suppose they just go away when I get to be with you.’

He helps her off the kitchen island. ‘I’m here now. Not going anywhere.’

Amara opens her mouth to say something, but he won’t let her doubt what they have, or be negative. Not now, not after they’ve shared this amazing, intimate moment. So, he kisses her. 

She kisses him back, then laughs. ‘Did you just try to shut me up?’

He shrugs. ‘Yeah. I knew you were gonna say something gloomy, like ‘oh but what about Decision Ball’, well I say fuck Decision Ball. You and I are not just waiting around for someone else’s decisions. Nope.’

She smiles a bit more brightly. ‘I like assertive Walker!’

‘Well, we have a plan, right? We let the decision shit pass, then we lay low for a while, until we can safely tell the world.’

She nods. ‘You’re right. Let’s stick to the plan.’

*****

‘Lady Madeleine, is everything ok?’

Liam spotted her waiting around the garages on his way to his car.

She smiles broadly upon noticing him. ‘Oh, yes, I suppose my driver hasn’t arrived yet. He had an issue with a tire, from what I’ve heard.’

He thinks for a second. Would it be silly? No, it would actually be sillier to leave her here to wait around for a guy who may not come. ‘I drove myself here. I can give you a lift back?’

She blushes. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose!’

‘Nonsense! I would welcome the company. Are you headed home?’

She shakes her head, ‘The Queen has invited me to stay at the Palace until Saturday. She requested some quality time with her, I quote, favorite niece!’

‘Alright then, it’s settled. Let me take your suitcase, and let’s go!’

*****

‘Beaumont, what the fuck is that?’ Liv gestures at Bertrand’s outfit with disgust. 

‘What?’ he asks, puzzled. ‘This? This is a very good pairing!’

She snorts. ‘This is a tweed jacket with elbow patches, with white linen pants. What the hell, Beaumont? Are you fucking blind? Why not a top hat and leather pants, next time?’

‘Guys, stop!’ Max interjects, ‘Look at what I ordered!’

All four of them gather around the cake that just arrived by courier. A giant birthday cake in the shape of a peacock, with individual feathers made of sugar.

‘Oh my goodness,’ Hana squeals, ‘this is beautiful, Maxxie!’

Max gloats, ‘Drake and Amara will freak out when they see it!’

‘Don’t hold your breath,’ Liv spits, ‘they’re probably still in the middle of Fuckfest right now.’

‘Don’t be crass,’ Bertrand says through gritted teeth.

*****

Madeleine’s cheeks hurt from smiling too much. She’s not used to it. But, ever since she’s turned on the charm with Liam, he’s been very attentive to her, so maybe her plan is working better --and faster-- than she thought it would. 

‘Thank you for driving me,’ she simpers, ‘it’s so pleasant to be just among ourselves, with no staff.’

Liam chuckles, ‘Yeah, I was getting a little restless myself, that’s why I insisted on driving my own car. Do you like it?’

‘Oh, I love it, but I have to admit I know nothing about cars. I’m just grateful to be here with you.’

He smiles. ‘I’m liking the new, honest Madeleine. You don’t seem to be putting up a front anymore, and I gotta say, it’s very refreshing.’

She sighs. Showtime, she thinks. ‘Well, since you like honesty...the past couple of weeks have been crazy for me. For all of us, but mostly for me, I think. We’re all waiting for the other shoe to drop, with all those horrible leaks.’ She watches Liam’s face, and notices that he looks slightly surprised, but tries to hide it. She was right, he did figure out it was her. Time to play him like a fiddle. ‘If Lady Olivia and Lady Hana are targeted, who’s next? Probably me, right? Not that I have anything to hide, of course not. But, you know those types, they always find a way to twist the truth. So, I suppose I’ve been acting out a bit. Lashing out. Because truthfully, I’m scared senseless.’

Liam nods, his brow furrowed. Madeleine can tell he’s taking it all in. After a long pause, he says, ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were on edge. I guess we need to be more attentive to each other, huh?’

*****

Liam doesn’t know if he truly believes Madeleine. Does she have absolutely nothing to do with the leaks? He’s not sure. Leo has warned him about her manipulative nature countless times. 

But she seems sincere, today. Maybe she’s taken pleasure in Liv’s downfall, and in Hana’s very public coming out. Maybe she has, and that’s not right, of course. But isn’t it also a little bit human? You have rivals, and they encounter obstacles, so naturally, the advantage becomes yours. It’s only natural to feel just a little bit relieved.

But now, she’s realizing there’s very few days left, and something is probably brewing. 

If it’s not Madeleine, then, who? Amara, who, let’s not forget it, used to be on the force, reckons it could be several people working together. Liam instantly thinks it could potentially be the underdogs, Kiara and Penelope, trying to give themselves their best chance. 

Liam shakes his head. No more speculating. For right now, the leaks have stopped, and if anything, they have allowed him to see Liv’s true colors. 

Once at the Palace, Madeleine is off visiting the Queen, and Liam makes his way to his father’s study, to have a chat about the events to come. 

‘Hello, Father.’

Constantine, who seems to have been napping, stands up quickly. ‘Come on in, Liam.’

They exchange pleasantries for a few minutes, until Liam cuts right to the chase. ‘How are you feeling, Father? Do you feel strong, these days?’

Constantine shifts in his seat. ‘I’ll be better, more serene, once you pick a wife, Liam. That’s why you’re here. Please, son, give me some peace of mind, and tell me you’ve chosen.’

Liam sighs. ‘I told you, Father, I cannot rush this decision.’

Constantine massages the bridge of his nose. ‘I’ve told you countless times, there are only a handful of viable candidates, and among them, a true winner in everyone’s eyes. Lady Madeleine would be fit to be a Queen, no one could argue against it.’

‘I know your opinion, Father, but you seem to forget that I do not love her.’

‘You’ll grow to love her!’ he says impatiently. ‘And if you don’t, no one is stopping you from having a good old-fashioned Cordonian arrangement. I’ve never resorted to it, but your grandfather did, and it worked for him.’

‘I know. I’m just hoping there’s a way I could marry for love…’

‘Son,’ Constantine snaps, ‘who on Earth do you want to marry for love? The American commoner? She’s not from here, Liam, she doesn’t know our ways. Who else, huh? Lady Nevrakis? I’ve warned you about her rash character, and recent events have certainly proven me right. Laying with the help, ugh. What a disgrace.’

Liam nods. ‘So, I take it you won’t be satisfied unless I marry Madeleine, huh?’

Constantine sighs deeply. ‘Let’s just say I don’t see a solution that would give me peace of mind.’

*****

‘Welcome back, guys!’ Max yells excitedly as he spots Drake and Amara passing the front door. He rushes to their side to give them a hug. ‘Jeez, guys, you’re glowing.’ He winks.

Drake rolls his eyes. Nothing subtle about Max, huh? ‘Thanks, Maxwell, I guess. Suarez, give me your suitcase, I’ll go put it in your room.’

On the way there, he sees Bertrand pacing back and forth between his study and the staircase, staring intently at a piece of paper, and mouthing words. 

‘Hi Bertrand,’ Drake says, ‘is everything ok?’

Bertrand, startled, takes his eyes off of the piece of paper. ‘Oh, Drake, hello. Yes, thank you. I’m just rehearsing the statement Maxxie and I wrote about our father. We’ll deliver it on Friday, right before the rehearsal dinner.’

‘That’s really exciting, Bertrand, good for you guys.’ He waves at Bertrand and starts going up the stairs.

‘Wait! Drake…’ Bertrand shouts nervously. 

‘Yeah?’

‘Um… you know… if anything goes wrong at the Decision Ball, um... ‘ He rubs the back of his head. ‘You know that Amara is welcome here. Whatever happens. Right?’

Drake smiles at him. ‘Thank you, Bertrand. I appreciate this.’

*****

‘Suarez, get over here,’ Olivia spits.

‘Liv, what the hell--’ Amara manages to whisper as Olivia drags her by the arm.

‘I gotta tell you something.’ She looks around for eavesdroppers, and when she can’t see any, she continues. ‘But you can’t use it against me. I’m just telling you this because I need to get it out. There’s no other reason. Understood?’

Amara nods, ‘Yeah, I got it, weirdo.’

Liv takes a long breath. ‘Rashad and I kissed.’

‘Woo!’ Amara yelps, before Liv puts her hand on her mouth. The second time she’s being shut up today, she thinks. She gets Liv’s hand off of her and whispers quietly, ‘woooo… how was it?’

Liv crosses her arms. ‘Fucking unbelievable.’

Amara smiles brightly. ‘Oh my God, this is so exciting!! Did you go get burgers and shakes?’

Liv nods. ‘Yeah. Then to a bar. That’s where we kissed. Then, he took me to the beach and we made out. Nothing more. I couldn’t go through with it. I wanted to, though.’

Amara rubs Liv’s arm. ‘Take your time. He’s worth it, right?’

Liv snorts and rolls her eyes. But when Amara doesn’t budge, she sighs and says, ‘I think so. I hope so.’

‘Amara!’ Maxwell yells out. ‘Come see the cake!’

‘Ugh,’ Liv snorts, unable to hide her smile. ‘Spoiler alert, it’s a fucking peacock.’

*****

‘Hey stranger,’ Drake whispers in Amara’s ear as he wraps his arms around her.

‘Hey babe… You look good. Fit for a Beaumont Bash!’ she grins.

‘Heh, thanks. You look beautiful,’ he says with a bright smile.

She does look beautiful. She’s wearing a yellow sundress that compliments her tan skin tone, and light brown wedge sandals. Her hair is completely down, which Drake loves. Finally, he doesn’t have to hide it, he can look at her all he wants, hold her hand all he wants… will they be able to be normal one day? He hopes so.

‘Do you want to come help Max with amuse bouches?’ Amara asks, her face nuzzled in the nook of his neck. ‘He told the staff to go home. He didn’t want to risk any leaks, so we’re making everything ourselves.’

Drake’s face lights up. ‘Sure! Let’s go.’

They join Max in the kitchen. He’s hard at work, making canapés and small puff pastry bites filled with sausage. ‘Drake!’ he exclaims. ‘My savior. Come here and give me tips on how to not fuck up in the kitchen. Oh, and you guys grab a drink, we need liquid courage!’

Drake starts directing Max, and Amara grabs three glasses and makes a quick whiskey sour for the three of them. They all drink and chat merrily while they work, until Hana joins them in their efforts.

‘Hey, Han,’ Drake says, ‘come grab a drink! Where’s Liv?’

Hana shrugs. ‘I just saw her on the patio, on her phone. She seems to be texting someone…’ Hana smirks. ‘I wonder who… Do you guys think it’s Liam? He told me the other day that he would go for a grand gesture…’

Drake and Amara lock eyes, knowing full well that it’s not Liam she’s texting. They talked about it briefly on the car ride over, when Drake told Amara about Liam’s disappointment over seeing Liv and Rashad together. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Drake says prudently. ‘Maybe… although… he did look a little close to Madeleine today, and last night.’

Hana nods. ‘You’re right. I also thought it was weird. Maybe he chickened out and didn’t do the grand gesture after all, whatever it was.’

Amara looks at Drake before chiming in. ‘All I know is that Liv hasn’t interacted with Liam at all. As for the rest… she would kill me if she found out that I said anything, so I can’t. But…’ she looks around her and whispers, ‘she may be getting over Liam.’

‘Ohhhhh,’ Hana murmurs, ‘juicy! I won’t pry it out of you, Amara, but I’m looking forward to knowing more.’

Max bites his lip. ‘Guys, I may know who she’s rebounding with… I accidentally glanced at her phone screen when I was driving. And there was an awful lot of messages from Rashad!’

Drake rolls his eyes. ‘Jeez Max, we were trying to be discreet over here. We don’t wanna piss off the dragon, so let’s keep quiet, ok?’

*****

The party is going full speed, even with just six of them. The music is chosen carefully by Maxwell and Drake, the drinks are poured by Amara, and they are all on the makeshift dancefloor of the living room, moving together and enjoying themselves. Even Bertrand is letting loose a little, and dropped his tweed vest to rock a simple polo shirt. 

Maxwell changes the music and puts on Super Bass by Nicki Minaj. He starts to move around to the music but does not realize that he just spilled some of his drink, and immediately slips and falls, breaking his glass in the process. Amara rushes to his side.

‘Maxxie, are you ok?’ Bertrand asks, concerned.

‘Ow,’ Max complains, slowly turning around onto his back.

Amara kneels besides him, and starts squeezing his hand, until she realizes he has cut himself on the broken glass and is bleeding profusely. Her hands are red with his blood.

She gasps loudly, staring at her bloody hands, still holding her friend. Her jaw drops, but once again, she’s unable to speak. 

She can barely hear Drake who just arrived behind her and attempts to get a reaction from her. ‘Babe, get up, it’s ok, it’s a little cut, right Max? Can you get up, Max?’

Max nods and says ‘Yeah, I’m ok Amara, see?’ he shakes off the broken glass from his hand, revealing a superficial cut that looked more impressive than it actually is. 

‘I’ll go get a first aid kit,’ Hana says.

Amara can hear them, but something in her has snapped, and she is incapable of getting up from her kneeling position. In her mind, she’s back to where she was two years ago, in the exact same posture, her brother’s blood all over her hands, just like Max’s is right now. Trying to shake him back to life, even though it was blatantly too late. 

She feels Drake’s strong hands on her shoulders. He’s now kneeling behind her, and holding her up. ‘Babe, answer me, are you ok?’

She tries to answer, she really tries, but she can’t stop staring at the bright red blood on her hands. She takes a deep, desperate breath, realizing she has been holding her respiration for a good minute.

‘Amara, baby, come with me,’ Drake says as he scoops her up from the floor, leading her to the couch. ‘It’s ok,’ he says gently.

She sits down and sees Liv bringing her a towel to clean her hands. ‘Here you go, Suarez. All good, ok?’ Her tough friend looks concerned, her brow is furrowed and her expression, usually so badass, has softened. 

Amara manages to nod and takes another massive breath, slowly catching up with the world. ‘I--I’m sorry,’ she stammers.

Drake wraps her in a tight hug and kisses the top of her head. ‘There’s nothing to be sorry about. Take it easy. We’re here.’

Tears begin to flood her eyes. When will she be free of those images? Of this anxiety? ‘Th--thank you,’ she mumbles.

‘Suarez,’ Liv says gently, ‘take a sip of this, ok? You’ll feel better.’ She hands her the rest of her whiskey sour, which Amara downs slowly.

‘Thank you, Liv,’ she manages.

Liv nods, and squats in front of her. ‘Take a deep breath. With me.’

Amara obliges, and Liv and Drake mimic her breathing, Drake still rubbing her back.

‘Good girl,’ Liv says. ‘You can breathe. Do it again with me.’

They repeat the process until Amara is visibly calmed down. ‘There you go,’ Drake says encouragingly. ‘Keep going, baby. You got this.’

‘See?’ Liv says, her hand reassuringly on Amara’s knee. ‘You can breathe. If you can breathe, you can stand, and if you can stand, you can fight. Right?’

Amara chuckles, unsure of her ability to fight right now, but she wants it to be true so badly. ‘Y--Yeah. Thank you, guys.’ She takes another deep breath. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s--it’s the blood. The kneeling in front of Max, he was--he was just lying there, I--’

‘Hey,’ Drake whispers, ‘take it easy. We get it. Right, Liv?’

Liv nods understandingly. ‘Yeah, of course we do. Flashbacks are no joke. Plus, you’re right, Little Beaumont was just lying there like an idiot. That’ll teach him to try to dance on Nicki Minaj.’

Amara manages a chuckle. ‘Ha. Still, I’m sorry. We were having such a good night. I always ruin everything, I warned you, Drake.’ Her eyes fill again.

‘Stop,’ Drake says firmly, as he continues to hug her tightly. ‘You never ruined anything. In fact, you made my life exponentially better.’

‘It’s true,’ Liv chimes in. ‘His life sucked.’

He glares at her. ‘Thanks for that. But really. Be patient with yourself, baby. You’re doing great.’

Amara nods. ‘Is Max ok? Does he need stitches?’

‘I’m sure he doesn’t,’ Liv rolls her eyes.

As if on cue, Maxwell and Hana re-emerge, along with Bertrand who just finished cleaning up the floor. ‘All good,’ Bertrand says. ‘Are you ok, Amara?’

She nods, but she can tell her face is still haggard, judging from the concerned look on her friends’ faces. 'Yeah. Are you ok, Max?’

‘Me?’ he asks. ‘Of course. Hana bandaged me up, the cut is long but not deep, i’ll be fine!’ He gets closer to Amara and takes her hand to kiss it. ‘Honey, I’m sorry I gave you such a fright. As you are well aware, I’m a fucking idiot who can barely walk.’ He smiles at her worriedly.

‘It’s ok, Max. I just had a… PTSD episode.’ She glances at Bertrand, and realizes he had no idea what had happened two years ago. ‘The blood, you lying down, it was exactly like--’ she stops herself, looks at Drake pleadingly.

‘It was like when she lost Sergio,’ he continues.

Bertrand’s face falls. ‘Who--who’s Sergio?’

Amara keeps breathing calmly, unable to do anything else. 

‘Hun, come with me, we’ll get this blood stain out of your dress before it sets,’ Hana says, grabbing Amara’s hand.

*****

Bertrand’s face is in his hands, after Drake and Max filled him in on Sergio’s story. ‘Oh my God, this is horrible. Poor Amara, I just can’t even imagine what she must have been going through.’

Drake nods. ‘It’s been very rough. She suffers from bad nightmares, and occasional PTSD episodes, but they really have to be triggered by something.’

Bertrand takes a deep breath. ‘I hope she gets those under control very soon. It must be very hard to live with.’

Drake smiles weakly. ‘She’s on the right path.’

****

‘Tell me the truth, Amara, are you feeling ok?’ Hana asks while she’s rubbing her friend’s dress with a wet, soapy towel.

Amara nods. ‘I’m fine. I snapped out of it, thanks to Liv and Drake. They helped me relax.’

Hana smiles. ‘Good.’ She pauses, until she gets rid of the stain. ‘It seems like you’ve been having a lot of...episodes lately, huh? Any reason for that?’

Amara shrugs. ‘I’m not sure. I think it may be the stress. Not knowing what’s gonna happen after this weekend. I don’t know.’

Hana tucks a strand of Amara’s hair behind her ear. ‘Whatever happens, you know we’re all here for you. So is your dad, your stepmom, Mia,... everyone who loves you, really. Ok?’

It doesn’t escape Amara that Hana carefully avoided naming Michael. She nods. ‘Thank you, honey.’

*****

‘Guys!’

Drake turns around to see Amara come down the stairs with Hana, looking much better. He instantly feels relieved at seeing her be her relaxed self again. He smiles broadly. ‘Babe! Come here, we made fresh drinks!’

She smiles, looks at Hana who gives her a complicit grin. Amara says, ‘Let’s go out. We ordered 2 Ubers, they’ll be here in 10 minutes.’

Max claps his hands with excitement. ‘Oooooh, where are we going??’

Amara looks at Drake and smile. ‘Karaoke night, baby!’

*****

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Thank you for your encouragements, everyone! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[pug-bitch]

That’s not why I’m going (36)

Won’t be broken

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive. This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18.

Word count: about 5,400 (let me know if the ‘keep reading’ cutoff isn’t working well!)

Notes: This picks up pretty much where we left off, after the massive shitshow that happened at the rehearsal dinner, starting with Drake’s POV. This, once again, is a lot of filler, but it’s important to set up the Decision Ball, so bear with me :)

*****

‘Thank you,’ Amara says to Hana, who is giving her a cup of tea. Hana plants a sweet kiss on the top of her friend’s head. Amara offers her a faint smile.

Drake has had a knot in his stomach ever since they left the Palace, ever since he saw Amara’s pain, obvious on her face, in her eyes. He wishes he could take on her suffering, take it upon himself, and set her free from it. But all her can do, all he’s been doing since Michael showed up, is hold her hand, hold her in his arms. That’s what he did in the car, which Liv drove like a mad person, with Hana in the front. Drake and Amara were in the back, their hands intertwined, Amara’s hand shaking against his. He did what he could to stabilize it, but nothing worked. Occasionally, throughout the drive, she would smile at him and say ‘Babe, don’t worry. I’ll be ok.’

That’s the woman he loves. She’s having a PTSD episode, she had a panic attack and could barely breathe out there at the Palace, but she still wants to reassure him. When all he wants, all he needs, is to protect her. He and Max had promised it to each other. Amara comes first: her well-being, her recovery, her happiness. Max is handling the Michael side of things, which Drake is grateful for. The poor guy must not know what happened to him, he’s been catapulted into this mess of a courtly life, probably lured in here by ill-intentioned people such as Madeleine, and God knows who else.

But they’ll figure this out later.

For now, he needs to be here for her. All the time, always, even when she says she’s ok and does not need to be coddled.

He sits even closer to her on the sofa and wraps his arm around her. She looks up at him and smiles. Her face is beautiful, torn, raw, and tired. The tears have dried, and she looks calmer now than she did at the Palace during her panic attack, but she looks exhausted. ‘Hold me,’ she says softly.

Drake is happy to comply. Liv is pacing angrily in the living room, she has been ever since they got back and Amara looks better. Olivia was a true rock at the Palace, but now that Amara’s attack has faded, her anger has come out.

‘Liv,’ Drake says calmly, ‘sit down. You’re making me dizzy.’

Olivia snorts. ‘I should have used my daggers on this bitch while we were still there.’

Amara lets out a long sigh. ‘It’s ok, Liv. Thank you for dropping everything to come with me. You guys didn’t have to,’ she says as she looks at Liv and Hana.

Hana waves her off. ‘Are you kidding? There’s no place I’d rather be than with the people I love. I could give two shits about the rehearsal dinner.’

Drake will never get used to Hana’s sudden swearing. He chimes in, ‘Suarez, we’re here for you, you don’t have to thank any of us.’ He kisses her cheek.

Olivia plops down on an armchair. ‘Yeah, as if I wanted to hang out with those fucking traitors. Of course we came with you. I knew it, they’re afraid of the three of us and tried to break us because we represent a threat. Those fucking weaklings.’

Amara laughs sadly. ‘Well, I might qualify for that too.’

‘What?’ Liv asks abruptly.

Amara shrugs. ‘Seriously. Not that I care that much about what everyone thinks, but… they’d be right to think I’m weak. Look at me,’ she gestures at herself. ‘My brother-in-law shows up, and I have a full-on PTSD episode.’ She scoffs. ‘So fucking pathetic.’

Drake sits up and takes her hand. ‘Suarez, stop saying this. You’re not weak. It’s not just about Michael showing up, it’s about the fucking speech that was fed to Liam. About those words he said, about what they represent for you. It was violent, we all felt it, so I can’t even imagine how it must have felt for you. No one is judging your reaction. Especially not those of us who know what happened to Sergio.’

Hana nods furiously, and Drake notices that her eyes are wet with tears under her angry frown. ‘Exactly. What kind of monster would trigger you like that? And trick Michael into doing this to you? No one is judging you, and if you must know, Liam was the one who looked like a fool. You just looked like you were suffering, which makes a lot of sense given the situation.’

Drake and Hana turn to Olivia. ‘What?’ she asks. ‘Obviously Suarez is not a weakling, she’s a beast of a woman who has been wronged. Everyone knows that.’

*****

‘Here,’ Maxwell says as he hands Michael a glittery business card with a turquoise squid logo on it. ‘Here’s my number. I’m only about a ten-minute drive away, if you need anything, let me know.’

Michael takes the card and nods. ‘Thank you, Maxwell. I don’t know how to express my gratitude, you took the time to talk me down and you got me this hotel room,’ he says as he gestures to the room all around them.

Max shakes his head. ‘Amara’s family is also my family. I wish I could put you up at Ramsford, but again--’

Michael nods and interrupts, ‘I know. Too soon. Max, I feel like shit, I made her suffer, when all I wanted was to apologize. That speech, what that sash guy said… it’s not at all what I wanted.’

Maxwell smiles at the ‘sash guy’ comment. ‘I know. On some level, I’m sure Amara knows too. And if she doesn’t, I’ll make sure to tell her.’

Michael looks like he’s about to cry. ‘Thank you.’

Maxwell smiles faintly at him. He wishes he could do more, but he’s anxious to get back to Amara, who must be back at the manor by now. ‘Michael, I mean it, if you need anything, you call me. Promise?’

Michael nods. ‘Thank you so much. I really don’t know how to thank you. At least let me pay you back for the room. Do you have PayPal?’

Max smiles. ‘It’s my treat. I get a discount here anyways. Please don’t hesitate to order food or to raid the minibar. I know you probably need a big fat drink.’

*****

Liam went straight to bed after talking to his father. He tosses and turns, but he can’t sleep. The events of tonight haunt him. He should not have read this speech out loud, not when he had just been handed the sheet of paper a mere moment prior. But the pressure from his father…

He feels responsible. But also, he feels like he’s missing a part of the story. What had Amara done? Clearly, it elicited a strong reaction from her. She had to leave the room in panic, followed by her group of friends. It can’t have been nothing, right? Maybe she really did make a mistake.

The King doesn’t see her as a fit Queen, and Liam knows she doesn’t love him, so it should be a straight shot, he shouldn’t pick her. And yet… something in him wants to, still.

At the very least, he wants her to stick around, get to know him, and then maybe… even if he marries someone else…

A Cordonian marriage doesn’t sound so bad.

In the light of his talk with his father after dinner, there seems to be only one viable solution.

*****

King Constantine walks to his bedroom, slowly. He has trouble breathing and moving, but he’s still standing. He won’t let go until he knows his country is safe.

‘Do you need anything, Your Majesty?’ Bastien asks him, walking right behind him.

Constantine waves him off. ‘No, Bastien, you can go.’

‘Very well, Your Majesty.’

Constantine turns around. ‘I’m satisfied with how things went today, Bastien. Thank you.’

Bastien nods curtly. ‘I’m just doing my job, Your Majesty.’

Constantine turns back and continues his walk. ‘That, you are.’

Even opening the door is a struggle, his movements are jagged and they hurt constantly. But he won’t admit that to anyone, not yet. It was necessary for Liam to know how dire the situation is, so he can get serious about his future, but no one else needs to know that King Constantine is reaching his last weeks.

He sits on the bed, too tired to get out of his clothes yet. He looks at the big, fluffy sheets. They’ve been empty for months, ever since Regina started sleeping in her own room again. His night terrors are getting to be too tough to handle for anyone, and he needs his wife to be well rested. After he’s gone, she’ll need to be there to help Liam make the right decisions.

The King removes his shoes, painstakingly, as slowly as he can. He would certainly need help, but he doesn’t want the servants to start talking. He stretches his legs on the bed, just for a moment, he’s not ready to get back up and get ready for bed yet. The walk from his study to his bedroom has taken a lot out of him.

Thank God for tonight’s events. Everyone involved has done their job well. The Mexican had to leave the room, she couldn’t even stand up on her own, and now she looks like a weak fool. Not to mention that the speech read by Liam suggests that she did something terrible to her family. No one can trust a foreign woman who is not family-oriented, and who cannot handle disruptions.

Still, Liam seems worried about her. The King makes a mental note to remind his son of his duty yet again tomorrow. Liam needs to understand that his country simply needs to come first, and a Mexican whore with no principles and no decorum cannot be trusted with Cordonia.

If he still doesn’t believe it, not to worry --more proof is coming his way tomorrow. He won’t be able to deny it much longer.

*****

‘How are you, babe?’ Maxwell asks as he gives Amara a long, tight hug.

‘I’m ok,’ she says unconvincingly.

He smiles. ‘You look a bit calmer. Need a drink?’

Hana says, ‘I’m making more tea.’

Max gasps dramatically and says to Amara, ‘Don’t tell me these guys haven’t broken out the good stuff yet!’

Amara laughs. ‘Not yet, no. But I wouldn’t say no to something a little stronger…’

Maxwell winks. ‘I have some cognac somewhere.’

‘Thanks, Max. Bertrand went up to bed, he wanted to wait for you, but his eyes were closing, se we told him he could go.’ She smiles. ‘He gave me a bear hug and asked me five times if I needed ice cream.’

Maxwell bursts out laughing. ‘Did he get these tips from Bridget Jones?’

Amara shrugs. ‘It was sweet.’

Max disappears into the kitchen. Amara, still seated by Drake, nervously plays with a button on his shirt. He strokes her hair reassuringly, and occasionally kisses her cheek. She’s so grateful for him that her heart might explode. His concerned face makes her love him even more. She feels guilty for making him so worried -- her panic attack caused quite a stir among her friends and she feels terrible about it. She feels better now, though. They helped her calm down, and they also made her rationalize what happened. Michael had obviously been tricked into coming under false pretenses. She needs to be stronger, and then the joke will be on them, on the people who leaked Hana’s and Liv’s pictures, and who were likely to be at the origin of her problem, too.

Max comes back with a tray, with cognac and glasses for everyone. He distributes them, starting with Amara. ‘Here you go, honey. Drink up, there’s plenty more where that came from.’

She smiles. ‘Max, I didn’t even get a chance to tell you how proud you made us all, today. Bertrand was beaming with pride. We all were.’

Maxwell blows her a kiss. ‘Thank you, love. It feels good to be out.’

‘I’m sorry that my personal shit overshadowed your moment,’ she adds, looking down at her glass.

‘Oh please. I’m glad that it wasn’t the center of attention, but if I could, I’d divert focus from you, so you can be in peace.’ He gasps. ‘Oh! Should I put on an Elton John suit and parade around the Capital on a peacock?’

Drake chuckles. ‘That’s animal cruelty. You can’t ride a peacock, Maxwell.’

Max nods seriously. ‘True, true. Well, we’ll find something.’ He smiles at Amara. ‘Love, do you want to talk about Michael? It’s ok if you don’t.’

Amara looks at Drake, who nods at her encouragingly. She nods at Max, too. ‘Thank you for taking care of him. I appreciate you being there, Maxxie.’

‘Of course. I put him up at the Squid. He’s got my number if he needs anything. He feels terrible about the way it all went down. I’m sure you realize that he didn’t sign off on the speech.’

Amara nods and says, ‘I figured. He said very hurtful things back in New York but I know he wouldn’t do that to me.’

Maxwell smiles faintly. ‘Exactly. Well, he was told that you had talked about him to everyone and were adamant about wishing he could come. He was misled, for sure.’

Amara nods. ‘I feel bad. I didn’t even want to talk to him.’ She sighs. ‘I’m not sure I can, right now…’

Drake tightens his grip on her hand, protectively. ‘It’s ok,’ he says, ‘take your time, baby. You don’t owe him anything right now, and I’m sure he understands.’

Maxwell nods. ‘He knows it’s too soon. But he said he’ll be here when you’re ready.’

*****

Michael paces in his room, a glass of tequila in his hand. He feels guilty for spending more of Maxwell’s money, but he really needed to calm his nerves. At least ten times, he almost clicked on the FaceTime button for his father-in-law’s phone. He needs to talk to him so badly, only Jorge would understand. He needs to see his daughter’s little face, the only person capable of drawing a smile from him right now. But he doesn’t want to worry them. They don’t even know where he is, what he’s doing. Confessing to Jorge would upset him, and maybe it would even reignite his cardiac problems. He would tell him eventually, but not tonight, not when Michael’s face is obviously a mess, and his eyebrows are completely unable to do anything but frown.

He simply texts Jorge to reassure him.

Hi Jorge - all is well, the wifi is sparse, I will call you soon. Give my love to Nancy and tell Callie that Daddy loves her. Love you, Mikey.

Jorge was the only one besides his own parents who called him Mikey. He had hated that nickname growing up, but now he had embraced it. He adored his f ather-in-law, a sweet man with a heart of gold. Jorge looked manly and severe, but truly, he was a softie. He called everyone he loved ‘sweetie’ or ‘sweetheart’, and when he had first started saying that to Michael, he knew he had made it into the family.

Jorge texts back with an out-of-focus picture of himself, Nancy, and little Callie, captioned:

We love you too, Daddy.

Michael sniffles. The tequila isn’t helping much. He feels so alone, the one person he knows in this country is not ready to talk to him, and he doesn’t want to hurt her more.

He sits at the desk, and pours himself another shot. Why the hell did he believe the bitch who had contacted him? That’s what desperation does to you, he thinks. He was so miserable about having alienated Amara that he had jumped on the occasion to make amends, without thinking much.

‘Fuck, I’m so stupid,’ he says to himself. He pulls his phone out of his pocket again, and looks through his old pictures, his sanctuary. Family photos of him, Sergio, and Callie. Amara and Sergio in their police uniforms. Even those pictures were comforting, although right after Sergio passed, Michael couldn’t even look at them. Now, everything that reminds him of his husband is like a reassuring blanket, wrapping him in warmth and memories.

He grabs the remote. Maybe TV will help lull him to sleep, or better yet, oblivion. He turns it on. He settles for a Friends rerun and watches it absentmindedly. Chandler is trying to break up with Janice and tells her he’s moving to Yemen.

His eyes land on the glittery squid logo on the card that Maxwell gave him.

*****

Amara washes her face and puts on her night cream. Drake is watching her from her bed, visibly still worried. She smiles fondly.

‘You can stop worrying. I’m feeling better, I promise,’ she says as she walks towards him.

He opens his arms to her. ‘Let’s leave tomorrow. Let’s just blow this popsicle stand,’ he says as he holds her tight.

She smiles. ‘Drake, there’s nothing I want more than just being with you, away from this shit. But I think I need to face things, now. There’s only one day left in this fucking competition, and I’ll be damned if I let everyone think that they’ve broken me.’

Drake lets out a long sigh, and Amara can’t decide whether he’s relieved or annoyed. He says, ‘God, you’re so amazing.’ He kisses her neck. ‘You’re so fucking strong. You’re right. Let’s face those bitches, and whenever you’re ready to get the fuck out, I’ll be ready.’

*****

Michael opens the door nervously. ‘Hi, Maxwell, thank you so much for coming.’

Maxwell walks into the room, a bottle of cognac in hand. ‘And I’ve brought a nightcap!’

Michael thanks him profusely and closes the door. He can’t believe he had the guts to text Maxwell, who had already done so much. He curses himself for being such an imposition. That’s not what Michael usually does. He’s a provider, someone who fixes problems for people, not someone who creates more trouble.

Maxwell sits at the desk. ‘How are you holding up?’ he asks.

Michael nods. ‘I’m ok. Just...restless. I can’t believe I’ve caused Amara so much pain. How is she?’

Maxwell smiles. ‘Our little blossom is very resilient, you know.’

Michael smiles at the nickname. ‘Yes, she is,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry for calling you and putting you in an awkward position, Maxwell.’

Maxwell cocks his head. ‘What do you mean?’

Michael gives him a guilty smile. ‘Well...you probably had to lie to Amara and make up a reason to leave--’

‘Oh, not at all!’ he exclaims, interrupting him. ‘I told Amara you needed to talk, and she completely understood. I didn’t lie to her at all.’

Michael’s heart relaxes a bit. The ache falters, just a little. ‘Really?’ he asks, hopeful.

Maxwell nods. ‘Of course. She loves you, Michael. She’ll come around. She feels extremely guilty, and she definitely needs a little more time to muster up the courage to face you. But I promise you, Michael--and I wouldn’t say this lightly--that she will come around. She told me and Drake that she wishes she could talk to you. She’s still in shock, and frankly, she was embarrassed and humiliated that her personal life got spilled at court.’

Michael nods. ‘I get that.’ He pauses. ‘Drake is the dark-haired guy I saw running after her, right?’

Maxwell gives him a bright smile, but restrains himself a bit, as if he were trying not to say something. ‘Yeah, that’s him.’

Michael nods absentmindedly, thinking back on what Jorge had told him, about the FaceTime session he had with Amara, and the nice man she was with. Jorge had expressed his hope that they were more than friends. He had been worried about Amara being alone ever since she left Rick, in the wake of Sergio’s death. Michael was, too, but he gets it. She wasn’t ready to share her life, especially the baggage it came with: the guilt, the grief… But maybe now was the time? He hoped it was. So he asks Maxwell, ‘Is Drake someone special?’

Maxwell opens his mouth and closes it, then mimes a zipper closing his lips. ‘I mean…’ he says maliciously. ‘He’s one of my best friends, so I’d say he’s very special.’

Michael smiles. Clearly, Maxwell values friendship. He’s grateful for the flock of people around Amara. The way they all followed her out, the scary redhead holding her up and guiding her outside, Drake and that beautiful Asian woman following suit, it was heartwarming amidst the heartbreak. ‘But is he special to Amara? Jorge--her father, he told me that she called him and introduced him to a guy, a very nice, handsome man named Drake. He was hoping… you know. He’s been worried about her being lonely.’

Maxwell smiles even more brightly, so much that he could light up the room. ‘Alright, if Jorge wants to know, who am I to stop the truth… Yes, they’re together. But we’re still keeping it a secret, until the end of the competition, just so Liam--the Prince, he’s pretty obsessed with Amara-- just so he doesn’t kick them both out. But yeah. Long story short, they’re together, and Michael, it’s a sight to behold.’ He pauses dramatically. ‘They love each other, it’s an inspiration, really.’

Michael feels a tear in his eye. He’d never really seen Amara happy with someone. Rick was a nice enough guy, he and Sergio liked him, but he remembers how Sergio constantly said, in private, that Rick and Amara were not endgame, that she had yet to meet her soulmate the way Sergio had met his. The tear falls.

‘OMG Michael,’ Maxwell says, getting up to come sit by him on the bed. ‘Are you ok? I didn’t mean to upset you.’

Michael smiles through his tears. ‘I’m ok. Thank you. I’m just--I’m happy she’s found someone. I’m happy she’s loved.’ He takes a deep breath, realizing that Maxwell’s hand is resting reassuringly on his shoulder. ‘I failed her lately. She’s my sister, she’s my family. Sergio would be ashamed of the way I’ve treated her.’

Maxwell gives him a benevolent smile. ‘No he would not. He would understand that you’re grieving. You’ve never stopped loving Amara, you just haven’t had the space in your heart to show her.’ He squeezes his shoulder before letting it go. ‘But you’re back now. You’re here.’ He chuckles. ‘You’ve created quite a commotion, but maybe it was necessary. Maybe you can both turn it into something positive.’

Michael nods. ‘That’s one way to see things. I’ll try to see it as an opportunity to patch things up with my sister.’

Maxwell smiles some more. ‘You know, I haven’t known Amara for very long, but I do see her as my sister. So, you can rest assured, I’ll do everything in my power to help you guys move forward.’ He raises his glass. ‘To family.’

*****

The next morning, Liam wakes, still not at peace with his decision, but knowing it will be the best thing for his family, and for Cordonia. He’ll figure out the rest later, when things have calmed down a bit. Before falling asleep, he came up with a solution to have his cake and eat it too. Let’s hope his father is on board. He needs to be firm, and to tell him that it’s non-negotiable. He’ll tell him after the Decision Ball, once his father is pleased with his selflessness and his focus on Cordonia.

Liam calls for breakfast and settles down on his balcony, ready to be served. Someone knocks, right on cue, but they don’t wait for him to answer, they just barge in. He frowns, and gets up from his chair, ready to rip them a new one, but he quickly realizes that it’s not a servant.

‘Hey little bro,’ Leo says cheerfully as he wraps him in a bear hug.

‘Oh! Hi, Leo,’ Liam responds, surprised.

Leo lets him go and gives him a dashing smile. ‘You look...regal,’ he says as he looks him up and down, and pokes his ascot.

Liam protectively puts a hand by his neck. ‘Thanks, I guess. What are you doing here? I thought you were in South America.’

‘I was, I just left Brazil yesterday. I wouldn’t miss this for the world, you know, this whole charade,’ he gestures all around him.

Liam rolls his eyes. He has to keep his mouth shut --all he wants is to yell at Leo, to tell him that nothing would be the same if he hadn’t given up on the throne. Maybe Liam would have a normal-ish life, and would have been able to date Amara without the games and power moves. Maybe she would have liked him.

The two brothers sit down at the table and wait for the staff to show up. The servants arrive and give them their coffee and pastries. Liam catches him up, Leo’s eyes increasingly big through the stories.

‘Jeez, Li,’ he says, once his brother has finished retelling the events of the competition, ‘it’s so much worse than when it was me! And, I mean,’ he gestures at his own body, ‘you just know those ladies were throwing themselves at me. But this…’ He takes a sip of his coffee. ‘You’re deep in shit, kid.’

Liam frowns. ‘I’d like to see how YOU react to the same situation. I don’t have a choice.’

Leo shrugs. ‘We always have a choice.’

Sure, Liam thinks. Leo always has a choice. But his choice annihilated Liam’s. So, now...here we are. ‘I guess. But Dad is in a bad place, Leo, and he needs to know Cordonia is gonna be taken care of. It’s the least I can do to alleviate his anxiety.’

Leo nods. ‘You’re a good egg, Liam. I knew you’d step up.’ Liam remains silent, and Leo continues. ‘How’s Walker? I was expecting to see him here!’

Liam takes a bite of his croissant, not in any rush to tell Leo about the new developments in his friendship. But also, how to explain them? There’s no rational explanation. He swallows hard. ‘Drake and I took some distance, for some reason. Since the beginning of the competition.’

Leo looks surprised. ‘Oh? You did?’

Liam shrugs. ‘Drake did, mostly. He, um. He got closer to Maxwell and Bertrand, and he hasn’t stayed at the palace a while. We had words a while ago, about…’ he thinks about the best way to explain it, but remembers this is his brother, and mincing words is not necessary with Leo. ‘He became friends with a contestant, Amara, the woman I told you about. One night, I got a little too close to her and tried something, and she rebuffed me. Drake did not appreciate how’ he mimes air quotes, ‘entitled I was acting. We’ve talked ever since, but I guess it hasn’t been the same. He’s made it clear to me that he doesn’t appreciate how the competition allegedly changed me.’

Leo’s eyes are as wide as saucers. ‘Oh wow… I never expected this sort of thing to happen. So, he took this girl’s side rather than yours?’

Liam shrugs again. ‘I suppose you could say that. Since then, he’s invited me to the cabin with everyone and we had a great time, but I guess he hasn’t been the same with me as he always used to be. I think his hatred of court has flared up since the beginning of the competition.’

Leo throws his hands in the air. ‘Maybe it was bound to happen.’ He pauses and makes solid eye contact with his brother. ‘I can talk to him if you want me to.’

*****

Amara sighs, happy and relaxed --finally- in Drake’s arms. They woke up together this morning and made love lazily, initiated by Amara. She needed to be close to him, to feel him near, to be with him. She looks at his blissed out face, still reeling from their pleasure, and takes in the view. Drake’s hair is a mess, which Amara loves, and his smile betrays his happiness at the moment they just spent together. She plants a kiss on his lips, and she lingers there a while.

He whispers, ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’ She hugs him tighter. ‘Maybe we should take a shower and make our appearance downstairs.’

Drake sighs. ‘Maybe. Don’t get me wrong, I love these guys, but I would love to be alone with you today, away from everything.’ He looks at her and twirls a strand of her hair around his finger. ‘I suppose we’ll have to wait a bit for that to happen.’

Amara nods sadly. ‘We’ll be able to steal moments here and there, we’re good at this. But yeah. We have shit to face. Especially me.’

Drake kisses her forehead hard. ‘I’m proud of you, Suarez.’

*****

‘Maxwell, finally!’ Bertrand exclaims, as he pours coffee for Hana and Liv, both already awake and dressed in their casual clothes.

Maxwell emerges with difficulty --he came home quite late after his long chat with Michael, and only slept for a few hours. He’s usually a morning person, but today, he feels tired. ‘Hi guys,’ he says as cheerfully as he can. ‘Sorry for keeping you waiting. You should have started.’

Bertrand hands him a cup of coffee, and Max adds the milk. Liv looks at him quizzically and finally asks, ‘So? How was the guy?’

Maxwell takes a sip, and it’s as if his brain opens up through the caffeine molecules. ‘It was good. I’m glad I went. Michael feels terribly about putting Amara in this situation, and he needed someone to talk to.’

Liv scoffs. ‘So does she!’

Hana puts a calming hand on Liv’s arm. ‘Amara has all of us. She was not alone last night. Michael doesn’t know anyone here. I’m also glad you went, Max. He needed support.’ She turns to Liv. ‘Olivia, he’s suffering too. He’s trying to fix his family.’

Liv opens her mouth and closes it. She nods, sipping on her coffee. ‘I guess,’ she mutters.

Hana’s face lights up as she sees Drake and Amara coming down the stairs. ‘Morning, guys!’ she beams.

Maxwell notices right away that Amara’s face is a lot more relaxed than it was before. ‘Hey, little blossom, hi Drake!’

Drake pats Max and Bertrand on the back and hugs Hana. Maxwell can’t help but notice how far his friend has come. He used to be so closed off, so bored with the world, and now he gives morning hugs. With everything they’ve all been through, it’s not that surprising, but for anyone who knew the Drake from before, it’s a miracle.

Bertrand smiles nervously. ‘How did you both sleep?’

Drake smiles faintly, and Max knows right away that he didn’t sleep much. ‘Pretty well,’ he says, ‘right Suarez?’

Amara nods. ‘Yeah, I feel better, thanks Bertrand.’ She sits down silently and takes the coffee cup held out by Hana. After a bit of silence, she finally speaks. ‘Guys, no need to walk on eggshells. I’m fine. Right, Drake?’

Drake nods. ‘Hmm. We talked a while last night and Amara has decided to still go to the Decision Ball.’

She gives a slightly brighter smile and turns to Olivia. ‘You were right, Liv. I won’t be broken.’

Liv smirks. ‘I knew it would be a matter of time til you start listening to my wisdom, Suarez!’

Amara chuckles. ‘Don’t get me wrong, if I stop and think about it…’ she looks at Drake and gives him a sad smile. ‘I just have to fight myself a bit. And there’s something else I need to do, too.’ She turns to Maxwell.

He understands right away. ‘You sure, honey?’ he asks. ‘You can take your time, he understands completely.’

Amara nods. ‘I’m sure. I can’t ever thank you enough for holding down the fort, Maxxie. But now it’s time I talk to Michael.’

Maxwell nods enthusiastically, and takes his phone out of his pocket. ‘That’s great, babe. I’m gonna text him that I’ll pick him up as soon as he’s ready.’

*****

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Thank you for your encouragements, everyone! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[pug-bitch]

That’s not why I’m going (26)

Yass Kween, right?

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive, and a steamy scene. This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18.

Word count: around 4,900 (let me know if the ‘keep reading’ cutoff isn’t working well!)

Notes: This picks up pretty much where we left off, during first night in the cabin (yes I am taking my sweet time writing the happier parts, after everything our little guys have been through!), starting with Drake’s POV.

*****

Drake sighs wistfully. He can’t sleep, but not because he’s stressed out. On the contrary, he’s too blissful to sleep, and he didn’t even know that was an option. He looks at Amara, who is peacefully asleep next to him. They made love three times, once outside, and twice upstairs, in his bed. Suddenly, it dawns on Drake that he’d never had sex in this bed. Always at the palace. In fact, he’d never brought a woman back here. Too intimate. Now he’s grateful; it only makes this night more special. He pushes a strand of hair away from Amara’s face so he can see her better. He feels like a creep for a second, watching he sleep, but he just loves her face so much. And seeing her like this, relaxed and asleep, makes him feel at peace. No comparison with the nightmares she used to have. Or maybe still has, PTSD doesn’t go away like that. But at least it has calmed down.

Drake hopes her stress doesn’t come back running when they get back to court. He loves Portavira, even Penelope’s parents’ estate is quiet and beautiful, no frills. But he just wishes they could both stay here. Maybe they could, someday? It feels like such a pipe dream.

First, they have to get through the last week of the competition. Drake shudders, remembering the last competition, when Leo had to propose to Madeleine and then skipped town, wreaking havoc on everything. Would it be as bad this time? Probably. Ever since Drake was with Amara and had snapped at Liam several times, he had no idea what was going through his mind. No more late night chats, no more confidence. Did he miss it? Sure, but nothing he can do about it now. Liam had been a dick to Amara a few weeks ago, and even if he was a lot better, it still doesn’t excuse everything he’s said and done. Drake simply doesn’t know if he can just go back to normal. They would hopefully stay friends, if Drake and Amara played their cards right and announced their relationship in a timely manner. But best friends again? Probably not.

Drake feels a pang in his chest just thinking back on all the moments Liam had been there for him and vice versa.

No more, he thinks. This is not the time to turn this happy night into a stressful one. He’d deal with everything another day. Maybe it would be a catastrophe --probably would be-- but right now, all he wants to do is keep snuggling with Amara.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand. Shit, he thinks. Hopefully Amara doesn’t wake up. He grabs it and sees a text.

Amara is lovely, Drake. Well done. It was good talking to you today, you look happy. I love you.

His mom never said anything this nice, not anymore, not since Dad had passed and Sav had left, and Drake had closed himself up. He could tell how much his mom had taken to Amara. Of course she would, Amara is the Sun. Easy to talk to, smart, funny. Hauntingly beautiful. God, he loves her.

Insightful, too. She’d hit the nail on the head a couple months ago, when they had talked about Drake’s mom having remarried and how it had made him feel. He starts typing.

Love you too, Mom. Happy you like her. I like her too...a lot. Give my best to Barry.

His mom instantly replies, visibly excited given the speed at which she typed the second message.

Barry says hi too!!!!!!!!! We both want to see you soon!!!

So many exclamation points. Maybe because to this day, Drake had never acknowledged his stepdad via text, except for the odd text for birthdays.

He puts the phone down and starts closing his eyes, hoping to join Amara in slumber soon.

*****

‘You can’t sleep either?’ Maxwell whispers, approaching his brother in the family room.

‘Oh, Maxwell, you scared me,’ he says, startled.

‘Sorry,’ Max mutters, stifling a smile. His brother is wearing a burgundy satin robe, and matching slippers. He’s sitting on the couch, his back perfectly straight, his legs crossed in his tweed pyjama pants. As he sees Maxwell come in, Bertrand tightens the tie of his robe, and Maxwell realizes that there are gold tassels on each end of the rope. He chuckles on the inside, remembering the one time Amara had asked him if Bertrand sleeps in a Victorian nightgown. This is almost worse. All he’s missing is a pipe. And maybe 30 years added to his age.

‘Do you want to sit down with me?’ Bertrand asks. As Max sits, he wishes he could take a picture of the robe and slippers to send it to Amara.

‘Are you ok?’ Max asks, forcing himself to be serious again.

‘I’m fine,’ Bertrand smiles weakly. ‘Just...thinking, you know.’

Max nods. ‘I know. Me too. I’ve been thinking about Mom and Dad a lot, and… this explains many things.’

‘It does. I’m sorry for keeping this from you for so long, Maxxie.’

Tears threaten to fall from Maxwell’s eyes. Years since Bertrand had called him Maxxie. ‘It’s ok, I get it. You were doing this to honor Dad’s memory.’ What’s Max’s excuse for keeping the Bartie secret from Bertrand? He knows he promised Dramara to hold on until they find her and get her side of the story, but he longs to be close to his brother again. The secrets are driving an invisible wedge between them.

‘Still,’ Bertrand whispers. ‘I’m sorry, Maxxie. Can you forgive me?’

‘Of course. We’re brothers. The Beaumont Boys. Nothing can keep us apart!’

Bertrand chuckles. ‘We are not boys, Maxwell.’

Max eyes him from head to toe. ‘No doubt about that, given what you’re wearing.’

Bertrand dismisses him with a hand gesture. ‘Oh stop. How is Hana holding up? She seemed well at dinner.’

‘She’s fine. Brave. Relieved. Strong. All of those adjectives. I can’t wait til tomorrow when we get to go hang out at the Walkers’ cabin. You sure you don’t want to come?’

Bertrand shakes his head. ‘I can’t. I’m meeting with Liam, remember?’

Shit, Max thinks. He really isn’t being a considerate brother right now. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

‘No, there’s no need, really. I would like to see you for maybe an hour tomorrow morning before you head to Portavira though, to convene of a plan that I can relay to Liam. You know, weigh some options.’

‘Of course! We’ll get coffee and discuss it.’

‘Great. Also… I think maybe we should both let Albert go, when all of this is said and done. Together, you know. To strengthen the Beaumont name and show that we are both proud of our father’s legacy.’

‘Yass Kween,’ Max says excitedly. He loves that Bertrand thinks of everything, from every angle.

Bertrand looks at him, confused. ‘Qu...queen? You mean Queen Regina?’

Max bursts out laughing. ‘No, Bertrand, it’s an expression! I’m just saying ‘Yass Kween’ to you, as in I love your idea.’

Bertrand squints. ‘So...I’m the queen in this scenario?’ He shakes his head. ‘I don’t get it, Maxxie.’

Max shrugs, grabs the remote, and fires up Netflix. ‘Oh well, since we’re both up, let’s just watch some Queer Eye, maybe then you’ll get it.’

*****

Liv wakes up in a sweat. She didn’t even realize that she had fallen asleep. She was awakened by a nightmare, the same recurring one for over twenty years: she’s a little girl, watching her parents disappear like holograms, unable to hold on to their hands.

She shakes her head and assesses her surroundings. Too much vodka last night.

She jumps at the sight of Rashad, sound asleep on her ottoman. So, they’d both passed out. Great.

She looks at the clock, it’s past 2am now. She gets up to pour herself a glass of water from the bathroom sink and shakes Rashad awake.

‘Wake up, Domvallier. We fell asleep.’

He jumps up, startled. ‘Huh?’

‘You’re on my ottoman. You should go.’

Rashad wipes his eyes, and slowly comes to. ‘Oh God, Liv, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your space.’ He gets up hastily, and her heart sinks a bit. So, he did find her terrifying after all.

‘Hey, don’t worry, we just got too drunk and watched too many episodes.’

He starts washing his dirty glass and putting away the blanket he was using. Liv can’t believe he’s tidying up.

‘Leave it, I’ll do it. Thanks, though.’

He smiles and nods. ‘Thanks for the company, Nevrakis. It was a thousand times better than dinner would have been. Good night.’

Before she has time to respond, he’s out the door. She locks it behind him, gets out of her dress, and into bed. A strange feeling invades her. What is that? It feels warm, oddly normal and comforting. Like a blanket.

What the hell is she thinking? A fucking blanket? What happened, did this whole photo leak turn her into a pathetic mass of feelings? Stupid.

Regardless, she had a good night.

*****

Amara awakens to the sound of birds chirping at the window. She turns around, and sees Drake still spooning her, half asleep.

‘Morning, Suarez,’ he mutters, still sleepy.

‘Morning, Walker!’

She plants a kiss on his mouth, and he lingers a bit, kissing her deeper. God, she loves his kisses. He pulls her closer, their lips firmly tangled together, until she straddles him. She feels his cock between her legs, and she instantly feels herself get wetter and wetter. He smiles at her through their kiss, and lets out a soft moan as she rubs herself onto his hard cock. She wants to take her time, though. Thoroughly enjoy the morning with him. Feel his naked body against hers, truly feel him close.

They make love lazily, tenderly, for a long time. When they part, Amara nuzzles in Drake’s arms, comfortable and happy. ‘Can we stay here forever, please?’

Drake chuckles, kissing her head. ‘I wish, babe. Did you sleep well?’

‘Like a fucking baby. I even had nice dreams!’

He smiles at her, and she feels like her heart might explode. ‘You did? What did you dream of?’

‘Just some nice sceneries, some beaches, a quiet lakefront, and...you.’

He smiles again, a bright smile that shines on her like a Sun. ‘I’m glad you’re comfortable here.’

‘Oh, I am. So comfortable. Thanks for having me, Drake.’

He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘You don’t need to thank me. I can honestly say that I’ve never been happier.’

As if on purpose, Drake’s phone aggressively vibrates, and makes Amara jump with surprise.

Drake frowns and glances at it, with no visible plan to pick up. ‘It’s Liam,’ he says, his voice void of any enthusiasm.

‘Oh…’ Amara says, unable to say anything else.

‘I’m not picking up.’

She nods, silent. She almost says that he should, just so Liam doesn’t get suspicious. But right now, she doesn’t really care. ‘I’m excited to see the guys, but I’m gonna miss our alone time…’

Drake kisses her lips. ‘I am too… It’s been really nice to be away from the world. But I guess I--nevermind.’

She sits up, curious. ‘No no, tell me!’

Drake puts his head in his hands. ‘Ugh, I’m so lame. I was gonna say that I’m kind of excited about um…’ He pauses, and continues in a whisper. ‘Entertaining.’

Amara’s face lights up. She loves seeing him like this. He told her, weeks ago, that his dream was to open a small restaurant, and she can see why. He beams when he’s making his own food. And it doesn’t hurt that his cooking is absolutely delicious. She strokes his hair. ‘It’s not lame at all, it’s actually really sweet. And Drake?’

‘Hm?’

‘I love you.’

He pulls her closer, until her head rests against his chest again. ‘I love you too, Suarez. So fucking much.’

*****

Liam didn’t sleep at all. Well, maybe a little bit. Not much. He thought about what Madeleine had told him, and about his lack of agency in all that. About his father, who would probably not be around for much longer. About Amara, who didn’t reciprocate his feelings. About Olivia, who probably fucked her bodyguard to spite him. And about Drake, his best friend in the world, whom he really needed right now.

He waited until a decent time to call. A few weeks earlier, he wouldn’t have hesitated to call him at 4am if he needed to talk. But not now. Why, though? What happened to them that they didn’t even talk to each other anymore? Drake had been supportive enough, but probably just the bare minimum for someone who was like family. Liam missed him.

So, he called him as soon as it was appropriate. He figured, since he was at Ramsford, he was probably up early, what with Maxwell being a walking alarm clock.

But Drake hadn’t answered.

He tried again, several times, but no luck. He hesitated a bit, and after a quick look in his bathroom mirror, he realizes he cannot just stay with his own thoughts all day. He needs to be with his friends, even if only for a few hours. He needs to be at the Palace in the early afternoon for some meetings, including one with Bertrand, and at night he has a one-on-one with Kiara. But he has a couple of hours to kill.

He dials his phone.

‘Your Highness.’

Bastien always picks up right away. ‘Bastien, hello. Could you please take out the car? I need to go to Ramsford.’

*****

‘Do you think we need to bring her any nail polish?’

Maxwell was in charge of packing Amara’s suitcase, but Hana had insisted on helping him out. She responds right away, ‘Yes, I think so. What if hers is chipped? We did our nails together a couple of days ago already, so she may need some. Pack her light gray one, and also a bolder color. Oh, and her remover.’

Hana was carefully packing Amara’s dresses into a small suitcase. Enough formal wear for Penelope’s estate tomorrow and the day after, and some casual dresses, jeans, and a sweater for downtime. Heels, and her Steve Madden slip-ons. Hana was used to packing all the right things. She was used to doing all the right things.

She closes the suitcase, after Max hands her the toiletry bag that he has just made up. She sits on the bed, taking a breath to think about the amazing friendships she’s made here. She definitely does not want to go home, not anytime soon. Maybe she’s ready to come out to her parents, but she does not want to be under their control anymore. She wishes she could stay here, with the Beaumonts, or with Amara. But after the competition, there is something else she needs to do. If she doesn’t, she’ll have regrets for the rest of her life. She’ll gather all the strength she has, and go to London to see if she still has a chance, or if she truly messed up years ago.

She is drawn from her daydream by Max, who is gently tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. ‘What’s on your mind, baby girl?’

She smiles and shrugs. ‘Nothing much… I’m excited about tonight.’

Max beams. ‘Me too! You’ll see, the Walker cabin is beautiful, and so quiet, you will love it so much.’

She nods, ‘I can’t wait. I also really want to see Drake and Amara again. It’s weird without them.’

‘You mean Dramara?’

Hana laughs heartily, ‘If you say so!’

They both go back downstairs, where Bertrand awaits them for brunch. As they are all seated on the patio, digging into their frittatas, they see Liam’s towncar pull up. Hana’s heart jumps in her chest, and she looks over to Max, who looks agitated. Liam thinks Drake and Amara are here, what is he going to think when he sees that they are both gone?

Liam gets out of the car, and Hana cannot help but think that he looks terrible. Has he been sleeping? He certainly hasn’t been shaving today, or washing his hair.

‘Good morning, friends!’ he says as he approaches them. ‘Sorry for barging in, I was hoping I could see Drake.’

Maxwell regains his composure and responds, ‘Good morning Liam, please join us for brunch! Unfortunately Drake isn’t here, he had to go to his cabin to deal with something.’

Liam nods, but Hana can’t tell if he believed Max. ‘Oh ok, that would probably explain why he’s not answering his phone. I’d love to join for brunch, thank you Maxwell.’

He comes onto the patio and takes a seat at the table. Max gets up to fetch him a plate. The Beaumonts had dismissed their staff for a few days after they realized that one of their employees must have taken Liv’s phone. They were planning to question them as soon as possible, and in the meantime, they were getting by without help. Bertrand’s frittata was surprisingly good, though.

When Max comes back with Liam’s plate, they all bid each other bon appétit and start eating again. Liam, visibly surprised, asks, ‘Oh, aren’t we waiting for Amara?’

Oh God, Hana thinks. She has to think on her feet, think of something, anything.

As she’s about to open her mouth and improvise, Bertrand chimes in, sounding incredibly natural. ‘Lady Amara is in her bedroom, she has a migraine. She asked not to be disturbed, she needs to be in complete darkness.’

Damn, Bertrand, Hana thinks. How did he think on his feet so fast?

‘Goodness,’ Liam says, visibly convinced. ‘That’s too bad, poor Amara. Well, I’ll see her in Portavira tomorrow I hope.’

Bertrand flashes a bright smile. ‘I sure hope so! Those intense migraines ought to go away after a day, I’m sure.’

They finish their brunch all the while making small talk, all carefully avoiding the main topics at court. No one is even remotely mentioning Olivia or Madeleine or anything like that. Just pleasant, completely phony conversation.

As Liam gets ready to leave, Hana offers to accompany him to his car, which he gladly accepts. Once they are alone, she asks him, ‘Liam, are you ok?’

He chuckles, ‘I look like shit, don’t I?’

Hana is surprised to hear him curse. He’s always seen him very prim and proper, except when he was propositioning Amara. This time, it’s different. He really doesn’t look well. Still, she lies, ‘No, you look great! You just seem… preoccupied.’

He sighs and looks her in the eye. ‘I have no idea what I’m going to do, Hana. Truly no idea.’

Hana squeezes his arm and says, ‘If you need to talk about it, maybe you and I could grab coffee in Portavira tomorrow? Just a friend date, so you can put all your thoughts out there.’

He smiles, ‘I’d like that very much.’

Once Liam gone, she heads back inside, where the Beaumonts are finishing up their coffee in silence. She can tell that Max is dying to ask Bertrand about his lie, but is containing himself. Still, Hana wants to know. She needs to be bolder, just like she has been recently. So, she asks, ‘Bertrand, can I ask you something?’

He takes one last sip of his coffee and says matter-of-factly, ‘I had to make something up. I couldn’t let Liam get suspicious.’

Hana’s jaw drops. ‘What--what do you mean?’

Bertrand smiles faintly. ‘I’m not blind, Hana. I see what’s going on. I just don’t think Liam needs to know right now.’

Max’s eyes are the size of cantaloupes. ‘What do you mean you know what’s going on?’

‘Come on, Maxxie. Drake and Amara. It’s obvious.’

Max shakes his head and asks hesitantly, ‘You’re--you’re not mad?’

Bertrand snorts, ‘Oh dear, do you really see me as a grumpy old man who can’t rejoice for two people in love?’ He rolls his eyes. ‘Plus, with all the crap that’s raining on us right now, it’s nice that at least two of us are happy. Yass Kween, right Max?’

*****

‘Drake, can you come here?’

Drake is setting up their lunch table in the backyard, when Amara calls him from the kitchen. ‘Coming!’ he says.

‘I can’t find the baking powder, could you point me to it?’

He smiles, and digs deep in the cupboard where the baking powder is behind a bunch of cans. ‘Here you go, babe. How’s the batter going?’

She smiles excitedly. ‘Great! I cut the pineapple in little pieces, and plus I found some coconut shavings in your pantry, so I’m adding that to the cake.’

He chuckles as he sees that her face is covered with flour. She must not be very gentle when mixing her batter. ‘Where’s your phone? I gotta take a picture of your face right now, it’s priceless!’

‘Oh come on,’ she says, attemting to wipe her face. ‘It’s over there, if you insist on making fun of me.’

He picks up her phone, and notices the multiple missed calls. ‘Um, Amara? Did you see this?’

‘Hm?’ she asks absentmindedly, adding the baking powder to her mixing bowl.

He shows her her phone. ‘Michael. He called you eight times, just today, and it’s only like 6am in New York.’

He hates himself right away for bringing it up, when he sees the cloud loom over her eyes. ‘I know. I’m just not ready to talk to him.’

Drake nods. ‘I get it. He texted you, too, you don’t want to at least read what he wrote?’

‘No,’ she says curtly. ‘I know he’s going to apologize, that’s what my dad said. I don’t want to hear it now, I don’t want to think about it. I’ll deal with it another time.’ She pauses. ‘I know what it must look like.’

He closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around her. ‘It looks like you’re hurting and I want to help you get better, because I love you.’

She nods, obviously fighting back tears. ‘I love you too. I appreciate you wanting to help me…’

‘Hey, you’re helping me find my sister. we have each other’s backs, ok?’

‘Fair. But the situation with your sister is promising. It holds hope. My situation with Michael is fucked. He will never see me as his sister ever again. I’ll always be the person who failed his entire family.’

Drake holds her tighter. ‘I hope you know that it’s not true. Remember what your father said. Forgive yourself.’

She nods and offers a faint smile. ‘I’m trying, Drake. I really, really am. But for right now, I think the best way for me to do that is to keep some distance between me and Michael. It hurts us both too much. Hopefully someday…’

She trails off, plants a kiss on Drake’s lips, and continues mixing her batter. Drake watches her intently, his heart aching for her. He wants to take away the pain. But really, he’s probably making it worse, comparing her situation to his own with Sav. Sav is alive, and Drake will, hopefully, see his little sister soon.

Amara will never see her brother again.

But Drake can’t help but think about what she had told him about her bond with Michael. That they used to be like siblings. He hopes that, one day, she finds this bond again.

‘Do you want a beer with lunch?’ he asks, trying to lighten the mood.

Without looking up from her mixing bowl, which should be completely mixed by now, she says ‘Sure, if you’re having one.’

*****

Amara doesn’t want to ruin the moment. No, on the contrary, these moments spent with Drake in the cabin are so special, so happy, that she wants nothing more than to enjoy them. But she has a lump in her throat now, that she can’t swallow just yet. Not Drake’s fault, not at all. He doesn’t understand completely, how could he? He’s lost people he loved, of course, but not by his own fault. Not in circumstances that he could have avoided.

He understands her well otherwise. She’s never had a connection like this one in her life, not ever. She knows what he’s trying to do, too. He wants her to reconnect with Michael and find the sibling connection that they lost along with Sergio. But she knows that she can’t force that. They both need the space, even if Michael isn’t aware of it right now.

She wonders for a second if something is truly wrong, and if she should in fact call him back, or at least read his texts before deleting them. She shakes her head. No, if anything was wrong, Dad would call. Amara had answered every single text from her dad and Nancy during her time in Cordonia. After her dad’s heart attack, she never took a chance with a missed call.

Once the cake is in the oven, she sets the times --that damn cockblocking timer-- and joins Drake outside. When she sees his face, she realizes right away that he feels bad for insisting earlier. Her heart melts a bit. She’s been too harsh, too radical with him. He just wants her to be happy.

She softens and smiles, kissing his cheek before sitting at the table.

‘You ok?’ he asks.

‘Yeah. Sorry about earlier. I get why you said all that, and I love that you want the best for me. Thank you.’

He smiles, visibly more relaxed, and kisses her hand. He holds on to it for a while.

*****

Madeleine checks her phone for an answer from the middleman. Finally, her screen lights up.

It is booked. Arrival Friday morning.

She suppresses a smile. Her idea was retained. She knows they have something else in store for her, something big and public apparently, but she thinks they need more ammo for this bitch. Something more personal. Something to break her.

Oh well, they’ll see on Friday.

For now, she needs to make nice with the others. She puts on her best fake smile, and heads to Kiara’s room, who she knows is getting ready for a one-on-one with Liam in a few hours.

‘Knock knock!’ Madeleine says out loud.

‘Entrez!’ she hears Kiara reply.

Ugh, she thinks. Why is this bitch constantly speaking French? Madeleine had always thought that French was a language for whores and peasants. But she has to keep that smile on. She can’t make all enemies. ‘Hi, Kiara,’ she says. ‘Want some company?’

Kiara is sitting at her vanity and she is putting on makeup. ‘Oui, avec plaisir!’

Madeleine comes in and closes the door behind her. ‘So, are you ready for the big date?’

‘Oh I definitely am,’ Kiara purrs. Madeleine can’t believe that Kiara has a date with Liam before her, but oh well. Soon enough, everything will be under control.

‘Do you know where he is taking you?’

‘I think he wants to go get a drink and take a stroll through the Capital. It should be fun!’

Madeleine nods, keeping up appearances. She and Kiara were close, once. When they were younger and probably more naive, full of dreams and hope. Before Leo fucked it all up and made Madeleine have to go get things on her own instead of simply sitting back and relaxing. Back when Kiara wanted to bone Walker, and marry a diplomat. And now that stupid bitch thinks she has a shot at being an actual Queen? Ha! If she could, Madeleine would laugh.

Madeleine responds, ‘Yes, you will have fun, I have no doubt. Now, is that what you’re wearing?’

*****

‘Babe, look at my cake! I think I didn’t fuck it up!’

Drake looks over his shoulder while he’s doing the dishes. ‘Wow, that cake looks fucking delicious. Well done!’

Amara beams. The cook of the house, complimenting her cake? She definitely is a decent baker, but it’s been a while since she has baked something, unless you count that apple pie competition at Applewood Manor, or as Drake refers to it, the ‘apple shit’.

She used to bake with her mom, back in the day, but of course she would only do the mixing and the bowl licking, and none of the oven business, she was too little for that.

‘Alright,’ she says, ‘now i’m gonna make a pitcher of margarita.’ As Drake opens his mouth to say something, she pursues, ‘Or maybe two. Two, right? It’s Max and Liv we’re talking about.’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ Drake chuckles.

Before getting started on the lime juice and tequila, she goes over to Drake and hugs him. ‘I’m so happy to be here with you.’

‘I’m happy too, babe. It feels right to have you here.’

As if on cue, there is a knock on the door. Amara can already hear Max and Hana joke around on the other side of the door. She kisses Drake’s cheek and goes over to open.

‘It’s us, bitches!’ Maxwell yells. ‘And we brought Olivia!’

*****

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Thank you for your encouragements, everyone! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[pug-bitch]

That’s not why I’m going (21)

Time to let go

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive, and a VERY steamy scene. This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18.

Word count: 3,875 (let me know if the ‘keep reading’ cutoff isn’t working well!)

Notes: This starts the next morning, after the big Bastien reveal, at breakfast, with Amara’s POV.

*****

Amara was anxiously waiting for Drake’s reaction, after giving him the flip phone the next morning. The gang--Drake, Amara, Max, Hana, and Olivia--had met after breakfast, once everyone had left. They didn’t have any events that evening, so they all decided to stay put at Ramsford.

‘So? What do you say?’ Amara asks Drake, all the while glancing at Olivia.

Drake shakes his head, his face reddening. ‘What the hell. I can’t believe he would betray--’

‘Calm the fuck down, Walker,’ Olivia said placidly. ‘Getting angry won’t solve it. I know you like your little substitute Daddy, but let’s be honest here, he’s not exactly the most fun dude in history.’

‘Olivia, he’s not a dad substitute, he’s a family friend. I trusted him. Don’t you understand?’

Amara steps in. ‘We do understand, Drake. What is really crucial now, is that you don’t talk to him about it. We have no further proof than him disposing of the phone. He could have been doing this on behalf of someone else, and if we talk to him, he may report us.’

Drake takes a deep breath and nods. ‘You’re right. Sorry. I won’t say anything.’

‘Good. We’ll keep an eye out for anything suspicious, but unfortunately, for now, there is nothing else we can do. When we see Bastien again tomorrow though, all of us should be on our guard. We need to have him within eyesight at all times to see who he talks to, and if he gets another burner phone. Besides that...nothing we can control.’ Amara continues. ‘Hana, how are you doing, sweetie?’

The young woman plasters on a big smile. Fake it til you make it, Amara thinks. ‘I’m okay, thanks Amara. I...haven’t received anything from my parents, so I’m assuming the news still hasn’t gone international. But I’ve made a decision.’

Everyone looks at Hana expectantly.

She continues, ‘I’m gonna own up to it. I need to talk to Liam about how to go about it, because I don’t want to hijack his social season, of course. But this whole ordeal just showed me that it’s time.’

Amara reaches across the table and takes Hana’s hand in hers. ‘You sure, babe?’

Hana nods. ‘Yes. I’m 28 years old, it’s time I took my life in my own hands. Plus, seeing this picture of Caroline again…’ she blushes, and takes a sip of her coffee.

Amara looks at Drake, and they exchange a brief smile. ‘Caroline, the woman on the picture?’ Amara asks.

Hana nods. ‘We were together in college, at Oxford. For almost three years. I broke up with her when I went back to China after we graduated. I...couldn’t be honest about her to my parents.’

Max chimes in, ‘Do you regret it?’

‘I do. I know she’s probably forgotten about me now, but I haven’t. It doesn’t matter, though. All it means is, I’m ready now. I’m gonna come out.’

*****

Amara and Drake sit on the balcony, the only two remaining after everyone is gone. Drake is stroking her hair, taking in the view as they sip their coffee in comfortable silence.

‘I missed you last night,’ he finally says.

She smiles. ‘So did I… that’s why I couldn’t sleep. Hence the late night phone rescue mission.’

Drake chuckles. He shouldn’t laugh at that. He was still upset at Bastien’s betrayal, but as Amara said, nothing they could do now. ‘Productive. Did you get any sleep after?’

Amara puts her mug down, looks around, and gets even closer to Drake. She whispers, ‘No. I looked at the employee files from Bertrand. You know, to find the account number that receives the monthly money.’

‘Did you find it?’

She nods. ‘Yup. Does the name Albert Saunier ring a bell?’

Drake gasps. Albert was well known around court. ‘That’s their accountant. He does the books for the Beaumonts, and did my parents’ taxes, too.’

Amara nods again. ‘Well. I guess he found a way to get around the books.’

‘Fuck,’ Drake whispers. ‘I can’t believe he’s scamming them. That’s it? That’s why they’re broke?’

‘I don’t know, though. That’s too simple, right?’ Amara takes another sip of coffee. Drake can’t help but notice how beautiful she looks in the sunlight. She continues. ‘I mean, Bertrand keeps receipts for everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, Drake. He buys a new shirt, he puts the receipt in his files. Batteries, even, he documents. How could he not notice? It’s the same amount, a considerable one, every month. It goes to the same account, but with various pretend purposes. Most of them upkeep of the estate. Bertrand would know if any work was being done around Ramsford.’

Drake nods. Unable to resist, he closes in the distance between himself and Amara and captures her lips in a passionate kiss. She kisses him back, and they sit there, tangled, for a while.

Breathlessly, Amara smiles. ‘What was that for?’

‘You’re hot when you’re investigating.’

‘Well, get used to it, Walker, because this is only the beginning.’

‘I guess I’m gonna have to learn to keep it in my pants, then.’

She smirks. ‘No, that’s not what I meant,’ she says before kissing him again, deeper this time. Drake’s blood runs hot through his veins. He pulls Amara closer, until she’s straddling his lap, still kissing him.

‘Wow,’ she says as they catch their breath. ‘We should stop. With everything that’s happening…’

Drake nods. Of course she’s right. But it doesn’t make it ok. He wishes he could whisk her away for the night, but he knows her too well: she won’t want to leave Hana in this trying time, and deep down, Drake doesn’t either. He doesn’t protest when Amara gets up from his lap and gets back to her chair, even though all he wants to do is hold her back and kiss her more. They’re gonna have to be careful, he knows that. But he doesn’t know how long he can pull that off.

‘Hey guys,’ Olivia’s voice interrupts them, as she comes back to the balcony, frantically looking everywhere. ‘Did you see my phone by any chance?’

Amara shakes her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. Where did you last see it?’

‘I thought I’d left it in my room but it’s not there. Maybe I brought it down with me.’ She looks around some more, and quickly gives up. ‘Oh well. I must not have looked hard enough upstairs. What’s everyone up to today?’

Drake shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Nothing is planned at court until tomorrow’s brunch with the King and Queen, so I guess we’re free to do whatever.’

Olivia smirks. ‘Look at you, Walker, abiding by the rules of court. If anyone is interested, I’ll be in the Beaumont armory this afternoon. I want to see the goods.’

She waves and walks away. Drake locks eyes with Amara, and they both laugh heartily. ‘Oh Liv,’ Amara says. ‘Only she would call antique weaponry ‘the goods’.’

‘Heh. True. Well, if you want to go visit the armory, I’ll go with you. It could be fun.’

The truth is, Drake could not care less about seeing the weapons. He had seen them countless times already. All he wants is to spend time with Amara. She seems to catch on and responds ‘I’d like that. But before that, I’d like to make a couple of phone calls to France. I found single mom support associations in Paris and daycare facilities that I’d like to call.’

Damn, Drake thinks. She never stops. He kisses her hand and holds it in his for a long time, until Maxwell comes to interrupt them, and Amara leaves to go investigate in her room.

*****

‘Merci beaucoup, Madame. J’apprécie votre aide, vraiment. Bonne journée à vous.’

Amara hangs up and looks at the time. Two hours she just spent, calling people to ask about Savannah. Two minutes ago, she had lost hope. No one knew anyone by that name, until she called this one association for young moms in the 10th arrondissement, very close to the bank in which Savannah had opened her account. The woman had hesitated at first, but Amara knew how to make people trust her. Whenever they had to get a difficult testimony, Jamie would always let her lead. She was the younger one, and that helped, but she was also gentler, and at heart a people person. The woman on the phone let go of her guard very easily.

She looks at the address she just jotted down on her notebook. This could be it.

She is startled by a sharp knock on her door. Quickly, she tucks the notebook under her iPad. ‘Come in!’

Bertrand lets himself in, a serious smile on his face. ‘Hello, Lady Amara. How are you doing?’

‘I’m good, how are you?’

‘Great. I wanted to personally greet you, and make sure you are recovering from the scandal from last night. I just spoke to Lady Hana, she looks determined to take matters into her own hands.’

‘Yes, she is very strong,’ Amara adds. ‘She’ll be ok. And I’m fine. I just would like to know who is doing this to her.’

She watches Bertrand intently, hoping not to see anything suspicious in his eyes. He fumbles a bit, still unreadable, until he finally responds, ‘Well, yes, I would like to know as well. A good woman such as Lady Hana, who would want to tarnish her reputation?’

Amara, ticked off, frowns. ‘What do you mean, tarnish? There’s nothing wrong with the picture that was sent. That’s not what’s wrong. What is wrong is that her choice was taken from her, her choice to come out or not.’

Bertrand blushes and loses his smile for a bit. ‘Of course. That’s what I meant. Of course.’ He pauses for a long time. ‘In any case, I’m assuming she will withdraw from the competition. Or, at the very least, be ineligible. Which, as bad as this sounds, is a plus for us.’

Amara had almost forgotten about Bertrand’s vested interest in her victory. She forces a smile. Now is not the time for breaking the façade. ‘Sure.’

A smile illuminates Bertrand’s face. ‘Great. I’ve arranged for a one-on-one between you and Prince Liam tomorrow, after the brunch. He said he’ll take you for a walk if the weather is nice.’

Great, Amara thinks. Thankfully, Liam seems to have calmed down since Hana-gate, and she didn’t feel as threatened by him anymore. Still, this was a bummer. ‘Thank you, Duke Ramsford. I appreciate it.’

He nods and turns around. Against her better judgment, Amara catches herself calling him back into the room. ‘Bertrand?’

He turns back and says, ‘Yes?’

For some reason, she cannot stop herself from talking. Maybe it’s the excitement from almost cracking the Savannah case. Maybe it’s just because she’s lost her police manners. ‘You put a lot of emphasis on reputation, right?’

Bertrand’s eyes lose focus for a split second, and he fixes his posture. ‘Well of course. When you are part of the nobility, you have a duty to protect your house’s reputation.’

‘Sure. I get that. Would you say you’d do anything to protect it, though?’

Bertrand scoffs. ‘Everything within the limits of decency, yes. Why is that, Lady Amara?’

Amara gives him a feeble smile. She truly cannot stop herself. She has to know if the man she has been trusting has been lying to everyone. ‘No reason. I was just wondering if buying someone off would be within the limits of decency.’

Bertrand’s face reddens. ‘What? What in the world are you talking about?’

‘Nothing. Just wondering why you’re always worried about your finances, and always saying House Beaumont is broke. Could it be the price of your reputation?’

Bertrand looks as if he may explode. ‘I’m not going to even grant this with a response. As you pointed out, Lady Amara, I do not have the financial means to kick you out, because we need your participation. But let me tell you, young lady, you are on thin ice. What you’re insinuating…’

‘Wow, Bertrand, I’m like 5 years younger than you. Calm down. Can we talk frankly? I’m not gonna do anything. I just want the truth.’

She notices that Bertrand’s hands are shaking. ‘What do you want?’

Suddenly, she feels terribly about making him feel this way, but she truly cannot stop herself. She has uncovered a secret, now she has to go all the way. ‘I want to know why Albert Saunier is getting the same amount of money from you every month.’

From red, Bertrand’s face turns white almost immediately. ‘How...how on Earth…?’

So, he knows. He’s not being scammed, he is completely aware of this mysterious transaction. ‘It doesn’t matter. Why are you paying him off? This amount is a lot bigger than just his wages, Bertrand. Are you buying his services for something? His silence, maybe?’

His face falls. ‘This doesn’t concern you. Now please, whatever you’ve been doing, stop it. My brother doesn’t need any more silly ideas implanted in his head. Let’s forget about this conversation.’

He turns around, hesitates for a couple of seconds with his hand on the doorknob, but finally turns it and leaves. Amara sits there, breathless, for a few minutes. He may be right. This doesn’t concern her, not really. But she’s come to really love these people, especially Maxwell, whom she considers like a brother. If Bertrand is hiding something from him, she wants to help him find out.

She takes a deep breath. She’ll figure all of this out later. For now, she wants to tell Drake about her new Savannah findings.

She knocks on his door, and he tells her to come in. She finds him lying on his bed, reading a book. ‘Hey Suarez,’ he says, his face lighting up as she comes in.

‘Hey Walker. Do you have a minute?’

‘For you, always.’

He gets up, peeks his head in the hallway to make sure no one is around, and locks the door. He approaches his window and closes the blinds, too. Amara smiles, watching him. She can’t help but think he’s both adorable and sexy, caring about their privacy, all the while hoping she is here to have sex with him. It’s true that she did not come with this particular agenda, but seeing him in this plain white T-shirt, his hair gently tousled from his reading position… maybe the privacy is an added bonus.

But first, the investigation. ‘I found something. On Savannah, potentially.’

Drake’s eyes widen. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ Amara responds while sitting on his bed. He sits right next to her, and remains silent while he waits for more information. ‘I called a bunch of places, and no luck. But this one association… They have a Savannah, who has a one-year-old. The lady says she comes once every couple of weeks for a mom support group. They have a daycare on the premises but she told me the little boy has never stayed there. He comes along for group, but the mom doesn’t leave him there. The lady doesn’t even know the kid’s name. But the place is in the 10th arrondissement, which makes sense geographically, and Drake...this girl told them she was called Savannah Lemarcheur. Do you know what that means?’

Drake’s eyes widen some more. ‘Does that mean…?’

Amara nods excitedly. ‘Yup. It means Walker in French.’

*****

Drake can’t believe that Amara pulled it off. She did tell him that nothing was certain, she just has an address and still has to work on finding a phone number, but it’s a solid lead, and that’s more than anyone has found in the past two years.

‘Thank you, Amara. Thank you for doing all of this...for me.’ He cups her cheeks in his hands and places a soft kiss on her lips.

‘Of course I want to do this for you, Drake. I’m glad I can help. I hope I find her…’

She kisses him back, deeper this time. He doesn’t want to rush her, he knows she is worried about this climate of fear, worried about them getting caught.

But she doesn’t seem to be too worried right now. Before he realizes it, she is straddling him again, just as they had left off outside, earlier. Her kiss is more pressing, and he feels his pants get extremely tight. He lets out a moan as she pulls his T-shirt above his head.

Her hands roam all over his chest, and he cannot resist any longer, he has to feel closer to her, without the constraints of her clothes getting in the way. Still tangled in a kiss, he has trouble cracking the code of her dress, and his hands look for the answer all over her chest and back. Finally, he finds the zipper right under her arm, and undoes it quickly. She swiftly removes both her straps, leaving her in a cream lace bra, which compliments her olive skin.

‘Fuck, you’re so beautiful,’ he whispers into their kiss.

She lifts herself up and expertly unzips Drake’s pants, which he promptly removes, along with his boxers. He then slides Amara’s panties to the side and teases her already wet entrance with the length of his cock. She rubs herself onto him, almost taking him in with each stroke. Once they both cannot wait any longer, Amara takes Drake’s throbbing penis in her hand and guides him towards her slit. As he goes in, they both gasp slightly, still deeply enmeshed in their kiss.

*****

Amara is still smiling uncontrollably as she zips her dress back up. It had felt like two months since they’ve slept apart, even though it had only been one night. Still, this little late morning escapade was most welcome.

She looks at Drake, who is pulling up his jeans, a smile also adorning his face. ‘You’re gorgeous, Suarez,’ he says.

‘So are you, Walker.’ She gets closer to him and captures his lips in a kiss, before heading out. It will be lunch time soon, and now that Bertrand is back, he won’t appreciate them being late.

Bertrand. Amara had already forgotten how harsh she’d been with him. She debates telling Drake about their conversation, but changes her mind. She doesn’t know enough, yet.

She leaves discreetly, and heads towards the outdoors patio, where they will serve lunch soon. She wonders if she’s been too mean to Bertrand. After all, the payments had been going on for as long as she could tell, months, probably years even. There was very little chance this was linked to the Hana leak, but she could not be 100% sure until she had more information.

When she arrives outside, her friends are already at the table, having what looks like lemonade but what was probably something alcoholic, judging from Hana’s giggle. Still, it felt good to hear her friend laugh again.

‘Hey Amara!’ Hana calls her over excitedly. ‘We’re having Beaumont Lemonade. It’s lemonade, but with vodka and limoncello. Have one!’

Amara smiles and nods. Max pours her a drink, which she tastes right away. The Beaumont Lemonade is definitely the best lemonade she’s ever tasted.

She sits down in front of Hana and next to Olivia, who is texting furiously. ‘Hey Liv, you little millennial, you found your phone?’

‘Hm? Yeah, I did,’ Liv absentmindedly responds. ‘It was on my bed all along, I guess. Those lemonades are good, Beaumont.’

‘Oh thanks,’ Maxwell says, ‘I invented them. Amara, where’s Drake? I’ll go get the salad and the sandwiches when he comes down. Bertrand isn’t feeling well, he won’t join us for lunch.’

Amara blushes. Damn, that might be her fault. ‘Oh, that’s too bad. Drake’s upstairs, he’s coming down soon.’

‘You mean he just went down and now he’s coming down?’ Olivia smirks, finally putting her phone down.

Hana bursts into laughter. ‘Haha, that was hilarious, Olivia! Good one!’

‘Thanks, Lee. Maybe slow down on the vodka, girl.’

Hana shrugs. ‘Why would I? I finally feel good again. I talked to Liam on the phone and we’re meeting tomorrow to discuss a time for me to come out publicly. I feel good, guys.’

She clinks her glass to Amara’s, and Maxwell cheers. ‘Woo! Hana, you’re the best. Oh look, here comes Drake.’

‘Not the first time he’s come today,’ Olivia smirks again.

‘Hahaha, you’re on fire, Olivia!’ Hana yelps, holding out her hand for Liv to high five her. Liv complies, shrugging, but Amara can see a hint of a satisfied smile on the corner of her lips.

‘Hey guys,’ Drake smiles, ‘what are we drinking?’

‘Your fave summer drink, my friend,’ Max says while pouring him a glass.

‘A Beaumont Lemonade?’ Drake exclaims. ‘Score.’

*****

After lunch, everyone lingers on the patio for some more drinks and a game of cards, while two staff members take the plates away. Amara excuses herself, guaranteeing her friends that she will be back for the second round of cards.

She approaches Bertrand’s study, knowing very well that he is there. No way is he feeling sick for real, not after their conversation. He clearly did not want to face her, and she understands why.

She’s been thinking about reasons why Bertrand might need to pay someone off. She’s been replaying their previous conversation in her head. The devastation on his face when she suggested he’d been buying Albert’s silence. The way he winced when Amara talked about Hana’s choice being ripped from her. What Bertrand had said about reputation.

Amara wasn’t sure, but there was a good chance that she was right about Bertrand’s secret.

She knocks on the door of the study, and nothing.

She waits, and knocks again. ‘It’s Amara,’ she says softly. ‘I came to apologize.’

She hears a cough, and then Bertrand says ‘Come in, Lady Amara.’

She obliges. Here he is, sitting at his desk, his back very straight, although obviously he had just fixed his posture. She can tell that he’d been slouching at his desk, from the pile of documents that are scattered around, as if he’d been taking a nap in them. His eyes are red.

‘Are you ok?’ she asks.

He clears his throat again. ‘Close the door, please.’

She closes the door behind her and gets closer to the desk. She puts her hand on the chair opposite Bertrand, and meets his eyes. He quickly nods, signaling that she may sit down.

‘Bertrand, I’m sorry for what I said earlier.’

He looks down. ‘Apology accepted.’

‘Thank you. You were right, I was out of line.’ Bertrand nods, still not looking up. ‘But I was also right about some things, wasn’t I?’

He does not look surprised. He knows she’s here to apologize, but also to get the truth. ‘You were,’ he says solemnly.

Amara nods. ‘Bertrand, it’s ok. I get it.’

He scoffs, but not in an annoyed way. What Amara hears is sadness, and a whole lot of regret. ‘Do you get it?’ he asks.

‘I think so. I know you were really buying your accountant’s silence for all this time. I also think you should stop.’

Bertrand finally meets her eyes. ‘Why do you think that?’

‘Well, I think you should stop trying to protect your father’s reputation. It’s time to let go.’

*****

Taglist:

@andy-loves-corgis @jovialyouthmusic @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @mariahschoices @drakesensworld @thequeenofcronuts @notoriouscs@drakewalkerisreal @nikkis1983  @simsvetements @alesana45 @lily1999love @iplaydrake @emceesynonymroll @drakewalkerwhipped @drakewalkerrosenberg @drakeswalkers @drakelover78 @silviasutton1989 @dcbbw @carabeth @furiousherringoperatortoad @hollygirl1269 

Thank you for your encouragements, everyone! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[pug-bitch]

That’s not why I’m going (20)

It’s a panic party

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive. This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18.

Word count: 4,300 (let me know if the ‘keep reading’ cutoff isn’t working well!)

Notes: This picks up right where we left off, after the picture is sent to everyone and Amara realizes it’s of Hana. This starts with Amara’s POV.

*****

‘Oh my God, Max, where is she?’

They both scan the room for signs of Hana, until they finally spot her, alone, in a corner, staring at her phone with her jaw dropped and tears in her eyes. Max and Amara rush to her side, but she’s already moving fast towards the stairs. Drake joins them both on their pursuit, but Amara puts a hand on his arm and says, ‘Can you stay back and look for any signs that could tell us who did this?’

Drake nods, ‘Sure. I’ll look up the phone number, too.’

‘You can,’ Amara adds, ‘but I can bet you it’s a burner. Alright, we’ll be right back.’

Max and Amara run upstairs to Hana’s room. Amara knocks, and hears a faint ‘Come in’ from the other side of the door.

‘Hey honey,’ Max whispers as they both enter. ‘How are you holding up?’

Hana sniffs and shrugs. ‘I feel like shit, but it was bound to happen, right?’

Amara’s blood boils as she sits protectively by her friend’s side. ‘No babe, some stranger forcing you to come out to everyone at court was not bound to happen. They took your choice away from you, you should be in charge of who you tell, and when you do it.’

Max nods. ‘It’s ok for you to be mad. It would be totally fucking understandable.’

Hana takes a deep breath. ‘I’m just...so scared. What if my parents find out? But also, I’m a grown woman. Shouldn’t I be ok with who I am by now? I feel like such an idiot…’

‘No. Nip that feeling in the bud,’ Amara says decisively. ‘You’re not the one who needs to feel like an idiot, but the person who sent this out is. We’re gonna find out who it was, Han, I promise you.’ Amara can’t help but think that she’s been giving out many promises these days, and she doesn’t know if she can pull them off.

‘Thanks Amara, but I better just own up to it. Or leave court tonight, maybe that would be best for everyone.’

Max’s eyes widen. ‘No! You’re not going anywhere. Amara’s right, we’re gonna figure this out. Well, Amara is. She’s the head detective, I’m just the sassy informant.’

Hana offers a faint smile. ‘Oh Max, you’re so much more than just an informant. And please don’t worry, guys. I’ll be fine.’

‘You know, you could do something else,’ Max adds while pulling up the picture again. ‘If you’re not ready to come out to everyone, you could just say this woman is a friend, and you kissed for fun.’

They all look at the picture. It’s clear that it represents a couple. The backdrop is nothing like a party in which two girls are kissing ‘for fun’, it’s a park in broad daylight, and the kiss is sweet and loving. Amara wonders about this woman, if Hana really loved her or if she still does. And, for a split second, it’s apparent that Hana is thinking of her too, judging from the sad, nostalgic look that crosses her face.

‘No,’ Hana says, ‘I don’t want to lie. Either I’ll tell the truth, or I’ll just leave. Right now I don’t think I can handle anything…’

Suddenly, someone knocks. They all look at each other, all three hoping it’s Drake. Hana invites the person to come in. Liam.

‘Lady Hana, I wanted to check on you. Are you ok?’

Hana regains her composure a bit and nods. ‘I’m ok, thank you for coming. It’s very kind of you.’

Liam nods and looks at Amara. ‘Lady Amara, could I see you for a second?’

Amar follows him into the hallway. ‘What’s going on?’

Liam’s eyes are hazy. ‘I just...I wanted to see if you’d noticed anything. During the night, I mean.’

Amara shakes her head. ‘No...I didn’t. I just don’t know who could want to target Hana like that, she’s such a sweet person, she’s never done anything to anyone at court.’

Liam nods. ‘My thoughts exactly. I don’t like this, Amara. I know you and I have had our differences, and I am aware that I came on too strong with you. But please know that I’m not a monster. I would never condone such a psychologically violent act as forcing someone to come out.’

‘Of course. I know you don’t have anything to do with this.’

‘And I want to find out who did it. This is not the way I want my kingdom to be ruled. Drake is downstairs investigating, talking to people to see if he can discover something. Would you...you know, since you and Hana are so close, would you perhaps consider investigating as well?’

She thought he’d never ask. ‘I would love to.’

*****

Madeleine waits until everyone is too busy speculating on who sent the picture to notice her slipping out. She finds a bathroom far enough away from the ballroom, and takes out her phone. She dials the middleman’s number. Faster than texting.

He answers immediately. ‘Yes.’

‘It worked. Everyone is out of their minds, and Hana Lee has vanished,’ Madeleine whispers.

‘Good.’ A man of few words.

‘Did you talk to him about my idea for the Mexican woman?’

‘We already have something on her. Something big.’

‘Two leaked secrets are better than one, especially for such a big fish. You should consider it.’

‘He will. Any leads on--’

‘Yes,’ Madeleine cuts him off. ‘Just give me a day or two. I’ll send another picture your way.’

*****

Drake rubs his temples. It’s harder than he thought to interrogate everyone in the room all the while looking casual. Especially since he’s usually not one to partake in courtly gossip. So far, he’s just able to rule out a few people who look positively horrified with the idea of leaking private pictures of someone. Penelope for instance, showed a lot of compassion for Hana, and had tears in her eyes when Drake approached her to discuss the situation.

‘I just don’t know who would do such a thing to such a sweet woman,’ she said breathily. ‘Hana must be crushed.’

He approaches the bar, maybe no more bubbles for tonight, but at least some whiskey will help him see clearly. As he pours himself a glass, Olivia takes a bottle of champagne and drinks right from it.

‘Wow, slow down, Nevrakis,’ he says.

‘Ugh,’ she snorts, ‘is it a Beaumont Bash or is it not?’

‘Well technically, now, it’s a panic party.’

Olivia shrugs. ‘Meh. I don’t see what the big deal is. So, Lee likes the ladies, good for her.’

‘That’s not the problem, Liv, and you know that.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘Fine. I get it. It was her news to share. Still, I’m thinking this roaming paparazzo might be trouble for you, too. You gotta be careful.’

Drake nods. Of course it crossed his mind. ‘I know. Thanks for looking out, Liv.’

‘No prob. Hey, I can ask my bodyguard if he saw anything suspicious, and maybe ask him to keep an eye on Lee to ensure no one harms her. Someone seems to want to get her out of the competition.’

‘Good idea, I’ll talk to Bastien, too.’

Olivia stares at the distance, holding the bottle to her chest. ‘I wonder why her. I mean, she’s not the fiercest competitor. She’s great at every activity, but she’s a little weak, don’t you think? If I were a total bitch--’ she interrupts herself, looks at Drake who gestures that he didn’t say anything. ‘Shut up, Walker. As I was saying, if I were a total bitch who wants to get rid of competition, I’d go straight for Suarez. Or me.’

Drake’s face betrays a lightbulb moment. ‘Liv, do you have Madeleine’s phone number?’

‘Ugh, don’t you have enough of one woman to bone?’

‘No no, ew, I’d rather fuck the Night King. I mean, do you have her number so we can see if she was in the list of those who received the pic? Because if not, she could be the one sending it.’

‘Alright, I’ll check now, but even if she’s in there, it doesn’t rule her out. She could have sent it to herself to make it look like she’s innocent.’ Olivia scrolls down in her phone. ‘Yup. She’s in there. So is everyone at court, FYI. So that’s no help. No wonder your girlfriend’s the cop, and you’re not.’

‘I know. Hopefully Amara will see something that we don’t.’

‘Hope so. In the meantime, keep it in your pants. The walls have eyes.’

*****

Amara left Maxwell with Hana and went downstairs to suss out the situation, but not before swinging by Bertrand’s study to take the employee files. Might as well use the momentum from one investigation for the other.

She feels terrible for her friend, who is trying to put on a brave face but cannot hide the fact that she is profoundly hurt and scared. Amara hopes that Hana won’t decide to leave court. Liam had come back to the room after their brief conversation, and had a few words of encouragement for Hana, specifically that the situation is not changed and that she is welcome to stay for the remainder of the competition. Of course, Hana knows she will not win, but she never really want to win anyways, so that’s not a factor.

After dropping off the employee files in her bedroom, and carefully hiding them under a pile of clothes, Amara goes back to the ballroom, where she sees Drake and Liv drinking together. She joins them and pours herself a glass of champagne. ‘Good Lord, I need a drink.’

Drake’s face lights up at her sight, and he asks, ‘Hey, how’s Hana holding up?’

‘She’ll be ok. It was a shock, but she’s stronger than we think. Liam came by earlier to reassure her, too.’

‘Good,’ Drake says. ‘I really want to catch the dick who did this to her. We don’t have any leads, unfortunately.’

Liv takes a gulp from a champagne bottle and says ‘And before you ask, it wasn’t me. I’m not that desperate to get rid of competition.’

‘I know, Liv,’ Amara replies. ‘And you’re right. It’s obviously someone who wants to get rid of a competitor. My money’s on Madeleine, but we can’t rule out a team effort. Also, if they targeted Hana, they might target the both of us too.’

Liv gasps, ‘That’s what I said! See, I could be a hot cop, too.’

Amara grins, ‘Especially with this hair dagger of yours. Hidden weapons, baby.’

Drake looks at her with a longing grin. ‘Nevrakis was pointing out that we should probably...lay low.’

Amara nods. She doesn’t like it, but she gets it. ‘She’s right. Let’s um…’ she looks around and whispers, ‘sleep in our own rooms tonight.’

Liv takes another big gulp of champagne. ‘Or, we could just deflect attention and all make out with each other. I make out with Suarez, and you Walker, you can take Little Beaumont.’

Drake laughs heartily. ‘Hah! Drastic solution. Guess it’s my cue to leave. And before you say anything, no, I’m not gonna meet Maxwell in his room to make out with him. But do you think it’s ok if I swing by Hana’s and check on her?’

Amara nods. ‘She’d love that. Goodnight, Drake. See you tomorrow.’ She hated saying that. She has not spent one night away from him in a long time. But it was more prudent, right? They share one last longing look, and Drake walks away.

‘Boo,’ Olivia says, still nursing her champagne. ‘You guys are gross.’

Amara turns to her and asks ‘Alright missy. What’s up with you? You can usually hold your liquor, which means you must have had approximately a million drinks to be this wasted.’

‘Pff, what do you know about drinks? What are you, the drink master?’

Amara holds her eye contact. ‘I’m a bartender.’

‘No, you’re a cop.’

‘Yeah. I’m a cop and a bartender. Which means if someone knows human nature, it’s me. Come on, spill the beans.’

Liv sighs heavily. ‘I’m pathetic. You happy now?’

Amara takes Liv’s hand, which she had to pry away from the bottle. ‘No, I’m not happy. Tell me why you wrongly think you’re pathetic, you glorious warrior of a woman?’

‘Ugh. You’re not just a gross girlfriend, you’re also a gross friend. You really wanna know?’

Amara nods, and offers her a smile. ‘Tell me, Nevrakis.’

‘I fucked Liam last night, and I know it wasn’t the first time it happened, but this time was different. I felt like he was...using me to forget.’

Amara’s heart sinks for her friend. Damn, all her friends are taking serious hits here, and she can’t do anything of substance. She firmly hopes she can at least lead her investigations somewhere. ‘Liv...are you ok?’

‘He’s been sad ever since you rejected him. And he asked for my company. I usually have to flirt with him like crazy, and I kinda like that, it gives me a challenge. But last night, he was all wistful and cuddly, and… I fucking hated it.’

‘Of course you did. I’ve told you this before, you deserve a thousand times better.’

‘It’s not just that I didn’t like being second choice. Of course I didn’t like that, but if we’re being technical, I’ve been second choice since you came in the picture. But I also didn’t like who I was fucking. Liam’s not himself. Not since you said no to him.’

‘Come on…’ Amara rolls her eyes. She refuses to admit that she had such an influence on Liam.

‘I swear. He’s not the same. And if I’m being honest, he was already not the same as usual, not since the competition. We’ve discussed it before, he didn’t use to be this cocky and unbearable. But now...it’s like his spirit is broken.’

Amara thinks about it. ‘I did notice him acting strange, tonight. He was drinking straight whiskey, and he seemed super worried when he came upstairs to check on Hana.’

Liv bites her lip, visibly thinking. ‘Where is he now?’

Amara turns around. A few stragglers are still keeping the party going, but they’re mostly winding down, faintly dancing to Maxwell’s playlist on a loop. ‘I have no idea.’

*****

Drake comes out of Hana’s room, after making sure she’s fine. Maxwell left a few minutes ago already, to help out the staff downstairs. Drake is wondering if he should do the same, when he hears someone throwing up loudly in the upstairs bathroom. Half curious, half grossed out, he waits it out to see who will come out.

‘Oh shit,’ he lets out when he sees a disheveled Liam exit the bathroom. ‘Liam, are you ok?’

Liam wipes his mouth on his sleeve, his eyes unable to focus. ‘Yeah, I...may have gone overboard.’ He gags again and hurries back into the bathroom.

Drake hesitates. Should he stay and help? After all, he and Liam have gone through ups and downs in the past few weeks, and he didn’t really feel like holding his hair right now. On the other hand, he doesn’t see himself walking away from his friend, whom he’d never seen get so drunk.

He opts for a happy middle. He’ll just wait until Liam’s done, outside the bathroom, and if he wants to talk, he’ll be there. If not, good.

He wonders who’s gonna come out of the powder room. His friend Liam, or the dick who’s been relentlessly pursuing Amara? Or maybe the other dick, who yelled at him to get out, just a few days ago.

Turns out it’s yet another Liam. The one whose face is lime green. ‘Drake, I’m so fucking embarrassed. Did I drink this much?’

Drake shrugs. Maybe? What does he know? ‘I don’t know, Liam. You need water.’

Liam nods. ‘I have bottled water in my room. Care to join me? I may need someone to make sure I don’t topple over.’

Drake nods and walks alongside him. He closes the door behind them in Liam’s room, and watches his friend painfully plop down on the bed and take a big gulp of water. ‘Feel better?’

‘Yeah. Sorry you had to see that. Or hear that. I was fine just an hour ago, you know.’

‘That’s usually how it goes.’

Liam chuckles, as he unties his shoes. ‘I don’t know how you do it. I’ve been switching to whiskey all night and I feel like shit. It must be your Texan blood.’

Drake shrugs again. ‘I may not be a puker when I drink, but I definitely pass out from time to time. Well, I used to. I’ve, um...cut back.’

Liam’s eyes finally focus. ‘I’ve noticed. You seem happier. Not happier around me, but happier in general.’

‘Yeah, I don’t know, I realized that maybe life doesn’t have to be a piece of shit all the time.’ He pauses. ‘And what do you mean not happy around you?’

Liam snorts. ‘You know what I mean. You and I have been having our differences.’ Drake doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing. Liam continues, ‘I don’t know who to turn to, Drake.’

‘Oh please, don’t tell me I’m the reason you drink.’ He regrets saying it instantly. So what if he is? Their friendship used to be the only constant. Especially when Sav disappeared. Especially when Leo abdicated and Liam’s life got turned upside down.

‘Drake, I’m sinking. I don’t know who I am anymore. I was on a high until now, reveling in my little competition, but…’ he breaks into a sad smile, and Drake wonders if those are tears he sees glimmering in Liam’s eyes. ‘But ever since Amara rejected me, I...I realized it’s all bullshit. The one person I thought was a genuine connection is not into me. I was supposed to be in control. I’m fucking lost, I don’t even know what’s going on with this Gossip Girl shit going on…’

Drake cannot believe Liam just made this reference. But, most importantly, he cannot believe that he failed to see how much his friend was struggling. Still, after everything, he can’t bring himself to forget all the shit Liam’s pulled, all the entitlement, all of what made Drake feel lesser than.

Although, how hard is it to make him feel lesser than?

He shakes it off for now. ‘Liam, relax. I know this is all hard, but you’ll figure it out. And I told you, I intend to help you find out who sent the picture.’

Liam nods. ‘Thank you. I asked Amara, too. She’s close to Hana, maybe she’ll see something.’

‘Liv is gonna ask her bodyguard to keep an eye on Hana, too. I guess I can ask Bastien if he noticed anything suspicious.’

‘Good idea. I’ll ask around as well. Drake?’

‘Mmh?’

Liam hesitates, then asks ‘Do you think it was Madeleine?’

Drake does not hesitate. ‘I would bet on it. But we need proof, right? And like Liv and Amara said earlier, we can’t rule out a group effort.’

Liam puts his head in his hands. ‘I knew taking her on in the competition was a bad idea. I mean, all the women were getting along before, right?’

‘Li, we could be wrong. But I don’t think so. Who else at court thinks being gay is a scandal?’

‘Fuck, you’re right.’

*****

Good night, Suarez. I miss you.

Amara smiles as she re-reads Drake’s message for the 5th time. Weird to go to bed without him, really. But for tonight, it’s more prudent. She doesn’t want to think that it might be prudent the other nights, too. That’s tomorrow’s problem.

She can’t sleep. She knew that the night of the Beaumont Bash would almost be an all-nighter, but she did not know it would be this type of all-nighter. She tosses and turns, unable to find sleep. Until her phone buzzes again. If it’s Drake, she’s prepared to defy the odds and go meet him in his room.

But it’s Olivia.

Can’t sleep. Smoking a cigarette on patio. Need a buddy so I don’t look pathetic.

Oh, how times have changed. Just a couple of months ago, when Amara had walked in on Liv smoking at the balcony of the palace, she had greeted her with ‘Ugh’. Now, she was her buddy.

Be right there. Can’t sleep either.

She puts on a bra under her pyjama top, and goes out to the patio to meet Liv. She shouldn’t smoke, she had asthma as a kid, but oh well.

‘Hey Nevrakis. Fancy seeing you here.’

Olivia turns around. Amara notices it’s the first time she’s seen her without makeup. Liv’s face is obviously still striking, still bitingly beautiful, but it looks stripped of some of its fierceness. It looks raw. Amara wonders if it’s because she’s not wearing any makeup, or if it’s because she cried it off.

‘Step into my office, Suarez.’ She pats down the cushion of the chair next to hers, gesturing for Amara to join in. She obliges. ‘So, how’s life without your boy toy?’

Amara takes the cigarette Liv offers her, and lights it. ‘Weird.’

‘I figured you’d be up. You’ve been dicked to sleep for the past few weeks, your system is experiencing withdrawal.’

Amara chuckles. ‘If you say so. I just miss his presence. Also…’

She hesitates to finish her sentence. She hopes Liv just lets it go. But she doesn’t. ‘Also what?’

‘Also, I know I’ll have a nightmare if I fall asleep.’

Olivia grimaces. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You know. About my brother. I have manifestations of my PTSD.’

Liv’s face falls. ‘Fuck, Suarez, I’m such a dick. I forgot about that for a second.’

Amara laughs heartily. ‘That’s ok. It feels good to forget a bit. Not about my brother, but about...the whole circumstances, you know.’

Liv nods, staring into the distance. ‘He was very hot. I looked him up online.’

Amara laughs again at the randomness of Olivia’s thoughts. ‘What a weird thing to say. Plus, he was gay.’

‘So what? He can’t be gay AND hot?’

She shrugs. ‘I guess you’re right. Anyways. I feel bad, I haven’t returned any of his husband’s calls.’

Olivia takes a drag. ‘Are you close?’

‘We were. Before. Now…’ Amara sighs. Maybe she could bring herself to say it, after all. ‘It was my niece’s birthday recently. Before I left New York, Michael --that’s my brother-in-law-- told me he’d rather not see me there, because my being alive brought him, and I quote, a sense of injustice. He said it reminds him that Sergio is not alive, and that, had it not been for me, he could have been.’

Olivia’s jaw drops. She looks at Amara and touches her arm. Amara can’t help but think it’s the first tender gesture Liv’s had towards her, even if she’s been a good friend in other ways. ‘What?’ Olivia whispers. ‘That is so harsh, holy shit. No wonder you fled. Wow, Suarez. That Michael sounds like an ass. You don’t deserve that.’

Amara shrugs and puts her hand on Liv’s. ‘That’s the thing, though, he’s not an ass. He’s a great guy who’s mourning the love of his life. The funny thing is, just like last year, I wasn’t even planning on going to Callie’s birthday party, for this very reason. He just said to me what I say to myself all the time.’

They fall silent for a while. Olivia finally breaks the heavy moment and says, ‘Amara, listen to me. You didn’t cause shit. You’re a fucking badass and you loved your brother. If he were alive, he’d kick his husband’s ass for talking to you that way.’

Tears flow to Amara’s eyes. Liv is right. Sergio would have torn Michael a new one for sure. She can almost hear him from here. She smiles and nods to Olivia, and they both take another puff of their cigarette.

As they sit there in comfortable silence, Amara notices a figure in the distance. Near the garages. She squints until she can make out a face. Bastien. He must not have seen them, sitting here in the dark, plus, they are sat at a strange angle near some flower bushes and a couple of statues. Olivia opens her mouth to say something, but Amara puts a finger to her lips and signals her to stay silent.

Nothing weird about a bodyguard being alone in the dark, right? Except that he is hovering around the garbage cans, and that is the definition of weird.

Olivia catches on and puts out her cigarette. They watch Bastien tuck something away in the garbage can. They silently wait until he is gone, after which Amara hands Liv her cigarette, takes off her shoes, and walks barefoot to the garbage can where Bastien was standing. After looking around her, she opens the lid and searches it with one hand, the other holding her phone to light up the bottom of the can.

In between two bags, here it is, bundled up in a surgical glove.

A flip phone.

Amara grabs it and swiftly returns to her seat. She shows Olivia her find and turns on the phone. Thankfully, it’s an antique model and doesn’t require any type of PIN. She looks around in the messages and calls, but everything has been wiped out.

So, she calls her own number with it. When the phone number shows up on her cell, she recognizes it instantly. It’s the number that sent Hana’s picture.

*****

Taglist:

@andy-loves-corgis @jovialyouthmusic @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @mariahschoices @alesana45 @drakesensworld @thequeenofcronuts @notoriouscs @drakewalkerisreal @nikkis1983 @simsvetements @iplaydrake @emceesynonymroll  @reeniemc @drakewalkerwhipped @drakewalkerrosenberg @drakxwalker @drakeswalkers @drakelover78 @silviasutton1989

Thank you for your encouragements, everyone! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)