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msjr0119 · 4 years

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A Second Chance

Part 1

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Drake x Riley (present tense), Liam x Riley (Past tense), Drake x Hana (Past tense)

*Majority of characters belong to Pixelberry*

Song inspiration: Let it be - The Beatles

Warnings: Do not read if you are under the age of 18. If you do you are consenting that you are over this age. If any of the trigger warnings affect you do not continue to read; adult language, suicide attempt (mentioned - past tense), miscarriage (mentioned - past tense), domestic abuse (mentioned - past tense), stabbing (mentioned - past tense), slight smut, grief.

Word Count: +4000 (long post)

Tags- if you want to be removed let me know: @pedudley @kacie-0156 @ladyangel70 @annekebbphotography @yukinagato2012 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @kimmiedoo5 @bascmve01 @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @lodberg @cmestrella @axwalker @hopefulmoonobject @rafasgirl23415 @walker7519 @drakewalker04

Catch up with the Prologue here.

******

Riley hung up after leaving her message, scrutinising the room her heart felt empty. There were good memories of being back at Ramsford; her first date with Liam, but also the first kiss with Drake in the study. The two men who she loved with all her heart at that moment in time. Knowing that one of these men was still available in her life, she couldn’t shake off the fact the one who she had chosen to spend the rest of her life with wasn’t here anymore. She couldn’t wrap herself up in Liam’s clothes or hold on to her wedding photo close to her heart. Wishing that she didn’t give in so easily to Maxwell persuading for her to stay. Sobbing in to the pillows, she hoped that she would be able to sleep without her comforts. One day, the fact that Liam wasn’t here physically would sink in- however he was still there mentally. Always in her heart.

****

Drake tossed and turned in bed, Savannah knocked on the door interrupting him. Who needs sleep anyway? He thought to himself. These last few months she had become distant with him- not wanting to. Not purposely. Every opportunity she had to talk to him, she seemed to put her ‘foot in it’.

“Hey. Can I come in?” Standing in his boxers with a whiskey in his hand- he gestured for her to enter. “I’m sorry Bertrand and Bartie couldn’t be here to celebrate with you, I know FaceTime isn’t the same. They are on a flight now back.”

“It’s fine.” Knowing her brother wasn’t exactly in the mood- she wasn’t sure what to say.

“It was great that Riley showed up. People noticed that you were both close on the balcony.”

“We’ve always been close. It was nice to talk to her. I know what it’s like to hide away.” Savannah nodded remaining silent. She liked Riley as a friend, but even after all these years she was still pissed off that Riley had miscarried and never informed Drake immediately especially as he was the father.

“I’m going to go, I just wanted to check in on you. Liv explained how all of the kids all saw the two of you. Do you still love her?” Drake knew for a fact that she was possibly asking through the greatness of her heart- but he knew the main reason. Gossip.

“I was comforting her Sav. I love her, I always have done as a friend. After everything, Hana was- is my true love.”

“Drake... you’re close friends. Maybe you are what she needs to gain some closure on Liam. I love you.”

A few weeks after Hana’s death, he came out of his hovel. Knowing that he had to face reality at some point. Keeping himself busy helped somewhat- the minute he wasn’t busy doing something, he would think about who he had lost. At times he would look at Jackson, attempting to be strong for the two of them. Just looking at him reminded him of Hana, his wife, his child’s mother- certain facial expressions he pulled was like looking at Hana. Feeling like for those few weeks he had failed Jackson, he was relieved with the support that he had received. Hana would never be erased from his mind, she would always be in his heart and memories. Now was the time to support Riley along with everybody else.

****

The morning after the party, Maxwell broke and entered into Riley’s room- still feeling slightly drunk his brain wasn’t functioning correctly. Jumping on to the bed- she was soon awake.

“Morning, Blossom!” Sounding like a foghorn, she soon remembered how he was the human alarm clock.

“Fuck off!” Attempting to pull the duvet over her face, she wished for sure that she had just gone home to Valtoria or to the palace.

“That’s no way to speak to your bestie... your bestie who you’ve hardly spoken to in months I might add.” Snuggling into bed next to her, he placed his arm around her shoulder.

“I’m sorry. But seriously, Max? It’s seven o’clock!” Stretching her arms, she then rubbed her eyes. They were puffed up as she had been crying all night- or rather in the early hours of the morning.

“How about we go and mess the kitchen up? Give Bertrand a fright when he arrives home?”

“You are unbelievable...”

“I’m the fun Lord remember...”

“Not at this time in the morning your not.”

“Stab me in the heart why don’t you? Come on, get that stubborn ass out of bed!”

****

“Mom? Uncle Max?” Ayah, Louis and Ellie walked into the kitchen questioning the antics that they had witnessed in unison. Everybody else soon joined the crowd- all stood in a semi circle, with their jaws agape.

“Are you both drunk?” Olivia snapped, nearly slipping on oil that was surrounding the floor along with flour.

“Only a teeny bit drunk.” Maxwell responded as Riley bit her lip and turned a bright shade of red.

“Bertrand’s going to kill you both.” Drake sniggered to himself. “Come join us everyoneeee. Remember my brother isn’t here. Yet....”

Drake made his way over to Riley, who was covered in flour and chocolate spread.

“Hey, you. If getting drunk and making food makes you smile- you should have come to me instead of Maxwell.”

“Hey, marshmallow.” Playfully she flicked the spoon with chocolate still lingering on it- her aim was perfect as it landed straight onto his face. “Oops! We just need some graham crackers, then you’ll actually be impersonating a marshmallow or should I say s’mores?” Reaching up, she wiped the chocolate off his cheek with her thumb. “I’m only a marshmallow to you, Brooks. Or agent grumpy.” Her hand lingered on his cheek, as they gazed into each other’s eyes.

“What on earth has happened in here?” The whole household jumped in response to Bertrand’s bellowing voice- apart from Maxwell, who didn’t really give two shits about what Bertrand would think.

“Welcome home, Bro!”

“Maxwell!”

“It was Riley. It was all her fault.”

“Would I suggest to do this? Really, Max?”

“Maxwell tidy up now! Your Majesty, your hignesses.” Bertrand bowed, before scrutinising the kitchen- knowing that if he was home on time this would have never happened.

“But.... but....”

“Maxwell grow up! I want it clean before I come back down...” Riley pulled her tongue out towards the Lord before making her way over to her children. Feeling immature doing this, she couldn’t help herself, Maxwell winked at her then provided her with a goofy smile.

“Are you three ready to go to Valtoria?”

“Erm....” Ellie bit her lip, not knowing how to inform their Mom that they had made their own plans. Since their father had passed away, they had tried to include their Mom in plans but she politely refused. Explaining that she had plenty of work to do.

“Erm?” Questioning her youngest child, she raised her eyebrows up towards her.

“We are actually going to the cabin tonight. To allow Louis to have a few relaxing days before becoming King.”

“Are you? Says who?” Drake queried as he joined the group, fully unaware that his house was going to be used like a fraternity house.

“Uncle Drake, Jackson said it would be fine.”

“I’m joking. You’re all welcome. Anytime. Unless you had something planned Brooks?”

“No, I didn’t have anything specifically planned. I’m busy with preparations anyway. I think you should all ask Uncle Drake before inviting yourselves next time. Make sure that you’re all back Wednesday at the lastest. Ring me every day, each and every one of you. I love you all.” Watching her walk away, he knew it was a good opportunity to let her hair down again. As she tidied the side up- she felt some arms go around her waist. Recognising his cologne as well as his touch, she gasped not expecting him to do this. Taking a deep breath, she allowed his hands to remain where they were as her heart fluttered.

“When I said you’re all welcome....That included you too. You need a break as well.” Hesitating, she wanted to say yes of course she did. But she still wasn’t confident leaving her ‘comfort zones’. Her lips opened to speak as she turned to face him- however another voice broke out.

“Welcome where? I need a break!”

“I think you’ll be grounded Max, if you don’t tidy up pronto.” Letting out a little laugh, she hoped that this would be the end of the conversation.

“Maxwell you can come, but only if Brooks does. I’m already babysitting four kids. I don’t need a child who is trapped in a middle aged mans body added to the list as well.”

“Please Riley. Please. Please. Please.......” As Maxwell continued to act like a child jumping up and down, Drake rolled his eyes back- attempting to figure out what could tempt her in coming.

“You can do the preparations in my office. Go back to the palace get your things, I’ll pick you up. Just let me know if you want to come.” Smiling at the two men, she pulled them into her embrace- kissing them both on the cheek. “I’ll let you know, Drake. Thank you. I better get going, I actually have a meeting.”

“What about me? Are you going to pick me up too, bestie?”

“Don’t ever call me that again, Beaumont. You can walk.”

****

Drake picked up Maxwell from Ramsford later on in the day. Maxwell scrutinised the truck hoping that Riley was in there, hiding- ready to surprise him. Drake was praying that Max had heard from Riley as he hadn’t. He wasn’t expecting her to come, but deep down he had wished that she would have the confidence to come out of her shell more.

“Maybe she was just trying yesterday because it was your birthday? Maybe the kids could convince her to come?”

“Max, when I left them- they couldn’t even remember each other’s names.”

****

Arriving at the cabin, the youngsters were cooking some food. Knowing that Jackson was capable with doing this without parental guidance, Drake decided this would be a perfect time to slip away for some alone time.

“Max. Look after these lot for me, I would say help them make their tents- but I think you’d be no help. I won’t be long.”

“Where are you going?”

“The rock.” Maxwell smiled softly, he knew that Drake went there to talk to Hana at least three times a week. After a little stroll, Drake arrived at the rock- it was located next to the river, the tranquil atmosphere relaxed him immediately.

“Hey Hana. Your husband is an old bastard now, I wish that you was here to celebrate with me yesterday. You and Li. Brooks turned up. She’s been down ever since the two of you gained your wings. I think she smiled for the first time. Remember when you always said to me, that everything will be okay. To not worry too much about it. That whatever happens, happens for a reason and to just let it be. You always spoke words of wisdom. Even back in my hour of darkness- when I thought I’d lost everything, you were standing right in front of me.” The last sentence said, he was referring to decades ago. The time when Riley got justice in court- justice for her miscarrying their child. Hana was there for him at the palace, talking to him- comforting him. It was the beginning of their relationship. Picking up the guitar, he cleared his throat before deciding to sing a song. A song where the lyrics were apt. ‘Mother Mary’ to Paul McCartney was his mother, in Drake’s situation ‘Mother Mary’ was Hana.

When I find myself in times of trouble

Mother Mary comes to me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

And in my hour of darkness

She is standing right in front of me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be.

Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken hearted people

Living in the world agree,

There will be an answer, let it be.

For though they may be parted there is

Still a chance that they will see

There will be an answer, let it be

Let it be, let it be. Yeah

There will be an answer, let it be.

And when the night is cloudy,

There is still a light that shines on me,

Shine on until tomorrow, let it be.

I wake up to the sound of music

Mother Mary comes to me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be.

There will be an answer, let it be.

Let it be, let it be,

Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

“I hope myself and Brooks can get through this, even after all this time it’s still not fully sunk in. Tell Liam that I’m stuck with all of his kids. Not that I mind. I can’t control them though- they are little shits like we once were. Ayah is the worse, she takes after her Uncle Leo! In more than one way...” Pausing he shook his head, the familiarity was uncanny.

“But then she’s like you Li, wanting to marry for love. Brooks told me about her abdicating and that Louis is taking over from you. I’ll look out for them all. I promise. I miss you both so much. When the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me - it’s you Hana. Everything reminds me of you. Hana, I wish I could show you how much I love you- my biggest regret was not telling you the day that you left. I always assumed that you’d never leave.”

“That was beautiful. You didn’t tell her either?” Turning around, he wondered how long he had the audience for. Placing the guitar at the side of him, he was slightly embarrassed that she had caught him.

“Hey. What are you doing here?”

“I was going to surprise you all. But I thought I’d come here before. The place the four of us snuck to for some peace and quiet whilst Max, Bertrand and Sav babysat. The fantastic four.” Walking closer to him, she sat down beside him- dangling her legs over the edge of the rock.

“So what changed your mind?”

“The wicked witch of the west, along with my counsellor. They both said that I needed a break, my mind wasn’t really focused on the preparations for Louis’s coronation or the social season.”

“That wicked witch of the west saved our lives, Ri. I still don’t trust her though...”

“I know she did, hence why she got the Royal Communications Director job given to her. I still want to finish damaging her nose.” Shrugging, Drake laughed. At the time he wasn’t in New York when she did that but wished he was to see Madeleine get her comeuppance. They remained in silence, admiring the view surrounding them. “Beer?” Drake asked, Riley looked up at him smiling before snuggling into him.

“Could you try and teach me to play one day? It would be a good distraction.”

“Erm... sure. I’m not that good. Didn’t Liam play Eleanor’s guitar infront of you?”

Shaking her head, she knew the reason why Liam never played it. It brought back sentimental memories of himself as a young boy when Eleanor played the guitar and sung to him- especially at picnics.

Drake sat behind Riley positioning the guitar correctly, guiding her hand he helped her pluck a few strings. “Think of a song you’d like to learn and we can practice.” Feeling his breath on her neck, sent her heart racing.

“Okay...” removing the guitar, Drake sat beside her again. They both laid down staring up towards the stars.

“Why them? I still don’t understand, Drake.” Not knowing how to respond, not knowing the answer himself- he just placed his hand over hers. Both of them shed tears, tears that the two of them had cleverly hidden in public. Genuine tears.

“Is it ever going to get better? I don’t think I can go through any more shit, Drake. It’s scares the hell out of me.” Turning onto his side, he caressed her cheek- wiping away the tears that were slowly falling down her cheek.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I don’t know many people who can; survive jumping in the river Hudson, survive domestic abuse, survive a miscarriage, survive being stabbed. You are the strongest woman that I know. Most people would give up fighting. You’re an inspiration Riley, not only to your friends and family but to your country.” Drake knew that everything she had gone through was due to that one bad decision he had made in the past.

“I suppose I should thank you for making me strong then? I’m going to head back, just to make sure that Maxwell hasn’t set your home on fire.” Laughing, she knew that Maxwell was capable to be involved in any calamity.

“I’ll come with you.” Drinking the remainder of his beer, he stood up ready to return to the cabin. Riley placed her hand onto his arm, focusing her eyes on to his.

“You don’t have to. I interrupted you. I talk to Liam all the time, I still phone him. I know how important it is to have these moments. I’ll see you back at the cabin, Glen is waiting to escort me.” Providing him with a tight hug, they stayed in that position for a while. “I’ll see you soon.” Caressing his cheek, she smiled softly at him. Drake nodded towards Glen who was stood in the distance, as Riley walked away. Knowing that she was safe with her guard, he still felt the need to be that extra protection.

Let it be, he whispered. Picking up the guitar he slung it over his shoulder, then picked up the empty beer bottles. Gazing up towards the brightest stars one more time, he blew a kiss. I love you Hana. I love you Liam. I miss you both so much.

****

Jackson had set up a fire, if anything Drake was good at his son had definitely inherited it. There was an awkward atmosphere, Riley began to feel sentimental being in her friends house- her friend who wasn’t there anymore. However she kept smiling for the company surrounding her.

“Uncle Drake?” Louis sat next to Drake, both sets of eyes were focused on Riley.

“Yeah? What’s up mate?”

“I haven’t seen Mom laugh or smile in such a long time. I want to thank you and Uncle Max. I haven’t seen you smile much either.”

“No need to thank us, Louis. We all love your Mom. Even your Aunt Liv. And she doesn’t do ‘love’...” Louis knew that this statement was a fact, his Aunt was a cold hearted bitch- but deep down she would be caring, at times. Sighing, the young man bit his lip- he loved his Uncle as if he was a second father. Ever since Drake’s party there had been something lingering in his mind- the past relationship between his Mom and Uncle.

“You still love, Mom. Don’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“We know. Uncle Leo told us everything at your party. You got my Mom pregnant before my father. So you must love her. I know you love Aunt Hana... but you also love Mom.” Savannah didn’t mention that, he thought to himself- now thinking how to get out of this awkward conversation.

“It’s complicated.”

“Tell me...”

“Louis....”

“Please.” Drake gave in, seeing those sparkling baby blues pleading for some truth decades after these events occurred.

“Your father proposed to your mom at the end of his engagement tour. She rejected him, explaining that she loved us both. We slept together, I pushed her away. Saying that your father deserved her.... you don’t want to hear this.....”

“I do. Who is Nate and Kiara?” Those names hadn’t been mentioned in years. Liam was against it, not wanting to look in the past but towards the future. Drake explained that Riley moved back to New York. To get over losing her due to his own stupidly he slept with Kiara and that Riley had begun a new relationship with Nate. Tears began to creep down his face as he explained what Nate did to Riley and Leo. Then about the frightful night that Kiara stabbed the two of them.

“I regret how I treat your, Mom. How I never protected her. But between us all we are going to look after you all.”

“Who’s going to look after you?”

“I’m fine.”

“No your not, Uncle Drake. I think both you and Mom need each other more now than ever. Myself, Ayah, Ellie and Jackson were talking about it before. My father and Aunt Hana wouldn’t mind if those feelings resurfaced. They love you both.” Drake shook his head, slowly sipping his whiskey- he couldn’t believe that his godson was attempting to reunite them. They were friends. Only friends. Luckily Riley had forgiven him, if that was anybody else he wasn’t sure if they would forgive him so easily.

“Why are you whispering?” Maxwell interrupted.

“I’m just giving Uncle Drake my blessing.”

“Blessing? What for?” Looking towards Riley, he finally understood. “Ohhh. That kind of blessing.”

“He’s drunk, Max. Ignore him.”

“Personally I think you’re both too old to be fucking and sneaking away anyway. We’re not in our twenties anymore! Although saying that, I don’t think Glen is as good as Bastien, so you’d probably get away with it.” Shrugging, Louis burst out laughing at his ‘fun’ Uncles response. “Bast always knew about blossom sneaking off with the two of you. But seriously too old to be fucking and sneaking away.”

“Who’s too old to be fucking and sneaking away?”

“Maxwell was on about us ALL being too old to fuck. Wasn’t you Max?” Perking his eyebrows towards his friend, he hoped that Maxwell would suture his lips together.

“No. I was on about.....”

“I don’t care about your sex lives gentlemen. Come on Drake, make your infamous s’mores.. I’ve missed them.” Drake was grateful for Riley’s interruption, leaving the group- he distracted himself by making everybody s’mores. His forte.

****

A few hours later, Maxwell had passed out on the floor. The young adults had called it a night and decided to go to their tents.

“They are such lightweights.”

“You are such a hypocrite, I remember when you was a similar age.”

“Touché... thank you for putting up with us all. It’s been really nice spending time with you all.” Drake just smiled, he had attempted to keep a distance between the two of them. However that plan failed, as they sat together snuggling into the thin blanket that barely covered the two of them.

“I suppose we better get Maxi inside.”

“He’ll be fine, he slept with the peacocks surrounded by his own urine and vomit the other week.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No!”

“You’re lying, Drake.”

“I’m not... ask him yourself, when and if he wakes up.”

“I will do. Don’t you worry.”

“I’ll take him to bed, even if I’m going to break my back.”

“I’ll help you.”

“It’s fine, your Majesty.”

Knowing how stubborn she was, he wasn’t surprised when she stood up to help him with the dead weight. Assisting Maxwell to stand, they took baby steps getting him inside- after a few stumbles they flung him onto the couch. Resuming their position outside, they both got settled having having a beer- talking about Liam and Hana. Content in each other’s company.

“Drake who is here?” Looking at her with a perplexed expression- he was unsure as to why she asked this.

“Us, Maxwell sort of. Our children. Why?”

“Why does it sound like there’s an extra guest? Coming from Ayah’s tent?” Without hesitation, Drake shot up heading towards the young woman’s tent.

“Uncle Drake! Get out!” Covering herself up with the sleeping bag, she regretted not being quiet. Thankful in a way that her Uncle wasn’t looking directly towards her naked body.

“Theo! Get out!” Drake demanded with anger in his eyes. Riley popped her head inside the tent, disappointed in her daughter. Even if she sounded like a hypocrite.

“Mom, it’s not what it looks like... or sounds like...”

“Oh really, Ayah? Theo put that thing away... now!” Once the young man, covered his cock up- his body began trembling. He had always been scared of Drake and Leo- the overprotective uncles, but never Liam or Maxwell.

“I’m sorry, Sir Walker. Your Majesty. It wasn’t Ayah’s fault. It was all mine. I’m truly sorry. It was just sex. We used protection. I love, Ayah. I’ll never hurt her.” Hearing the words ‘it was just sex’, sent anger running through Drake’s veins. If Jackson had spoken like that, no matter how old he was he would ground his son. Grabbing the young man- he dragged him out of the tent. Surrounded by an audience and an echo of gasping, Ayah ran out apologising.

“Uncle Drake. Please don’t hurt him. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“Touch her again, in my house or anywhere near my house- and I’ll kill ya! Got it Vancouver?”

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camillemontespan · 4 years

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ten years from now [AU. drake walker x camille montespan] [part eight: whiskey in williamsburg]

I’ve decided to pick random gifs to represent each chapter. This one seems very apt. On a slightly unrelated note, look at those back muscles. Damnnn.

Warnings: NSFW.

A/N: Please don’t hate Camille. That’s all I ask.

Master List Here! @moonlightgem7 @jovialyouthmusic @mskaneko @ibldw-main @katedrakeohd @pug-bitch @gooddaykate @princessleac1 @burnsoslow @loveellamae @pedudley @oofchoices @emichelle @simplymissjulia @dcbbw @sirbeepsalot @rainbowsinthestorm @notoriouscs @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @addictedtodrakefanfic @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @nomadics-stuff @gardeningourmet @marshmallowsandfire ***********************************************************************

It was late evening. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over Texas. The air smelled of peaches, filtering in through the open window. Camille zipped her suitcase and sighed, relieved that she had managed to fit everything inside it without any issue.

Camille and Liam were due to leave Texas tomorrow morning. They had spent two weeks back in Camille's hometown, two weeks that had been full of social events and confusion.

Confusion for Camille.

She had visited Texas feeling secure in her personal life. She was leaving Texas feeling as if she was floating, suspended in the air, unable to return to earth.

She couldn't think like that though. She was with Liam. Liam, her fiancée. She had been with him for a year. They lived together. He treated her right. He was a kind man.

But she couldn't help but think of her former best friend and boyfriend, Drake Walker. Their history wasn't so easily erased. He was making her feel things again, heated things, confusing things..

Camille hadn't seen Drake since their kiss in the maze at Applefest. She had been busy with Liam arranging more of the wedding and helping her grandma plant more flowers. Camille had been distracted which she knew was a good thing.

She was good at masking her feelings. When she was with Liam, she focused on him. She kissed him more, paid him extra attention. She kept telling herself that he deserved love but she knew deep down that it was crushing guilt that was making her treat him like a king.

But when the mask was off, Camille thought of Drake. He took up every thought in her head. When she thought of him, she felt her body react in confusing ways. His name in her head made her feel as if she was on fire. Drake had ignited something within her soul.

When Drake asked her what she wanted, Camille had answered honestly. She didn't know what she wanted but she knew that she didn't want him to step away and leave her life again.

Camille thought ten years had been enough time to no longer feel something when she thought of his name. But time made no difference in the end.

Which was why she made the decision to go down to the jetty where no doubt Drake would be. She had to see him before she went back to New York.

*********************************

She was right. Drake was sat on the jetty, looking out at the water. The sky was painted navy with the silver shimmer of the stars winking down at him.

He looked up when he heard her footsteps. His eyes widened when he saw her. 'Camille?'

She smiled weakly and settled down beside him. 'Hey,' she said.

Drake cleared his throat. 'What are you doing here?'

Camille wrung her hands together. 'I wanted to see you before I leave tomorrow.'

Drake took a sharp intake of breath. 'Right,' he said quietly. 'You're leaving tomorrow.'

Camille nodded. 'I am.'

There was a long silence. Camille didn't like how silences were becoming a common occurrence between her and Drake. It made her feel sad.

'I'll miss you,' Drake muttered, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead.

Camille bit her lip nervously before speaking, keeping her voice steady. 'I'll miss you too.'

Another silence.

Drake had so many things he wanted to tell her. So many questions he wanted to ask her. Did she love Liam? Did she want to marry Liam? Was she regretting kissing Drake? Was she regretting fucking him?

But the question that left his lips wasn’t any of those. Instead, he asked, his voice cracking, 'Can I see you again?'

Camille whipped around to stare at him. Drake kept his eyes on the lake, refusing to look at her. She couldn't work out what he was thinking. His walls were up.

She was about to respond but was stopped by Drake who let out a heavy sigh.

'Ignore me,' he said. 'I'm being an asshole. I don't mean to make it more confusing for you. Go back to New York. Organise your wedding. You have so much on your mind, you don't need me to make everything worse -'

She grabbed his hand, making him stop talking instantly. He looked at her now. She could see the pain in his eyes.

'I'll see you again,' she told him softly. 'We're not leaving it so long this time.'

Drake chuckled, surprised. He shook his head and squeezed her hand. 'We could meet for a drink or something,' he said hopefully.

Camille smiled. 'I know a great whiskey bar in Williamsburg that you would love.'

Drake grinned. 'Sounds like a plan, Montespan.'

Camille blushed. Drake smiled and gently pulled her into his side so he could wrap his arm around her shoulder. Camille snuggled into him, inhaling his scent. She felt a flash of guilt sear through her chest as she did so.

'I'm so confused,' she whispered.

Drake squeezed her shoulder. 'I know, Camille. I am too.'

He pressed a kiss on top of her head. Camille closed her eyes, holding back tears. She wouldn't cry. She wasn't going to ruin her last night with Drake.

'It's okay, Camille,' he murmured in her ear. 'I've got you.'

Camille sniffled and rubbed her eyes harshly. 'You always do, Drake,' she croaked, looking up at him. 'Always.'

Drake leaned down to brush her lips with his. It was a soft kiss, a gentle one. A kiss that made her feel safe.

*************************

Liam was perusing the duty free section of the airport wearing a look of intense concentration on his face.

'Darling, do you want another bottle of your favourite Chanel perfume?' he asked Camille. 'A little treat for my fiancé?'

Camille smiled and kissed Liam on the cheek. 'You're so sweet!' she said. 'But it's alright, I have enough Chanel back home.'

Liam widened his eyes in mock surprise. 'Shh, there is no such thing as enough Chanel!' he gasped.

Camille giggled and wandered to the chocolate stand. She jumped when Liam appeared quickly behind her. 'Or perhaps the lady requires a Toblerone?!' he cried.

Camille rolled her eyes. Liam was in a particularly giddy mood this morning due to wedding excitement. Not long now.

'Fine, let's have Toblerone,' Camille said.

Liam wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled into her neck. 'What my fiancée wants, she gets,' he murmured in her ear.

He picked up a Toblerone and took it to the counter. Camille continued to look at the rest of the chocolates on sale until her mobile buzzed in her pocket.

She took it out to see that Drake had messaged her.

Have a safe flight. See you in Williamsburg for that whiskey soon. D x

Camille bit her lip. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She quickly stole a glance over at Liam who was chatting enthusiastically to the check out girl. Camille read Drake's text again before quickly typing a reply.

Let me know when you're able to visit and I'll meet you. One glass or two? Xx

She put her phone back in her pocket. It buzzed instantly.

I'm free next Saturday. Flight isn't too expensive. And what do you take me for, an amateur? We're getting a bottle. D xxx

Camille giggled despite herself.

You're unbelievable xxx

Drake replied.

Name of my sex tape. D xxx

Camille held in laughter at the Brooklyn 99 reference as she typed back, her eyes flicking up every so often to track Liam's movements. He was still talking to check out girl who was giving him heart eyes, like everyone he met did.

That's an apt title. Suits you. Xxx

He replied a moment later.

You would know. D xxx

'Darling, let's go to the wine bar near the gate!' Liam called out. 'We can feast on Toblerone and have a glass! How does that sound?'

Camille shoved her phone back into her pocket and gave Liam a wide smile. 'Sounds perfect.'

****************************

The texting continued for the next few days. As Camille readjusted to New York life, she would be brought back to Texas whenever Drake texted her.

He sent her photos of Lone Star. She sent him goofy selfies. One night when she sat down for dinner with Liam, Drake sent her a photo of the jetty and a bottle of whiskey.

All that's missing is good company, he had captioned it.

Camille couldn't reply to that one. Not in front of Liam.

She could try and kid herself that this was just friendly banter but deep down, she knew it wasn't. Too much had happened between them. They were more than just banter.

Camille went to work and turned her phone off so she could focus on her job. She worked on new cases, gossiped with Olivia and made Hana cups of green tea.

When she returned home, she would eat with Liam before settling down to watch a box set. Sometimes, cuddles on the sofa turned into naked fumbles.

She acted normal in her everyday life.

Camille went about her business, acting like nothing was unusual. On Saturday, when Liam asked where she was going, she said she was meeting Olivia for a liquid lunch. The lie left her lips easily. She took the subway to Williamsburg and waited for Drake to arrive at the whiskey bar, keeping her head down.

Because Camille acted like nothing was different, Liam was none the wiser.

****************************

Drake was relieved that Camille had suggested a bar in Williamsburg. The area seemed much more his style; more laidback, a little rough and ready. He had booked into a cheap hotel for the weekend and had dumped his suitcase quickly before heading out to meet Camille.

He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't know what he was expecting. He had toyed with the idea of cancelling, but the thought of doing that made him falter. If he cancelled, then she may just assume he never wanted to see her at all. And Drake couldn't have that. He needed to see her. He needed to have her back in his life, even if was just little fragments of her.

They shared a bottle of whiskey. In the dimly lit bar, they sat in a booth in the corner and talked about everything. They talked about Camille's job and her friends. They talked about Bianca and Savannah. They talked about Jackson.

As the amber liquid burned their throats, they opened up more.

'I think I've never had a long term relationship that's lasted more than six months because I always compare the girls to you,' Drake admitted. 'No girl compares.'

Camille reddened and sipped her whiskey. 'Poor Kiara,' she said dryly.

Drake smirked, making Camille giggle.

'It took me a long time to accept that we were over,' Camille told him softly. 'Because we never got closure, I guess I was always left hoping.. Hoping that one day, you would come back into my life.'

Drake took a long sip of whiskey before answering. 'I'm here now.'

Camille smiled weakly. 'You are, aren't you? Just like that.'

Their eyes locked. Drake tore his away after a long moment, looking at the now empty bottle of whiskey.

'We're out of whiskey,' he said.

Camille sighed. 'That was a good bottle. Oh well.' She looked at her watch. 'I better get going -'

'I've got a bottle in my room,' Drake suddenly said, unable to stop the words tumbling out. Camille looked at him with surprise etched on her face.

Drake swallowed, regretting the suggestion. Camille looked quickly around the bar, her eyes darting nervously before she formed a reply.

'Would be a shame for you to have to drink it all alone,' she said softly. Her eyes met his. 'Whiskey deserves company.'

Drake's eyes darkened. 'I couldn't agree more.'

********************************************

The hotel room door burst open and Drake and Camille crashed through it. Drake pushed Camille up against the wall roughly, making her gasp. Their lips caught, fire igniting from their touch. Drake raked his hands through her hair, grabbing tendrils of it in his fists.

Camille groaned and reached out to unbutton his denim shirt. Her fingers made quick work, eager to strip him. Drake returned the favour, pulling her shirt off and casting it to the floor. His hands cupped her breasts, kneading her skin through her black lace bra. Camille’s head fell back against the wall, her mouth slightly open as she focused on the sensations.

‘You’re so fucking beautiful,’ Drake growled, pressing a hot kiss on her lips. Camille reached out to unbuckle his belt, making him hiss at the touch of her fingers against his skin as she pulled his jeans and boxers down.

Drake picked her up and carried her over to the bed, throwing her down onto the cotton sheets. Camille liked that he didn’t treat her like fine china.

His lips trailed like a river down her chest to her stomach, remaining on her bellybutton as his fingers undid her jeans and pulled them off.

‘Drake..’ she groaned, her pupils large and dark as she watched him hook his fingers through her lace thong and pulled it down too. He was on a mission here. He knew what he wanted.

Camille arched her back as she felt his tongue slip between her folds. ‘Jesus Christ..’ he groaned against her skin, lapping as much as he could take. His tongue circled and twisted, making Camille’s cries increase in volume.

She could feel her body reacting in the most delicious way.

‘Fuck me,’ she breathed. ‘Please.’

Drake didn’t need to be asked twice. He was working on adrenaline here; he didn’t have time to consider the consequences. There was no point. She was in his room. She was naked. The time to think about the consequences was over.

For the second time in ten years, Drake did what Camille wanted. He did what he wanted. He took Camille, he took her hard, and he didn’t think about anything else other than making her cry out his name.

#drake walker #drake walker x mc #trr fanfic #trr au #the royal romance #play choices

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cinnaminsvga · 5 years

Text

fox rain | three

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. namjoon) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: none unless you count overly graphic descriptions of how stupid namjoon is (oh and like... ant gambling rings??) → words: 15.7K → a/n: this is late by a month and my whole life is a joke. i hope this makes you laugh bc i made namjoon extra dumb for y’all (for no extra charge. suck it, chipotle.) also: check bio for other chapter links for now!

— • masterlist | prev | three | next • —

“This can’t be my fucking life. Can it?” you say to your own reflection, curtains of despair dripping from every inch of your visage. Your reflection stares back, the same dead eyes twitching imperceptibly from the lack of caffeine in your system. At this point, you wouldn’t be sane enough to be surprised if your parallel self would reply, perhaps with some scathing remark about how you were slowly losing your grip on your life. Not that it would be unwarranted, anyway.

After Hoseok’s explosion the other day, your weekend doesn’t exactly feel as exciting as it usually is. Of course, your mood is still a vast improvement from last week when you were out of commission for most it after your mental breakdown. Although, it doesn’t erase the fact that you’re still knee deep in shit and that you have no idea how you’re going to face Hoseok and Jimin the following Monday.

Damn. You could really use some coffee.

The day seems to be in much better spirits than you, and it would be a waste not to let the universe’s good mood try to make you feel better as well. There is a coffee shop just a block away, and maybe you could take a walk in the sunshine afterwards to help relax the dread consistently knocking at the back of your mind. It’s a little bit optimistic, but it’ll have to do.

Shrugging on a thin cardigan over some other semi-decent clothes, you step out of your stuffy apartment with a spring in your step. You didn’t bother with any of your usual morning ritual, seeing as how you don’t plan on meeting with anyone you know from university anyway. So what if your landlady Mrs. Park sees the bird’s nest on top of your head? Who is she going to tell? Her gang of old auntie friends all hate you already for wearing a “TRANS RIGHTS” shirt in front of them, so it’s not like you’re vying for their acceptance.

Other than your less than friendly neighborhood aunties, there are better old people to hang around anyway. Nearby the coffee shop, there is a senior home where you used to volunteer during your spare time until your other commitments forced you to give up your spot to some other benevolent soul. Since you have been meaning to visit the grandmas and grandpas there when you got some free time, you suppose it would be nice to talk to kind ol’ Ms. Kim today and listen to her recount her many youthful adventures (which is, more often than not, a euphemism for her various sexcapades in the 70s.)

The senior home is closer to your home than the coffee shop, so you choose to stop and gaze at the plain-looking white building with its neatly trimmed bushes and white picket fence. It looks out of place in the neighborhood, with its very suburban and Americana design, but you know it is only because the owner of the establishment had gotten her inspiration from Forrest Gump. She has a crush on young Tom Hanks, and you honestly can’t blame her for it; that man… he is a Man, with a capital M.

You’re in the middle of debating whether you should buy your coffee first before visiting the seniors when you hear a distant shout coming from within the house. Alarmed, you take a step back, almost falling on your ass and onto the sidewalk. You pause, tilting your head to try and peak over the fence and through the large windows that showed the reception area within. You recognize Hana, the receptionist, sitting by her desk in her usual green scrubs, her head bowed over a book as if the sound had not fazed her in the slightest.

“Am I crazy? Am I starting to hear things?” You wonder aloud, still staring at the innocent-looking home. Has the universe had enough with your lacklustre existence that it has caused you to hear nonsense? Is this only the beginning of your slow descent into madness?

You don’t have to fret over your sanity for too long because moments later, the shout repeats itself. Like the previous one, this one sounds just as pained and anguished, though you aren’t sure if it was a male or female who had screamed. For all you knew, the person might have either stubbed their toe or gotten a knife stabbed through their chest; it’s not like you spend time distinguishing the subtle nuances of tormented screams. However, you are more certain now that it had come from within the home, even though Hana has yet to react to the chilling noise. She flips to the next page, tired eyes squinting at the small text.

You are stuck at an impasse: do you go inside the home despite the possible danger of entering a secret cannabilist society of which your acquaintance has been initiated to, or do you turn around and go home where it is 100% more likely for you to survive the next 24 hours?

The choice becomes apparent to you, however, when a tall, lanky boy bursts out of one of the doors behind the receptionist, with his arms piled to the ceiling with dinner plates on the cusp of making their way to the floor. Even through the window and behind a fence, you can tell that he is in dire need of help, which Hana does not seem likely to extend. The mess of legs makes a beautiful display of himself, his lower limbs flapping about aimlessly as his body contorts to try and keep himself and the plates balanced.

Finally, after what feels like hours of torture watching the poor volunteer make a fool of himself, he manages to steady himself, his legs crossed together like he’s trying to hold in his piss. Carefully, he squats down, placing the plates on the floor in front of the receptionist desk. For a moment, you feel as though you should be applauding, for whatever reason.

Now without dishes obscuring his face, you can make out the identity of the flailing giraffe man. He turns, fingers combing through his distinctly colored hair––

Oh god. It’s him. You gotta get out of there, fast, before he recognizes you. Maybe if you run quickly enough, then maybe he won’t notice you when he looks out the window around.

“Ha,” the universe laughs, clapping their asscheeks to the rhythm of Ludacris’ Move Bitch Get Out Da Way™️ with a smirk. “Cute of you to think your life isn’t basically a 20-year long trainwreck in motion.”

Inevitably he turns around, his eyes immediately locking on your face despite being half-concealed by the fence. He looks confused for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish until he lights up, recognition flooding his features. Even though you cannot hear him clearly, you just know that he said something stupid, judging by the way Hana has finally looked up from her book to stare at him weirdly.

Please don’t come out and greet me. Please just let me wave at you awkwardly and for you to stay where you are. Please don’t go out and talk to me––

Your prayers go unanswered once more as he sidesteps the wall of plates, his hip just barely grazing it and almost causing it to tumble down. The pile sways precariously from left to right, miraculously staying put as he rushes out to greet you. You can only imagine the mess he’d have to clean up if it did, shards of cheap porcelain left behind in his awkward, fumbling wake.

Luckily (or unluckily for you), he makes it out of the senior home in one piece. He crosses the short path to the fence in two inhumanly long strides, slamming the fence door open with a wide swing. It smacks loudly against the railing, the hinges making a pained groan as it looks to be at the inch of its life––literally. You vaguely remember replacing the screws on it just before you left over six months ago… Surely you hadn’t done such a shoddy job? Although, you know that simply can’t be true. After all, you’re dealing with none other than destruction incarnate himself, Kim––

“Y/N!” Namjoon greets happily, his dimples deeper than you remember. You swallow heavily, trying your best not to sweat under his overly enthusiastic gaze. God, you should’ve gone straight to the coffee shop when you had the chance.

Nothing like facing disaster head-on, as they say. “Hey,” you reply half-heartedly, though the walking inflatable tube man doesn’t seem to mind your lacklustre mood. He grasps your hands for a shake, swinging your entire body up and down with the care of a man who does not know his own strength. You, his unfortunate victim, are left to suffer through his artery-bursting grip.

“Oh god, you have no idea how glad I am to see you! Not that I’m not normally happy to see you at university, but––” He speaks so quickly that it’s hard to keep track of the specific contents of his sentences, so you can only hope that your unenthused nods will be enough to placate the bumbling buffoon. You resign yourself to a fate similar to the bobbleheads on the dashboards of those white suburban soccer moms.

“Wait, hold on.” What on earth..? You are full on gaping at the piece of work on top of his head, not even pretending to be polite as you try to process what is in front of you. “What the hell happened to your hair?”

You know from old Facebook photos that Namjoon has natural black locks, though you can’t say that his wacky hairstyles were also inborn. Ever since you have known him, he has always dyed his hair a sandy brown color, complimenting his tan skin. Now, however…

“You mean the weird blue streaks?” Namjoon says, rubbing a few strands thoughtfully. His hair is a walking disaster, and this is coming from someone who has seen what Kim Seokjin has done to his clients. (There’s a reason his Yelp reviews are terrible… He deserves negative stars, if you’re being honest.)

“Did you lose a dare or something?”

“Uh… Kind of?” He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I had meant to change my hair color to something more exciting, so I asked the kids at the daycare and they suggested blue. Problem is, the seniors said they preferred my brown hair but I already promised the kids so… Here we fucking are,” he says in one breath, appearing as though what he said was obvious.

“So your solution was to compromise… by coloring half your hair blue, like some botched version of Death the Kid?”

“Exactly!” He beams, glad that you understand him perfectly.

Oh my god… He’s… No words are coming to you right now, but you get the picture.

The thing about Kim Namjoon is… he’s not… bad. Or dumb, for that matter.

Okay, not the best compliment out there, but it’s true. You’ve known for as long as you’ve been a university student, and your first meeting is certainly one for the books. You wouldn’t exactly consider him a “friend,” and an acquaintance is a bit of a stretch on most days, but he’s a nice guy. He’s eccentric in the most positive way, and not at all in the same chaotic and evil way that Seokjin is (for which you are thankful for.) It has always been a bit tricky to get close with him, as his head is always so far up in his work that it almost feels like he’s being reclusive on purpose.

If you ignore the fact that he has that odd propensity to volunteer himself in any job on the face of the earth (with him being unqualified 9 times out of 10), it is easy to see why people think so highly of him.

He is a scholarship student with a 4.0 GPA, is the youngest candidate to ever receive the university president’s yearly public commendation, and has already released two reputable mixtapes with high praise from critics nationwide. He’s nothing if not a prodigy, and he’s amassed a hefty following for his accomplishments. As a music major yourself, it’s hard not to be a little starstruck with him if you’re being honest.

Most of all, you remember the first song that you had ever heard from him: Moonchild. You still can’t quite believe he let you hear one of his many masterpieces when the two of you had just been total strangers. The lyrics had been so heartfelt, so intimate, that you felt as if you were intruding on his personal space or something. But he had let you listen, let you take a peek at what goes on inside that nebulous brain of his. When he does things like that, it makes it easy to understand why people might think your love poem might be about him. He’s just so… easy to admire.

The poem isn’t about him, but. It could have been, in some other life. (Or maybe it is.)

(Was.)

(Will?)

Regardless, you still have to convince him otherwise. You just simply aren’t ready for that type of development, much less with him. Despite all his good sides.

Thus, Kim Namjoon leaves you at a standstill. Why do you feel so fucking weird about harboring this idol crush on him? How can he be so dumb and so smart at the same time? He has blue fucking hair for crying out loud! He’s causing you cognitive dissonance just by existing, and it’s giving your meagre amount of brain cells a workout.

Oh shit, have you been ignoring him? You were totally zoning out this entire time, haven’t you?

Somewhere around the time you were having your mini mental breakdown, Namjoon’s mouth had stopped moving, giving you an expectant look. Oh shit. He probably asked you something. Embarrassed and unwilling to give away that you had not processed even a single word out of his mouth, you nod and give him an approximation of what you assume is a friendly smile.

For a second, you think that you might have gotten away with it when Namjoon’s face breaks out into an enormous grin. He grabs you by the shoulder and envelops you in an chokehold-like embrace. You let out a wheeze, clawing at his biceps with your remaining strength to try and prevent your untimely death due to asphyxiation. “Namjoon..?”

He lets out a shriek at a higher octave than you thought a man of his size was capable of. Somewhere out there, a dog probably perks up at the supersonic sound. “Y/N, I knew I could count on you! Thank you so much for agreeing to help me with the elders for Zombie Tea Time!”

Now that caught your attention. You pause in your squirming to fix him with a confused expression. “I’m… I’m sorry? What did you say?”

His smile never falters. He presses his cheek against yours, rubbing it happily with a hum. In any other scenario, you might have fainted from how adorable he was being, but seeing as how all your blood is still trapped in your upper extremities from his vice hug, it is difficult enough trying to remember how to stay alive.

“Every Saturday, the senior home hosts this event called Zombie Tea Time where the old people all get to have their faces painted with fake blood and all the volunteers have to pretend to be innocent civilians trying to get away from them!”

The more Namjoon speaks, the more you feel your sanity dripping out of your ass like diarrhea. “Ex. Excuse me? Say that again?”

“Yeah, it’s a new thing the volunteers are trying out this month,” Namjoon says, finally (finally) releasing you from his hug. You don’t know if your flushed cheeks are from embarrassment or a stroke. “Like I said, we’re a bit shorthanded today, so I’ve had to wash the plates from breakfast AND pretend to get eaten by senile zombies. It’s… a lot.”

“Oh, I can tell.” You grimace, patting him on the shoulder empathetically. You freeze. “Wait. So that’s why you were screaming a while ago?”

“Huh?” Namjoon pauses, before his face does something funny where it looks like he’s either going to sneeze or take a shit. Thankfully he does neither, but instead reaches his hand around his back like he has an itch he needs to scratch. He makes a pained yelp, plucking something out from his asscheeks and pulling out what appears to be––

You stare at the object in his palm. “Are those… dentures?”

“Hmm…” Namjoon stares at it, too tired to be disgusted. He just nods his head sagely. “Must’ve been when I was too slow to dodge Mister Lee’s lunge. I was beginning to wonder why my ass felt like it was being eaten out.”

“Please, never say that sentence to me ever again.”

“Yea,” he agrees, sighing faintly. He pockets the teeth much to your horror, patting it gently like he hadn’t just placed a pair of dentures in his fucking scrubs. He dusts off his hands, his lips pursed so that his dimples stand prominently on display. You barely contain yourself from sinking your finger right into their hypnotizing abysses.

He looks at you hopefully. “So… Uh. You said you’ll help me?”

Oh right. You fucking said you’d help him fend off a hoard of virulent old people in face paint.

You look to the right, where the coffee shop is just within sight. Sweet, sweet caffeine, tantalizing you with its saccharine presence, dangling its wretchedly addictive power over your head. If you breathe deeply enough, you think you can smell the coffee beans from here.

You turn back to Namjoon, and you can physically feel the weight of his hopeful gaze on your shoulders. Your defenses have never crumbled so quickly in your life. Fuck him and his stupidly handsome ass.

You sigh, resigning your fate to eternally being whipped for a pair of pretty long legs and size B man titties. “Let’s fucking do this, I guess.” Easier said than done, but you already have one foot in elephant shit, so might as well submerge your whole body as well.

You follow Namjoon closely, having to take two extra steps for every one step that he takes. He crosses the reception area quickly, sending energetic finger guns at Hana which unsurprisingly goes unrequited. You take the more inconspicuous route and wave shyly at her, intimidated by her even after you have long since stopped working here. She levels you with one of her infamous hundred yard stares, lips turned downwards as she appraises you.

“You’ve decided to come back?” she asks, leaning back on her chair with a huff.

Namjoon is in the midst of trying to once again carry all the plates in his Play-Doh arms, so you’re a bit distracted when you shake your head in response. “Uh. N-no, Namjoon just asked me to help with the dishes, that’s all.”

“That’s a shame,” Hana says, no trace of disappointment in her voice whatsoever. She returns to her book, buzzing open the double doors to let the two of you pass. She flicks her hand lazily at the commotion happening behind her. “Better hurry back in there. The seniors are getting antsy.”

The doors open automatically, and you almost topple over when you are immediately bombarded with the terrifying symphony of old people hollering obscenities at frantic volunteers trying desperately to get away from their gnarled clutches. The hoard hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, and you fear to wonder what type of horrors that you will have to face once you step through those doors. You absolutely refuse to die on this hill, not when you haven’t even had your first kiss yet.

“I don’t think we’ll die,” Namjoon says, as if he can read your mind. You look at him skeptically.

“You think?”

He clears his throat. “I can’t promise we’ll come out of this unscathed, though.”

He takes a tentative step forward, the pile of dishes wobbling dangerously on their perch. You are quick to steady the leaning tower of Disa(ster), managing to transfer half of it into your own arms. You grunt, adjusting your stance so that you do not accidentally lose your grip. “Dude. How the hell did you get all those plates out here in the first place?”

Namjoon stands up straighter, the weight significantly easier for him to manage now. He smiles cherubically back at you, eyes crinkling cutely. “Oh, I was literally on survival mode and trying to stop lil Mrs. Sun from gnawing my leg off. The elders can smell fear you see, so they were definitely going to climb on top of me like World War Z and probably kill me.” He pauses, deep in thought. “Although, I think I dropped a plate or two while I was escaping, so watch your step!”

He says all of that with the same eagerness as man who is about to do something crazy, like jump out of a plane or walk a tightrope over a 100 ft canyon. Though, you have to admit that this entire scenario feels like it is on the same calibre.

“Is it me, or are the old people here 10 times crazier than I remember when I volunteered here?”

“You used to work here?” Namjoon says, amazed. “Oh, I didn’t know that! I only started a week ago when some other person resigned due to mental health issues or something.”

“You sure that this place isn’t the cause of their mental decline?” You say it like a joke, though you mean it seriously. Maybe the universe had been looking out for you when decided to get out of this place.

“Hmm… Maybe. Although, we only received this shipment of old people fairly recently.”

Pause. Rewind. “S-shipment?” you repeat, staring at him wildly.

Like the lovable airhead that he is, Namjoon fails to notice your astonishment and instead takes the first brave step forward through the double doors. He tilts his head towards the hallway, gesturing for you to follow him. The plates rattle dangerously from his movements. “C’mon, we gotta get these plates cleaned before the lunch crew comes to take over their shifts!”

Walking to the kitchen is easier than you thought, especially after you take into account the fact that all the old people completely ignored you and chose to only attack Namjoon, for whatever reason. You like to think that it is because the seniors still remember you back when you were still volunteering here and that they hold some semblance of endearment for you, but Namjoon begs to differ. In fact, he screams out his hypothesis as to why you have been left unharmed, all while two older women climb his back like demented crabs.

“Y/N! I think they can’t attack you because you’re in civilian clothes! They only attack scrubs!” Namjoon says, swatting away one of the women off his back with a surprisingly coordinated headbutt. She shrieks as she falls, landing on all four legs like a cat would do. She hisses lowly at you, before scuttling off to somewhere unseen.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” you wince, watching Namjoon unsuccessfully trying to spin quick enough to dislodge the remaining senior.

Namjoon perks up when he catches a glimpse of his attacker’s face, giggling and appearing as if he isn’t currently being assailed by a senior citizen. “Oh, Ms. Kim! I didn’t see you there. I love the zombie make-up you got going. Who helped you?” He looks at you, as if imploring you to compliment her as well.

“Uh. Yes. You’re looking very… yellow.”

Ms. Kim snarls, baring her teeth. “It’s the jaundice,” she says.

Not wanting to stand in that hallway any longer, you carefully place the plates back on the floor before you gently unclamp the old lady’s talons from Namjoon’s poor biceps. You wince, feeling the length of her nails and knowing that Namjoon is going to have some nasty scars.

You tell him so, but he only shakes his head. “Nah? I think they’d be pretty neat! Battle scars are cool right?”

You grimace at him. “If that’s… what you think, then sure.”

After grabbing your plates and hurrying after him before the elders make note of Namjoon’s survival, the two of you share a sigh of relief as you both slowly start piling them into the dishwasher. The task is menial and repetitive, and despite what Namjoon’s earlier chattiness might have suggested, he is quiet while he works. The silence is not as awkward as you feared, and honestly the peace is a welcome respite after all the chaos that you had to endure in such a short period of time. Although, silence has never been a good friend to your overworked mind, as it allowed you to stew inside your own head for much too long––and you have found in your 20 years of existence that it is probably for the best that you are not left without external stimulation for too long.

But here you are, forced to do exactly that. You would have engaged in some conversation with Namjoon to stop yourself from getting in over your head, but you are afraid of what sort of embarrassing topics might spew out of your mouth if you do. Heaven forbid that you start geeking out on him about your unhealthy obsession of collecting miniature glass horse figurines––that is a secret best kept between yourself and the tentacle monster under your bed.

You begin reflecting on the events from the past two weeks, replaying them second by agonizing second and ruminating on the state that your pitiful young adult life has become. The more you allow these memories to simmer, the more you slowly realize the weight of the accumulated stress that has long since made you hunch over like a goblin.

Hoseok and Jimin’s argument comes to the forefront of your mind, the unexpected heat coming from both of them confusing you to no end. You still don’t know the source of their ire towards one another, but what baffles you the most is how you could have missed it in the first place. Sure, you had thought they were at least more than acquaintances; one does not simply challenge a near stranger to a dance off in the middle of a library three times a week, for more than two months and counting. Friends might have been a stretch, though you can’t say you’re familiar with how their schedules look like outside your tutoring sessions together.

The question is though… should you interfere? Normally, you would have stayed far away from anyone else’s drama––you just aren’t the type of person to stick their noses in other people’s business. Yet somehow, you feel as if your poem was the catalyst to this violent chain reaction, that you have inadvertently caused the foundation of a precarious building to explode and bring the whole thing crashing down. To think that your silly love poem for a boy who hardly knows that you exist has become the center of so many people’s lives… the entire thing is giving you a headache.

Speaking of headaches… you should probably confront Namjoon about the poem as well. It is probably best that you plan your approach better this time, seeing as how your two previous attempts have been anything but stellar. Namjoon can’t be that difficult to convince, right? And even if he does see right through you, he doesn’t seem like the type of person who would laugh cruelly at you in the event that he figures out that you are the author. Not like Seokjin, at least. Luckily no one is like Seokjin, the fucking rat bastard that he is.

(In the distance, Seokjin has the sudden animalistic urge to slip anthrax in your milk tea the next time he sees you.)

You glance at Namjoon from the corner of your eye, definitely not ogling the way his arms flex as he loads the final couple of plates. The breath catches in your throat when you realize that some time while you were busy swimming in your junkyard of a brain, he had rolled up his sleeves up to his forearms, displaying his god-like veins for the eyes of the deplorable (you) to feast upon.

Your mouth feels dry, even though other parts of you feel more moist than you remember. Oh god, now is not the time to remember how hot this fucking nerd is.

Despite the fact that your biological clock is screaming “HORNY HOUR” at your monkey brain, Namjoon continues to be thankfully unaware of your internal panic. He closes the dishwasher door shut, clicking it on with a relieved sigh. He gives you a megawatt smile and makes your heart leap into a somersault, probably knocking around some vital organs along the way.

“Thanks so much for the help, Y/N! Couldn’t have done it without you!” he cheers, clapping you roughly on the shoulder. You wheeze under the impact, waving away his concern despite feeling like your lungs have probably slipped out of your asshole.

“It’s no problem, Namjoon…” you sigh, gazing sadly as Namjoon begins to do a final sweep of the kitchen before inevitably going to sign off for the day. You know your window of opportunity has already closed, and if you had not spent so much time staring at his beautiful man tiddies, you are sure you could have been a little more productive with him. Curse him and his damn chest.

But now, at least you’ll have more time to think of how to approach him and bring up the poem when you aren’t, like, seriously decaffeinated and on the cusp of a heart attack. You are about to bid him farewell with your tail between your legs when his hands cup your cheeks, catching you off guard.

You splutter incomprehensibly, arms flapping about like a fish out of water. “Wha––?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention! After my hours here at the senior home, I have the afternoon shift at the daycare center near our university and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?”

If Namjoon’s cool, large hands holding your face like a delicate flower had caught you off guard, then his sudden invitation only exacerbated the furious blush blooming across your neck like a rash.

So what do you say?

“Meep,” is what you say, like the verbose poet that you are. Y/N, renowned campus poet, has the vocabulary of a five year old.

“Is that a yes?” Namjoon smiles, letting go off you in favor of looping his gangly arms around your waist. Another unflattering noise escapes your throat at his proximity and his firmness. “That’s so great! The kids love seeing new faces, and I bet they’d love to have a pretty girl around instead of plain ol’ me all the time!”

You gape at him. Did he just say…

“P-pretty?”

“Yea, sure!” Namjoon says, his stupid grin still on his stupidly handsome face. He does not appear to be embarrassed at all by his brazenness, which is starting to make you think he is either a well-seasoned flirt or just plain oblivious to the implications of his own words. Knowing him, you wouldn’t put it past him that the latter might be the reason.

Compliments and unintentional flirting aside, you really did not feel up to another harrowing experience with Namjoon at one of his other volunteering stunts. You are but a woman in clown shoes, and even the most seasoned clowns must have their rest.

“Listen, Namjoon… I don’t think I can go with you. I have to go, uh,” you pause, your hamster brain working a mile a minute. “Water… my dog? No, I mean… feed my plant.” You cringe, mentally slapping yourself.

Namjoon, the sneaky bastard, hits you with his strongest and most potent puppy dog eyes in his arsenal. It was super effective! “Please, Y/N? I won’t take too much of your time! Just play with the kids for two hours and I promise to leave you alone!”

C’mon, Y/N. Focus. Are you the type of woman to break down her defenses for the wilful fancies of any man? You’re made of stronger stuff than this. Surely you can look him in the eye and tell him straight to his face that you would prefer to go home and rest on this beautiful Saturday than go frolicking with a bunch of snot-nosed children––

“Oh, sure. Why the hell not?” you say, like the dumb fucking idiot that you are.

Namjoon’s dimples deepen even further. You glare menacingly at them, knowing full well that they were entirely the cause of your weakness.

“Thank you so much, Y/N! The kids will really appreciate your presence! C’mon, we haven’t got time to lose!”

Namjoon does not even give you the time to fully comprehend your own pitiful existence before he nearly tugs your arm out of its socket as he maneuvers you to the local daycare just a few minutes away from the senior home. You don’t get to say your farewells to any of the seniors or your old work colleagues, but it might be for the best… You will need all the sanity left in your body to survive the rest of the day with Namjoon.

On the bright side, that means you’ll have the chance to talk to him about the poem, though you’re still hesitant to do so with how badly your previous stunts had ended up. But then again, when else would you get another good opportunity to talk to your crush acquaintance about this? You suppose you’ll just have to wait and see what happens next, and hope for the best.

You have been at the daycare for almost three hours now, and there are still no signs of you ever bringing up the poem. You might as well sign your last will and testament with the macaroni art supplies currently decorating your body, making you look like a morbid pasta dish monster from hell. You hope to god that the sticky stuff all over your skin is just cheese… White, rubbery scented cheese…

“Ain’t this fun?” Namjoon calls out from somewhere, presumably under the mass of ten or so toddlers all climbing him like a tree. You are caught in a state of déjà vu as the children start feasting upon any exposed areas of skin that their kid-sized incisors can find.

You just wanted to talk about the fucking poem for fuck’s sake! Instead, you have to deal with thirty 2-foot children and one 6-foot manchild during one of your only free days in a week.

A miniature demon tugs your sleeve, forcing you to tear your eyes away from Namjoon’s slow demise. You bend down to the little gremlin’s height, mouth twitching upwards in what you hope is a somewhat decent smile. Judging by the kid’s unimpressed face, you doubt it.

“Yes?”

“Miss Y/N? Can you tell your boyfriend that Jake peed in the ballpit again? Aera slipped on the puddle and now she’s crying and disturbing the younger kids.”

Record scratch, freeze frame. Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that. Out of all the things the kid had said, you are sure that his implication that you were Namjoon’s girlfriend should not have been on the top of your list of priorities, and yet here you are, your cheeks as flushed as a baboon’s ass.

“He’s not––We’re not––” you stammer, waving your hands as you try to explain to this unenthused six year old that what she said was entirely impossible. “Namjoon is just a friend!”

You turn to look for the man in question, desperate for him to back you up when you realize he is no longer there. Confused, you leave the huffing child in search for him. You leave the main playroom and search the nearby nurseries, the kitchen, the bathroom… all of them with no Namjoon in sight. Just so you can cover all your bases, you decide to check one of the supply closets too, not really expecting to find anything except––

“Namjoon? What the fu––fudge?” You quickly correct yourself, noticing that not only is Kim Namjoon inside the cramped broom closet, but he is also surrounded by five other children huddled around what appears to be a series of tupperwares connected together by plastic straws.

Namjoon hastens a glance at you, before refocusing his attention back onto what he deems to be more important. He nudges his shoulder against the smallest of the bunch, stage whispering into her ear. “Jihyo, did you bet the three lollipops on Ant #3?”

Jihyo shakes her head, looking mildly offended. “Oppa, do you think I’m dumb? I bet all of my chocolate bars on Ant #6.”

Namjoon whistles lowly, impressed. “All-in? You’re one smart lady.”

You clear your throat. “Namjoon.”

Namjoon has the audacity to hold a finger up to silence you. “Give me a sec… Okay, Seungcheol. You said ten hard candies for Ant #2?”

“Namjoon. Are you seriously running a gambling ring in a daycare?”

He peers up at you, smiling sheepishly. “I’m, uh… Teaching them about capitalism.” He deposits the candy bets into his pocket before starting the timer on his phone. The children begin to cheer raucously, little fists pumping up as they watch their bets race towards a slice of cake.

“I can’t believe this,” you groan, wanting nothing more than the earth to swallow you whole.

Eventually, Namjoon exits the closet, gently closing the door. The shouts of the children become muted immediately. When you gaze inquisitively at him, all he does is shrug his shoulders. “What? Secret clubs allow people to explore their interests.”

At this point, you don’t really want to argue anymore. And so, the hectic day goes by, full of running after the children and occasionally having to reel Namjoon in when he does something bordering on negligence. The parents slowly start filtering in by five in the afternoon, most of whom pat Namjoon affectionately on the back and thanking him for his stellar daycare service.

“Oh, Namjoon! My little Jihyo absolutely adores you! She hardly wants to leave whenever I come to pick her up.” Jihyo’s mother smiles, slipping a small tip into Namjoon’s waiting palm. The little shit pockets it, bowing graciously at her.

“All in a day’s work, madame. I just love children, you know?” he says, sighing dramatically.

From behind her mother, Jihyo gorges herself on her prize winnings, shoving a whole packet of M&M’s into her mouth. She swallows them quickly when her mother turns to bring her home.

“I hate this,” you say to yourself, smiling through the pain.

“Oh, before I forget!” Jihyo’s mother dashes back inside, startling you. She approaches you, grasping your hands in hers and shaking it wildly until you can hear your joints pop out of their sockets. “Your name is Y/N right? Thank you for taking care of Namjoon, too. It’s so nice to see that he’s finally snagged a girl as pretty as you.”

It is a testament to how dead inside you truly are by how nonplussed you are by their unfounded accusation. At this point, they could congratulate you on your recent engagement to Namjoon and you probably wouldn’t bat an eye.

“Thanks.” All in a day’s work of being a madman’s little bitch for the day.

After the last child is taken away, your Saturday finally ends. There had been no poem discussion and no progress made; only your respect from one of your long-time crushes being whittled away like the soaps on those ASMR channels until you are left with useless cubes of Irish Spring scented granules.

On your way home, you pass by Seokjin sitting languidly on the bench outside the coffee shop that you had originally intended to go to this morning. The closed sign greets you impetuously, and your wounds are salted further by the sheer presence of the most annoying man on the planet.

Seokjin sips on his venti iced Americano, Gucci sunglasses tipped downward on his nose. An odd, high pitched windshield wiper sound escapes his lips, and you belatedly realize that he must be his version of laughter. “Y/N. So nice to see you. I’m guessing that you just came out of a… fishy affair?”

You grind your teeth, flexing forward with the intent of hitting the rat bastard. Fish crackers fall out of your hair in clumps from your movement. “I’ll eat your toes if you say another word about this.”

You say that, but you know that there will be photos of you out on Facebook by the time your head meets your pillow for the night, as you hear the telltale sound of a camera shutter go off as you limp sadly back home.

The following Monday, you resolve to talk to Namjoon during your History of Music class together.

Now normally, you would never subject yourself to sitting near Namjoon in class. No, it is not because of your debilitating crush, nor his eccentric personality, nor something unexpected like insanely toxic body odor (which he does not have, by the way. He always smells alarmingly like cotton candy.) In fact, nobody likes to sit near Namjoon, made apparent by the two row radius of empty chairs around him. As much as everyone adores and idolizes him for his talent, no one can stand his propensity to overachieve like the infuriating know-it-all that he is. His hand is perpetually up in the air, begging to be picked for recitation, always with something profound to say.

“Sir, I don’t think your notes are correct. From my research, that type of music would not have existed until the 1600s––”

“Namjoon,” your professor seethes, Powerpoint clicker clutched tightly in his fists. His left eyebrow twitches concerningly as he tries to calm his breathing. “I would prefer it greatly if you do not question the actual expert in this area, is that okay with you?”

Yeah. He is definitely not someone you’d want to sit beside.

Though, he really makes it hard not to want to be around him. Despite all the imperfect parts of his personality, Namjoon always looks like the cover model of what a perfect college boyfriend should dress like. Terrible dyejob aside, his hair is slicked back in a fashionable way, revealing his beautiful forehead for all of humanity to behold. He is wearing a fitted graphic tee under a denim jacket, with loose brown slacks that look good on his endlessly long legs. To top it off, his signature wire-frame glasses sit daintily on his nose, making him appear as smart as he is.

You are suddenly reminded of the true scale of your crush on him as sweat begins to build on your neck and down your backside. How the hell are you going to approach him now that you are perfectly aware of how good he looks? It is people like Kim Namjoon that remind you of this universal truth: attractive people only exist to cause the less fortunate to forget how to use their basic motor skills.

Focus. Remember how much of a crackhead he was last Saturday? Okay, retain that information. Remember how fucking stupid he is, and this will be much easier on your heart and your loins.

Taking a deep breath, you make your way to where he is seated, right at the front of the class. It is a long way down the auditorium to where he is, and you can feel the stares of a few of your classmates as you make the treacherous journey right into the proverbial lion’s maw. You do your best to ignore them, quietly sliding up next to him and waiting for him to notice your presence.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he is jotting something frantically on a notebook, a mess of words in more languages than you can speak decorating every available space on the smooth white pages. At the top of the paper, you can see what might be a tentative title for a song, perhaps? You can’t be too entirely sure, as Namjoon is part of so many clubs and organizations that he might as well be writing next week’s lunch menu for the cafeteria.

(Highly doubtful as Namjoon has a reputation for allowing inflammable things to catch on fire, but you wouldn’t put it past him to at least try and apply for a culinary position.)

It seems that Namjoon is too immersed in his writing to greet you himself, so you have to be the one to steel yourself and strike a conversation with him instead.

“Uh. Hey… Namjoon?” Smooth like butter. Seokjin would be proud.

Namjoon doesn’t reply. He keeps scribbling along, humming something indistinct under his breath.

You clear your throat. “Namjoon?”

No response. Again, “Hello?” You wave a hand in front of his face. His blinking slows for a second, but he continues to ignore you.

Starting to get pissed off, you huff quietly to yourself before bringing your palm backwards and slapping him upside the head. “HEY PANINI HEAD! YOU FUCKING IN THERE OR WHAT?”

That manages to bring him out of his headspace, thankfully. “Huzzat?” Namjoon jumps, cradling the back of his neck gingerly as he stares at you, confused. Recognition filters through his eyes as he realizes belatedly what had just happened. He blushes slightly. “Oops.”

“Oops is right. Were you really going to ignore me for the rest of the class if I hadn’t slapped you?”

Namjoon shrugs, grinning in that cute goofy way that he does. “Sorry. ‘M not used to people sitting beside me, is all. Glad to have a friend in this class though! Have you always been in this class?”

“Yea, but I usually sit in the back.”

Namjoon nods, turning back to his notebook. “Sorry for ignoring you. I really didn’t mean it. When I’m in the middle of writing, it’s kind of hard to get me out of my own brain. Plus, this draft is due in two weeks and I’ve scrapped three pages worth of lyrics already… I’m kind of in a panic right now.”

You peek over his arm, trying your best to decipher some of his words. Your interest is piqued, always having wanted to see his draft notebook ever since that first time he showed you Moonchild almost a year ago. “Lungs have capsized… I am drowning in my own body… Wow, those are some dark stuff.”

“You think so?” Namjoon squints at his own messy handwriting. “I got inspired by the fish in the aquarium I volunteer in. I’m actually excited to go back there, because I want to play it for the fish and see if they like it.”

“Isn’t it better to play it at the daycare of senior home so you can actually get… human feedback?”

Namjoon gasps, hand to his heart, offended. “How dare you assume that fish can’t give quality feedback!”

“Right,” you cough, raising your hands in defeat. How dare you, indeed. “Sorry.”

Namjoon sniffs, closing his notebook just as the professor walks in to start the class. “You better be. The fishies get really offended when people say stuff like that.”

The professor begins the moment he sets down his things, so you know you won’t have time to bring up the poem, not when Namjoon is already starting to fall into his overachieving know-it-all student persona. You tap him lightly on the shoulder, gaining his attention.

“Hey, I have to ask you something later after class. Will you stay behind for a few moments?”

“Sure,” Namjoon replies cheerily, flipping on his laptop to start taking down notes. He stops in his tracks before gazing warily at you. “Hold on. If this is about the fishies again…”

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes, so you sigh instead. “No, Namjoon. This isn’t about the fishies.”

Appeased, Namjoon returns to listening attentively to the professor drone on about dead musicians and their impact on musical culture. You hardly take any notes, still nervous about talking to Namjoon about the poem. What would be the best way to approach the subject, you wonder? Your previous attempts with Seokjin and Hoseok had featured a lot of yelling and arguing, and you would prefer not to leave a bad impression on Namjoon of all people. Additionally, you don’t want to know what arguing with Namjoon would entail, because you have a strong feeling that any debate with him will only leave you second guessing your entire existence with how good he is at flipping the subject. Or, you could always kick him in the knees, but that would be like overpowering a baby––you’d be a monster for taking advantage of him.

The short one hour lecture flies by quicker than you would like. To your surprise, Namjoon only interrupts the professor twice, so you suppose that’s a win for everyone else.

“Alright class. Please remember that the research paper regarding 17th century music is due on the Friday before your break,” your professor says. He points a stern look at all of you, and maybe you’re imagining it, but somehow you feel like he pauses just a second longer when he passes his gaze over you. “And please, try not to send your paper to the entire student body to air your secret little crushes like a bunch of lovestruck idiots.”

Your ears turn an unflattering shade of red as most of the students chuckle at his little joke, all of them probably not knowing that the lovestruck idiot was just a few seats away.

“C’mon, Namjoon.” You sigh, shrugging on your backpack as you wait for him to finish packing up. Namjoon watches you curiously, brows furrowed.

“You seem dejected. Are you having trouble with class? Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“N-not… not really,” you say, shaking your head. “Can we talk about this outside? People for the next class are starting to come in.”

Namjoon follows you dutifully from behind, and you can hear him bid his farewells to a few giggling freshmen as the two of you exit the lecture hall. They coo openly in his presence, with one of them bold enough to compliment his fairly generous bosom, her fingers twitching as if she is only one push away from grabbing them by the fistful.

You walk towards the small cafe near the entrance of the building, grabbing one of the empty chairs and gesturing for Namjoon to sit across from you. He does as you say, confusion still gracing his handsome features.

“So, will you tell me why you’ve called me out here now?” Namjoon asks. Before you can respond, however, he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a half squished sandwich. He offers you the less crushed half, like the gentleman that he is, but you find it hard to accept when you feel like your stomach is turning inside out with nerves.

“Umm… How do I say this…” You groan, leg bouncing so incessantly that the poor table begins to shake. Namjoon doesn’t even try to stop his other sandwich half from sliding over, instead giving you a concerned glance.

Fuck it. Better to rip the band-aid off in one swoop, right?

“Y/N––?”

“Namjoon, are you aware that people think someone wrote a stupid love poem about you?”

His previously open mouth clamps shut, then. He stares at you in confusion, a dollop of mayonnaise hanging off his jutting chin. “What?”

Panicking slightly, you’re quick to continue your train of thought, probably to your own detriment. “NOT that the poem is about you, by the way. Well, it could be? No? I DIDN’T WRITE IT!” Pause for heavy breathing. “A-anyway, that’s not the point… I just wanted to ask if you were… umm… aware of it. Yeah. That’s it.”

Ohhhh my god. You stupid idiot. Fuck fuck fuck fuck you fucking stupid piece of shit ass tit fuck what other swear words are there oh yeah FUCK!!!

In the midst of your personal mental beatdown, you fail to see Namjoon’s genuine look of confusion, his head tilted to the side as he watches your face turn red. He chews on his sandwich thoughtfully. “Uh? No? I’m not aware? I really have no idea what you are talking about, Y/N.”

You finally stop swearing at yourself. “Wait, really?”

Namjoon nods his head. “Really. What poem are you talking about?”

“Please tell me you’re joking. I don’t really like being teased; I get enough of that from Seokjin.”

“No, I’m serious!” Namjoon raises his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t joke about something that is clearly giving you distress.”

“It’s not causing me distress!” You screech back, voice cracking from your tone going up a pitch. You clear your throat. “Um. Wait. So that means you haven’t heard about the huge rumor going around about a love poem being about you?”

He shrugs his shoulders, lips pursed. “Not a clue. Am I supposed to?”

Huh. You stare at the imbecile before you, his previously handsome looks starting to look less appealing by the minute. Is this shithead for real? Did you really spend hours worrying over how you would approach him about the poem, only to find out that he has no clue what you’re talking about? Like, how is it even possible for him not to know? You can’t even spend a minute doing anything without someone bringing up that stupid mistake of a poem. How the hell did you ever have a crush on him?

“Pardon? Did you say crush something?”

“Oh shit,” you curse, slapping a palm to your mouth. Did you fucking say that out loud?

“Sorry,” Namjoon swallows thickly, a large bite of his sandwich visibly going down his gullet. “I was chewing too loudly so I didn’t hear you properly.”

You heave a sigh of relief. Okay, maybe being an idiot has its benefits.

“It’s fine. It wasn’t anything important,” you say, already arranging your things to get up and leave. If Namjoon is oblivious to all the poem shenanigans that have been circling campus, then who are you to inform him? All you can hope now is that he remains ignorant of the poem at all, and chalk it up as a success in your book. It’s not like he’s going to be curious to find out more anyway––

“Wait! Don’t go! You’ve piqued my interest now. I wanna know what you were talking about,” Namjoon pipes up, leaning his lanky body sidewards so as to block you from leaving. You halt in your movements, surprised by his sudden inquiry.

Sweat starts to form in the middle of your back at his earnest curiosity. “I––it’s nothing, Namjoon. I was just messing with you. Don’t worry about it.” You laugh nervously.

“I don’t think you were?” Namjoon rubs his chin thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t have been so adamant to call me out here just to be joking.”

“Listen, I really have to go. I have another class soon and I wanna grab lunch before I––”

“You said something about a poem.” He remains undeterred, pulling out his phone. “And it’s about me? Well, not about me, if that’s what you’re saying…”

“Hold up!” You snatch his phone out of his hands, holding it behind you to keep it from his reach. Even though you know his inquisitiveness is not his fault, it doesn’t stop you from wanting to punch him square in his cute little nose. Hell, you don’t recall wanting to fight anyone as much as you do right now.

(Seokjin sneezes somewhere in the distance, feeling offended for whatever reason. “Y/N should only be punching me,” he thinks to himself as he dumps way too much purple dye on this poor lady’s head.)

“Why are you being so weird right now? Give me back my phone!” He pouts at you, not at all knowing that your resolve is already quickly crumbling before him.

“I…” You gulp, foot tapping restlessly as you try to think of what to do. “Okay. Fine, I’ll show you the poem. Just… don’t read too deeply into it, okay? It’s just a stupid thing that got too many people excited over nothing.”

“Sure,” Namjoon nods his head, acquiescing quickly. “I don’t really like paying attention to much of the rumors and trends that happen on campus. I just want to see what this poem is all about.”

“Just… don’t let it get to your head,” you mutter, returning his phone to him. You direct him to the university confessions group page, watching as his fingers fumbled with his keyboard. Eventually, he gets to the post (pinned to the top, forever mocking you for your stupidity) and reads the short piece in record time.

There is a pause where neither of you speak. You know he has finished reading it from the way he has started to scroll down to the comments, though he quickly jumps back to the top when you glare at him to stop. He leans back into his chair, closing his phone and stares at you expressionlessly.

You click your nails across the coffee shop table as you observe him suspiciously, his lack of response making you more nervous. “Well?”

The left side of his mouth quirks up––but not in a way that might suggest glee or satisfaction––and he stays frozen like that for a bit. You have the sudden urge to wave your hand in front of him to check if he’s fine, and being the type of person to submit to your urges, you do as you please.

Thankfully, he snaps out of it, blinking quickly as if he’s forgotten that you were there. He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Oh, yeah. The poem, uh… How do I put it…”

“What?” What on earth could he have a problem with? Does he genuinely think the poem might be about him? “If you’re starting to think that the poem may be about you––”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Namjoon opens his phone again, peering at the poem questioningly. “I was just going to say that this poem is a lot less impressive than you were hyping it up to be.”

Excuse me??????? He did not fucking just say that.

“You did not just fucking say that,” you verbalize, glowering at him. You can feel the fumes start to steam out of your ears, but Namjoon remains oblivious (as per usual) to your emotions. He just hums, shrugging his shoulders with his nose upturned in the air, as if he had just smelled something horrible.

“It’s just… the meter is all messed up… Like, I’m all about free verse or whatever, but I can tell the author is trying waaaay too hard to keep whatever rhythm they had going on in the first verse.” He scrolls through the poem some more, before stopping somewhere in the middle. He shows you one of your favorite verses with a look of something akin to disdain. “And what’s up with all the moon references? That theme is so overused.”

“YOUR MIXTAPE LITERALLY HAS A SONG CALLED MOONCHILD! THAT’S WHY PEOPLE THINK THE POEM IS ABOUT YOU!” You explode, spittle flying everywhere from the force of your shout. A group of freshmen sitting nearby jump up in surprise, though most of the older, more dead-eyed college students do not even bat an eye at your spectacle. This university is full of cuckoos, is what they are probably thinking.

The biggest cuckoo of them all looks at you defensively, frowning somewhat irritably. Namjoon continues, “Yeah, but I used the moon in my song in a classy way! I would be offended if someone would write this poem for me after being inspired by my song.”

Is it possible for blood to boil inside your veins? Because you’re really starting to feel heat trail up your back up to your neck, causing you to see nothing but red and the tantalizing vision of your hands around his neck. Easy, Y/N. You can’t afford anger management therapy; you have a tuition to pay.

In all seriousness though, you cannot take this any longer. You have suffered long enough while having to follow Namjoon around like a bitch for two days, and if karma still wants to use the strap on you, then she’s going to have to do it some other day because you cannot physically stand being around Namjoon for another ten seconds if you can help it. And this is coming from someone who is around Kim Seokjin at least twice a week, so it is obvious that your patience and sanity is truly at its limit.

“I’m done.” You are barely able to keep yourself from slamming your head against the table. Instead, you stand up hastily, chair legs screeching against the tiled floor. You shoulder your bag quickly, waving at him without even turning to face him. The sooner you get away from him, the better. “You can think what you want. Just live your life, man. I’m done.”

“Okay? Well, have a nice day, Y/N!” Namjoon calls out a cheery goodbye, though his tone obviously still sounds confused even as you walk further and further away from him, a trainwreck of a human being. You resolve to yourself to call Hana the next morning to ask her to slip some opened sweets into his jean pocket so the ants at the daycare might climb out of their shelter to bite him in the balls.

How did you ever have a crush on that bastard? I guess that mystery will have to remain… unsolved.

Unluckily, your mood does not improve after lunch, nor do you calm down after your next class either. In fact, you are still steaming when you arrive to your tutoring session with Hoseok, so much so that you have completely forgotten to be worried about him after the events of last Friday.

(Record scratch, freeze frame. Pause. What the hell happened last Friday again? Your overworked brain cells can only handle one stressful event at a time, so you suppose that problem with Hoseok and Jimin will have to be solved another day.)

Hoseok, the caring boy that he is, also forgets to retain his moodiness from Friday’s argument when he spots you looking like you were about to pop a blood vessel at any moment.

Hoseok sits hesitantly in front of you, even placing his textbooks gently onto the table as if any sudden sounds might cause you to self-combust and splatter your guts all over the library floor. The only thing really keeping you from doing exactly that is because you wouldn’t want poor Jungkook the library assistant to have to clean up your mess.

“Umm… Hey, Y/N. You okay? You look kind of… red.” Hoseok says carefully, smile twitching on his face.

The suddenness at which you slam your hands on the table causes not only Hoseok, but also Jungkook who is three whole bookshelves away, to jump up in surprise. The former makes a terrified scream to accompany his leap into the air, staring at your frantically with his fists held up in defense.

“AHH? Y/N, what’s going on––”

“SHUT UP!” You point a finger menacingly at him, making him shriek once more. Your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding audibly. “YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT, HOSEOK? I’LL WRITE THE NICEST POEM IN THE ENTIRE WORLD FOR YOU, OKAY? YOU DESERVE IT! FUCK WHAT ANYONE ELSE THINKS! I’M A GOOD WRITER AND NOTHING KIM NAMJOON SAYS WILL CHANGE THAT!”

Hoseok’s mouth opens, agape. He doesn’t know how to respond, not quite understanding what you were saying in the first place. A lot of angry words spilled from your lips in such a short amount of time, and Hoseok was more impressed with your flow than anything. Were you a rapper, by any chance?

Unaware of Hoseok’s musings, you huff loudly to yourself, slamming open your lecture notes and shoving them aggressively towards him. “ALSO, I TOOK THE LIBERTY OF WRITING A REVIEWER FOR YOUR MIDTERM! PLEASE READ THROUGH THEM IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS!”

“Umm… Thanks?” Hoseok says, not really sure which part of your loud declarations he is specifically thanking you for. He sneaks a glance at the front desk, thankful that it is only meek little Jungkook in charge today and not the cranky older librarian who already has a personal vendetta against you and your tutoring group for being public nuisances (not that she was unjustly pointing fingers, of course).

Your mental collapse aside, the rest of his tutoring session goes smoothly, with Hoseok still walking on eggshells around you just in case you might feel like exploding again. You know, for fun or something. Although, he does end up asking if he can leave a few minutes early, saying something about a paper due at the end of the week. The excuse doesn’t make you bat an eye until Jimin arrives for his own session, his grin faltering when he sees his hyung not there to greet him with their usual dance battle in the library.

“Ah… Guess Hoseok-hyung really is still mad over what happened…” Jimin sighs, slumping into his chair. He thumbs his textbook thoughtfully, tongue sticking out like a puppy.

“I’m sure it’ll blow over soon,” you say hopefully, though your heart isn’t quite in it either. Coughing awkwardly, you pluck his textbook out of his hands, desperate to talk about something else other than your crumbling interpersonal relationships. You pause at the page, however, before staring incredulously back at Jimin.

“Jimin.”

“Hmm?” Jimin is still listless, head pillowed by his arms on the table. “What?”

“This is a book on differential calculus. I’m supposed to teach you about writing academic essays.”

“Oh yeah,” Jimin sighs, closing his eyes. “I stole that book from some freshman on the way here. The English textbook I usually bring is with Taehyung right now.”

You pause. Actually, now that you think about it… “Jimin, do you actually even go to this university? What the hell is your major, even?”

“Wha-?” Jimin yawns, fanning his mouth with his hand. He blinks sleepily at you with a big, doofy grin. “Sorry, I played MapleStory for hours last night and I haven’t gotten much sleep. Can I just sleep during this session? I’ll still pay you or whatever…” he trails off, stretching like a cat under a patch of sunlight. Before you know it, the soft sound of Jimin’s snoring fills the silence.

Thankfully, Monday ends without much more commotion. You may have come out of this experience a little bit more broken inside, but hey! That’s what character development is all about, babey. You are just glad that Tuesdays are usually your quietest days, as you only have two classes to worry about. It is also one of the days when you have Creative Writing with Sera, who usually manages to rope you in to get greasy fast food after class. Despite the traumatic experience that particular class has indirectly inflicted upon you, your usual zeal and excitement does not diminish in the slightest. After all, writing will always be your first love, so there isn’t any way some silly poem mishap will make you detest it.

Hopefully nothing else will go wrong, because you aren’t so sure your sanity can take much more of a pounding.

(Fwip. Do you hear that? That’s the sound of karma putting on her strap.)

“Alright class, see you guys on Thursday. Don’t forget that we have a quiz at the beginning of class on Thursday, so please don’t be late.” Professor Puth says, his eyelids blinking out of sync. You hate to be someone who assumes what other people do during their off days as it is none of your business, though the perpetual cloud of marijuana that clings around him can only do so much to mask what his recreational activities might be.

“Dude, I think Prof Puth is finding Nirvana soon,” Sera says loudly, earning the giggles of a few classmates nearby.

“I’d be surprised if he could even find the exit of this building,” you snort, just as the man in question trips over air and nearly faceplants on the ground. Like the model students that you are, you both pretend to be busy doing something else, leaving some other poor soul to help your professor.

Two girls that you vaguely remember from somewhere approach Professor Puth. They are quick to help him straighten up, if his groaning and gasping are anything to go by. He thanks them gruffly and waves them off, but the girls seem adamant to stay put.

“Professor, I have a question…” One of the girls asks, nervously tugging on her ponytail. Her friend giggles surreptitiously beside her, urging her to continue. Their odd demeanor causes signals to go off in your brain, telling you to stop and listen. You tug on Sera’s hand, halting her from leaving.

“Wait. I wanna hear what they’re gonna ask,” you mutter, ignoring Sera’s complaints about being hungry. She can wait for her McNuggets for another five minutes, no matter how much she pretends that she’s starving. You had seen her eat two whole burritos before coming into class today.

Professor Puth raises his brow. “Yes? What do you need?”

“We were just wondering if you could… tell us anything about the identity of the author from that poem?” The girl manages to get all of it out in a rush, cheeks flushed as her friend nods fervently beside her.

“Yea, Prof! We’ve been dying to know! The suspense is killing us, knowing that the mystery author is in one of your classes!” The other girl continues, glittery excitement practically exuding out of her in waves.

Professor Puth sighs, leaning heavily on his desk. He appears about as done as you feel. “Listen… You can badger me all you want, but there’s no way I can tell you. Privacy laws prevent us from sharing information like that without prior consent, even though that student in question might have accidentally sent her assignment to the entire school.” You might be imagining it, but you think Professor Puth points you with a knowing look. You gulp, hastily bowing your head and pretending to fiddle with your phone.

“Aww, Prof! It’s been days and the university hasn’t shut up about it! Surely one of the theories on who the author and muse are must be true, right? You can tell us that, at least.”

You can’t bear to keep listening any longer, though Sera has started to become more interested in the conversation as it progressed. “Wait, wait… I wanna hear the Prof’s opinion,” she says, grinning despite your nails digging crescents into her arm as you try to pull her away.

“No can do! Remember, I have your freshman Halloween pictures saved on a harddrive, and you wouldn’t want me to accidentally send that to the entire student body as well, would you?”

That manages to snap her out of it. Quickly, the two of you leave the lecture hall and away from possible discovery by your poem-frenzied classmates. You are also relieved to be able to breathe in fresh air once more, after being stuck in that class surrounded by liberal art students for two hours. You always do feel a little bit more relaxed after class with Puth, although that might just be from all the secondhand drug use.

Perhaps the fumes really did dull your reflexes, as it takes a while before you realize that Sera has been nudging your shoulder.

When you finally glanced at her, there is a sneaky grin on her face: never a good sign. “So,” she begins, a singsong quality in her voice

After having been her friend for long enough, you have become adept at telling what Sera is going to say next. Call it intuition or whatever, but you like to think of it is a self-defense mechanism. As much as she is your friend, she does love digging into your personal life like it is the cover story of some shitty tabloid. You have to prepare yourself to be interrogated.

“You’re going to ask about the poem, aren’t you?”

Sera rolls her eyes, like you shouldn’t have even asked. “Duh, of course I am. What else would I want to talk about?”

You shrug your shoulders, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you could have asked ‘Hey, Y/N! How’s your mom been? Have you been eating and drinking well?’ You know, like a normal person.”

“Well, firstable, your mom is literally my friend on Facebook and I saw her go out to that bougie high tea place with Jennie’s mom the other day, so I know she’s fine,” Sera says as the two of you round a corner, heading closer to the parking lot where her car is. “And secondable, you don’t fucking drink water, because you like pretending to be a dehydrated piece of jerky.”

“I just like drinking apple juice, okay? Water is weird,” you say defensively, kicking a pebble as you walk.

“Nah, you’re weird,” Sera counters, ever the creative debater. She remains undeterred, however. “So. Any updates on the poem situation or am I going to have tickle the details out of you?”

You groan, pushing her away from your sensitive sides. “Please don’t… I have no upper body strength and I won’t be able to push you off!”

“That’s the point.” Sera laughs, pinching your cheek. She snatches her hand away, only narrowly escapes getting bitten by you. “Why don’t we skip my torture methods then and go straight to the juicy bits? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you!”

“What if nothing has happened since I last saw you?” You grumble, miffed that she really isn’t letting it go. You just want to have one relaxing day, is that too much to ask?

Apparently, it is. Relaxation is a rare commodity these days. Sera snorts, patting you condescendingly on the back. “Nonsense. You’ve got that post-mental breakdown glow around you. You look absolutely radiant with stress!”

The conversations pauses for a bit when you make it to the parking lot. You don’t have to walk too far, as her car is parked relatively close to the exit, which is just another display of how lucky Sera often is in comparison to you. While your unfortunate plebeian ass is busy drowning in shit, Sera is off somewhere aboard a yacht, getting a massage from some Instagram thot.

She hops into the driver’s seat, waiting for you to put your seatbelt on before backing out with one hand on the wheel. “McDonalds?” she asks, though it is pretty much a given that is where you are going. The last time you both tried diverging from your usual hang out spot, you got intense food poisoning from eating at Chipotle. Sera came out completely fine though, that lucky bitch.

She continues her questions on the drive there, and you relent by telling her most of what has happened to you over the past few days. You gloss over the argument between Hoseok and Jimin, not really wanting their spat to suddenly go viral on Facebook as well. Everything else, however––

“Wait, so you talked to Kim Namjoon? The Kim Namjoon? The Namjoon that you had an embarrassing crush on during our first year?” Sera laughs maniacally, almost driving off into the wrong lane. Luckily, you are quick to latch onto the wheel, saving the two of you from becoming roadkill.

“Watch where you’re going!”

“No, but Y/N! That’s literally so fucking funny!” Sera’s laughter has simmered to a giggle, despite the fact that she is still trying (and failing) to furtively glance your way when you hit a stoplight. “Is he like how you remember? God, do you remember how you were after you first met him? All starstruck because your senpai showed you a draft of his single? ‘Oh, Sera! He has the most amaaaazing flow! I’m going to suck his di––’”

“Shut up!” You whine, slapping her in embarrassment. “Believe me, that crush has died, along with any respect I may have had for him. Men are scum, and I’m going to only date girls from now on.”

“Fine by me! More dick to suck for me, I guess.” Sera teases, whistling innocently. Bold of her to assume that there is any innocent or pure bone in her body; you’ve seen her thirst tweets and no amount of holy water can cure the disease that your vision must have sustained.

“I just want the rumors to die down… It would make my life way more bearable.” You murmur to yourself, sliding down your seat.

Sera is silent for a while. The McDonalds is just within sight, so Sera waits until she has finished parking before she turns to face you fully, uncanny sincerity in her expression. It unnerves you how serious she is, not when you know that this is the same girl who would snort sugar packets if you bet her $5. She places her hands on your shoulder, fixing you with a meaningful look.

“Listen, Y/N. I know all of this is tough right now, but I’m sure it’s going to be alright, okay? The rumor is going to die down soon enough, and everything will be back to normal. Stay strong for now.” Her voice is soothing, sympathy dripping from every word. As mortifying as it is to admit, the tears flow down your cheek effortlessly; perhaps it is the consequence of having to bear this burden on your own for so long without anyone actually telling you that it’s going to be alright.

“Thanks… I think I needed that,” you say after a while, sniffling just a bit. Sera grins fondly at you, wiping your tears.

“No need to thank me. I may be a chaotic shithead, but I’m also your friend.” She unbuckles her seatbelt, gesturing for you to do the same. “C’mon, let’s go in. I’ll even share my nuggets with you.”

Despite her best efforts at comfort, you still feel a little bummed. You allow yourself to wallow in your self-pity for a bit, as McDonalds is a prime location to feel shitty about your life choices anyway. The heart attack inducing food, the barely hygienic facilities, the minimum wage high school employees… Nothing else screamed “I’d rather be dead but it could also be worse” quite like Mickey D’s often did.

You wait by one of the booths while Sera goes off to order for the both of you, leaving you with her phone and other belongings. She promises to let you eat four out of the twenty nugget pieces, which is asking a lot considering who you are dealing with. Sera could probably eat sixty nuggets if she so desired, but only stops herself so she can be physically well enough to continue being a thot. Chasing men all day requires physical fitness, or so she says.

When you go to place her things on the other side of the booth, you notice that Sera had accidentally left her phone unlocked. You can see that she had been previously looking at one of those popular forum sites for your university, where most of her repertoire of gossip is usually sourced from. You aren’t usually the type to frequent those types of pages, with good reason too. That exact forum is the reason of your current stress, where your most private thoughts and feelings were revealed for all to see. Any sort of positive opinion you might have had for that site was immediately dashed the moment that cursed poem was released into the wild.

It kind of pisses you off that Sera still uses that forum despite knowing how much anxiety it has caused you, but then again, there is only so much you can expect from her. Her appetite for drama and chaos is her way of life, her only other hobby aside from writing. You also vaguely recall her saying that she gathers inspiration for her short stories from some of the more outrageous posts made by your fellow schoolmates.

In the end, curiosity gets the best of you as you stare at the open webpage, tantalizing despite the murkiness that lies within. Oh, lighten up. It’s just a confessions page… Besides, you also kind of want to see what people are saying about your poem, and whether the commotion might have died even slightly over time. (Unlikely, but you remain hopeful.)

“Let’s see,” you murmur to yourself, sneaking glances at the counter to see if Sera is close to ordering. She appears to still be next in line to order, so that might give you enough time to read a few of the comments on the post. It doesn’t take you long to find the original post either, since Sera seems to have been perusing the same thing just beforehand.

“Typical Sera... Sympathetic in the streets, a nosey bitch in the sheets.” You snort, scrolling quickly through the comment section. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, except for a few overenthusiastic responses from a couple of people who have bombarded the forum so much that it takes you a few moments to navigate past their thread. You catch a few words here and there, mostly the names of the seven possible muses and not so much the names of any of the possible authors. Honestly, you are more than happy with these turn of events, perfectly content as long as your identity never sees the day where it becomes associated with that disaster piece.

You sort the comments by popularity, wanting to know what everyone’s biggest guesses are. You want to remain hopeful, but as the results start to load, the wave of nausea that suddenly hits you may have been the first warning signal that you should probably stop before you read something that you will regret.

posted by u/SeokjinGod [3d ago]:

[+103, -4] i’m really hoping that kim seokjin is the muse of the poem!! has anyone seen the ads for the new play he’s staring in? he totally looks like the lead actor in a romantic comedy ^^

➾ [+54, -69] psh. that idiot, the muse? PLEASE anyone who has ever worked for kim seokjin KNOWS that it’s physically impossible to form a human connection with that man

➾ [+2, -1] lol seconded

posted by u/namuwuchild [1d ago]:

[+88, -3] WAIT why am i not seeing kim namjoon’s name more often T_T he deserves more love!! stream moonchild or else i’ll bite your ankles

➾ [+1, -6] lol i miss when namjoon used to do actual hiphop… fucking hippie dippie go fuck a tree and some crabs while you’re at it

You sneak a look over your shoulder. Sera is at the front of the line, reciting her orders while the harried employee has to quickly punch in the inordinate amount of food items. Okay… While no one’s looking, time to downvote a couple of these and maybe report some of these assholes… No way in hell are you letting anyone think Moonlight Sonata is about either of those Kim idiots. You would honestly rather out yourself than let anyone think they are worthy of such public displays of love and humiliation.

You are just about to close Sera’s phone and vow never to set foot on social media ever again when the next post catches your eye––the first one where you actually see your name. In fact, your name is generously sprinkled a number of times in this one specific thread.

“Wait a second…” You squint at the top of the thread, reading out the username of the original poster. Is that… Is that your name?!

“User Y/NKook… Oh my god!” You shriek loudly, almost dropping the phone from your sweaty palms. It must be the same person who had organized that merchandise booth in the cafeteria the other week! The number of upvotes on the post isn’t making you feel any better.

posted by u/Y/NKook [3h ago]:

[+98, -5] idk why you noobs are even trying… intellectuals KNOW that y/nkook is real and i won’t take no for an answer… give me my childhood friends to lovers fic RIGHT NOW because this slowburn has been going on for years now and i can’t stand it!!!

➾ [+11, -0] omg op do you know them personally?? how’d you know that they were childhood friends?? i go to the same drama class as y/n and jungkook but they never sit together… are you sure it’s them??

➾ [+20, -1] of course!! they’re even neighbors… besides, haven’t you heard what his nickname is? his friends call him moon eyes for a reason! they say that y/n is the one who gave him that name ^^

You feel your eye twitch, disbelief flooding your senses. Why is this weirdo shipping you with Jungkook? You guys haven’t even spoken properly since elementary school… How does this dude know who you are? Are you being stalked? You whirl your head around, scanning the restaurant for any suspicious people who may or may not be following you. Is this what celebrities feel like when they get shipped with their friends? You feel a sudden surge of respect for them, unable to grasp the situation that you are in. God, you really hope Jungkook hasn’t read any of these.

You go to switch Sera’s phone off, feeling less accomplished than ever before. Maybe it is best to save yourself the anxiety of seeing your world fall apart and try to delude yourself into thinking that the past two weeks have never happened at all. However, there is a certain appeal to reading things that you know you should not, like watching a car crash and unable to look away. The urge to keep scrolling and gaze upon your own personal hell is hard to stop when you have already gained momentum.

“One last post, then I’m done…” You are hard set on that promise, not wanting your apprehension to destroy your peaceful afternoon completely. The next post on the forum greets you with a high upvote number, sending a lick of fear to run down your spine at what you might find. Please don’t be about Y/NKook, you pray helplessly. Little did you know, there are worse things to worry about other than being shipped with your friends.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [1h ago]:

[+154, -5] hey guys i’m back again with another update! so i’ve managed to shorten the list a bit since last time i posted, and i’m 100% certain that kim seokjin is not the muse! sorry, gamers… our prince is in another castle it seems. worry not, though! that only helps our search better and shortens the list. on the other hand, the authors list has also been edited! turns out that neither jodi nor melody is the author, as they both submitted poems about something else. if you are interested to see the updated lists for both muse and author, please head to my profile and look for the original post titled “Mystery Moon Author & Their Mystery Muse” :-)

You have never clicked on a profile as quickly as you did in that moment. Not even a notification from UberEats could make you move that fast.

Lo and behold, the post that started it all is right at the top of the user’s profile, with the significantly shorter list that they had promised. Sweat begins to build on your temples when you realize that the authors list has decreased to seven names, with your name still obstinately sitting at the end of the lines. When will your suffering end?

There is still something that doesn’t sit right with you, however. As you peruse this user’s profile some more, you feel as if there is something weird about it that you can’t quite place. You never did like using this forum, so maybe you are just not used to the layout of the website? What is it about this user’s profile that is making your stomach coil with nerves?

Wait a second… Why is there an edit button beside their profile picture?

“Y/N! I’m back! Sorry for taking so long; I think I ordered too much again. You’re fine with BBQ sauce on your nuggs, right? That’s all I asked for––” Sera had been happily chirping away, sliding into the bench across from you before finally noticing your stoney face. She pats her face, rubbing her cheeks in confusion. “What? Do I have something on me?”

“How fucking dare you!” You hiss, slamming her phone on the table. Unfortunately, you had accidentally locked the phone in your anger, showing only a black screen.

Sera flinches backwards, bewildered. Her eyes flick to the screen and then to you. “Huh? I thought you liked BBQ sauce on your nuggs? I mean, I can ask for sweet and sour sauce if you want…”

“Unlock your phone right now and explain to me why you have triceratops’ profile logged in.”

Your words begin to click in Sera’s mind. Her face grows pale, her body unconsciously sliding further into the booth to hide from your glare. “U-uh… Haha, what on earth are you talking about..?”

“Don’t even try to lie, Sera. I saw everything, and I honestly don’t know if I’m madder that you betrayed me or that I was stupid enough to believe that you were my friend.”

Sera splutters incomprehensibly at first, waving her arms in panic as she tries to save her ass. “I––! You––! It wasn’t like I––”

You lean forward, peering at her coldly. “Oh yeah? What wasn’t it like? It wasn’t like we were friends?”

“No, of course not! I mean,” she backtracks, tongue-tied. “We are friends! It’s just… I made that post before I knew you were the author and I originally sent the poem to just a couple of people because I was so impressed, and I just wanted to––”

“Hold on,” you interrupt, holding up a finger. She squeaks, staring at you fearfully as you slowly get up to your feet. You cry out, “You were also the one who released my fucking poem to the world?!”

“Anna ou––” Sera whimpers, slapping her palm to her mouth. She lowers it, whispering ruefully. “I… didn’t mean to say that…”

“Oh, so you were meaning to lie to me even more?” You seethe, ready to burst into flames.

The poor McDonalds employee who had come to deliver your order to your table seems too frightened to approach the two of you, her arms shaking both with fear and the weight of five orders of 20 piece chicken nuggets. “Uh, is this a bad time?” The girl asks, eyes darting away from your heated glare.

Instead of answering, you grab the tray from her hands and dump the contents on the table. Sera squawks pitifully when a few of the nuggets fall to the ground, though she absolutely yells when you start chucking them at her head like tiny oily cannonballs.

“What the fuck––Dude stop!” Sera has her arms up in defense, shielding her face from your fiery attack. The sound of you ripping open a BBQ sauce packet has her straightening up, however. “No, not the BBQ sauce! Anything but that!”

“Give me one reason why I should show you mercy.” Your hand is poised to pour the sticky sauce all over her white Valentino bag, ready at a moment’s notice.

“Please, Y/N! I’m really sorry!” Sera jumps out of the booth, and goes on her knees. She clasps her hands together, shaking them frantically. “I really didn’t know it was you at first!”

“Well then, why didn’t you fucking take the post down the moment you did know it was me? I thought you were my friend!” You clench your fist around the BBQ sauce packet, causing some of it to spill onto her bag. She makes a desperate noise.

“I just… I like the attention?” She knows this is the wrong answer, judging by your unimpressed expression. She sighs heavily, head bowed in shame. “Look, I’ll fix this, alright? I genuinely didn’t do this wanting to hurt you… I just got so caught up in the clout that I didn’t really think about what would happen if you found out!”

“‘If’ I found out, huh…” You echo, more disappointed than angry now. You slump back into your chair, taking care to grab the napkins and cleaning the sticky mess on your skin as best as you can. “You really were going to continue doing this for as long as it took, huh?”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.” Her voice is soft, repentant. It doesn’t do much for your sympathy, however.

“Fuck you, honestly. If you really are sorry, you’ll fix this mess as soon as possible.”

You reach for your bag, your movements jostling a few more nuggets to tumble to the floor. You don’t bother saying goodbye, not wanting to see if Sera is doing her Crying Face Emoji impression to try and soften you up. Not this time. This time… you don’t think your feelings can recover after this.

You have read enough stories about heartbreak and longing, but you don’t think any of them top the experience of losing a friend you realize you never even had.

The next morning, there is a new post on the forum from user triceratops.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [0s ago]:

[+0, -0] Hello, friends. I think I’ve found the author.

It’s Lee Sera.

398 notes · View notes

rosemerriam · 4 years

Text

Heiress and the Bodyguard

Summary: Heejin, the heiress of the widely successful company, ViSual, is being given a bodyguard. To avoid any bad rumors, her mothers have given Heejin a bodyguard her age. A little fic with some angst and a wee bit of fluff at the end. 1.9 k words.

Heejin's breathing stilled. Her ear in her hand, trying to listen.

"I'm telling you that it's necessary!"

"And I'm telling you that you're overreacting! You're worrying too much!"

"Worrying too much? You're not worrying enough! We're talking about our children!"

"Hey, Heejin!" Yeojin's loud voice broke Heejin's concentration. "What're you doing by the door?"

Heejin shot right up, speed walking away from the suddenly quiet room. She dragged Yeojin away but not fast enough before one of her mothers stopped her.

"Heejin, where do you think you're going with Yeojin?" Heejin turned to see Haseul leaning by the doorway with her arms folded. Vivi was still inside the room. Heejin could have sworn she was ironing a dress in attempts to relieve any anger.

"Oh, us?" Heejin pointed at herself, putting on her most innocent looking face. "Oh, well, Yeojin said she wanted more yogurt so I was gonna take her to the convenience store to get some."

"Uh-huh, nice try," Vivi called out from the room.

Haseul let out a sigh and walked back into the room. Her daughters trailed after her and took a seat on a couch opposite of Vivi ironing and Haseul standing.

"So your mother and I were thinking," Haseul let out another sigh, "and, well, that is--"

"You need a security guard."

Haseul looked at Vivi exasperated.

"Yes," Haseul said. "Um, so, your mother and I will begin looking for someone to that, that being making sure you two stay safe. You know the world is a, uh, very dangerous place and well, Heejin, with all your modeling and commercial gigs and everything else--uh, your promoting of the company!"

Heejin could feel herself zoning in and out of Haseul's ramblings. Yeojin looked over at Heejin and let out, "So what type of security guard are we getting? Are they, like, gonna be this big ol' guy with crazy ass muscles?"

"Yeojin, don't say ass in front of me," Vivi said, her eyes not even looking up. She took the pile of clothes and folded them into a neat little stack for Haseul to take and put away. When Haseul left the room, Vivi began to pace slowly in front of the two. "First off, they aren't going to be a 'big ol' guy.' I am not comfortable with a man being around you two all day long. And some strange man following you two around, the media may get some strange thoughts. Strange thoughts will lead to the tainting of our company's image."

"So who are you going to hire then?" Heejin asked, feeling impatient.

"A girl. Maybe someone around your age. The media isn't going to suspect something strange if the guard is a girl near your age. They'll just think you two are friends dragging Yeojin around."

Vivi paused to look at Heejin and Yeojin to see if they had any objections. They looked back at her blankly. She could practically hear the elevator music in their heads.

"I'm going to find your mother. We'll begin looking for applicants. I'll try to get someone who is near your school's so that they can pick you two up." The serious mother left the room, leaving the two behind.

"So..." Yeojin leaned close to Heejin. "You were saying something about getting me yogurt?"

"Whatever. You want to go get some now?"

"Yeah! Oh! We can get some snacks too, right?"

"Sure. You're lucky all these commercial deals are paying me well."

"Ha! Yeah, I am!"

Yeojin kept rambling all over the place on the way to the nearby convenience store.

"...like I'm telling you, Hana's snail is no way near cool as mine!"

"Is that so?" Heejin mused.

"Yeah! Listen, my snail is, like, way faster than hers so obviously mine is gonna be cooler. It's just science!"

"Obviously," Heejin smirked at her little sister.

They walked into the convenience store. Yeojin immediately ran to the snack sections. Heejin took her time getting their drinks.

"...are there really no job openings?" Heejin turned around to see a girl her age talking to the cashier.

"Listen, sorry kid but like I said last month, we aren't hiring," the cashier shrugged. His eyes softened. "Look, I really am sorry. Maybe try the place down the street again?"

Heejin could see the girl blink away her tears as she let out a shaky sigh.

"Oh? Heejin, what are you doing?" Yeojin's loud voice broke Heejin out of her trance.

"Oh, sorry," she looked away from the girl. "Did you want juice or the drink with the jellies?"

"The jellies, please!"

"Yeojin, you have to use your inside voice." Heejin scolded Yeojin's loudness.

"Oh! Sorry!"

"Yeojin..."

"Oh! Sorry..." the apology this time coming out as a harsh whisper.

They paid for the snacks and walked back. Each step Heejin took was the memory of the crying girl slipping away. Until one day after school…

"Heejin!"

Heejin turned around to see a very familiar face waving to her.

"Ah! Hello! You are...?" Heejin's head tilted in confusion.

"Oh! I'm Kim Hyunjin," the girl bowed slightly. "I'm going to be your bodyguard from this day on."

"Ah, I see," Heejin smiled at the girl. She thought about bringing up how she had seen her before but thought better of it. It would only make things awkward between the two. "Alright, well we have to go pick Yeojin up from school and then from there it's a modeling gig for a perfume company."

"Yes, ma'am. Your mothers sent for a car so that we don't have to walk."

"Oh, please don't call me ma'am. We're in the same grade, aren't we? Yellow uniforms mean Junior Year."

"Right," Hyunjin chuckled nervously. "So what would you prefer me to call you?"

"Heiress Heejin," she replied with the most cheesy grin.

"Okay, Heiress Heejin," Hyunjin said with a blank face.

"Wait--seriously?"

"Of course, Heiress Heejin is the one I am going to be with the most and so whatever she wishes, I will grant."

"Oh goodness..." Heejin got into the car. It wasn't any fun if the new employee didn't have a good reaction to her teasing.

The driver stopped in front of Yeojin’s school where Yeojin stood.

“Where were you? I was standing there for two hours?”

The two girls made room for Yeojin in the car.

“‘Two hours’?” Heejin questioned. “I thought your school ended 10 minutes after mine.”

“Yeah, except every other Tuesday, c’mon, Heejin,” Yeojin said exasperated.

Heejin felt stupid when she realized that Yeojin was correct.

"Whatever, let's just go to the photo shoot already; it's rude to keep all the staff waiting," she snapped at Yeojin. Heejin untangled her earbuds. She listened to her playlist, daydreaming until they reached the building.

"Miss Heejin! Welcome, your changing room is right this way." An intern greeted them when Heejin stepped out of the car.

"Thank you, lead the way."

Hyunjin and Yeojin followed after Heejin.

"So what's your name? I don't think I recognize you."

—-

The photoshoot was going fine. While the staff was preparing to change sets, Heejin went back to her changing room.

“Hyunjin?”

“Yes, Heiress Heejin?”

“Oh, you’re still calling me that. Never mind that, could you get me some coffee? I’m feeling especially drained from this shoot.”

“Of course.”

Hyunjin left the room.

Yeojin spoke up. “Why is she calling you that?”

“I told her to call me that as a joke but now she won’t stop.”

“Sheesh.”

“I know.”

The intern comes into the room.

“Miss Heejin, there’s going to be a bit of a delay until we’re ready for you again.”

“Ugh, are you kidding me?” Heejin shouted. She gasped at the harshness of her words. “I am so so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

“It’s fine,” the intern said but it did nothing to reassure Heejin.

Heejin slouched into her chair.

“Yikes, that went well,” Yeojin said from the back of the room.

“Shut up, go play somewhere else,” Heejin said, irritated.

She could feel another mood swing coming so Yeojin left. As Yeojin was leaving, she bumped into Hyunjin. The bump caused Hyunjin to spill a hot coffee onto herself.

“Oof, sorry about that, Hyunjin. You could give her that other coffee.”

“Right.” Hyunjin went into the room attempting to ignore the scalding hot coffee on her uniform.

Heejin put on a plastered smile when she turned to face Hyunjin.

“Some coffee, finally,” Heejin sighed in relief. She took the coffee from Hyunjin but her face contorted.

“Is something wrong, Heiress Heejin?” Hyunjin didn’t think she could take more hits from the universe.

“What type of coffee is this?” Heejin’s voice barely above a whisper.

“Well originally that coffee was meant for me but som—“

“What type of coffee is this?” Heejin repeated her question. Her voice was slowly rising.

Hyunjin wasn’t sure what to say to make Heejin calm down.

“It’s an iced caramel frappe, Heiress Heejin.”

Heejin was silent for a second, but only for a second before all hell broke loose.

“An iced caramel frappe? What am I, a middle schooler? And for goodness sake, would you quit calling me that? I said that to tease you. Look at how that turned out. God, the one thing, the one thing, I ask you to do and you can’t even do that right. I asked for some coffee, not some poor excuse of sugar disguising itself as a proper pick-me-up!”

A knock on the door prevented Heejin to continue her temper tantrum.

“Miss Heejin? We’re ready for you now.”

A beat of silence.

“Okay, coming!”

—-

Heejin tried her best to relax her face and ignore all the thoughts swirling in her head but it was no use. She could see the disappointment in everyone’s eyes. She couldn’t live up to their expectations.

“Okay, that’s a wrap!” The director shouted and everyone went on their merry way.

“Thank you for all the hard work!” Heejin bowed to all the staff.

Yeojin walked up to Heejin.

“Hey stupid!” Yeojin shouted at her older sister.

“Hey! Who are you calling stupid?”

“I’m calling you stupid, stupid!”

Heejin sighed. “What?”

“Nice going back there, yelling at Hyunjin.”

Heejin said nothing as Yeojin continued. “It’s her first day at work and all she wants to do is impress you, do everything you tell her to do. You told her to call you Heiress, she did. You told her to get coffee, she did. I bumped into her and made her spill your coffee. She gave you hers instead. And then you started screaming like a total psycho to the point that everyone could hear.”

“Whatever,” Heejin said, looking away from Yeojin’s stern face. Why did her face feel so warm suddenly? Heejin walked to her changing room where Hyunjin was sleeping on the couch.

“Hey,” Heejin shook Hyunjin’s arm gently.

Hyunjin groaned grumpily. Heejin had to bite back a laugh. The cranky girl had the cutest pout when woken up.

“Come on, let’s go. The driver usually takes us to ice cream after shoots.” Heejin offered her a warm smile.

Hyunjin scanned Heejin’s face. Just a moment ago, the girl was screaming at her. But, ice cream sure did sound good…

“Alright!” Hyunjin smiled back at her.

For a second, Heejin could have sworn she felt her heart flutter.

#loona #2jin loona #heejin #hyunjin #yeojin #haseul #viseul #vivi #gg kpop #kpop #kpop fic #fluff #angst #wlw #au

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zoey-wades · 4 years

Text

Yearning | TRR/TRH One-Shot

Pairing: Liam x Lyra (MC)

Rating: General Audiences (aside from some suggestive married couple flirting, everything is pretty tame)

A/N: I felt like writing Liam x Lyra things. Because my two crazy kids are in love and I just like writing about it when the mood suits me. This takes place almost a year after the events of TRH’s finale.

-x-

Liam had trouble sleeping the night before...and all the previous nights as well, if he was being honest. Those closest to him could see the evidence on his face and in his demeanor. Normally pleasant and attentive, King Liam seemed lost in the world around him. Though he apologized profusely, he could only do but so much to force energy into himself. It didn’t help that the weather in England was so dreary for Springtime, and he spent most of his stay stuck in meetings with diplomats whose names he couldn’t remember. At first, he felt a bit guilty for his absentmindedness, but when the conversation turned to politics and finances, he allowed his mind to drift.

It was the first time he was separated from Lyra and their daughter since she was born. His wife promised that she’d be perfectly fine without him (“It’s just a week, honey,” she said, “we’ll survive.”). Still...he missed his girls. He missed Lyra snuggling into his side every night, and the sound of Eleanor’s gentle snoring in the bassinet that was never too far out of reach. He missed watching them in the early morning hours, mirroring each other in the ways they slept on their sides. He’d reach out and gently adjust his wife’s head scarf, and then reach over to his opposite side and gently run his hand over his daughter’s soft tufts of curly hair. He could even admit that he missed getting up in the middle of the night to Eleanor’s cries, and talking to her while he rocked her back to sleep.

His daughter was growing so fast, and he feared that even a week was too long to be away from her. He was bound to miss something important, like her first wobbly steps or her first full word other than a coo or giggle. His heart ached for them.

That afternoon, he received a video message from Lyra. She promised daily updates on their adventures—and she hadn’t disappointed—but they both knew it wasn’t the same. He still had about 2 days left in England before his return home, but the hours seemed to stretch in front of him. The only thing keeping him going was the reminder that Lyra and Eleanor’s sweet faces would greet him at the end of the lunch, even if it was though a small cell phone screen.

His wife’s message contained a photo of little Eleanor laughing happily in a baby swing, with the sun shining down on her sweet smiling face. She held Maxwell’s stuffed corgi in a fist, though it seemed to be slipping from her grasp. The attached video showed Lyra mid-sentence, with a cloud of dark coils framing her face and those expressive brown eyes crinkling in the corners. Her nose was scrunched up, a hilarious trait that Eleanor inherited. His eyes fell to her plump lips, then down to the pearl necklace she wore around her neck—the very same pearl he gave her in the grotto—and he felt the familiar pang in his chest. He almost didn’t want to watch it, because he knew the pang would become a dull ache. But he took a deep breath and pressed play:

“Okay, you won’t believe what your daughter did to me this morning.” She huffs, but there is a hint of amusement in the twitch of her mouth, “I woke up, nursed her like I usually do, and burped her. She was perfectly fine. Of course, the SECOND I adjust the spit cloth on my shoulder, this little poop machine decides to spit up in my hair.” Lyra points to her hair in mock agitation, “Yesterday was wash day. You know it takes SO LONG. And then I had to do it again. Because guess what, baby? Eleanor’s spit doesn’t smell good.” Lyra absentmindedly touches the pearl resting on her chest, “And she laughed about it afterwards. I think Maxwell is becoming a terrible influence on her.” She laughs, and shifts the camera to show the baby resting on her chest. Liam feels the lump in his throat grow when his own eyes look back at him through the sleepy gaze of his daughter. Eleanor removes a finger from her mouth to point at the camera, and Lyra grabs the hand to kiss it, “I’ve been telling daddy all about how much of a good girl you’ve been...up until this morning.” She leans down to give their daughter a few more kisses on the top of her head, “Say ‘hi daddy, we miss you’!” She waves Eleanor’s tiny hand, “We’re going to the garden today with Auntie Hana. Then we’re gonna come home and nap before snack time.” She brushes Eleanor’s hair back with her hand, but a troubled look briefly crosses her features, “I know I said I’d be okay without you. But I miss you so much, Liam. You must be busy, so I’ll keep it short. Come back to me soon, okay? To us. We love you.” Lyra blows him a kiss and the video ends. He watches it again. And then a third time.

For a moment he almost decided to say fuck it and go back home. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, fighting against his growing desire to leave.

-x-

At first, Liam thought he was dreaming when he smelled it. Lyra’s signature perfume, a sweet lavender and vanilla mix, wafted under his nose. He was sure his loneliness was playing tricks on him. He kept his eyes closed, unwilling to be disappointed by the likely truth that he was imagining it. But then he felt soft lips pressing to his cheek, and then his temple in lingering kisses.

“Happy Birthday, daddy,” the gentle voice whispered in his ear. Liam peeked through one eye, and was graced with the visage of his wife smiling down at him with a toothy grin.

“If I’m dreaming, this is the universe playing a cruel trick on me,” he groaned, not bothering to fight the smile pulling at his mouth. Cupping his face in her hands, Lyra leaned down once more to place a long, slow kiss on his lips. He hummed in content, suddenly hyperaware that a week was far too long to be away from her and that her soft moan suggested that she felt the same way. She ran her fingers through his hair, earning a low rumble of a groan from her husband that made her smirk. He gave her two small kisses before pulling away from her to get a good look at her face. She was in fact really there. In England. For his—

“My birthday isn’t until tomorrow,” he sat up suddenly aware of the fact that the sun was rising over the English skyline, “I thought...”

Lyra furrowed her brows, choosing to stand between her husband’s legs. She rested her arms on his shoulders, and Liam automatically rested his hands on her hips, which slid back to caress her ass. “Baby, it’s today. Technically—.”

She was interrupted by a tiny cry from the carriage just a few feet away, and Liam leaped to his feet. In just a few quick strides, he was across the room picking up his daughter who seemed almost bigger than she was when he last saw her. Liam felt the tears spring to his eyes, and he buried his nose in Eleanor’s soft hair. He never thought he’d miss the scent of her baby lotion, but there he was, breathing it in like he hadn’t seen her in months. Eleanor squirmed in his arms for a moment, before opening her eyes to look him in the face. In the split second that she saw him, her face lit up into a bright smile, and she placed a tiny hand on his face.

“Oh Ellie,” Liam placed numerous kisses along her face, and she squealed in delight, “My Ellie. Daddy missed you so much. You came all the way over here to see me?”

“Babababababa,” she babbled happily, before flapping her hands and giggling. She reached up to grab Liam’s cheeks in her chubby hands, and she proceeded to give him a sloppy kiss on his nose.

“Wow Eleanor, you’re a traitor,” Lyra wrapped her arms around Liam’s middle, and rested her chin on his shoulder to look down at her baby, “I almost wanna take her back home. At least mommy existed when you weren’t around. She’s such a daddy’s girl.”

“It seems you, too, have that in common,” Liam replied, turning to smirk at his wife who pinched him on the butt.

“You have no idea, daddy,” Lyra purred. She leaned up to trail a few kisses along the back of his neck, “I saved the second best gift for when you get back home.”

Lyra reaches over to adjust the elastic headband wrapped around Eleanor’s head, and returned her chin to Liam’s shoulder. They stood in silence as Eleanor eventually curled up in Liam’s arms.

“I think I failed the ‘getting-on-fine-without-you’ thing,” Lyra finally said, giving him a small squeeze, “I planned on waiting for you to just get home, but something told me you needed us tonight.”

Liam said nothing, but turned and kissed his wonderful wife in thanks.

It was early morning. The lilac glow of the sky bathed the room in a soft light, and Lyra slept soundly in the bed beside him. Her legs tangled up in his and her arm curled around him securely, letting him know without words that she surely needed him to sleep just as much as he needed her. He basked in the feeling of his wife’s arms around him and his happy, healthy baby snoring in the tiny crib just a few feet away. All was still, aside from the lights of the active city beyond the walls of his temporary London apartment.

For the first time in nearly a week, Liam slept peacefully in a bed that wasn’t his own.

#playchoices #king liam #king liam x mc #the royal heir #the royal romance #naja writes #liam x lyra #trr #trh #I’m gonna edit this to add a read more

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argylemnwrites · 4 years

Text

Remember, No Man is a Failure Who Has Friends

Character: Hana Lee

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu) referenced

Book: The Royal Holiday (Chapter 4)

Word Count: ~1500

Rating: G

Summary: Hana knows Riley is her best friend. She’s just not sure she’s Riley’s best friend.

Author’s Note: This piece was inspired by several things, including my irritation that we didn’t have access to the closets from TRR 1-3 in The Royal Holiday. Riley Liu/Walker would hate both of the ballgowns presented in that book, they just aren’t her style. Why wasn’t she allowed to wear any of her other gowns or her winter coat or her leather coat or...

Anyway, I digress. This piece was also inspired by a little blurb I wrote as part of an ask from @burnsoslow about Riley Liu’s most prized possession. It got me thinking about if Hana knows how much that dress means to Riley, so for the prompt “Friendship” for 41 days of cheer, I thought I would explore that topic. This piece isn’t completely canon compliant, but considering the lack of access to the closet is dumb and PB had their own continuity errors in The Royal Holiday, I’m counting this one as part of my canon!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hana still had to remind herself to be kind to herself at times. It was a new skill she was working on, that she had been working on for some time, in all honesty. She better knew what she wanted out of life when it came to goals and achievements, but she all too often caught herself slipping into old patterns when it came to interpersonal relationships. It was hard, after all, to undo years of thinking that love was a quid pro quo transaction. It required work to not think that she had to provide some service or skill to earn affection, to remember that there were people in this world who loved her just for being herself.

The holiday season was both a blessing and a curse in that regard. Hana was certainly grateful to have an invitation to spend Christmas with her closest friends, but in some other ways, it was difficult to stay in a festive mood. The holidays might be a time of cheer and good spirits, but it was also typically considered a time for family. And even though her mother had promised to make more of an effort to see her as the woman she was, not the woman she hoped for, the strain on that relationship still weighed on her.

Still, Hana was doing her best to stay positive and focus on all the love and warmth she’d found with her friends. She did love them all - Maxwell, Liam, Drake, and Riley. Riley, in particular, was a better friend than she’d ever dreamed she could have. She never imagined having someone she considered a true best friend until she met Riley. And while she knew Riley cared about her deeply, she often felt an imbalance there. Because while Riley was her best friend without question, she wasn’t sure if Riley felt the same way about her. She certainly was very close to Maxwell, sharing zany inside jokes that often flew right past Hana, referring to him as her brother, and naming him her “Man of Honor.” And of course, her connection with Drake was obviously deep and rich, encompassing friendship in addition to the romantic love they shared.

It was a concern that drifted through her mind from time to time, and Hana wasn’t sure if it was a founded fear or if this was merely her old, toxic ways of analyzing relationships. She knew intellectually she shouldn’t be worried about where she “ranked” among Riley’s friends, but sometimes her soul just ached, full of fear that she hadn’t done enough, been good enough, to earn Riley’s true friendship.

It was harder now, after the wedding. She’d been staying at the palace since then, wanting to give Drake and Riley some privacy as a newlywed couple, both for their sake and for her own. But going forward, she wasn’t sure if she would really be welcome to return to Valtoria. Drake and Riley likely didn’t want a friend hanging around, disrupting their family, intruding on their private life like a stray kitten, so pathetic and pitiful that they couldn’t say no to taking her into their home.

She knew that neither Riley nor Drake were big on planning, so she hadn’t wanted to bring up her living arrangements. But the clock was ticking down on their time in Lythikos, and while she had plans to head to Ramsford with Maxwell to help him prepare for the New Year’s Eve Beaumont Bash, the fact that she didn’t have firm plans after that was quite unsettling.

All these thoughts ran through her mind as she touched up her lipstick and tucked a stray hair into her braid, but she resolved to shove them aside as she made her way to meet up with the group on Christmas morning. Everyone was festive in their own way, even Drake deciding to forego the grumpy act, and the cheer was starting to lift Hana’s worries. But when it was Riley’s turn to show off her holiday outfit, Hana was floored when she stepped out not in the new red ball gown, but in the dress Hana herself had given her back in Shanghai.

As the boys complemented Riley on her festive attire and Olivia scoffed that her choice was more appropriate, Hana just stood there, partially in awe, partially worried. Riley hadn’t chosen to forego a more stunning piece just as a gesture to her, had she? So, as the group moved to head out of the boutique into the entry hall, Hana caught Riley’s eye and jerked her head, signaling her to stay back so she could talk to her.

“Please don’t feel like you have to wear that dress just because we’re here together. I completely understand if you’d like to wear a new gown for this occasion.”

“Don’t be silly, Hana. This is the dress I want to wear.”

“You’d really rather wear that dress than the beautiful gown Olivia selected?” Hana was sure her eyebrows were nearly at the top of her forehead, but she was just so surprised by that statement.

“Of course. When have you ever seen me in something so poofy and over the top? That gown isn’t me at all.”

Hana tried to maintain a neutral face, but Riley’s words stung more than they should. She just didn’t like the other option. She’d probably just picked out a random red dress to pack, so that was why she’d chosen this dress. Forcing a smile, Hana nodded gently and moved to rejoin the group, but she must not have kept her face still enough, because Riley grabbed her forearm and tugged her backwards slightly.

“Hana, this a beautiful dress, but that’s not why I love it. No one has ever given me anything so personal, so thoughtful. You designed this piece that looks amazing and suits me and my personality so damn well. You somehow blended my style and your background into a dress that’s basically a work of art. All for me. Hana, I never thought anyone would put such thought into a gift for me.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve gotten better gifts in the past.”

Riley shook her head, raising her eyebrows and letting out a little sigh, “Trust me, Hana. Before you met me, no one had given me so much as a Starbucks gift card in years. You, on the other hand, crafted a very personal and time consuming gift within months of knowing me, a gift that I will treasure forever.”

“You aren’t just saying that?”

“No, I’m not just saying that,” said Riley. “Wanting to fit into this dress will serve as my diet and fitness inspiration for years to come,” she added with a wink.

Hana laughed at that, linking her arm through Riley’s and walking out of the boutique. As they made their way towards the entry where Liam, Maxwell, Drake, and Olivia where undoubtedly waiting for them, Riley kept talking.

“In addition to this gift, I should properly thank you for your very thoughtful wedding gift.”

“You already thanked me for the shoes.”

“No, I meant the fact that you stayed at the palace for the past couple of weeks. We’ve really appreciated having a bit of time with just the two of us, particularly since we couldn’t schedule our honeymoon right away. But Drake and I want you to know that you shouldn’t feel like you have to keep staying away. You can come home with us tomorrow if you want.”

Hana swallowed carefully, not wanting to start crying over something Riley was treating as so matter of fact, but the combination of relief and love she felt at that moment was nearly overwhelming. But it wasn’t the time for an emotional outburst, it was a time to celebrate, so Hana just smiled and shook her head, “I wouldn’t want to disappoint Maxwell; he’s so been looking forward to us party planning together. I’ll return to Valtoria after New Year’s.”

“Sounds good,” said Riley as they rounded the corner, breaking off to go talk to Olivia once they reached the entryway. While Riley had made her gratitude for the dress known, Hana couldn’t help but feel like she had been given an even greater gift just now. Her best friend planned to share her home with her even after getting married.

And so she thought until she arrived at Valtoria just over one week later, finding a framed photo on top of the dresser in the bedroom she’d been using. The photo had been taken by Maxwell when they were leaving Shanghai; Hana remembered it well. Riley had been telling her about all the wonderful things about New York City and how excited she was to share them with her. They’d both been giggly and giddy, and Hana had hugged Riley, laughing and silly. And here that photo was, framed and sitting on top of a piece of paper on which Riley had scrawled

Welcome home!

This time, Hana couldn’t help but cry, a few tears trailing down her cheek. Because her best friend didn’t think she was sharing her home with Hana - she saw her home as Hana’s home. And that degree of love was simply overwhelming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: @jlpplays1-41daysofcheerchallenge @octobereighth @dcbbw @mfackenthal @yaushie @jovialyouthmusic @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @riley–walker @thequeenofcronuts @notoriouscs @butindeed @addictedtodrakefanfic

#hana lee #trr fanfic #the royal romance #the royal holiday #41daysofcheer #trr #trholiday #hana & mc #choices fanfiction #choices #playchoices #choices stories you play

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i-choose-liam · 5 years

Text

Stress Buster - King Liam x MC

A/N: I apologise for the length of this post for those who want to scroll past. I wrote this on the fly and I'm posting it from mobile, so I couldn't add the "Keep reading" line. Sorry! 💙

Hello! This is my first time posting a fic in quite a few months. So any feedback is appreciated. It's sort of a continuation (with a major leap in between) of my TRR Chapter Tie-Ins series. You don't have to read the previous parts to make sense of this story. For those who haven't read the previous parts, my MC in this series is Riley Spencer, a law school dropout and twin sister to Dani Spencer, the MC from Lovehacks. So this is actually a The Royal Romance and LoveHacks crossover.

This is for the anon who asked me to write a fanfic about Liam teasing a tired Riley. It's a bit different than what you asked for, but I hope you like it, anon! ☺️

***

It was the end of a long, tiresome week. Liam was holding himself back from grabbing Riley and jumping into bed together. He took deep, calming breaths as he sat on the ottoman and took his shoes off, watching his Queen fire away some rapid texts on her phone. He wondered how it was possible that she grew more and more beautiful with each passing day. There she stood by their bed, holding her phone up at eye level.

"Constantly looking down at the phone causes neck and spine problems, babe", she had told him once.

A small smile curved the corner of his lips, as he took in the sight of her. Those silken locks in ombre, which he had curled around his fingers nearly every night since their wedding. The graceful bearing with which she carried herself, even as she stood still. And that face - the one which had illuminated his life, like the moon did to a clouded night.

"Are you texting Madeleine?", Liam teased.

"Yes"

Normally, that name was enough to make Riley roll her eyes or crack some joke about the Countess. But she kept typing away, filling in Liam about some event she had to attend on Monday and how important it was for the apple export. It didn't sit well with Liam to see his lovely wife in her Queen mode when they had done with their duties for the day and were now alone in their bedroom. He shed his coat and unbuttoned his collar as he walked to her. The fading smell of her shower gel and deodorant, with just a smidgen of that womanly musk, was what greeted him first. Liam placed his chin on Riley's shoulder from behind, letting his arms wrap themselves around her. He closed his eyes as he kissed her cheek, gently rocking her sideways in his snug embrace.

"Honey, not right now. This is important stuff", she said, without looking back at him.

Liam didn't get upset or angry. He smiled in defeat as he recognised what was happening. He let go of her, but couldn't help putting his hands on her shoulders. He said,

"Do you realise what's going on?"

Riley said, still looking at her phone screen,

"What?"

"You're pulling a Riley"

That earned him a tired glare from over her shoulder. Liam grinned.

"I'm sorry but that's what this is. You have been doing so much these last few weeks. And unlike a normal person when overworked, you just jump deeper into the deep end"

She said, pouting a bit at her phone as she typed,

"This is not a "Riley". I'm just... just busy"

"Darling, you remember what happened the last time you got overburdened and wouldn't let anyone help you?", Liam reminded her, "You ended up eating all the cake at Maxwell's birthday, you called Drake a denim whore, then you wept while hugging both our corgis, and kept saying "It's a cool name, Mr. T! Mr. T's a cool name!*"

Riley's shoulders stiffened a bit under his hands. Liam smiled and massaged them.

"Do we want an encore of that?", he asked, trying to keep the smile out of his voice.

His wife was stubborn as she was beautiful. She said,

"There's not going to be an encore cause I'm not overworked. I've got everything under control. Totally"

She shrugged his hand off her shoulder and took her phone to the bathroom. Liam decided to let her have her privacy. But he was worried about her now. She had confided in him about her law school days, and how she had been put on "leave" by the school for reasons concerning her own mental and physical well being. That was when she had started working as a waitress and met him.

'Ah, fateful night', Liam thought.

How fearless and carefree she had seemed to him then. In a way, she was still all that. But her type A personality reared its head every now and then when the going got tough. If she kept throwing herself into work 24x7 like she had been doing lately, Liam was sure there would be repercussions for her health.

'If only there was someone who could...'

Liam smiled to himself. There was. There was someone who could pull Riley out of her workaholic spiral. The only person who could do it in fact.

Liam checked the time, and making sure it was still daytime in San Francisco, he called.

"Liamm, hii!", answered the voice from the other end.

Liam grinned at that enthusiastic tone and the thumping sound of music coming from somewhere behind his sister-in-law. He said,

"Hello, Dani"

***

Riley had back to back appearances scheduled before apple picking season. As a suitor for Liam's hand in marriage, she had hated the Cordonian obsession with apples. But as the Queen of her people, she had come to realise that the apples were a symbol of the Cordonian spirit. The Cordonian Ruby was one of their most valued exports and she knew its importance to the Cordonian morale and economy quite well.

"Riley, this is such a lovely dress. I didn't know you had something from Ana de Luca's summer '19 collection", Hana said.

Riley had to turn her head to look at Hana, who was sitting next to her in the car. At first glance, she saw a large apple in place of Hana's face.

'What?'

Overworked for the last few days, she had to shake her head to clearly see the winsome face of Lady Hana Lee.

"I haven't even seen Ana's summer collection this year, let alone buy something. What are you talking about?", Riley said.

Hana showed her the webpage on her phone, the picture just taken that morning... of Liam and Riley leaving the Parliament.

Her mind was so bungled with apples and all the bullet points on her schedule for the day that she had to take a minute to think. Hana pointed out,

"This was taken a few hours ago. But you've been with me since morning"

Riley asked, clearly confused,

"What?"

Hana looked concerned. She said,

"Riley, you were photographed with Liam outside the Parliament this morning. But that can't be you cause you have been with me all day. So who is this? And what happened to you? Are you okay?"

In a quick snatch, Riley had Hana's phone in her own hands. She speed-read through the article and slowly scrolled past the three pictures. Only her side profile was caught in the pictures, most of it hidden by a gigantic hat. Riley scowled, angered but not scared. She handed the phone back to Hana.

"That's my twin sister", Riley said, "And she and Liam have a lot to answer for when I get to them"

***

Come evening, Riley nearly stormed into the palace, followed by her assistant who frantically tried to keep in pace with her. She had confirmed with Liam's assistant that he was at home after the day's work. Dani she hadn't bothered calling because her head already felt like it would burst. If she had to argue with her reckless, impulsive sister for one...

"That's one big butt to carry on your neck, butthead"

Riley turned around at the call that had come from behind her. Dani stood laughing in the distance, in casual attire that made her stand out even more amidst the palace interior. She met Riley halfway, hugging her tight.

"Oh Riiless, it's been sooo long!"

Dani hugged her tight, shaking her a bit. Riley would have offered an even tighter hug which her family, the Spencers, were known for. But she remembered what had put her in a bad mood for the entirety of her day.

"The photos this morning", she said, without any emotion.

Dani drew back, still grinning,

"Your press secretary didn't tell you? I was on my way to surprise you here at the palace. She... what's her name... like that cookie Mom likes?"

"Madeleine?"

"Yeah, that one. So she saw me and she was like, "Ah the twin sister". I tried to be polite and all but she didn't seem to have time for that. She asked me if I'd be okay to stand in as you for a few pictures for the paparazzi. I thought what the hell, and did it"

Riley folded her arms and asked, raising her eyebrows,

"Oh really? You just conveniently happened to run into Countess Madeleine and she asked you, even though I was just a phone call away, to take pictures with Liam? And for whom, the paparazzi? Dani, I know this is some stupid prank of yours but you've really lost your touch. That is so absurd I can't even..."

"I'm not kidding, seriously", Dani explained, with an earnest expression, "I told her that someone might notice the slight differences in our features. You know, twins being mirror images and all. She said that your face was plain enough to not warrant such close scrutiny. Yikes"

Riley bit her lip. She said,

"Fine. That does sound like something Madeleine would say but it doesn't make any sense why she would want me and Liam to be photographed together by some paparazzo"

Dani explained,

"Right? I asked her the same thing. She said it was because rumours have been going about your marriage losing its spark cause you two are barely seen together in public anymore"

Ouch.

It took Riley a moment to counter that. She tried,

"But... it's not... it's just because we've both been busy with our individual duties. There's nothing wrong with our marriage. We love each other"

"I'm sure you do, Riles. Don't listen to what the haters say. They have nothing better to do", Dani assured her.

Riley couldn't stop thinking about it though. Had it really been so long since she and Liam had been seen together in public? She couldn't recall the last time they had had a private moment together let alone one in front of other people. She had thrown herself into the role of the best Queen she could be and yet...

"You okay?", Dani said, "If I had known it would bother you so much, I wouldn't have done it. That Madeleine said she would let you know and you'd be okay with it"

What hurt her - more than the speculation about her marriage - was the fact that Liam had gone along with this scheme. He had let himself be photographed with Dani as a substitute to his lawfully wedded wife.

Riley had to ask,

"What did Liam say? He must have felt pretty uncomfortable pretending you were me"

"I don't think he noticed it was me and not you. We didn't say anything to each other. We just walked side by side, not even holding hands. And that was it", Dani shrugged.

'No way. Not in a m...'

Riley shook her head, giving a little laugh of disbelief.

"Now that's taking it too far. Liam would have immediately known it was not me. Or Madeleine must have told him it was you. Yeah. That's why he..."

Really? She thought to herself. Did Liam really not care or notice that the woman next to him wasn't his wife?

It hurt. But Riley endured. She put on a smiling face for her sister and saw her to the guest chambers.

***

Riley dropped the impassive act when she walked into her own bedroom that she shared with Liam. He was sitting on the settee, reading a book. Like a child in want of attention, Riley walked over and stood right in front of him. Liam looked up at her from his book then, asking,

"When did you get in, my love?"

Oh the nerve.

She folded her arms across her chest, trying her best not to let her cheeks swell in anger like they always did. And which was enough to make Liam not take her seriously as he kept trying to "puncture" her cheeks instead.

"Did you seriously pose with Dani this morning and not know it wasn't me?", she asked.

Liam closed the book, his perfect eyebrows furrowing just a bit. He asked sweetly,

"Dani? Your sister?"

"You posed for paparazzi bait shots with her this morning. Did you really not know it wasn't me?"

Liam stood up and peered down into her face. He said sincerely,

"Riley, I really didn't think for a moment that it wasn't you. And Dani... when did she arrive? And why was she the one posing with me?"

Riley recapped for him what Dani had told her. He sighed, scratching the side of his brow.

"That's too much, even for Madeleine. I'll talk to her"

"I'm not jealous or something that you posed for a picture with my sister. It's not that", Riley said in small voice.

"What is it then?"

She could feel her stupid cheeks inflate as she spoke.

"It's just that... you couldn't even tell that it wasn't me. I know Dani and I are identical twins but I thought...", she mumbled, "I thought you would always be able to tell"

"Oh"

That's it? Oh? That was what he had to say in his defence?

Liam said, a bit sheepish,

"Well, to be honest with you, we didn't talk during the photos. She was wearing a very... interesting hat that hid nearly half her face from me. I supposed that you were busy and didn't want to talk, that's all. I didn't want to annoy you"

This wasn't something she had expected to hear from her Liam. Riley gripped his arms with her hands, saying,

"You don't think I'd ever be so mean and want to avoid you? Not you, Liam. You're the only reason I'm even here. You know that, right?"

He took her in his arms. But cautiously, she noted.

"I know. I'm sorry", he said, "It's... you have been so busy lately. I know how hard you try to give your best to everything you are called upon to do as the Queen of Cordonia. I just didn't want to annoy you when you have been working yourself to the bone lately"

That sure did it. Riley could feel the tears murking her vision. She had been so occupied with being a good queen lately that she had forgotten who she was doing it all for. The man who was holding her in his arms like she were made of fire and would burn him any instant.

She didn't want to know the answer to it but she asked anyway.

"Liam?"

"Yes, dear?"

"You're not scared of me, are you?"

He stroked her hair away from her forehead, smiling.

"Of course not, my love. I'm in awe of your strength and your courage every day. But you have never given me any reason to fear you"

Throwing herself into his embrace, Riley muffled her face against Liam's shirt. He seemed to panic.

"Hey. You okay? What's wrong?"

Riley mumbled,

"I pulled a Riley"

She could feel the laugh reverberating through Liam's chest. He kissed the top of her head, saying,

"There, there"

"I'm so sorry", she said, sniffing.

"Don't be. I appreciate how much effort you put into being a good ruler. You have no idea how grateful I am for that", Liam held her face so she was looking up at him, "But nothing's worth the anguish and damage to your health. You are the most important person in the world to me. And if anything were to happen to..."

Riley sniffed petulantly, interrupting him,

"Why am I like this?"

Liam kept reassuring her, kissing her tears away.

"There's nothing wrong with you, my love. I just wanted to remind you to take it easy"

She wiped another tear falling down her cheek. The exhaustion of the past few weeks was catching up with her. More than that, she was chiding herself for reverting back to her old workaholic ways. She didn't need all the stress when they were trying for a baby.

Liam looked at her like a sad, guilty puppy, which just added to her confusion. He suddenly pulled her closer.

"Oh my darling, I'm sorry. Don't cry. I'm so sorry", he said.

"Why?", she wondered.

"If I had known it would make you feel so bad, I never would have agreed to Dani's plan"

Hold up.

Riley looked up sharply through tearful eyes that were now blazing with a slow fury. She repeated,

"Dani's plan?"

Liam confessed,

"Yes. I asked her if she knew how I could stop you from overworking yourself to a burnout, and she said that she would fly to Cordonia and help. She didn't tell me much. She just said that I shouldn't speak a word to you or her today if we met in public, and that she would handle the rest. I knew it was not you with me this morning outside the Parliament, but since she had forbidden me from speaking to either of you, I didn't say anything"

Liam was startled when a woman's voice in an American accent called him "Tattle tits!". Both he and Riley turned to see Dani standing in the door to their bedroom, with her hands on her hips.

"For the record", Dani said to her sister, carefully taking a step backwards, "Lady Hana and Madeleine were in on this too. So you can't just punish me for the whole thing"

Riley gave her husband a sweet smile that spelled murder. She said,

"I'm going to deal with you tonight, right after I kill my sister"

She could tell from Liam's eyes that he was up for whatever sexual punishment she had hinted at. He said softly, so only she could hear,

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me"

She shook her head at him in horror, saying,

"Oh my god. You only spent like half a day with her... Jesus Christ. Dani!"

Liam couldn't help but grin as he stood there watching. Dani dashed out of their rooms with a laugh, followed by the Queen of Cordonia and her shoe.

"Oww!", he heard Dani yelp from somewhere outside, "That hurt, you jerk!"

The loud bickering he - and the guards - could hear outside reminded him of similar occasions from his own childhood.

Not wanting to get in Riley's way when she was in an avenging mood, Liam took his phone and dialled a number.

"Leo?", he smiled on hearing the voice, "Hello to your filthy self, brother"

He sat down to catch up with his own sibling while Riley punished her imp of a twin outside.

---

*That line's from a Key & Peele sketch. God I miss that show.

#king liam x mc #fanfiction #riley & dani #lovehacks #trr #trh #the royal heir #the royal romance #playchoices #romance #comedy #siblings #twins #king liam #thatoclady fanfics

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hwu-adventures-blog · 5 years

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Honouring the Past:

Book Series: The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir, references to the It Lives series.

Pairing: Maxwell x MC, mentions Lucas x MC.

Setting: before the Apple Ball but after the car crash.

Warnings: mention of bullying by family members, entitled parent and entitled sibling, separation of parents, bad language.

Description: whilst looking through a box of her old stuff, Zoe Beaumont comes across a photo that brings back some memories of a tragedy in her life, it’s up to Maxwell to try to cheer his wife up and that somehow leads to a discussion about what they are going to name the future Heir of Cordonia.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A fairly heavily pregnant Zoe Beaumont was sat in her room shifting through some boxes her dad had sent over of her childhood stuff he’d thought she might like for the baby when she came across it. a framed photo of her and her younger half brother, Fred. It from one time her dad and her had embarked on their annual visit to the town of Westchester in Oregon to visit her mother, Alexandra, stepfather, Elijah and half brother, she could remember that summer clearly. She was twelve, her paternal step mother and step sister , Julie and Liana were pushing the boundaries of their usual petty bullying and she was miserable. Her dad, James, had noticed her mood change and had tried to get it out of her however she wouldn’t tell him so her dad had left her step mother Julie and stepsister Liana to house sit, whilst he and Zoe hopped onto the plane to see the rest of her family in an attempt to cheer her up. It was one of the best things her dad had done, and he was a great dad, but the lengths he was willing to go to to cheer his daughter up always astounded Zoe.

You see, her mom and dad had been best friends since they were little and that hadn’t seemed to change, even after one drunken night when they were sixteen and seventeen that had created Zoe herself, or when they decided to end the relationship that had just fallen out of romantic love when she was two, or when her mom met her current husband Elijah Peralta and had her son, Fredrick when Zoe was five (hell, it was James who introduced Alexandra and Elijah in the first place, and was even best man at their wedding and godfather to Fred) or when her dad married an entitled witch with her spawn of Hell who was the same age as Zoe at six but acted like her spawn was above her despite her being seventeen at her birth just because Zoe was bi-racial and hated her mom just because she was black. Nevertheless, Zoe loved most of the situation she was in, she got on like a house on fire with Elijah, who treated her like she was his own child, and she had the best little brother in the world. She’d had so much fun there, on that holiday, she’d forgotten about the petty abuse she’d suffered at Liana and Julie’s hand, and they’d even gotten the biggest ice cream from a dessert shop on the last day there and that was when the photo was taken. It was one of her happiest memories and one of the last ones before her life went to shit. Her dad got very sick, she was forced to drop out of college and drop her dream of pursuing a career in musical theatre and get a job as a waitress because why should her step mom pay for her husband’s medication, when she was paying for her own daughter’s education? which said daughter then screwed up because she got pregnant by her badboy boyfriend. And then kicked Zoe out of the house on her twenty first birthday so she now had to pay for her father’s treatment (which she didn’t mind really she’d do anything to help her dad) and rent and food. She managed it, for a few years but of course if the opportunity came, to leave she was definitely going to take it. And she was glad she did, when it came along in the form of Maxwell Beaumont (and Liam and Drake). Luckily by that time her father was in remission from his illness and that only added to her choice of escaping. Zoe’s life immediately became better after she left, only hindered by the death of her younger brother just after she’d started (kind of secretly) dating Maxwell.

She remembered that phone call well, she was in the lounge area of the Beaumont’s residence when her mom had called in tears. She’d obviously asked what was wrong and then was told her brother was dead. He’d gone off into the woods with his friends and then most of them had been found dead, with the only survivor being Lucas, a boy that Zoe knew for certain her brother had a crush on and her brother’s body was never found but he was assumed dead as Lucas had told them Fred was dead. She’d broken down on the phone then and there and was inconsolable, to the point where not even Maxwell had been unable to cheer her up in the usual manor.

All this thinking of her brother was making her upset. He was never going to get to see his niece or nephew, he wasn’t going to get to grow old with Lucas, who Zoe met after the funeral, and had her suspicions confirmed that, yeah they were in love with each other. And that upset her. She was also kind of happy thinking of her brother before he died and all the rare but fun times they had together.

“Hey Zo, Liam’s just arrived as have Hana and Drake, to start to get ready for the Apple ball tonight” Maxwell poked his head round the door an excited grin on his face, he was so excited to meet his son or daughter, in a month or so, and Zoe honestly had no doubt he was going to be a great father.

“Hm? Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute” Zoe said sounding uncharacteristically distant

“Woah hold up, what’s wrong my little blossom?” Maxwell’s demeanour suddenly changed from cheerful to concerned as he hurried to his wife’s side.

“It’s nothing, it’s probably just stupid hormones” Zoe sniffed

“Come on Zoe, it’s my job as your husband to cheer my amazing wife and mother of my child up, so what’s up?”

Zoe didn’t say anything but looked down at the photo, Maxwell followed her gaze and gently took the photo from her to have a look

“is that what you looked like as a kid? My wife was cute even then” Maxwell said “and I’m guessing that’s-“

“Fred” Zoe’s voice was barely a whisper

“Is that what’s upsetting you?”

“It’s stupid- it just occurred to me that our kid is never going to meet their maternal uncle and-“

“Hey that’s not stupid, I’d be sad if our kid never got to meet Bertrand if he died before they were born and honestly I’m a bit upset my mother isn’t able to meet them”

“I don’t know why it’s getting to me now though”

“Like you said, hormones” Maxwell joked “ow!” He exclaimed and leapt up as Zoe hit him playfully with the cushion next to her but she managed to smile at him through her tears but then it dropped back

“You know what, we should honour your brother somehow”

“What?”

“why don’t we name them Fredrick if they turn out to be a boy, like you suggested when we were last discussing it?”

“A-are you sure? I seem to remember it was a little too traditional when I last suggested it and I want our kid to have a name we both like”

“It’s grown on me, in fact I think it would be perfect way better than Maxwell Jr” Maxwell smiled

“Really?” Zoe smiled her eyes prickling with more tears

“Yeah anything is better than Maxwell Jr, we’d be honouring your brother in the best way and i think that any sibling of yours would be proud of their amazing sister and her brilliant child even if they never got to meet them”

“Oh Maxwell!” Zoe exclaimed crying harder

“Hey I thought I was supposed to cheer you up, not make you worse”

“I’m not sad, I’m happy, it’s the stupid hormones” Zoe said wiping her eyes with her hand

“Well-“

“-Maxwell, I love you, but if you make another hormone joke that cushion will be thrown at you in a place you don’t want to be hit and I may be eight months pregnant but my strength is just as good”

“Noted”

“Just since were on the topic of baby names, any thought on girl’s names?”

“It’s silly, but I always liked Grace as a name” Maxwell said

“You’re kidding?”

“What? Why?”

“I’ve always liked the name as my mom’s mom was named Grace, and she really helped my mom fight the stigma of being a black teen mom, she died when I was really young but Granny Grace became an inspiration to me” Zoe laughed

“Grace if it’s a girl and Fred if it’s a boy! We’ve got our child’s name sorted!” Maxwell exclaimed before he looked at his wife beaming with delight “I can’t wait to meet them!”

“hopefully not for another month or so though, unless something goes wrong, which is unlikely if we take it easy” Zoe replied

“I’m not sure I can wait that long but I’ll try” Maxwell grinned “I’d rather they be healthy and on time than not though”

“Did you hear that? Just come out when you’re ready, there’s no rush- seriously, you may be your dad’s child and mommy and daddy can’t wait to meet you but take your time okay?” Zoe addressed her bump softly before feeling a kick from the baby “I’m going to take that as a yes”

Maxwell and Zoe laughed at that before Maxwell knelt down and rested his head against his wife’s tummy

“Hey, it’s your dad here, just here to tell you that we’re going to be quite the team, because we’ve already managed to cheer your mom up already”

That was true Zoe was no longer crying or upset in any capacity “Also we need to go to your uncle’s Liam, Drake and auntie Hana and get ready for your mom’s last event before we can meet you and I know she’s feeling nervous about it after the last few eventful weeks we’ve had so if you can give her an encouraging kick that would be great!”

The baby kicked in response again Maxwell looked at Zoe “the baby has spoken” he got up on his feet and offered her his hand “Come on, let’s go and see our friends for the last event before we’re a proper family” Zoe took his hand with a smile and was pulled up by her husband before wrapping her arms around him the best she could

“What’s that for?”

“Thank you Maxwell, for putting up with me and being the best husband ever”

“You don’t have to thank me, I’ve got the best wife ever, although I was half expecting you to blame your hormones for your mood again”

“Aaaand moment over” Zoe said moving away from Maxwell and picking up another cushion from the bed and looking menacingly at Maxwell in a light hearted way, aimed at him

“I forgot! I’m sorry! Zoe! Have mercy! Zoe!” He flinched bracing himself for the thud

Zoe lowered her aim putting the cushion back

“Alright, but only because our friends are waiting”

She smiled and took hold of Maxwell’s warm hand, intertwining her finger in between his

“Come on, let’s go and see our friends”

And the couple walked out hand in hand, knowing that very soon they’ll be a proper family and Zoe was sure any child of hers would make her brother proud, wherever he was now.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A/N: This is my way of coping with the fact that the MC and Their LI has had no discussion about baby names together and this probably won’t be canon but still. Also, I hadn’t really gone into my MC’s backstory although I headcannon that my TRR/TRH!MC and my ITLITW!MC were half siblings and yes, literally only Lucas survived in my play through of ITLITW and my MC got turned into Mr Red (but that was before I really started posting properly on this blog so I didn’t post anything). But yeah, that’s it although I will say that if Pixelberry paywalls naming our baby in the next book I’m done with the series, sorry I’m still a little bitter about the pacing of the first book of TRH. (But I’m pretty they won’t do that as I’m sure if they did everyone would riot). Also ITLITW ended around the time that book 2 of Royal Romance did so I put the end of ITLITW during the events of book 2 of Royal Romance but before Constantine’s assassination as I finished ITLITW a while before TRR book 2. Anyway hope you enjoyed this fanfic! And I’ve got another one planned where MC finds a portrait of Percival Beaumont and points out that the genetics are so strong that he’s literally Maxwell with a beard! So look out for that!

#mc #pixelberry #maxwell x mc #mc x maxwell #choices: the royal heir #the royal heir #choices: the royal romance #the royal romance #choices app #ilitw #ilitw mc

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arashianeel · 5 years

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WHY BEING AN INTERNATIONAL ARASHIAN IS EXTRA SPECIAL?

Let me tell you why being an Intl Arashian is so special and what separates us to other "easy" fandom fans. With this, people might also understand why we're so eager to reach such dream of attending an Arashi Concert.

1. Arashi is different. In many aspects, Arashi has many differences compared to typical idol groups others stan. Their visuals, their music, their beliefs, their work ethics, dedication and hardwork. Arashi isn't like other idol groups who are marketed in other parts of the world. They are only in Japan. Yes, they did out of their countries concerts years ago but that's it. You cannot watch videos of them on youtube. You can't download songs from itunes. You cant buy cds outside Japan unless you order and pay extra for shipment. They don't do fan meetings. No high touch. No Photo ops. You cannot watch concert as easy as paying the counter and go. Its a no easy process. So with all these why Arashi still gets tons of fans around the world?

2. Arashi has a lot of faithful fans. Once an Arashian always an Arashian. Well, many would say that they became an Arashian because of Jun via Gokusen/Hana yori Dango. Imagine, those dramas were aired in their country 13-15 years ago. And from those elementary/high School days, international fans have been dreaming to see them live up until this day. Why? because it's Arashi. If you ask intl fans why they love Arashi despite of the fact that they are hard , no, almost impossible to reach, they would just answer "Because they are Arashi. The reasons why they are great are beyond explanation" So how an Arashi fan fulfill her ultimate goal of attending an Arashi Concert to see them live despite of the no easy process?

3. Arashi concerts and the no easy process. Since Arashi don't do concerts out of Japan now, the happening of an Arashian's dream will definitely be in Japan. But, they won't get concert tickets just by buying from the event venue counter. They have to win the lottery normally done 1 month before the concert tour. And the winning chance they could have is 1/2,300,+++ . Yes, Arashi's Official fanclub members only in Japan is more than TWO MILLION. And before winning the lottery they 'll be needing to apply for it after registering as an official fc member. If they're living out of Japan, they must have someone who lives in Japan to help them out in registering. They will be needing his/her residence info etc. That's route 1 which is the most proper thing to do. They can also get tickets if they knew someone who's already an official fanclub member and can apply them tickets as companion. So why every international fans go extra extra miles just to see ARASHI live?

4. Arashi concerts are Japan's highly acclaimed concerts, once NHK said. But for Arashi, concerts is not just performing to gather fans and collect money. They do concerts every year to gather fans, see them, sing and dance for them and exchange love with them. Arashi concerts are incomparable to others. Because Arashi are the ones who do it. From Day 1 of planning to last day of perfomance. They are very very hands on. Arashi wont do the staff tells them to do but the staff will do what Arashi tells and wants them to do. Arashi concerts might be the number 1 in making "Getting close to fans" as priority. Moving stage, Harness, Crane-like machines and etc, all of these are used just for one goal. For them to get close to their fans. So is it really impossible for an international fans to see them live and get closer to Arashi?

5. No. With effort, dedication, right timing and faith, an international Arashian can watch ARASHI LIVE!

I have been a fan of them for exactly 12 years now. And I just happened to see them live freshly 3days ago. And its 5x20. I only got registered this year as an ofc member through my bff who's now working in Japan and luckily won 4 Sapporo tickets for me and my friends who are also members. We didn't expect that it will be Sapporo for we also appliedand root for other nearer venues. October 11, we knew the results so everything was fast tracked since we only got 1 month for the preparation. I've been in Japan twice, during Johnnys countdown 2015-2016 and Wakuwaku 2017. Its not for the events why me and friends went , it just so happened that our planned trip coincided with it. But the last time I was standing outside Tokyo Dome while Waku waku Gakkou was happening inside, I said to myself, "The next time I will go to dome is not just to wait outside, my next time will be my FIRST ARASHI CONCERT!" I didn't know that what I've said is not just a message to myself, but a declaration and claiming of what will really happen.

So friends and co- international Arashians, be it 3 months, 2, 5, 10 years of waiting, believe! YOU ARE GOING TO SEE THEM LIVE! And when that moment comes, you will know why God made you wait.

Even Jun said during the concert, the particular day I attended, that the TIMING we shared with them together is something he thinks special and uncommon. He waved at me twice by the way.

Just believe! 🌈 "and more" is definitely for you! 😄

/made this on my way and back from Otaru. Sorry for grammar errors and typos. 😅

Hope this can uplift moods or something! 💜❤️💛💙💚

#arashi

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imitranslates · 5 years

Text

Fukigen na Mononokean Ch. 63

Lots of cute anecdotes about Abeno’s childhood and some ominous foreshadowing in this month’s chapter.

Please remember to check out the official English release when it comes out, preferably on Crunchyroll if you’re able to!

The newest chapter can be read on the official website by clicking the yellow button labeled 読む!

Fukigen na Mononokean Chapter 63 - Unusual path

Page 3

Legislator: ......

Legislator: .......?

Page 4

Abeno: It's nice to meet you.

Abeno: I am Abeno Haruitsuki, an employee of the Mononokean.

Abeno: I'll be in your care.

Legislator: ..........

Legislator: Mmm...

Legislator: Aoi...

This human... Did you kidnap him from the mundane world?

Page 5

Aoi: What a horrible thing to say...

Aoi: We had a fated meeting, when I saved him from being possessed by a demon.

Page 6

Aoi: I took a liking to him, so I decided to take him on as my employee.

Aoi: Please treat Itsuki well from now on.

Aoi: If you do anything to bully him, I'll kill you.

Page 7

Legislator: ...And so,

I got a murder threat from Aoi.

Legislator: That was my first meeting with Itsuki.

Page 8

Ashiya: So Abeno-san was employed after he was saved by Aoi-san...

I didn't know that...

Justice: They came to my place to introduce him, too, but,

When they said they were going down to the Executive's, I went along 'cause I thought it'd be real dangerous.

Ashiya: Then... His first meeting with the Executive was...

Legislator: (Pfft!) The Executive was helpless against Aoi, huh.

Ashiya: ?

Legislator: Even though he had the biggest opposition against her hiring a human,

In the end, he ended up being in charge of Itsuki's schooling at Aoi's insistence .

Justice: But when he taught him, he'd say Itsuki was a quick learner.

He didn't look that bothered about being a tutor.

Even made a room for him in the Songbird's Cage.

(Ashiya: That room, huh...)

Page 9

Legislator: (Even so...) Itsuki was so honest and kind back then...

When the documents on my desk piled up, he'd say, "I want to help!" and organize them neatly for me.

Whenever I said, "I'm tired..." he'd bring over some tea and massage my shoulders.

Justice: Me too...

Justice: He said he wanted to visit all over the Underworld, so he'd get on my back and we'd stroll around...

We'd take a break in the middle to get sweets and eat 'em together.

Once we'd get back to White Sand Prison, he'd curl up on me in place of a futon and take a nap.

Ashiya: (These two have so many fond memories they keep bringing up!)

Ashiya: ...

Ashiya: (It's all...

Stuff I haven't heard, huh.)

Page 10

Justice: ...Hey, Ashiya-kun.

Ashiya: Yes?

Justice: Itsuki's told you about his time with Aoi as the master... right?

Ashiya: !

(There were times he brought up Aoi-san briefly, but...)

Page 11

Ashiya: I haven't heard much from Abeno-san.

Ashiya: All I know is...

The "Abeno-san" since the day he hired me.

Ashiya: I barely know anything about him before then.

Justice: ...Gotcha.

Justice: ...Then, you won't hear it from us.

Page 12

Justice: We're not gonna tell you how Itsuki wound up in the forest.

Ashiya: ...

[I was a little bothered by it, but

It wasn't like I was asking so I could pry into it from the start.

It's fine if I go on not knowing.]

(Legislator: Now then, let's get back inside.

I wonder if Itsuki's done with his report yet.)

(Justice: He's gonna kick you out again if you keep on smoking.)

[...Besides...]

Page 13

[Abeno-san chose to employ me.]

(Legislator: Itsukiii, we're back!)

[He hired someone he just met, whose past he didn't know.]

[If the time comes for me to know about it,]

[Abeno's the one who should tell me, right?]

Ashiya: We're...

Back!

Abeno: !?

Page 14

Tadpole: Ring.

Tadpole: Ring ring...

Legislator: Oh? I wonder who's trying to contact us?

Tadpole: Ring ring...

Abeno: Isn't it the Executive?

Abeno: You still haven't given him a mission report, have you?

Tadpole: Ring.

Legislator: Ah yes, I forgot to send any information.

Justice: So he sent a call once he got annoyed enough...

Legislator: Yes, hello?

Page 15

Voice: Hiiii~

Legislator: ...

Legislator: Oh, Koura, it's you... You scared me...

Koura: ?

Koura: (Hmm?) But I wasn't trying to scare you? Sorry.

(Shizuku: Koura-sama's in a good mood.)

Koura: I have some new information. I wonder if now's a good time to share it?

Legislator: I don't mind.

Koura: It's about the princess's physical condition, though...

Page 16

Ashiya: !!

Justice: Is it bad?

Koura: No. The medicine seems to be effective.

Koura: But she's too concerned about the Underworld to properly rest, so I'm worried that the same thing could happen.

Koura: I want to stay with the princess a little longer, so I'll be leaving Shizuku to mind the store for me while I'm gone.

Legislator: When you say a little longer... how many days is that, exactly?

Koura: (Let's see...) I want to watch her condition for seven days to be safe.

Legislator: I see... I got it.

Page 17

Legislator: In that case, I'll have Itsuki and Ashiya-kun

Stay for in the Underworld for seven days while the princess is being treated.

Ashiya: Huh?!

Legislator: There's a chance of an incident occurring if the princess's divine protection shrinks again.

Your mission will be the same as before, but I'd like for you to be on standby to handle any threats of plague plants or host insects at a moment's notice.

Legislator: You can stay here during your stay.

If you need anything, you can ask my employees.

Page 18

Ashiya: (Staying in the Underworld for seven days?!)

Ashiya: (I'll have to take a break from school, and think of something to tell my mom to explain why I'll be gone...)

Ashiya: (I can't just say OK! to this sudden request... (But the Underworld's in trouble...))

Abeno: Okay.

Legislator: I'm counting on you!

Ashiya: H-hey?! Can't you hold off until further review!?

Koura: Hm? If the Legislator's place is no good, do you want to stay at my place? (Shizuku will probably be lonely by herself...)

Ashiya: N, no... It's not that...

Justice: Since you can't stay unless I'm watching over you...

Wanna come to White Sand Prison?

Justice: I've got lots of rooms.

Ashiya: (By rooms, you mean cells...?!)

Page 19

Legislator: Hairball-kun, you want to stay with Ashiya-kun, don't you? Of course, you're more than welcome to.

Ashiya: (Fuzzy!? When did you get on the Legislator's shoulders?!)

Koura: You're welcome to Kiyakudo.

Justice: White Sand Prison is good.

Legislator: You'll stay here at Newt Lake, right?

Abeno: Anywhere's fine...

Koura&Legislator&Justice: Ashiya-kun? (Where will it be?)

Ashiya: I...

Ashiya: I!!

Page 20

Fusshi: Saga.

Let's buy meatbuns from the convenience store on the way home.

Saga: I want oden.

Fusshi: I'll get some oden with you, then.

Page 21

Zenko: (Did Abeno and Hanae come back yet...?)

Zenko: They're not here...

Zenko: Guess I'll have to try again tomorrow.

Page 22

Ashiya: Tomorrow?

Zenko: Hanae... I thought you weren't back yet.

Ashiya: The teacher asked me to help out with some stuff.

Zenko: You're off today?

Ashiya: Yeah...

Today... Actually, tomorrow and the day after, too.

Zenko: Did you lose your ability to see demons again? (That's why you were on break last time.)

Ashiya: I'm not off because I'm feeling out of it.

The truth is...

Page 23

Zenko: So Abeno's been out since the day before yesterday...

(Abeno: It's enough for one of us to stay in the Underworld.)

Ashiya: I'm working at the Mononokean like usual, but...

I was finishing up what I could do in the morning, so he probably won't call me...

Ashiya: If there's anything I can do...

Mononokean: "It's okay even if I can't see Hanae!" is what he's saying.

Ashiya: That face...

Abeno: That face...

Ashiya: Though his face didn't seem to say it was okay.

So we decided it was better for Fuzzy to stay with me, in case I met any demons while Abeno-san was away...

Zenko: He's looking after the house, then?

(Ashiya: I'm home!)

Ashiya: !

Page 24

Ashiya: A letter?

Zenko: Oh...

Yeah...

Zenko: A letter with...

A spirit photo.

(Ashiya: Spirit...)

Ashiya: !?!?

Zenko: Wanna see...?

Ashiya: (Uwooo?!) Wait...!! Let me prepare my heart first!!

Page 25

Zenko: I'm kidding.

I know you're bad with this kind of thing, so I wanted to ask Abeno's advice directly.

Ashiya: .......

Zenko: Abeno... He'll be back in seven days, right...?

Ashiya: !

Zenko: What will Abeno do if the Underworld Princess's condition keeps getting worse...?

Page 26

Zenko: I don't really understand when I'm with you guys, but...

When I think about Abeno, I really feel like he's someone from another world.

(Even though he's human...)

Page 27

[Shizuku: Even though when Itsuki started working for the Mononokean...!]

[Legislator: Itsuki was so honest and kind back then...]

[Justice: He'd get on my back and we'd stroll around...]

(Long before we met, Itsuki spent his time in the Underworld.)

(He lived surrounded by demons.)

Page 28

[Even if he's human,

He's someone from the Underworld......]

Zenko: I'll visit again next week to ask about the spirit photo.

Ashiya: I'll let him know about it if he calls me for work.

Zenko: Thanks.

(Zenko: Bye-bye!)

(Ashiya: Bye-byeee!)

Page 30

[If the Underworld Princess's condition worsens...]

[He probably won't be able to come back to the mundane world...]

Page 31

Ashiya: (...No, no, no, he has to take care of Fuzzy, too!]

(Next week, he'll definitely be back!)

Ashiya: Next week!!

#fukigen na mononokean #fukigen na mononokean translation #fukigen na mononokean chapter 63 #fukigen na mononokean 63 #The Morose Mononokean #manga translation

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camillemontespan · 5 years

Text

this is your invitation to the beaumont bash [interview with maxwell beaumont]

I wrote this last week and it’s been in my drafts since. This is Maxwell’s turn for an interview (I know it might a weird way to write fic but I actually kind of enjoy writing this sort of thing). It’s pure fluff.

I also did this for Drake, which you can read here

@jovialyouthmusic @pug-bitch @moonlightgem7 @sirbeepsalot @drakesensworld @brightpinkpeppercorn @katedrakeohd @notoriouscs @be-still-my-aching-heart @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @dcbbw @iplaydrake

****************************************************************************************

‘Cinnamon brioche bun?’

Maxwell Beaumont brandishes the pastry at me, a wide grin on his face. I have no choice but to take it; I feel like if I reject it, it will be like kicking a puppy.

We are sat in the Living area of the Beaumont Manor. It is now September, the month of the annual Beaumont Bash. It is like the Met Gala but on a lesser scale. That said, it is still the biggest party in Cordonia and anyone who is anyone marks the Bash in their calendars.

The Beaumont Bashes are legendary. Maxwell and his older brother, Bertrand, the Duke of Ramsford, are renowned for spending obscene amounts of money on menageries, fire breathers, a torchlit procession - yes, really- and everything else in between.

Today, I am interviewing the younger Beaumont brother as he is in the final stages of planning the Beaumont Bash. This is Maxwell’s first interview and I’m honoured he agreed to meet me. In three weeks, the Beaumont manor will open to the elite of society and wonders will await behind the door. He is giving Duke Magazine exclusive behind the scenes access to his final touches and judging from the mood boards he has propped up against the walls, this may be the biggest Beaumont Bash ever.

Maxwell is taller than he looks in photographs. He is lanky and a smile permanently lights up his features. His voice isn’t that deep, more soft and lilting, occasionally increasing into a high pitched screech as he gets excited showing me his mood boards.

‘Last year, the theme was Greek Odyssey,’ he tells me. ‘So think white dresses, white suits, waitresses dressed like goddesses, we had a giant fountain in the foyer with a life size statue of Poseidon built into it. But this year, we’re going bigger.’

He guides me over to the biggest mood board he has. It is pinned full of images of flapper dresses, vintage cars, bathtubs with champagne bottles inside, fireworks. The theme is obviously the 1920s, which seems apt considering a Beaumont Bash is always decadent and excessive.

‘I’ve hired a stage show!’ he says. I ask him to repeat that, certain I’ve misheard.

‘As in, I’ve hired a stage show!’ he repeats. ‘The Great Gatsby is currently on Broadway in New York, so I’ve hired the cast to come to the Bash and act out their show! It’s a musical!’

He runs me through the night’s time line. ‘Okay, so 7pm, our guests arrive. They have to dress up in 1920s style, otherwise there is no admittance. Sorry, but an effort has to be made. Drinks and canapes will be served - note the fountain which will pour out champagne- and then the stage show will perform for an hour and a half. Afterwards, fireworks outside, more drinks, more dancing, more debauchery!’

He leads me outside to the vast gardens. ‘The stage show will perform here,’ he says, pointing to a stage. As we walk, I study him. He is fizzing with energy. He is like a champagne bottle that has been waiting to be opened for months, before being shaken and its contents burst out of the bottle. I ask if he has always enjoyed parties and party planning; clearly, this should be his job.

‘I’ve always loved parties,’ he says. ‘My parents used to throw legendary parties when I was younger. I was always sent to bed early, just as the guests were getting a little more excited, and I would always sneak out of bed at midnight to watch. I’d sit on top of the stairs, trying to stay hidden, and watch as the guests drank more champagne and danced. I once saw my father use a sword to open a bottle of champagne; I learned how to do it so I can continue his party trick.’

I tell him that it’s interesting that his brother gets involved. The Duke of Ramsford is often seen with a serious expression on his face, tight lipped. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who lets his hair down but as photos and witness accounts tell me, he is the first person on the dance floor and the last to leave.

‘I think the Bashes give him an excuse to let loose,’ Maxwell admits. ‘He is always so serious, so responsible.. hosting the Bash means he can put on a different persona, be the person he wants to be. Do you think he enjoys wearing sweater vests? Hell no! If it was up to Bertrand, he would wear kimonos and sparkly boots every day. He is a flamboyant peacock hidden in the body of a pigeon.’

I blink at this description but I don’t question it; Maxwell knows his brother inside out. He takes me back into the manor and upstairs to his bedroom. It’s a large space, painted blue, with beautiful artwork hanging on the walls and random items that he tells me he picked up in flea markets or while on holidays to far off places. There is a painting of a peacock on the wall above his bed.

‘Peacocks are my favourites,’ he says bashfully. I ask why. It’s not like they’re cute or cuddly.

‘Why wouldn’t they be?!’

I ask Maxwell what he does in his free time.

‘I plan parties, I write, I like to visit museums and galleries..’

I’m surprised and I tell him so.

‘Why?’ he asks me. ‘Museums and galleries are where I get my inspiration. I visit the exhibits and I think of what I could do next. A few years back, I visited an exhibition about India and I was obsessed with this beautiful silver and blue sari that was on display. I went around and managed to source similar material and had it made into my own outfit; the Bash that year was India themed. We had elephants in the garden and the food was excellent.’

He looks down, picking at his fingernail, before saying quietly, ‘Life is meant to be beautiful. I never see things in black or grey. Everything to me is vivid. It has to be bold and bright; it’s why I’m always happy and positive. Life is to be enjoyed and surrounding myself with pretty things, making pretty things.. it makes me happy.’

I see now that Maxwell Beaumont is always underestimated. Many of the public just view him as a party boy who doesn’t contribute anything to society. Others adore him, mainly because his Instagram feed is full of fun photos of holidays, his friends, animals, books he is reading.

But he is so much more than that. In front of me is this young man who has a membership to the National Museum of Cordonia. He has a subscription to Architectural Digest magazine. He tells me he is currently writing a spy novel. He is warm and kind. I like him.

He stands up and opens his wardrobe to show me his outfit the Bash. It is a white shirt with black trousers, but he has made it interesting by adding a blue sequin blazer, blue sequin bow tie and blue suede loafers with silver tassels. He adds white gloves and a pocket watch on a chain.

He gives an excited giggle and claps his hands together. I ask who is on the VIP List.

‘Drake and Camille, obviously,’ he begins, name checking the Duke and Duchess of Valtoria. ‘I’m so excited to see how Camille depicts the theme, I’m thinking she’s going to be all sultry... the King is going, his brother Leo, Olivia, Hana...’

Maxwell blushes when he mentions Hana Lee’s name. The best friend of Duchess Camille of Valtoria, Hana has been spotted out on Maxwell’s arm over the past six months. The two of them kept their relationship private for a while but eagle eyed fans watched out for candid photos. When Maxwell finally made it Instagram official with a photo of the two of them at a carnival sharing candyfloss, with Hana shoving a big piece of it in Maxwell’s face as she laughed, captioned with a heart emoji, his followers rejoiced. They christened them Hanwell.

Having interviewed Hana myself, I was surprised to hear about the two of them. Hana is shy, quiet and incredibly polite. She was a tricky interviewee to begin with as she seemed so nervous in case of divulging private information, but once she settled and got into the swing of the interview, she opened up and was giggly, sweet and complimenting my shoes.

In contrast, Maxwell offered me a cinnamon brioche bun before I had even sat down.

But, having talked to him more fully now, I guess I can see why the two of them work.

‘I push her to be bold,’ he tells me. ‘She can be so down about herself but she is honestly brilliant at everything. Anything she does, she turns to gold. But she often doesn’t believe in herself so I push her to just do her best. Believe in herself more.’

What does she do for you? I ask.

‘She makes me see that I don’t have to be 100% on all the time. I’m allowed to feel sad, or be quiet, or just stay still. I’m always on the go, needing to do things. Maybe it’s because after my parents died, I felt like I needed to be the one to make my brother laugh.. I made myself into the joker, the fun loving guy. But Hana has taught me that it’s okay to have quiet moments and not to pressure myself to be constantly on adrenaline. I can relax and nothing is going to go up in flames.’

I feel I need to probe him further about his dynamic with his brother but I don’t want to over step. Their parents died in a car crash when Maxwell was ten and Bertrand was fifteen and it is common knowledge that Bertrand became Maxwell’s guardian - their family is very small and as a result, they were the only Beaumonts left.

Maxwell waves his hand away. ‘You can ask me,’ he tells me. ‘Bertrand is basically my dad, brother and teacher in one. He’s taught me so much about the importance of being a Beaumont, about our roles in society. He always made sure I studied hard at school; considering I couldn’t sit still most of the time, he made me put my head down and just work. I studied loads and got A’s across the board. I was such a geek! But in all seriousness, Bertrand assumed this responsibility for me. I owed it to him to work hard at school.’

Maxwell went on to study at Cordonia University, despite achieving top grades. He could have attended a more prestigious institution but, as he tells me, he wanted to experience something normal.

‘My life, being a Beaumont, it’s not normal,’ he admits, flopping down onto his bed. ‘I’m friends with the King. My life is just a carousel of parties, titles, etiquette, balls, money.. so when I graduated from high school, which was a private education that was full of boys like me, well, I wanted a change. So I chose to go to Cordonia University. Just to stress, it’s not a bad school in the slightest. It’s a great school; but compared to the institutions I could have gone to, it was on a lower level. I hope that comes across okay? I don’t want to sound arrogant..’

He blushes and stammers, trying to think of the best way to word it. I can tell you this now, reader; he is not arrogant.

‘Anyway,’ he says, giving up on trying to justify his words, ‘I went there and I loved it. I still studied hard but I made friends with people who weren’t noble. Bertrand wanted me to have a bodyguard with me at all times but I said no; I wanted to be a normal student. So for four years, I went to lectures and seminars. And the parties! That was my proper education! Beach parties, pizza parties, revision parties... so many parties! But some of the people I’m friends with are still from my university years. I think it’s why I’m not exactly your typical noble..’

He certainly isn’t that and it’s quite refreshing.

Maxwell finished university with first class grades (despite all the partying) and came back to Cordonia to learn the ropes from Bertrand.

We go back to lighter topics. I ask what he thinks about the Met Gala.

‘I am waiting on my invitation from Anna Wintour...’ he says, giving me a wink. His face then goes serious. ‘I mean it, I’m waiting. You work under the Conde Naste company right? They also house Vogue. Ask her to send me an invite!’

I wonder which celebrities he thinks interprets the Met theme perfectly every year.

‘Blake Lively,’ he says instantly. ‘Oh my God, her red dress and that crown she wore last year, god she looked incredible! Rihanna too, dressing as the Pope. I would love to invite her to a Bash. Who knows what she would do?!’

My questions turn to his guests. Who drinks the most? I think it has to be the Duke of Valtoria, due to the fact he is known for always drinking whiskey at balls and never champagne, and that he just looks like he can drink you under the table.

‘You would think that Drake drinks the most..’ Maxwell muses, ‘but honestly - I hope he doesn’t kill me for saying this because this could be treason.. is this treason? Can he decide what’s treason and what isn’t? Fuck it - King Liam. Liam drinks the most.’

I choke on my water.

He nods quickly. ‘The King, god save him, loves to let loose. He tried to raid our wine cellar once. Bertrand caught him.’

I ask who is the heavy weight.

‘Olivia,’ he answers. I blanch at her name. The Duchess of Lythikos is notorious for her cold exterior. Every journalist I know who has met her have left their meetings with her in tears.

‘Yeah, Olivia can shot straight vodka and just doesn’t feel any effect,’ he says. ‘By contrast, Camille can handle four drinks then ends up trying to steal the sword I use to open champagne bottles. A trip to A&E happened once.. ohhh boy, Drake looked like he was going to kill me for letting his wife near that thing.. '

I am tempted to get the full story on this but I have a feeling Maxwell won't be as forthcoming. Drake Walker might actually kill him this time.

We go back downstairs to the kitchen. Maxwell shows me his plans for the menu at the Bash. ‘Canapes first, but they’re... scientific...’ he says mysteriously. He won’t tell me why they’re scientific but I imagine they’ll taste interesting. ‘My favourite food item is always the dessert. This year, I’m putting together something mixed with Toblerlone, Nutella and marshmallows. A sugary feast!’

He starts to look impatient to continue his planning so I take this as my cue. I start to pack away my notes and dictaphone. Maxwell gives me a warm smile and stretches out his arms. 'Bring it in!' he hollers, pulling me into a bear hug.

I part from him awkwardly. Maxwell goes pale. 'Okaaay so what's the correct way to say bye to a journalist? I've never been interviewed before.. Sorry, I'm a hugger, everyone always gets a hug from me.'

He steps back and he looks at the table before clicking his fingers. He reaches out for a wrapped item and hands it to me.

'Another for the road!' he beams.

It's a cinnamon brioche bun.

#maxwell beaumont #beaumont bash #trr fanfic #the royal romance #choices the stories you play

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livingthroughchoices-blog · 6 years

Text

The Marshmallow Chronicles (Ch. 16: The Beaumont Bash) *NSFW*

Prev | Next

Author’s notes: Right. So I am SUPER nervous about this chapter bc it’s the most different and the one I’ve added the most stuff to so far. I really hope you like it omg. It’s also the longest yet. As always, I’m deeply sorry if you have to scroll through this on the app, but as of now, there’s nothing I can do about it /:

Thanks to all who like, reblog and/or comment, you guys keep me going! And especially to @starstruckzonkoperatorbat, @notoriouscs, @simplyaiden-blog, @snyggflicka, @asprankle, @speedyoperarascalparty, @mirivalencia, @mymandrake, @asobigokoro2018, @krisnicjack and @fabi-en-ciel for asking me to tag them! Please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged (:

I love you and I reaaally hope this is okay.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mention of depression, suicide.

Rating: NSFW

Pairing: Drake x MC

Words: 8,059

As he got ready for the Beaumont Bash, Drake was aware of feeling an aching thirst for alcohol. He figured getting wasted was his best chance at surviving the unbearable sight of Liam and Riley together and might even stop him from thinking about her all night.

With this in mind, he poured himself a glass of the unopened bottle of whiskey Liam had given him for his birthday. He swallowed with savage pleasure, as if Liam could know he was ignoring his request to share it with friends.

He debated whether to pour himself a second glass, then decided against it; he’d been to enough Beaumont parties to know this would be a long night. He should pace himself.

Having thrown his usual outfit on, he barely glanced at the mirror, not really caring much at all about his appearance tonight.

It’s not like anyone will be looking.

He trudged down to the ballroom, only to find Lady Kiara at the foot of the stairs. In his current mood, he gladly would have avoided her, but it was unfortunately the only way down.

Nevertheless, he tried to keep their meeting short and discourage conversation by saying, “Lady Kiara,” as curtly as possible and not stopping.

He wasn’t fast enough, though, as a hand seized his forearm before he could make his getaway.

“And where do you think you’re going, Monsieur Walker?” she asked with a smirk. “I haven’t forgotten your promise of a legendary night, tu comprends?”

Oh fuck, not this. Why did I have to open my goddamn mouth?

Drake extricated his arm as politely as he could and averted his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I comprends or whatever.” This made Kiara giggle, so he added a very discouraging, “We’ll see,” for good measure.

He burst into the ballroom, eager to fade into the crowd and get drunk by himself. And who should be there to welcome here other than Riley. She was wearing a midnight blue dress that made her skin look radiant and her eyes a deeper color than usual. Her hair was up in an elegant bun. Drake privately decided – I shouldn’t even be thinking about this – that he preferred it down, but there was no denying she looked beautiful either way.

Of fucking course. Can’t have a moment of peace around here. Does she always have to look so... so...

His frustration was such that he couldn’t come up with a single word for her; he came up with too many. He realized he’d pursed his lips and balled his fists when he’s seen her. He relaxed as he stepped up to her.

“Welcome to the Beaumont Bash...” she said with a grin.

You’d think nothing happened yesterday.

“You’ll recognize some of these fine floral arrangements as yours...” she gestured to the centerpieces.

“Heh. After yesterday, I was skeptical about this place being ready in time, but...” he looked around the lavish room, appraising it. “Looks like you’re about to have an actual party here.”

“I know, right?” said Riley excitedly. She gave him a once over, seeing him fully for the first time. “Though... you don’t look like you’re dressed for the occasion.”

Drake opened his arms as if on display. “You don’t like my look? This shirt’s clean.”

Riley sighed and rolled her eyes. “I guess that’s the most I should expect. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dress up for these fancy events. It might be a nice change of pace.”

The comment stung more than it should have.

Well, what did you expect? She’s marrying a prince! Why wouldn’t she think you look like crap? Anyway, me? Dressed like a fucking noble? No way.

He shrugged studiously. “Eh. Fashion is subjective. Besides, people are here to see the Prince, not me.” He attempted to keep the bitterness out of his voice at that last part; it was just a fact, after all. He thought he’d been successful until he saw Riley was shaking his head sadly at him.

He was about to reassure her that he didn’t mind, when Hana bounded up to them. She waved at him with a smile and he returned her greeting with the most cheerful nod he could muster. He felt an arm around his shoulder and turned to see Maxwell had joined them as well.

“Riley! Maxwell! I’ve never been to the Beaumont estate before. This looks wonderful,” admired Hana.

Maxwell replied, “Thank you, Hana...” as Drake shrugged his arm off.

“And you look lovely tonight, Riley,” said Hana, her eyes shining as she took in Riley’s elegant figure.

Riley beamed and returned the compliment, “As always, you look gorgeous too!”

Hana blushed deeply. To the unsuspecting eye, she might just seem like someone who was not used to receiving compliments, but Drake knew better; the corners of her lips were twitching and it was clear to him she was fighting back a smitten smile.

Luckily for Hana, at that moment, the waiters started bringing out the appetizers.

“Our creations!” Maxwell whispered.

“I hope people like them...” said Riley, biting her lip.

Lady Kiara, who was just behind them, wondered aloud, “Uhh... what is this dish?” when the waiter handed her one, along with a napkin.

Maxwell, doing his best pompous celebrity chef impression, explained, “What you have there is a deconstructed delicacy of caviar cultivated from pampered hake fish of the Swedish fjords with paprika harvested from a micro-nursery in Provence.”

Lady Penelope had bitten into it halfway through Maxwell’s bluffing description and now exclaimed, “Wow... so fancy... I like them! Spicy, salty, definitely unique.”

Encouraged by her friend’s reaction, Lady Kiara gave it a small bite too. “Mmmm... It reminds me of when I dined at the top of la Tour Eiffel in Paris! Did you use the same chef?”

She looked so impressed, Drake almost snorted.

Rich people. Throw some food together, call it something fancy and they're happy.

“Someone comparable,” choked out Maxwell, obviously holding back laughter.

The suitors moved on to mingling with other nobles and Maxwell turned to his friends, “Well, the reactions to our appetizers seem mostly positive.”

“They like the food? Really?” Riley’s smile was almost ear to ear. “I can’t believe we pulled that off.”

“Yeah. I really thought this would be a complete disaster,” agreed Drake.

“I told you... it’s all in the marketing!” Maxwell gave him finger guns.

Drake’s snide response was interrupted by the arrival of his two least favorite people – or should I say my least favorite snake and possessed murder doll.

Judging by the grimace on Riley’s face, which she quickly covered up with a reluctant smile, she felt the same way. “Duchess Olivia... Countess Madeleine... welcome.”

Hell no.

Maxwell seemed to be thinking similarly, for he walked away from the group with Drake.

They each grabbed a glass of champagne.

“To not being a part of that conversation,” toasted Drake.

Maxwell chuckled and clinked his glass, saying, “Oh, come on, Drake, they’re not that bad. Olivia has been very loyal to Liam.”

“So? Doesn’t change the fact she’s about as pleasant as a root canal. And don’t get me started on Madeleine!”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Are you kidding? I’d trust her as far as I could throw... Liam; I could probably throw her pretty far, actually. At least Olivia’s open about how terrible she is.”

“That’s a fair point,” Maxwell conceded. “She’s definitely crafty.”

“That’s one way to put it."

Noticing Madeleine and Olivia had moved on, Maxwell and Drake returned to where Riley and Hana were standing.

“Welcome, everyone,” rang out Bertrand’s clear voice. “If you’ll please take your seats, dinner will begin shortly.”

"That’s my cue. I have a seat in the back,” Drake said, pointing to his table, “so I’ll see you after dinner.”

“And I’d better go and take my seat with the other ladies,” chimed in Hana.

Riley pouted, “I wish we could have all sat together.”

Drake touched her arm lightly. “Hey, don’t look so disappointed, Addams. You’re sitting with royalty. I learned a long time ago I don’t fit in there.” He sighed in resignation. “But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be able to handle one dinner without us.”

“Right...” Riley replied dubiously.

"We’ll catch up later!” Hana reassured her.

On his way to his unglamorous table, Drake overheard Olivia whine, “What am I doing back here?” He automatically made eye contact with Riley across the room and they both burst into laughter.

Still chucking he sat down at a table with Bastien and other guards.

He tuned out most of the conversation throughout the meal, focusing instead on the food and drink. He had to admit, dinner hadn’t been half bad, considering it was fancy rich people nonsense. The champagne was the best part, though.

Feeling slightly less grumpy thanks to the food and – in large part – to the alcohol, he felt ready to start a conversation.

"So, Bastien,” he turned to his right, “did you find the person behind the photos?”

“Not yet. I haven’t been able to get ahold of the reporter to whom they were being sold,” the older man grimaced, clearing his plate.

“Bummer.” What Bastien had said reminded Drake of something else. “Oh, hey, what’s this I hear about a reporter being caught inside the grounds at the Manor? It it true?”

He gathered from Bastien’s exasperated sigh that it was.

“What the hell, Bastien?! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was under the impression that I reported to Prince Liam, not to you,” Bastien snapped with ice in his voice.

Drake was momentarily hurt into silence. The fact that he’d specifically said he reported to Liam instead of King Constantine seemed designed to make him feel smaller. Bastien sighed again and put a hand on his shoulder; Drake resisted the urge to brush it off.

“It was nothing, all right? I figured you had enough on your mind and didn’t want to add to it because of a meaningless incident. She was caught and promptly escorted out. End of story.”

“How can you be sure she didn’t do anything? Take pictures or... I don’t know.”

“Drake, we made sure, trust me.”

Bastien met his eyes earnestly. Drake felt ashamed at having doubted his old friend.

Why would he tell you anyway? What have you ever done?

He shook his head as if to rid himself of that spiteful little voice.

"I have had a lot on my mind lately,” he admitted. “What with Liam’s Coronation, and Riley–”

“I see Lady Kiara is still taken with you.”

“Wh-what?”

He whipped his head around to the suitors’ table and saw Lady Kiara engrossed in a conversation with Hana.

“What are you talking about? She’s not even looking this way.”

“You just missed it.” Bastien clicked his tongue regretfully. “I think she’d be good for you, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“Uh, really?”

“Definitely! She is charming and intelligent, and I’m sure I have heard you mention her physical, er, attributes.”

“Yeah, Bastien, she’s hot, you can say it.”

“I will not. But I hope you take my meaning.”

“Now that the dessert course has been served, the grand hall is now open,” came Bertrand’s voice from the main table. “Please join us there for the after-dinner festivities!”

Standing up, Bastien patted his shoulder before leaving the ballroom along with his men to take his position in the main hall, where the party was to be held. Drake filed out of the ballroom alone and stood among the crowd anonymously as Bertrand continued giving unnecessary speeches.

“Citizens, nobles, friends, we’ve gathered here today to celebrate the end of the social season. So if you’ll hear me out, I’d like to share a few words...”

At this point, Drake’s attention drifted.

There’s only so much noble rambling I can take in one night.

He looked around and spotted Liam at the very front with his family. He wasn’t eager to join the King and Queen, so he kept searching the crowd. Hana was carrying what seemed like a tiresome conversation with Lady Penelope. Drake shuddered.

I’d rather be alone than talk about poodles.

Left with no other choices, he looked for Maxwell.

Disconcerted, he realized his friend was not part of the crowd.

Where the hell is he?

Bertrand’s voice, once again, broke through his confusion, “... and so, with all of House Beaumont with me, let us propose a toast!”

Drake finally spotted Maxwell coming up the stairs carrying a mace. Close behind him – his eyes widened – was Riley, valiantly hauling a battle axe that looked like it weighed about as much as she did.

“To our gracious royal family...” Bertrand continued.

“To all those here tonight!” Maxwell added.

“And to the PARTTYYYY!” Riley yelled, hoisting the battle axe up precariously. “Let’s rock this place to the ground!”

“YEEEAAAHHH!” Maxwell pumped his fists.

He swung the mace at the champagne, shattering the bottle.

“We’ve never let a lost bottle stop us before. Bring out another!” called Bertrand to the staff.

“WOOOOOOOO!” Maxwell was almost buzzing with frantic energy, his hand and bottom half soaked in champagne.

Riley gripped her axe and sliced with difficulty at the bottle. Perhaps because it was so heavy and thus she had very little momentum, she managed to hack the cork clean off. Champagne immediately bubbled out and she took a drink directly from it. Beginner’s luck, scoffed Drake, though he had to admit to being a little impressed.

Maxwell, on the other hand, was very impressed, and possibly a bit jealous, “Whoa... It took me much longer to master that move.”

“From all of us at House Beaumont... thank you!” Bertrand brandished the bottle Riley had opened at the crowd and they cheered in unison. Waiters marched into the room with tray upon tray of champagne.

Thank God.

Drake’s pleasant buzz had begun to subside and he knew he was only a few sober minutes away from getting sulky.

Meanwhile, Maxwell had raced to the top of the stairs.

“... Maxwell!” Bertrand said.

“What?” Maxwell called back.

“Let the revelry begin!”

“AWWWWWWWWW YEAH!” yelled the younger Beaumont, sliding down the banister.

Deafening pop music blared all around the room, and professional dancers and acrobats, dressed in colorful, circus-like costumes, made their entrance. The room now felt twice as crowded.

Drake stood in his spot, back against the wall, gulping down the champagne he’d snagged from a passing waiter. He didn’t notice his friends walking over to him until Liam spoke, “So, enjoying the party, Drake?”

“It’s been less than two minutes, and my ears hurt...” he grumbled.

Liam elbowed him, “Come on, Drake, you usually give it at least five minutes before tapping out.”

I usually don’t have a crush on the girl you’re marrying.

“There’s so much happening,” Hana marveled.

Drake rolled his eyes. “That’s the problem.”

As if on cue, he heard Bertrand shout, “Bring out the horses!”

“The horses!” Maxwell echoed.

“The horses?! You’re bringing horses in here?!” Riley asked over the music.

“Who’s ready for a little horse riding?” Bertrand led the horses to the center of the room.

“I am!” Maxwell piped up.

“Great...” Drake shook his head. He hated this tradition of theirs. The poor horses couldn’t understand what was happening and were obviously spooked.

Fucking nobles and their “eccentricities”.

Maxwell, already mounted, asked, “Who will be my partner?”

“How about our king-to-be?” suggested Bertrand.

“I nominate Drake as my proxy.”

If looks could kill, Cordonia would have found itself without an heir. Liam held back a laugh at Drake’s irritation, but the latter merely said, “Oh, no, you’re not forcing me into the saddle tonight.”

Hana chose that moment to say, “I vote for Riley!”

“Riley!” Maxwell repeated.

“Come on up then, Lady Riley.” Bertrand offered her his hand. “Your saddle awaits.”

Riley was helped onto the horse, which whinnied uneasily. “Easy, girl.”

Riley scratched the horse’s mane and that seemed to help calm it down. She then led it in a gentle turn around the room.

She and Maxwell waved at the crowds.

"My fellow Cordonians, take a picture!” Riley proclaimed. “I want everyone to see my noble horseback pose.”

Drake snorted at that. She wasn’t a bad rider and her pose was not terrible but it was a far cry from “noble” as she put it. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing he could teach her better, before clamping down on that dumb instinct.

“Phones are not allowed inside these parties. Nobody wants to see embarrassing pictures of themselves in the news.”

Bertrand was right; phones were not allowed and yet... there were always exceptions, weren’t there? He thought back to Maxwell’s video of him dancing to Hayley Rose and felt his face grow warm. A lot more sinister were the pictures of the bachelor party that someone had tried to sell for profit.

“I’ll take mental pictures for you,” Hana consoled her.

After going around the room once more for their adoring fans, Maxwell said, “We should let some others ride around on the horses.”

“Fair enough.” Riley dismounted and made a beeline for Drake.

“Drake! I feel like I haven’t see you all day.”

That’s ‘cause I’ve been avoiding you.

“Well, you’re seeing me know,” he replied, noncommittal, looking down at his champagne.

“Yeah and guess what? I wish your face didn’t look like you just swallowed a lemon.”

He looked up sharply at that, eyes narrowed, and Riley laughed. As per usual, her laugh was too contagious to resist and he ended up chuckling along.

“See? That’s better,” she smiled and brushed her fingers against his. He stopped laughing instantly.

“I need a drink.”

“Me too! I’ll come with!”

He groaned a little but could think of no way to dissuade her without hurting her feelings, so he let her follow him to the makeshift bar.

He opened his mouth to order whiskey, when Riley elbowed him aside and spoke over him. “Do not give this man whiskey. Do not. We’ll have two shots instead.”

The bartender looked at her expectantly. When Riley didn’t elaborate, he asked, “Shots of what?”

“Surprise us.” Riley turned to Drake and smiled with that mischievous glint in her eyes. “Scared, Drake?”

“Pff, I can drink you under the table, no problem.”

“Then how about a bet?”

“What? Another one? We both have bets we never settled!”

“Then I guess they cancel each other out!”

“You just wanna get out of paying up, Addams.”

“How dare you! I’ll remember this insult against my honor when you lose, you know?”

Drake put on a whiny voice and begged, “Oh, please don’t, I’m so scared. I’m sorry I insulted your honor, Lady Riley the Waitress.”

“That’s Head Waitress to you, grumpy commoner.”

They were so busy trying to stare each other down, they didn’t realize their shots were ready. The bartender cleared his throat awkwardly.

Drake turned to him, “Er, right sorry,” and grabbed the two shot glasses.

Handing Riley hers, he proposed, “Okay, how about whoever makes a face or shows any difficulty in swallowing this, loses?”

Riley put on her best poker face, though he noticed her lips were still twitching. “You’re on.”

They clinked their glasses, maintaining eye contact the whole time – I have to, for the bet! – and then threw their heads back. The base was definitely vodka. Drake had only negative experiences from his teenage years to associate with that spirit, but he powered through his body’s rejection of it.

Riley was not faring as well; for a moment it seemed like she might actually throw it back up. In the end, she managed to keep it down, but she couldn’t help the pronounced grimace on her face as she did.

“HA! I knew it!”

“No! I demand a redo! I cannot handle vodka, okay? My body hates it!”

“Rules are rules, Addams, don’t tell me you’d back down from a bet? Surely your honor wouldn’t allow it,” he teased.

She took a step forward, “Well, maybe I’m not so honorable...”

Drake licked his lips unconsciously. “Neither am I.”

He hadn’t realized when it happened, but his breath had quickened. He felt his hand rising as if of its own accord, reaching toward her, to touch her.

A familiar tall figure was approaching them from behind Riley.

“I better go. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your time with the prince,” Drake said, leaving hurriedly back to the bar and ordering whiskey.

Leaning against it, he had a prime view of Liam and Riley talking. He went to take a swig of his whiskey only to find it empty. He ordered another one straight away. When the bartender handed it to him, he saw Olivia interrupt the couple.

Yes! Go Olivia! Oh my God, what the fuck. I’m actually happy to see Olivia.

Before leaving with a person that Drake considered to be in his personal bottom three and yet felt like hugging right now, Liam kissed Riley on the cheek. Drake downed his whiskey and ordered the next.

The rest of the party went by in a blur of alcohol, dancing – or, in Drake’s case, being forced to dance by Maxwell – and crazy hijinks, like trying to shoot an arrow through an apple on a bust’s head.

Nobody could do it. They hit other things, though... The bust, mostly. But there was an exciting moment when Penelope, swaying, very nearly hit Maxwell. He wouldn’t have been badly hurt – the arrows were blunt – and it hadn’t even brushed him, yet he still took it upon himself to act out a Shakespearean death scene, much to everyone’s amusement.

Drake hadn’t even tried. His level of drunkenness paired with how bad he was at archery at the best of times was a recipe for disaster; even drunk him knew that.

The party felt like it was winding down. Lady Kiara was sitting on the floor in the corner, moaning, “Too... too much... Je ne me sens pas bien.”

Penelope, in the meantime, was leaning against one of the horses, going, “You know, horse. You and I have so much in common... hair, bodies, an adoration of poodles. You’re like my equine soulmate.” She seemed to doze off at that point.

Liam and Olivia were chatting in very loud voices. Well, Olivia was; Liam was talking maybe a tiny bit louder than he normally would, but his cheeks were far more rosy than usual.

Bertrand was sitting against a column with an empty champagne bottle in one hand – Drake didn’t doubt he’d drank it all himself – and a sword in the other.

“We gave those apples what for,” he said proudly to no one in particular.

Maxwell, to no one’s surprise, was still dancing while Riley and Hana looked on, amazed at his energy.

Drake walked over, hoping the fact that everyone was pretty drunk meant he could go. “It’s over. I’m finally free.”

Maxwell stopped dancing and wheeled around to face Drake. “What do you mean ‘it’s over’? The party is just getting started.”

“Lady Penelope is literally talking to a horse,” he nodded toward her. “The party has done its job.”

"Your mane is so soft,” she was saying as she ran her fingers through it. “You have to tell me who does your hair.”

“Back home, this was always about the time we’d break out a game of Truth or Dare, but I bet you guys are too classy for that!” Riley raised an eyebrow.

“You’d be betting wrong! I love Truth or Dare.”

Of course Maxwell would love a party game.

“’Truth or Dare’?” Hana met Drake’s eyes; they both seemed to be thinking the same thing: Truths could mean trouble. “That sounds dangerous...”

“Well... only if you have something to hide...” shrugged Riley. Drake almost laughed. “Or a fear of embarrassing stunts...”

She looked at Hana beseechingly and the latter couldn’t resist, “It sounds... Fun!”

Normally, Drake wouldn’t blame her, he knew by now how powerless he was to resist Riley’s requests but...

Dammit, Hana! Not after yesterday!

Riley took Hana’s hands, “I can’t believe you’ve never played! Now we’ve go to do it.”

Drake shook his head over and over. “Oh no. I’m not playing Truth or Dare.”

“Come on, Drake, we should do it for Hana,” pleaded Riley.

Hana backtracked politely, “I don’t want to pressure you guys into doing something on my behalf.”

“But I would!” said Maxwell. “Do it! Do it!”

“I see where this is going...” Drake was already rubbing his face tiredly, waiting for what he knew was coming.

“Drake! Drake! Drake!”

Aaand there it is. Does this man ever not chant?!

“Okay... fine. I’ll play, just stop chanting my name.”

“Whoohoo! Someone’s going streaking tonight!” Maxwell wiggled his eyebrows.

“We can play in my room!” Hana offered, and she led the way upstairs.

Drake and Maxwell followed suit. Riley, for all her talk, lingered behind.

Waiting for Liam?

He didn’t know what to feel if that was the case. On the one hand, relief that he wouldn’t have to play a risky drinking game with her; on the other, pure, uncontrollable jealousy.

Who am I kidding? I’m no closer to controlling this stupid crush than I am to controlling the fucking weather.

To his immense relief and despite his hesitancy to play Truth or Dare with her, Riley joined them soon in Hana’s room. They were all sitting crosslegged on the floor in a circle. Riley took a spot between Hana and Maxwell, facing Drake.

“This is so exciting! How do we start?” asked Hana.

“Usually with a few drinks,” Drake replied.

“Oooh, there’s a full bar!” said Hana, noticing it for the first time.

We are very different people.

“What do you guys want?” she asked.

“Make me something fruity and delicious!” requested Maxwell. “I know! I want Sex on the Beach!”

Hana’s hand went to her mouth, her cheeks turning red, “Oh my! I don’t think...”

“It’s a drink...” explained Maxwell hastily. “Never mind, I’ll make it myself.” He stood up and joined her at the minibar.

“I’ll just have–”

Riley cut Drake off, “Let me guess. Whiskey.”

Drake rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face heat up, “I’m getting predictable, aren’t I?”

“Maybe just a little bit,” she said with a small smile.

“What about you, Riley?” asked Hana.

“I’ll have a whiskey, too,” she winked at Drake, who couldn’t help grinning back.

Hana poured two whiskeys and a glass for champagne for herself, while Maxwell mixed himself a bright orange drink.

“Cheers, friends! Thank you for joining me tonight!” Hana extended her hand to the center of the circle.

“Cheers.” Drake followed.

Maxwell added, “To friendship!”

“To friendship!” agreed Riley, clinking her glass to the others’. “And Truth or Dare!”

Drake drank deeply, remembering what they were all there for. “Oh boy, this is going to be a long night.”

“Drinks have been accomplished! Now, what comes next?” Hana looked at them expectantly.

“Someone goes first,” said Maxwell.

“Addams should start.” Drake pointed at her. “This was her idea.”

Maxwell turned to her, “Okay, Riley... truth or dare?”

“I choose Truth.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Maxwell rubbed his hands together with relish. “I’ve got a great one for you. If you were stranded on a desert island, where you’ll never see anyone or any civilization ever again... Which one of us would you want with you?”

Riley pretended to think for a moment, tapping an exaggerated finger to her chin, then announced, “I’d want Drake!”

He could not have been more taken aback. He knew they were on good terms now, maybe even more than that if yesterday was anything to go by, but there was no denying he was a difficult person to be around, let alone be stuck with.

“Me? Be honest, Addams, you just want me there so I’m suffering as much as you are.”

“Mostly just to see how you’d look in a grass skirt,” she smirked.

“Hey!” Drake threw a nearby cushion at her, which she deflected with her arm, laughing.

“Ha ha!” Drake allowed Maxwell to laugh for a second before glaring at him.

“Just kidding. I think you’d be gruff and grumpy, but deep down, when it counts, you’d probably save me from a tiger or something,” continued Riley.

“Well, I’d feel terrible if a tiger ate my only companion,” joked Drake.

“And there wouldn’t be any nobles around, or courtly intrigue, or gossip...” Riley was now looking intensely at him, as if trying to say something other than what her words conveyed. “In fact, I think you might enjoy being stranded more than palace life.”

Staring into those hypnotizing blue eyes, all Drake could think was that he’d sell several body parts if it meant he could be alone with Riley anywhere. Even a deserted island.

The corner of his lip quirked up, “You never know.”

“Okay, Maxwell, it’s your turn.” Riley broke their eye contact before the others could wonder if there was something else to the innocent answer. “Truth or dare?”

“Dealer’s choice! I’m not afraid of anything!”

“Okay, then, tell us a secret that no one else knows about you.”

Maxwell’s bravado faded right away. “Aw, I’m an open book! Everyone knows everything about me!”

Drake scoffed, thinking back to how weird Maxwell had been just the day before. “Nope.”

He caught Riley’s eye and she nodded, remembering the same thing. “Not true at all.”

“We know almost nothing about you!” countered Hana.

“Well, all anyone ever had to do was ask. Okay, let’s see...” Maxwell reflected for a moment, then said, “I hate carousels.”

“Really?” asked Riley, incredulous. “I thought everyone loved carousels...”

Maxwell elaborated, “When I was little, the royal court took all the kids to a theme park for the Prince’s birthday. But when we were on the carousel, some reporters got in and mobbed us. The security team did their best to get us all out of there, but I was the last one they got to. So I was stuck on this dumb carousel for what seemed like forever with people taking pictures and shouting questions at me.”

He had a glassy look in his eyes, as if transported back to the horror of helplessly riding a fake horse round and round.

“I was only three... I had no idea what was really going on. And because our parents had spent so much time trying to warn us about dangers, I thought I was about to get murdered.”

Riley leaned her head on his shoulder, “Aww... Maxwell...”

He shook himself. “I’m fine. I was a long time ago.”

“Still...” Hana sounded disproportionately concerned.

“Aw, geez, this is why I don’t like to talk about serious stuff. I’m fine, you guys!” Maxwell reassured them. “Just forget it! Next up... Hana, truth or dare?”

It struck Drake that this was something Maxwell did all the time and he was an expert at it: seemingly divulging information about himself while at the same time withholding anything of meaning. The fact remained that he had no idea what his friend was going through right now and likely wouldn’t find out anytime soon if Maxwell insisted on bottling it up. Not that he was a model of mental health.

He turned his attention back to the game. Hana had just decided, “Oh... um... truth!”

“Tell us about your first kiss,” said Maxwell.

Hana bit her lip. “My first kiss?”

“You have been kissed, right?” Maxwell asked curiously.

Tactful.

Hana’s brow furrowed. “Yes, of course.”

“You were engaged, after all!” Riley shot Maxwell a reproachful look.

“Well... it was actually a very chaste courtship. Our first kiss was in front of a professional photographer for our engagement photo shoot. My parents were insistent that we publish a very public announcement in all of the papers. It was... somewhat awkward,” she finished, staring down at her hands.

“He wasn’t a great kisser?” grimaced Riley.

Hana sighed and said, “He missed.”

Drake had never been so confused. “Missed? How?”

“He kissed my ear. Well, he punctured his lip on my earring, actually. He started bleeding. I felt terrible. My parents were furious that he ruined my dress. It was a complete disaster.”

Drake had been about to burst out laughing, when he caught a subtle shake of Riley’s head.

Okay, not the time.

He carefully avoided looking at Maxwell, whom he knew would also be close to laughter. One glance and they’d both cave.

“Hana, you deserved a better first kiss than that!” Riley put her arm around Hana. Drake saw her smile in absolute delight, holding Riley’s hand.

“Thank you, Riley. But it wasn’t so bad. Looking back, it was actually pretty funny. I mean, who can miss that badly on a kiss?”

Feeling like he had permission, Drake laughed, expecting Maxwell to join him. However, he only gave a small, “Hah!”

Drake turned to him questioningly and Maxwell continued, “I know. I mean. What a loser...”

By now, Drake was excellent at knowing when his friend was hiding something. “Maxwell...”

Maxwell sighed and slumped his shoulders, “Okay, maybe I accidentally kissed someone’s chin but that’s, like, a totally understandable mistake, right? I mean, it’s right below the mouth...”

Hana did an amazing job of containing her laughter, only letting out a small giggle, “Hee hee. Yes, that’s completely normal.”

Riley and Drake however, were not so considerate, howling with laughter.

Annoyed after a minute of this, Maxwell talked loudly over their subsiding laughter, “Okay, my turn again! Riley, I dare you to go streak through the ballroom in your underwear!”

Uh oh.

The exact same thought seemed to have crossed Hana’s mind for her eyes widened and she glanced at Drake instantly. Fuck. I cannot see Addams in her underwear again. I might spontaneously combust.

Hana beat him to the punch, “That’s not fair! It’s not her turn.”

“Yeah, and she didn’t even choose ‘dare’,” Drake pointed out

“Well someone should streak tonight or this game is a bust. Come now, Riley, it’s your game. Who will it be?” asked Maxwell.

This time, she didn’t even pretend to think, “Drake.”

He rolled his eyes at her and felt his face grow warm.

“You trying to see me shirtless, Addams?”

“Not if you run fast enough!” she said cheerfully.

The group went down to the now deserted ballroom. The tables had already been cleared by the palace staff, leaving a vast, empty room perfect for something like running around half naked.

“The things I do for you people.” It had been his constant refrain lately, yet Drake had to admit that the phrase should be singular. It’s not like he’d do this just for Maxwell or Hana, as much as he liked them.

He took off his shirt and pants and stood there for a split second in his gray boxer briefs. He thought he saw Riley’s eyes glint.

Fuck it, let’s get this over with.

He sprinted the length of the room, the cool air feeling nice throughout his whole body. He realized he hadn’t known how drunk he was until this moment, when running proved more difficult than he’d anticipated. He managed not to trip, but it was a close thing.

“Woo! Go Drake!” Riley cheered from the other side of the room.

He ran back to them and stopped.

“Satisfied?”

“Yep!” said Maxwell, “Now what?”

Riley grinned. “I’m going to join in!”

For the love of God, NO.

She took her clothes off efficiently and yet even then, Drake couldn’t help but think how sexy her confidence was.

Fuck me, now she’s in her bra and undies. I’m gonna die. That’s it. RIP Drake Walker.

It took all of his concentration and strength not to look below her face at her amazing, perky breasts in a black bra; at her long, shapely legs; and most of all, at her ass, whose every tempting curve was hugged by her matching underwear.

“We can’t make Drake be the only one. Come on, Hana!” urged Riley.

Yes! Yes, that might make this feel more normal. More like a “friend” thing.

“Hee hee... okay! It does look fun!”

Hana took her clothes off as well. Drake barely registered her creamy underwear, although he would have to be an idiot not to see that she was a beautiful woman too.

“Let’s go!” Hana gestured for them to run.

Riley turned back, “Maxwell?”

“I’ll be the photographer.”

“Maxwell!”

“I mean, I’ll stand guard!”

The three of them took off running and immediately, Drake felt better. The other two were nothing but a blur and so he could be just a normal guy having fun with his friends, rather than a commoner pining for the prince’s fiancée-to-be.

“Wooooooooo!” squealed Riley.

“Freeeeeedom!” roared Drake.

Hana shouted, “Truth or Dare!”

They ran the length of the room twice and then collapsed next to Maxwell, out of breath and with spinning heads.

“Wow, that took a lot out of me,” mumbled Riley.

“Me too. I need to lie down.” said Hana, a hand on her head.

They returned to her room, carrying their clothes. The four friends threw themselves on Hana’s bed, resting for a moment. Drake found himself lying down next to Riley. Her head was resting on her arm and she was staring at him. She reached out and brushed his bare chest with her fingers.

He exhaled sharply and sprang off the bed. The others took this as a sign to do the same and got dressed. Riley stayed on the bed a moment longer, then put her clothes on as well.

“I can’t believe we just did that!” Hana was flushed and her hair was wilder than Drake had ever seen it. She also looked happier than ever.

Drake ruffled her hair further. “Ah, the magic of Truth or Dare.”

“This was so much fun tonight! Thank you,” she said to them all.

Riley smiled. “Any time.”

“Yeah, you know me. I don’t need much of an excuse to party.” Maxwell did the robot.

“And I’m... still not sure why I came this time, but I guess I’d do it again.” It had been a risk, and it had almost gotten too dangerous, but nothing happened.

“Drake, I think we’re graduating from friends to best friends!” Hana beamed.

Drake put his hands up defensively, “Whoa, whoa, whoa... Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“I dunno, man. We all drink together, goof off together, spend most of our time together...” Maxwell nudged him.

“No...”

Hana squeezed Drake’s arm. “It’s too late, Drake. We are best friends!”

“I guess I’m just going to have to accept this, huh?”

“It’s probably for the best. You could do much worse than the three of us,” said Riley.

Oh, I know. It’s you guys who should be thinking this twice.

“That’s true, isn’t it?” He sighed. “Okay. You got me.”

“Yay!” exclaimed Maxwell.

"Yay!” echoed Hana.

Drake crossed his arms. “Please tell me this isn’t a thing we do now.”

Riley patted his arm, reassuring him. “This is not a thing.”

“Thank God. At least someone still has some sanity.”

“I’ve got your back.” She gave him one last squeeze before letting go.

Hana stifled a yawn behind her hand.

“Okay... we should probably call it a night before we break Hana...” Maxwell said, concerned.

Hana nodded. “Good night! This has been a very memorable evening!” She waved goodbye to everyone as they prepared to leave her room.

“Good night, guys,” Drake said.

“G’night!” Riley repeated.

Once in the hallway, Maxwell went left, while Riley and Drake went the opposite way.

“So, that was fun, right?”

Drake only grunted in response, cursing nobles internally for having such big houses. He couldn’t be alone with her.

“What’s up with you? I feel like you’ve been avoiding me all day.”

“Uh, no, I haven’t.”

It wasn’t exactly convincing, but she couldn’t prove anything.

“Are you tired?”

Drake answered, “Nah,” before thinking, Shit. Why didn’t I just say yes?!

“Cool, me neither. Let’s have a drink.”

She pulled him into her room and he found that he didn’t feel like fighting her. Without asking, she poured them both whiskey and they sat down on a futon.

“Truth or Dare?” she asked softly.

“Dare.”

“Down your whiskey.”

“Come on, Addams, at least make it a challenge.” He was just bragging. His throat actually felt like it was on fire and his head hadn’t stopped spinning since the ballroom. He was extremely drunk already.

“Truth or Dare?” It was his turn to ask.

“Dare.”

“Same thing.”

She rolled her eyes at him and gulped down her drink. She managed to swallow all of it, but she had a coughing fit. He thumped her back, although he wasn’t sure that even did anything.

She stopped coughing, but he didn’t remove his hand; she didn’t seem to mind.

“Your turn.” Her voice was still hoarse from the whiskey.

“Truth.”

Fuck it. Hope this doesn’t bite me in the ass.

“Are you mad at me?”

Her voice was so small, he could barely keep himself from squeezing her.

I can’t even blame her for thinking that. I’m such an asshole.

“No. And I’m sorry for making you think that.”

She seemed to be waiting for him to add something, but that was as far as he was willing to go, so she nodded.

“Truth.”

“Do you miss home?”

She was quiet for a long moment. Drake thought he could hear a clock ticking, but he couldn’t see one. He wondered idly what time it was. Late, but how late? He didn’t dare check his phone at that moment.

Finally, she sighed and spoke, “What is home, anyway? I don’t really have anyone, so no.”

She was leaning into him now, his hand still on her back.

“I’m sorry, if you don’t want to–”

“No, I do. It’s actually kind of a relief to be asked. I know my life is a million times better here than it ever was in New York, but sometimes it sucks that people just assume I’m happier here.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No, I am! I definitely am but...”

Drake waited again until she was ready to continue.

“Remember back in Olivia’s estate? When we went out before the storm?”

You mean the moment I knew I was falling for you, even if I was in denial? Yep.

“Sure,” he replied.

“I told you I knew what it was like to feel like you failed someone.”

“Yeah,” his voice was barely audible. He had been wondering about that but it seemed serious and he didn’t want to push her. He figured she’d tell Liam about it, rather than him.

“I... had a younger brother. Growing up we were really close, but then I left for college and we kind of drifted apart. I thought I could justify it, being a busy college student and all that but... He started having a hard time and I–I didn’t even know about it.”

She squeezed her lips together and continued, “One day I got a call at school that my little brother,” her voice wobbled, “had killed himself.”

Tears were now escaping her eyes, falling too fast and hard to roll down her cheeks. Drake realized he’d been rubbing circles on her back for the past few minutes.

She shook her head. “I didn’t even think to check up on him and I knew depression ran in the family.” She put her head in her hands and took a deep breath. “In his note he asked me to forgive him. As if it were him I needed to forgive.”

She let out a small sob, her face still hidden. A few seconds later, she wiped her tears and spoke, her voice still unsteady, “Coming here, I was just running away from my guilt. But I’m happy for the first time in years thanks to you guys, and you’ve helped me believe I do deserve it, despite everything... I haven’t completely forgiven myself, but I’m closer than I’d ever been.”

She gave him a watery smile. “So thanks, for everything.” She squeezed his hand.

He could not believe she was smiling. The horror, the trauma of losing a loved one in such a way and yet she still found something to be grateful for. He felt his own throat closing up, overwhelmed with affection and admiration. Unable to speak, he squeezed her hand back.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, with her head on his shoulder and his hand stroking her back.

She sniffed and stood up, walking to the mirror. “God, I’m a mess!”

Drake went to stand behind her. “I think a pink nose suits you.”

She giggled. “And to think I might have met Liam looking like this!”

Drake’s smile died on his lips. Right. Liam.

“Listen, if you’re feeling okay I should leave you to it.”

“Oh, um, yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it felt good to tell someone.”

So she hadn’t told anyone? Not even Liam?

He entertained that thought for a second and then shook himself.

It doesn’t matter. You can be her confidant; she’ll still marry Liam. And that’s okay. Having her in your life is enough, but you need to forget about anything romantic happening between you. She deserves no less than a fucking kingdom.

“You should go meet Liam. I bet you can still make it.”

“You... think I should?” Her expression was unreadable.

“Yeah.” So was his.

His feet carried him to the bar, where he ordered shot after shot. He lost count. His bed was only a few feet away, so he could get as drunk as he wanted. As drunk as it would take to forget about Riley for a second. To forget about her bravery and resilience, her vulnerability, her warmth.

We can be friends. We have to be friends, I can’t lose her. I just have to find somebody else.

As if planned, Kiara plopped down on the stool next to him. He couldn’t really focus her properly, but he still knew she looked beautiful as ever.

“Drake! I haven’t seen you all night!” Her speech was not as proper as usual, maybe even a bit slurred, but Drake was in no condition to notice.

“Theeeerrre you are, mylittlecroissant.” He had no idea he was barely intelligible at this point. Kiara didn’t seem to mind, anyway. “Voulez-vous choucher avec moi?”

“I thought you’d never ask!”

They finished their drinks and Kiara moved to his lap. He didn’t see the bartender leave, but he must have. Drake crashed his lips clumsily onto hers, their teeth accidentally clashing. She responded enthusiastically, her tongue entering his mouth. They made out sloppily, his hands roaming her body.

She pulled him closer by his shirt and let her hands stroke his chest, going lower and lower. She brushed his inner thigh and he felt his cock stir in his pants.

He jumped up from his seat, making her fall to the floor.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry, sorry!” He apologized over and over again as he helped her up.

“Kiara, yeeer great, ya know? Like, s-superrr cool an’ev’rything but I can’t. I juss can’t.”

He left her standing there and stumbled back to his room as fast as his condition allowed him.

As soon as he was through the threshold, he slammed the door and leaned against it, breathing heavily. His hand trembling with need, he undid his zipper, pulled out his cock and took himself in his hand.

He started out slowly, just savoring the feeling. Then, without meaning to, he let himself imagine what a smaller, softer hand would feel like. His hand moved faster. Unbidden, an image of Riley in her black underwear and matching bra came to him and he was powerless to stop it. His hand moving at a feverish pace, he had to clench his jaw to stop himself from crying out.

Still, he couldn’t help groaning, “Addams!” through clenched teeth as he spilled all over his hand.

Steadying his breath, he cleaned himself up and staggered to bed, already knowing his future self was going to regret so much of what happened that night.

I’m so fucked.

#trr #the royal romance #drake walker #drake x mc #prince liam #hana lee #maxwell beaumont #pb #pixelberry #choices #playchoices #fanfic #ch 16 #the marshmallow chronicles #long post

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