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scarletttries · 11 months

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Romeo Take Me Somewhere We Can Be Alone (Roman Roy Succession Request)

Part Two Available Now!

Pairing: Roman Roy (Succession) x Gender Neutral! Reader

Requests: "Roman x Mattson!reader? Forbidden/secret relationship?" AND "Perhaps some smut for Roman Roy? Maybe Roman being on the more submissive side? Thank you!"

Warnings: Smut, spoilers for the new season.

Word Count: 2.7k

Author's Note: Oh Roman, I'm going to pretend I haven't seen the latest episode so I can continue fancying you without having to think critically about this piece of media 🙃 Thank you to the ABSOLUTE genius that suggested a Mattson! reader, forbidden romance vibe, I loved the request and enjoyed writing this so much, I've gone full Romeo & Juliet! (More like Rome-eo, hahaha I felt like a genius for this). Also this is my first Roman smut so it was a bit of a challenge to try and keep it in the same tone i've written Roman in so far, but I hope you enjoy! As always keep the requests coming :D

Romey-o take me somewhere we can be alone

"Have you had enough of this little ass-kiss fucky fest yet?" You watched the little bubble pop up on your phone and looked across the party in reflex, scanning the crowd until you saw his smug little smile directed your way. You unlocked your phone to reply, scrolling up to glimpse the hundreds of messages between the two of you since you'd met that day at the woodlands company retreat three weeks ago.

***

"Problems working with your older brother? I can relate." You stepped out into the night air to find Roman hunched over the railing of the small balcony, hands threading through his hair so firmly he threatened to pull it out in clumps. His shoulders grew a little less tense as your voice washed over him, hands falling to the edge of ledge as he gestured for you to join him.

"So you're the younger Mattson? You could have fooled me, on account of you not being a massive dick." He laughed at the words but it came out hollow, watching his breath form a white wisp in front of his face in the cold night air.

"Thanks, I try my best to be an actual human being. I hear out of all the Roys you're the most favourable to be around too."

He turned his head sharply to really look at you, the sincerity in your tone and the measured kindness of your words catching his attention.

"Oh yeah?" He probed, hoping another almost compliment would fall from your lips before he did something to ruin this moment. Truth was he'd spend half the weekend watching the way you floated through the conference, poised, humble, soft; the antithesis of your brother Lucas. And so he'd avoided you, sure that any moment spent in your presence would only tarnish the shining light you carried so effortlessly.

"I like to think I've got good instincts for people, and I think there's something about you that's different from the rest of your family. And I mean that in a good way." You were thoughtful as you spoke, treading lightly around the slick man in front of you, sure that one wrong move would have him sprinting back inside, spitting venom in his words as he went.

"That's actually pretty nice to hear these days." Roman replied after a pause, now standing squarely to face you, searching your eyes for any hint of deception and mockery and instead finding a tranquility that washed over him in waves as you returned a smile he hadn't realised he was sharing.

"I'm really sorry about your father by the way. And I'm even more sorry that you have to be here right now." You grimaced at your brother's insistence that this weekend go ahead as planned, every ounce of humanity seeming to leave him the moment his bank account saw a certain amount of zeros. Roman nodded at your words, the taste of condolences still unfamiliar and bitter in his mouth, cursing his father for ruining yet another interaction for him, even from beyond the grave. You read his silence for the pain that it was and set your hand gently on top of his where it rested on the railing.

"Well I should go back inside before any of our siblings accuse us of fraternising with the enemy, but it was nice to meet you. I really mean that."

Panic rose up in the back of Roman's throat as you turned to move away, not yet ready for this moment to end, feeling better than he had in weeks. He ignored the voice crying out inside him to stay strong, to isolate himself, to trust no one, and instead caught your rising hand with his.

"Maybe we could fraternise just a little longer.

***

And so you and Roman had spent an evening sharing in the perils of being a younger sibling in your strange corporate worlds, swapping numbers and an unspoken agreement to keep this from your families as you departed the next day, Roman touching the spot on his cheek you had blessed with a gentle kiss when he snuck into your treehouse to say a real goodbye. And so followed weeks of secret texts and furtive phone calls, pouring out your souls until finally you were back in the same room, parted in a hotel lobby by a sea of political donors and movers and shakers, but feeling only one pair of eyes on you.

"I thought you'd never ask." You sent back in response, locking eyes with him once again and tipping your head toward an emergency exit you had checked led to a service elevator. From opposite sides of the room you each slipped through the crowd, trying your best to be unseen, aware that any of these prying eyes could collapse what you had delicately built with a single passing comment. As you reached the door you did a final scan to ensure there were no Waystar or GoJo members nearby who could catch a glimpse of this subtle rendezvous, before backing through the door yourself.

Roman stood waiting between the open elevator doors, looking almost bashful as you dashed towards him, vanishing into the small metal room as he let the door slide shut behind him.

"Thanks for holding it." You couldn't help the anticipation loaded in your tone, facing Roman and finding him stood barely an inch away from your blushing face.

"I had a feeling we were going to the same floor." He breathed out, eyes wide and hands shaking as they rose to brush either side of your face, the adoration clear in the gentle way his thumbs stroked your cheeks.

Before either of you could think your way out of something good, you leant forward, closing the gap between your lips and sending a whirlwind of warmth and glitter spinning through your bodies, the reunion more than worth the wait. His head bobbed forward to return the gesture, body following the movement until he was pressed entirely against you. It wasn't rough, or frantic, or urgent. It was like deep down you knew you'd be doing this forever, so you had all the time in the world to sweetly caress the nape of his neck, parting his lips for a content sigh that only let you taste more of him.

By the time the lift doors opened on your floor Roman could hardly remember where he began and you ended, unsure how he ever coped being half way across the planet from you, needing to keep you as close as he could for every second you could steal tonight. You could feel it too, the desperate pull of your heart towards him, the air of secrecy that only made you want him more, this forbidden fruit the sweetest you would ever taste.

You could feel his cheeks brush against yours as he fought back a smile at finally having you in his arms, and the physical confirmation you had been feeling this overwhelming chemistry too. He would have berated anyone else for believing in love at first sight, but as you rested your forehead softly against his, feeling the joy emanating between you, he didn't think this could be anything else. When you pushed the jacket free of his shoulders, helping him shrug away the fabric until it crumpled on the floor, he had to stop himself from pulling away. Not because he didn't want this with you. It was really the opposite; he couldn't remember ever feeling this way, ever wanting someone to be so close to him, to feel every part of him, and now he wanted that more than anything with you. But he was scared of being vulnerable, and insecure in his inexperience, completely unsure what real intimacy could even look like.

As you worked through the buttons on his shirt, you could see the gears whirring in his head, the unmistakable fear and excitement of a man that's seen a hard-drive's worth of porn but never felt the touch of a person that genuinely cares about them.

"We can stop?" You offered, pulling your hands away from his shirt, only for him to vigorously shake his head and rip it off himself, a stray button clattering across the floor, disrupting the heavy silence.

"I want to." He insisted, his eyes full of desperate desire as you brought your hands to his now bare chest, his heart hammering in anticipation inside. Unsure of what to do next, Roman firmly grabbed at your ass, voice wavering as he tried to take control, feeling like that should be his role,

"Do you like that, you fucking slut?" Both of your faces seemed to contort in discomfort as the words tumbled out of his mouth, his hand quickly releasing and his eyes clenching shut in embarrassment.

"Sorry Rome, I don't even think you like that?" You questioned softly, bringing your fingertips to sweep delicately over the creases in his forehead, his brow slowly unfurrowing as he blinked his eyes open to see you again.

"Fuck, sorry, I was trying to, you know, talk dirty, be sexy." He waved his hands in a gesture of uncertainty as he spoke, surprised you weren't laughing at him or taking the opportunity to run for the door.

"You know talking doesn't have to be degrading to be sexy?" You replied, the calm, confident smile on your face matched by the alluring look in your eye leaving Roman feeling like a deer in headlights, but praying the car will crash right into him.

"Oh yeah?" He gulped, eyes wide as you nodded, pushing him gently so he could step backwards towards the end of the bed. He let himself drift in your current as your touch laid him backwards, every wave of contact soothing his nerves.

"Can I show you?" You breathed in his ear, settling your thighs either side of his legs, feeling all the more powerful for being fully dressed as his bare chest heaved beneath you.

"Please." He begged softly, letting his eyes flutter shut as your lips found his again, fingers tracing a path down his stomach until they reached his belt.

"I'm so glad I got to see you tonight." You sighed against his lips as you began to undo the buckle, feeling his hips twitch, reacting to even the slightest touch. His head leant forward, trying to chase your lips as you spoke, needy for the taste of your kiss as you released the zip and buttons in your way.

"Me too." He eventually sighed out as your lips moved out of his reach, mapping a course across his cheek until you reached the edge of his jaw, applying a little more pressure until you heard the low rumble of moan escape his lips.

"I like hearing you enjoy yourself." You purred, confidence building as he relaxed against your touch, submitting to your control, putty in your hands. Marking a sweet constellation of kisses over his neck you slowly slipped your hand inside his boxers, running one finger over the length of him and feeling him buck up to meet your touch. Roman had never felt both so excited and so relaxed at the same time, never this comfortable with someone exploring his body before, but feeling like he wanted to give every inch over to your control, sure your loving touch could put all the broken pieces of him back together.

You wrapped your hand around his hard length, pumping over him a few times to gage his reaction. His eyebrows scrunched down towards his nose, lips parting as a moan seemed to reverberate through his whole body.

"Does that feel good?" Your tone was sweet, if not a little teasing, sucking on a spot on his throat that seemed to leave him barely able to spit out an 'uh-uh' in response.

"Good, I want to make you feel good, Roman. Will you let me make you feel good?" You praised, bobbing your head down to his chest and picking up the pace of your rubbing hand. Ability to think and speak quickly surrendered, Roman just nodded, for once unable to think of a quippy comeback and just enjoying someone else taking control and being with him so intimately. He'd touched himself like this hundreds of times, thinking cruel, perverse little thoughts the whole time until he was left sitting in a puddle of his own self-contempt. But with you it felt like something new entirely, something positive, and warm, and with each soft praise and gentle kiss that poured from your lips and landed squarely on his chest he could feel his heart lifting, thinking maybe there's a reason he'll only ever thought of it as 'fucking' and not 'making love'.

Your lips drifted down to his chest, gingerly placing a kiss on one nipple and smiling at the way he squirmed under you, eyes now staring down at you in full adoration like you were the most wondrous miracle he could have dreamt of. You could feel his cock starting to twitch in your hand, cooing over him again, sure this wouldn't be the last time the two of you spend a night hiding in the sheets together.

"You're doing so well, Roman. Good boy."

"You feel - so - good." He panted out, the praise bringing him close to the edge before he could really think enough to stop it. Ignoring your own desire stirring up inside your stomach, you gripped your hand on him a little firmer, leaving the other to trace faint circles over his chest, the lingering damp of your kisses only making him more sensitive. Crashing your lips back against his you swallowed his moan before breathing out,

"Cum for me, Rome, please." His lips pressed hard against yours as his hips started to shake, unable to hold back for a second longer and spilling hot white ropes across his stomach, almost whimpering at his sensitive release, overstimulated but still whining the second you released your grip.

His hands reached up to capture your face, somehow trying to portray a lifetime's worth of gratitude and affection in a single overwhelming kiss, before finally releasing you to breathe. As you rose up onto your knees, surveying the smiling fool of a man lying beneath you, you couldn't help but laugh at the state of both of your suit trousers, marred with streaks of sticky white.

"We might need to hide up here for a while until we get cleaned up and dried off, or this might be hard to explain."

"You don't think we could say two seperate waiters happen to get lucky?" Roman rebuffed, pulling a disgusted face as he wiped a finger over the fluid pooling on his stomach.

"Or one waiter got very lucky?" You suggested with a smile, Roman using every ounce of remaining strength to sit up until his lips could find their way to yours.

"No-one's that lucky, so I guess we better stay hidden. I reckon there's a lot more stuff you could show me anyway." Roman's eyes drifted down your body eagerly, wondering exactly what else he'd been missing by never trying it with the right person.

"You don't think the party will miss us?" You teased, pretending to bat away his eager hands.

"What party?" He scoffed, letting you capture him by the wrists and pulling you back to lie with him, falling so you pinned his wrists either side of him, a position he was more than happy to end up in.

"What about our families?" You couldn't help the worried tinge in your voice as you remembered the seemingly insurmountable barrier that stood between yours and Roman's lives. With unusual sincerity he gazed up into your eyes and said softly,

"Fuck 'em, you're my family now."

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suratan-zir · 3 months

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I wanted to say that I see all your messages. Thank you. I don't deserve your condolences, even though it hurts like hell. S. had a husband and a mother, they were her only family, her world, and causing them pain was her only regret in the event of her death.

I'm putting my useless feelings and ramblings under the cut

Some of you knew her as Mathilda from her old blog, though it wasn't her real name nor her callsign. I will call her S.

Yesterday morning, on one of the military telegram channels I follow, I read that the russians went on the offensive on the part of the front where S. was. Infantry with tank support. S. went on duty just two days pryor, so I knew she's there, in the thick of things.

I immediately texted her asking if she's alive. She didn't answer because she wasn't. I saw that my message went through (meaning there is an internet connection), but there was no repsonse… So even though it shouldn't have been a surprise, I still can't believe it. Not even a month ago, she was sitting on this same couch eating pizza. She looked out of this window as I showed her the view of the Dnipro river. If I had known that the last hug she gave me would be the last hug from her...

S. was so tiny and strong at the same time. She was so proud of the muscles she had gained during her time at the front.

S. told me that my chances of being killed by a missile are extremely low, because it would need to hit exactly the roof. "Even if it lands right next to your house, you'll survive," she said. Yet she monitored air raids in my town and was still worried anyway. She, being in literal hell on earth, worried about me. That's the kind of person she was.

The whole motherfucking country of russia isn't worth a single hair on her head. Good russians, bad russians, average russians, I hope they all rot in the hell of their own making.

I promised her to be more angry than sad. I lied. I'm neither. I only feel pain and that's it. I'm crying, drinking, trying to sleep and crying some more. To think that she was going through it regularly, messaging me only short "X. died today, he was my roommate", "he chopped wood for me", "he was such a nice guy, only 23 years old". She was losing friends almost every day and managed to stay sane.

I haven't lost people to death before. Only elderly relatives, in their 90s. This is a brand new kind of pain. It gives you a perspective…

I know that her death wasn't in vain. She saved so many people during these two years. But I don't care. I'm not like her. If I could turn back time and prevent her from coming to Ukraine, I would. But it was her choice, the one she was proud of.

I want the last ten years to be a twisted elaborate nightmare. I can't…

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ginnsbaker · 8 months

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Rivers and Roads (Til I Reach You)

Summary: The best(and worst) ways to fall in love with your best friend's younger sister.

Word count: 11.3k+ | Warnings: Angst, Smut, Underage Sex, Minor Violence | Ship: Yelena x Female Reader

A/N: Takes place before "In Flames" but can be read seperately ; Requested by anon: Would you write about Yelena and Reader's first attempt at a relationship? How they saw each other as more than just Nat's little sister or best friend? ; Hope you like it, anon :)

Masterlist

Your father's funeral ends the same way these things always do: friends and family approaching you and your mother, one by one, each offering condolences like they're reading from a script. The words are polite, rehearsed, almost mechanical, and though you nod and thank them, each sympathy feels more hollow than the last.

Like a zombie, you go through the motions, detached from everything around you.

The crowd eventually thins, and that’s when Natasha approaches with Yelena in tow. She hugs you tightly, her body trembling with emotion. “I'm so sorry, Y/N,” she whispers, her voice catching in her throat. “If there's anything I can do, anything at all, just let me know.”

You feel her warmth, but your response is cold, almost automatic. “Thank you,” you say flatly.

When you step out of Natasha's embrace, Yelena steps forward, a look in her eyes like she's ready to do the same thing. But as she moves closer, she hesitates, her mouth parting as if to speak, but the words remain trapped inside. Without waiting for her to say anything, you excuse yourself and head up to your room.

Downstairs, Natasha tugs Yelena to go home. But Yelena's gaze is fixed on the ceiling, right where she knows your room is. She silently declines, and Natasha, reading the situation, gives her a knowing nod without pushing further. With a quiet goodbye, Natasha exits, leaving Yelena with her eyes still fixed on the ceiling, lost in thought.

The minutes feel like hours as she sits there, a battle raging inside her. She wants to be there for you, to offer comfort, but she's paralyzed by uncertainty and fear. Finally, a decision forms in her mind, and she rises from the couch, her heart pounding.

Slowly, she makes her way up the stairs. When she reaches your door, she stops, her hand hovering in the air. She hears the soft, unmistakable sound of crying, and her heart aches.

Softly, she places her hand on the door, pretending it's you, pretending she has the ability to comfort you. But she doesn't, and it's one of the most painful experiences of her young life. To stand there, helpless, listening to the person she cares about hurting, and not being able to do anything about it.

Tears well in her eyes as she leans her forehead against the door, feeling the barrier that separates her from you, a barrier she's unable to cross.

And so, she waits, trusting that someday, when you're ready, she'll be able to step through that door, reach out, and stand by your side when you need her most.

She doesn’t see you for the rest of the summer.

She tries to ask Natasha about you, but even your best friend seems guarded, telling her she hasn't heard from you much either.

Around the same time, a boy from her class, Jeremy, starts dropping by her house. His visits are unexpected but not entirely unwelcome. He's friendly, outgoing, and he makes Yelena laugh—something she hasn't done much of lately.

But as the weeks wear on and Jeremy's interest in her becomes more apparent, Yelena can't shake the feeling that something's missing. Her thoughts keep drifting back to you, to the sound of your crying behind that closed door, to the pain in her chest that she feels every time she thinks of your suffering.

Jeremy tries to get closer to her, invites her out, sends her messages, even brings her chocolates and flowers, but Yelena finds herself holding back. She likes him, but she doesn't feel the connection she longs for, the connection she feels with you.

One evening, as she's aimlessly scrolling through her phone, avoiding yet another message from Jeremy, she stumbles across a picture of you and your father. The memory hits her like a physical blow, and she can't help but wonder how you're coping, if you're healing, if you even think about her at all.

The very next day, she kisses Jeremy for the first time.

III

When she does see you again, it's at a party before the school year begins.

You're alone, clutching a bottle of Jim Beam like a lifeline. You bring it with you, taking long swigs ever so often, not caring who's watching. You look just like the last time she saw you—uninterested, vacant, a shell of the person that used to be filled with so much good energy.

The crowd around you is lively, laughing, celebrating the end of summer, but you stand apart from it all.

Yelena's concern deepens, and she quickly sends a text to Natasha, hoping that she might have some insight or guidance. “She’s here at the party,” she writes, her fingers trembling. “Drinking alone. Looks lost. What should I do?”

The response from Natasha comes quickly, and it's clear from her words that she's as bewildered as Yelena. “What? I didn't know about this. Keep her there. Don't let her leave. I'm coming.”

Yelena looks up from her phone, her eyes scanning the room to find you again. Her heart aches at the sight of you, standing alone, your face a mask of emptiness.

She takes a deep breath, steeling herself to approach you.

But before she can make her move, a voice calls her name, and she turns to see Jeremy coming towards her with a smile.

“Hey, beautiful,” Jeremy says cheerfully, closing the distance between them with a warm smile. He leans in and plants a soft kiss on Yelena's cheek.

Yelena forces a smile in return, her thoughts still consumed by the sight of you across the room. She appreciates Jeremy's presence, but at that moment, she can't shake the nagging worry she feels.

“Are you enjoying the party?” Jeremy asks, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah, it's good,” she says.

Jeremy doesn't seem to notice Yelena's lack of focus. His eyes are alight with excitement, and his grin is infectious as he exclaims, “I've got a surprise for you. Come upstairs with me?”

Her attention is pulled away from you momentarily. “A surprise?”

“Yeah, I think you'll love it,” Jeremy assures her, tugging on her hand gently. “Come on, it'll just take a minute.”

Yelena hesitates, glancing once more in your direction. You’re looking worse by the second, but she also knows that she can't ignore Jeremy, especially when he's clearly made an effort to do something special for her.

With a sigh, she gives in to Jeremy's urging. “Okay, but just for a minute,” she agrees, allowing him to lead her toward the stairs.

You don’t remember much of what happened when you come to.

Your fist is clenched, throbbing with pain, and the skin is turning an unnatural shade of blue. Jeremy—Yelena's new boyfriend—is clutching his arm, his face twisted in agony. Yelena is kneeling next to him, her eyes wide, her face pale, looking up at you in shock.

“What...What happened?” you stammer, the room spinning around you.

You hear a gasp from the doorway. Turning, you see a tall, lanky man with tousled hair and a startled expression. He's holding a drink, the liquid sloshing slightly from the sudden movement.

“Everything alright in here?” he asks, eyebrows raised in concern.

Yelena's gaze shifts to the man, then back to you. Panic flits across her eyes. “It's nothing,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “Just a...misunderstanding.”

He hesitates, eyes darting between you, Jeremy, and Yelena. He doesn’t look entirely convinced. “That doesn't look like 'nothing'.”He nods towards Jeremy's arm and your bruised fist.

“You should leave,” Yelena hisses at you, her voice low and threatening. She rises to her feet, seemingly towering over you despite the fact that you’re taller than her. “Now.”

You're still disoriented, the pain in your hand and the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “Yelena, I didn't mean–I thought he was forcing himself on you–”

She cuts you off. “I don't care what you meant. Just get out.” Her voice trembles with a mix of anger and fear.

Mark steps aside, allowing you a clear path to the door, but his eyes remain fixed on you, filled with curiosity and suspicion. As you stagger past him, you can hear Yelena's voice, softer now, murmuring words of comfort to Jeremy.

The next time you see Yelena, a week has gone by and the purple and blue on your knuckles has substantially faded.

It’s the weekend and you find yourself in the public library while the rest are hanging out in malls or anywhere that doesn't carry the smell of books. It wasn’t always like this—you’d normally be in the Romanoffs’ house by now, playing video games with Natasha or discussing art and literature with Yelena.

You're browsing through the contemporary fiction section when you spot her. Yelena's back is turned to you, her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, strands escaping to frame her face. She's engrossed in a thick book, fingers tracing the lines as she reads. The library's tall windows drape her in a warm, sunlit glow, making her look almost unreal.

For a moment, you contemplate turning around and making a silent retreat. The memory of that night at the party, of Jeremy's pained face and Yelena's horrified eyes, still leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. But instead, your feet seem to make the decision for you, carrying you closer until you're standing just a few feet away from her.

She doesn't notice you at first, so engrossed in her reading. Taking a deep breath, you muster the courage to speak. “Yelena?”

She startles, the book nearly tumbling out of her hands. When she turns and meets your eyes, there's a flash of surprise, quickly replaced by guardedness. “Hey,” she says, voice cool and measured.

“I'm sorry,” you blurt out, the words spilling forth in a rush. “For that night, for everything. I never meant to hurt anyone. I went upstairs to use the bathroom and I heard…sounds…coming from that bedroom and I…it didn’t seemed consensual to me, what was happening–”

Yelena interrupts you, her voice rising in defense, “It was consensual.”

You look deep into her eyes, searching for any sign that she’s not telling the truth. “Are you sure?” you ask gently.

“Yes,” she replies firmly, but there's something flickering behind her gaze.

Not convinced, you press on, “How many times?”

She looks taken aback. “What?”

“How many times did you give your consent?” you ask, emphasizing each word.

She hesitates, her mouth opens to say something, but no words come out.

The few seconds of her silence feels like hours, and then you finally break it. “I just wanted to make sure you're okay," you mutter, pressing your lips together into a tight line.

“Why do you even care?” Yelena scoffs, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Almost reflexively, the truth tumbles out, “Because you're Nat’s little sister.”

For a brief moment, something akin to disappointment crosses Yelena's features, a shadow over her usually bright and fiery eyes. You catch that subtle shift and, for reasons you can't quite place, you're filled with a sudden urge to retract your words.

She exhales sharply, her voice laced with frustration. “So, it's always about her, isn't it? Can't I just be Yelena, without being 'Natasha's sister'? Why does everything I do or whatever happens to me always get linked back to her?”

You swallow hard, realizing your mistake and at the same time, confused as to why it seems like the wrong reason to come to her rescue. “I didn't mean it like that,” you quickly say, fishing for the right words. “I care about you too, Yelena. But yes, knowing Nat makes me more protective. I'm sorry if it came out wrong.”

Yelena simply studies you for a moment before she starts to walk past you as she says, “You say you care, but when your father passed away, you didn't seem to need either of us. Natasha and I tried to be there for you, but you shut us out.”

Your gaze drops, and you quietly fall in step behind her, knowing that she’s right. They both had a bond with your father and felt his loss deeply. While they reached out, you had inadvertently left them in the cold.

“It wasn't that I didn't need or want you both. I just... didn't know how to reach out, how to let anyone in,” Your voice is so faint that Yelena almost misses your words. Abruptly, she halts and, against her better judgment, draws you into a secluded aisle between towering bookshelves for a moment of privacy.

Her hand then reaches out, fingers lightly brushing yours.

“Don’t shut us out. You don’t have to say anything. Just… don’t be alone. Because you’re not,” Yelena says. “Nat and I are here for you.”

You take a moment, a quiet sniffle escaping before you subtly dab the corner of your eye. Though your face remains composed and your eyes shimmer, they betray the strength you're trying to project—a strength Yelena wishes you didn’t feel compelled to display around her.

“I–I know…” you say. You squeeze her hand in gratitude before releasing it. Yelena tries not to sigh at the loss of your touch. “Is Nat upset with me?”

Yelena hesitates, keenly aware of the proximity between you two in the tight aisle. “She's... waiting, you know. We both are. We've missed you, Y/N.”

Your lips curve into a small, bashful smile. “I've missed you guys too.”

As a rosy hue tints Yelena's cheeks, she wishes, if only for a moment, that those words were meant just for her. She quickly deflects, her voice slightly uneven, “I was about to borrow this and head home,” she gestures to the book she's clutching, placing it as a barrier between you.

“Are you planning to stay here awhile longer?” she asks.

You ponder on it for a moment before saying, “Can I come with you?”

Yelena smiles.

“Always.”

“I’ve decided to enlist” Natasha tells you one afternoon after school.

“The military?” you ask, trying to maintain focus on the screen. Your fingers dance over the game controller, securing a win against Natasha yet again. You can't help but suspect that she's using this to divert your attention from the game.

“Not exactly the military,” she clarifies. “It's... well, it's for a government project. Details are classified, even from family.”

You pause the game, finally turning to give her your full attention.

“You're serious,” you say.

Without missing a beat, Natasha resets the game, her casual demeanor juxtaposing the gravity of her decision.

“Does Yelena know?” you ask, eyes flickering towards Natasha.

She hesitates for a moment, her fingers momentarily stilling on the controller. “Not yet,” she admits, her voice softer. “But I'll tell her soon.”

“Where is she anyway?”

Natasha's gaze drifts before she answers, “She's with Jeremy.”

Your eyes harden instantly at the mention of his name, a reaction so visceral that Natasha picks up on it right away.

“You don't like him,” she observes with a smile.

“No, I don't,” you reply tersely.

Natasha's brow furrows with concern. “Did something happen at that party a little over a week ago?”

“Why do you ask?”

She exhales slowly, rubbing her temples. “Just a feeling... Yelena's been... different since then. I thought maybe you'd know why.”

You’re torn. You feel an urge to warn Natasha about this boy that Yelena’s been seeing. But the look on Yelena’s face after you hit him still haunts you to this day.

She’s obviously smitten with him. Going behind her back won’t help.

“Could you, maybe, talk to her?” Natasha asks. “She always listens to you, you know?”

You smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “That’s because I’m the voice of reason.”

Natasha lets out a soft laugh. “That you are.”

VII

Talking to Yelena proves more challenging than you have anticipated, because you can’t seem to find her these days.

Each time you're at her and Natasha's place, she’s not home. Her room remains untouched, bed made neatly and no signs of recent activity. Natasha assures you she comes home, but always at odd hours, usually when the city's asleep.

It's surprising to learn that she's consistently invited to parties that neither you nor Natasha know about.

The girl who keeps to herself most of the time, hiding in bookstores and libraries, has now become the talk of the town and the life of the party. You wonder when and how this transformation took place.

And because she’s Natasha’s little sister, you can’t help but worry about her. Can’t help but think about the kind of people she surrounds herself with these days.

Can’t help but feel protective of her.

Which is why, when you accidentally run into Jeremy after scouring Yelena’s usual hunts in the East Village, you don’t hesitate to approach him even though you're painfully aware he might have every reason to retaliate for that night at the party.

He's leaning against a graffiti-splashed brick wall, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. As you draw closer, his eyes lock onto yours, recognition igniting an unmistakable spark of animosity.

“Look who it is,” Jeremy sneers, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “What do you want?”

“I'm looking for Yelena,” you reply evenly.

He chuckles darkly and then holds the cigarette between his lips as he says, “What, are you in love with her or something?”

Your jaw tightens, trying to keep your emotions in check. “She's a family friend, okay? My best friend's sister.”

He raises an eyebrow skeptically, taking another drag from his cigarette before exhaling slowly. “I find that hard to believe, especially after the way you came at me.”

Lifting his sleeve, he reveals a dark, mottled bruise, evidence of your previous altercation. “All this for a family friend?”

“I'm protective of the people I care about,” you retort, your gaze unwavering. “Now, where is she?”

Jeremy smirks, the smoke from his cigarette curling between you two. “Why should I tell you? Maybe you should deal with your feelings first.”

You sigh, your patience waning fast. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

Jeremy takes a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly. His smirk falters for a moment. “She dumped me that night,” he finally says, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “Haven't seen her since.”

You’re surprised (and mildly relieved) to learn that Yelena ended things with him that quickly.

“Then why are you still hanging around her usual spots?” you ask.

He shrugs, falling back against the brick wall, looking more dejected than you would have expected. “Hoping she'd change her mind, I guess. But if you're really desperate to find her, there's this place she mentioned once. A quiet spot by the Brooklyn Bridge, where she goes when she needs to think.”

You nod, processing the information. “Thanks for the tip,” you say reluctantly.

He spits out the blunt and then crushes it with his heel. “Whatever.”

VIII

The sun has begun to set when you arrive in Dumbo. Facing the river, with no buildings within its immediate vicinity, the wind moves freely in its playground. The East River shimmers with colors, and the Brooklyn Bridge stands out against the sky. It makes sense to you why Yelena would choose this peaceful spot in the city for solitude.

You find a series of benches scattered along the promenade, some occupied by people absorbed in their own worlds, either gazing at the river or lost in the pages of a book.

As you walk further along the riverside, you spot a familiar figure perched on a low stone wall. Yelena, with her hair being toyed with by the wind, is staring at the water with a distant look in her eyes. She's so engrossed in her thoughts that she doesn't notice you approaching.

“Hey,” you start softly, not wanting to startle her.

She turns to look at you, surprised at first before it gradually morphs into wariness.

“Are you stalking me?”

“No, of course not,” you answer quickly. “I was just... worried about you.”

“Worried? Why?”

“Jeremy told me you two broke up. And with you being... distant lately, I just wanted to make sure you're okay.”

Her eyes drift back to the river for a moment, and then she sighs, her shoulders slumping a little. “I didn't expect him to spill our business to you, of all people,” she mutters, sounding more hurt than angry.

“I ran into him while looking for you,” you explain, trying to ease the tension. “He suggested you might be here.”

Yelena crosses her arms, looking a bit skeptical. “So, you're here out of concern, not because you're trying to... I don't know, gloat or something?”

“Gloat?”You blink in confusion. “Why would I gloat?”

She looks away, avoiding your gaze. “Never mind.”

“I just want you to know,” you start, choosing your words carefully, “That whatever is going on, you don't have to deal with it alone. Nat is worried about you, too.”

Yelena lets out a humorless chuckle. “Nat sent you?”

“No,” you clarify, the sort-of lie coming out easily for you. Technically, she did send you, but she mentioned it in passing, hoping you’d help her get through her sister. “But she's concerned. We both are.”

Yelena hums, seemingly unsatisfied with your sentiments.

“What are you doing here anyway?” you ask, plopping beside her.

She glances at you, then focuses on the water again. “Thinking... about everything. Did you know Natasha is leaving by the end of the month to join some weird government program?”

Your head whips around to face her, surprise evident in your eyes. "She told you?"

Yelena looks even more surprised–and a little hurt–that you already know.

“You knew?”

You nod grimly. “But I didn’t know she’s leaving so soon.”

Yelena shakes her head, her expression souring slightly. “I found out accidentally while using her laptop the other day. There was an email opened.”

The two of you sit there in silence, both lost in thought. You miss the days when things were simpler, when the three of you would hang out without any secrets or looming departures hanging over your heads.

“I don’t want things to change,” Yelena murmurs, her voice revealing traces of the reserved young girl who once hid behind her older sister’s more confident demeanor.

You wish for the same thing, but the truth is, a lot has already changed.

Starting with the death of your father.

And now, faced with the prospect of losing your best friend too, you don’t hesitate. You instinctively pull Yelena into a tight embrace. She stiffens momentarily but then melts into the hug, her breath warm against your shoulder, as your bodies fit together in a new and uncertain way.

Natasha’s up and left by the end of September, and as a new month rolls around, you and Yelena both find yourselves spending time together without the balancing force of her sister. Those first few meetings are stilted, almost as if you're dancing around the elephant in the room. There are fumbled greetings, exchanged in hallways and awkward silences over cups of coffee.

During one of those brief encounters, Yelena mentions her struggle with math. It's a subject you've already navigated, being two years her senior. “I remember going through that topic,” you muse one day, sketching out a problem for her. She squints at your notebook, and you can see the cogs turning.

Your sessions become regular, and soon, the two of you are spending longer stretches of time together. The rhythm is slow but steady. There's a mutual understanding that neither of you want to discuss the glaring void Natasha has left behind. Instead, you bond over shared experiences, inside jokes, and little adventures in the city.

Late night study sessions turn into spontaneous pizza runs. Movie marathons evolve from strictly academic films to cult classics and cheesy rom-coms. There's an unspoken agreement that you both desperately need a distraction, and slowly, you become that for each other.

However, in the crowded hallways of school, things aren't as seamless. You have your established group, a band of friends who’ve known you for years, and their expectations of you are set in stone. Yelena, on the other hand, moves in different circles. With her distinctive style and entourage of artsy friends, they occupy spaces you rarely venture into.

Moreover, your schedules hardly ever line up. While you’re leaving for advanced courses or student council meetings, she's typically heading to the arts wing for a drama club rehearsal or a literature symposium. Those stolen moments in the library or quick nods across the cafeteria become your only connection, otherwise you’d be total strangers from an outsider’s perspective.

One day, during lunch, your friends jokingly mention the budding ‘friendship’ with Yelena. “So, tutoring the sister now? How's that going?” one of them teases. You just smile and shrug it off, but you can't help but feel a pinch of guilt for not integrating Yelena more into your world.

There are also times when Yelena's friends shoot curious glances your way, probably wondering about the nature of your relationship with her. There are whispers, but you both ignore them, focusing on the close friendship you've built, especially with Natasha gone.

It’s your senior year, and you’re just starting to see just how much you and Yelena have in common.

You can't help but wish you'd realized this earlier, especially since you'll be heading to New York University next year.

One night, after you both finish watching “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” in your room, Yelena glances over at you, a kernel of popcorn held precariously between her lips.

“Have you ever been in love?”

You almost choke on your soda, before recovering to shrug and say, “I don’t think so.” You watch as Yelena smirks and slowly chews on the popcorn before licking her lips, your eyes following the movement.

“Got a crush on anyone, then?”

The word 'crush' makes your heart race for reasons you’re still unaware of. You find yourself briefly lost in the depths of her green eyes, and there's something about the way her lips curl that grabs your attention. Shaking your head subtly, you rally your thoughts.

“What about you?” you counter, turning the question back on her in an attempt to keep the spotlight away from you. “Ever been in love?”

Yelena pauses, a playful glint appearing in her eyes. She drags out the silence, clearly enjoying the suspense she's creating. “Maybe,” she finally admits with a sly smile.

That simple word instantly has your undivided attention. “Who is it?”

She bites her lip, a move that draws your gaze and makes your heart beat a tad faster. “It's a secret,” she says teasingly.

“Do I know them?”

Instead of answering, she just gives you a mischievous smile and, in a swift move, pulls the covers over herself, hiding underneath. You can hear her giggling, leaving you with more questions than answers.

You chuckle, grabbing a flashlight from your bedside table and diving under the covers alongside her, illuminating both your faces with its soft glow. The confined space brings you closer, close enough to notice the details of her face and the nervous twinkle in her eyes.

“Is it Jeremy?” you ask hesitantly, the guilt from the incident at the party still weighing on you. “I'm so sorry about that night. I never should've–”

“No, it’s not him,” she cuts you off, shaking her head emphatically, her hand lightly touching your arm. “It’s someone else... someone I've felt this way about for a while. For a long time, just loving them from a distance felt enough. But now...” Yelena trails off, her eyes searching yours, for something that might hint that you know who she is talking about.

That she’s talking about you.

“...now I’m not so sure it is,” she quietly finishes.

But your eyes give away your confusion, showing her you can't quite pinpoint who she's referring to. Moreso, when you say, “I hate that they’re making you sad.”

“It’s complicated,” Yelena says. “Sure, the thought of her not feeling the same way stings, but she brings me so much joy. The happiness she offers is greater than the pain. That has to mean something, right?”

“She?”

Yelena freezes at her slip-up.

“Yes... she,” Yelena drawls. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “Nat doesn’t know. I haven't exactly been open about it. Not with anyone, really.”

You shift closer to her, ensuring she feels your presence and support. “Hey, I'm really honored you trust me with this. You never have to change or hide who you are around me. I love you just the way you are.”

She turns her head, her expression simultaneously hopeful and uncertain. “You love me?”

Without hesitation, you nod. “Of course. Yelena, between you, Nat, and my mom, you're the most important people in my life. I've always felt that way.”

She bites her lip, absorbing your words. “Oh,” is all she manages initially. The silence stretches between the two of you, heavy with something you both can’t put a name to. Then, in a voice so soft you almost miss it, she murmurs, “I love you too.”

You weren’t expecting to feel anything differently when she says it back, but you do–

So much, that you consciously maintain a safe distance between your bodies as you both eventually fall asleep.

Days go by, and you start seeing Yelena differently.

Little things about her catch your eye, like how the sun hits her hair or the way she laughs. You find yourself thinking about her more often than not, even during lectures.

One afternoon, you're studying together, and you realize you've been staring at the way she holds her pen for far too long. There's a song playing in the background, its lyrics vague and unimportant, but you can't help thinking how it's something she'd love.

But it’s those quiet nights, when the world is asleep, that your thoughts become more personal, more intimate. On one of these nights, as you’re ensnared in those thoughts, warmth spreading all over your body, your phone suddenly rings.

It’s Yelena. Hastily, you pull your hand away from your soaked underwear and try to sound casual as she asks you about a school project that you’ve tackled before. You can’t help but notice how huskier her voice has gotten recently, and as soon as the call ends, you’re shuffling your pants down your legs and fucking yourself with two fingers, coming to the name of your best friend’s sister on your lips.

What follows after is a deep-seated shame. You bury your face into your pillow, trying to muffle the self-reproach that threatens to spill over.

Now, each time your mind drifts to Yelena, there's a budding warmth, but it's quickly doused by guilt and the looming shadow of Natasha. The trepidation of how she might react to your burgeoning feelings for her younger sister haunts your every thought. Would she see it as a betrayal? As you, taking advantage of Yelena? Or would she understand that feelings, often unexpected and inconvenient, have a way of creeping in?

Days turn into weeks, and you do your best to suppress these emotions, to lock them away and throw away the key. But they have a pesky way of resurfacing when you least expect them to, making ordinary interactions with Yelena charged with a tension you can't shake off.

It's during one such interaction, when you're helping Yelena with a school project at her house, that she catches you staring a moment too long. Her eyebrows knit in confusion, and for a second, you think she's going to question you. But she doesn't, and you're left wondering if she feels it too. Feels a surge of current coursing through her body at any point of contact between your bodies.

XII

The air in Montauk is usually so soothing, but not today.

Walking through the front door, you immediately notice the empty spaces, corners that were once filled with your father’s belongings. Bewilderment strikes you first. Your eyes dart around the room, trying to take in the enormity of the situation. His jackets are no longer on the hook, his books absent from the shelf. That worn-out armchair where he used to sit with a cup of coffee every morning is no longer there.

The sound of paper crackling captures your attention, and you follow it to the backyard. Your heart plummets when you see your mom tossing pictures into a growing flame. It feels as if time has stopped, as you watch memories being consumed by fire. Each photo that curls, blackens, and disintegrates feels like a piece of your heart being pulled apart.

A scream of anguish and rage leaves your mouth before you can think.

“What are you doing?!” you shout, rushing forward to snatch what remains of the photos. But the damage has been done.

Your mother's face is a complex mosaic of pain, anger, and a little lunacy. “It's time,” she retorts, her voice brittle but resolute. “Time to move on.”

“How could you?” Your voice breaks, kicking the bench where your father used to lounge in, enjoying a cup of coffee.

Feeling the walls of your house closing in on you, you snatch a small box of photos, the only things that haven't met the flames yet, and storm out.

XIII

The Romanoffs’ residence automatically becomes your refuge.

You don’t even knock, you just barge in, your breaths coming fast, tears streaming down your face. It doesn't take Yelena long to figure out that something's wrong, and she envelops you in a warm, solid embrace.

Her fingers run through your hair soothingly, her voice a gentle murmur in your ear. “It’s okay, let it out,” she whispers, guiding you down the hallway towards her bedroom. Posters of classic horror films adorn her walls, giving the space a uniquely edgy feel. By the side, a stack of books teeters precariously, evidence of her voracious reading habits and an already overflowing bookshelf. Now that you've spent more time in it over the past few months, Yelena's room feels even more familiar than Natasha's ever did.

Before you know it, you're lying down, with Yelena sitting beside you, her hand never leaving yours. Overwhelmed and exhausted, sleep claims you amidst your tears.

Later in the night, you’re woken up by the clinking of a tray. Blinking your eyes open, you see Yelena by your side. She’s holding a plate of something warm and there's a pill and a glass of water on the tray beside her.

“Figured you’d have a killer headache from all that crying,” she says, handing over the pill. Her voice is soft, teasing even, trying to inject some lightness into the heavy atmosphere.

“You made dinner?” Your voice is a croaky whisper.

“Didn't want you starving on me,” she says, shrugging with a smile before setting the tray on the night table beside you.

And then she starts to ramble, her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment, “I really don't know how to cook, so I just tried frying some spam. Then I ended up burning one side. I swear, every time I try to cook, I just—”

But you're barely hearing her. In that moment, it hits you just how much she's wormed her way into your heart. In an impulsive moment, powered by emotions running high, you reach out, cupping her face in your hands, and pull her towards you.

The kiss is a sweet, brief meeting of lips, but in that fleeting moment, it communicates more than words ever could. When you pull back, the air between you is thick and your lips are tingling and all you can think about is how much you want to lean in and kiss her again. Yelena's eyes search yours, both of you realizing that things may never be the same again.

Yelena seems to be processing, her green eyes wide and a little unfocused. The softness of her lips still lingers on yours, and the magnitude of what just happened starts to sink in.

Panic flares in your chest.

“I... I need to go,” you stammer, your mind racing for a reasonable excuse. You can't stay, not now. Not with the desire to push her down the bed looming over your head.

Before she can say anything, before she can even move, you're out of the room, leaving behind a dazed Yelena, clutching the tray she had brought for you, the scent of the burnt Spam still lingering in the room.

XIV

You avoid Yelena at all costs.

For the first three days, your phone buzzes constantly with her calls and texts, and you muster the will to ignore every single one.

At school, you find yourself darting through hallways and taking longer, circuitous routes just to dodge the places where you might bump into her. The hangout spots you both frequented over the past months—the tiny café by the library, the secret alcove behind the gym—are now places you avoid like the plague.

You switch up your post-school routine, taking a completely different path home, even if it means walking an extra mile. Friends begin to notice the lengths you're going to just to not see her and they shoot you questioning looks, but you shrug them off, not ready to talk about it.

There's even a wild, desperate thought about dropping out of school. But every time it comes to the forefront of your mind, you push it away. You're in your senior year; leaving now would mean throwing away all the work you've put in. Plus, you're on the cusp of moving away, starting anew. You just need to endure a little longer.

Every day feels heavier. On one hand, you want to duck and dodge, stay out of Yelena's path until you've figured what it means for you, for her, for your friendship with Natasha. On the other, you're missing her like crazy. More than once, you've caught yourself about to call or text her, only to stop, unsure and overwhelmed.

And when she stops calling and texting, every time your phone lights up with a notification, a part of you wishes it's her, another hopes it isn't.

And the worst part? The gnawing feeling inside that tells you that the longer you avoid her, the greater the risk of losing her for good. And you're not ready for that. Not by a long shot.

You hide in your room. No one is answering because your mother is still at work, so you just listen to Yelena ringing the doorbell until it stops. You press your ear against the door of your room, straining to hear any signs of movement from downstairs. But there's no one.

And when the ringing stops–for a good ten seconds–you let out a quiet sigh of relief. But just as that thought that she’s given up crosses your mind, there's a sudden thud against your window. Jumping, you pull back the curtain a tad and spot Yelena, a frown carved deep on her face, a couple of pebbles in her hand.

“Come face me, you coward!” she yells, making you wince.

Flustered, you motion frantically for her to head to the front door. After making sure you’re decent enough to receive her, you take a deep breath and head downstairs.

When you open the door, Yelena stands there, eyes boring into you. She’s clearly angry and frustrated, and regardless of those, she still manages to take your breath away.

Yelena steps closer, into the little space you’ve unconsciously provided by opening the door, narrowing the gap between the two of you. Her proximity makes it difficult to think clearly.

“Why did you run that night?” she asks pointedly, the confusion and hurt undeniable in the way her voice thickens and shakes. “And why have you been avoiding me ever since?”

You look down at your feet as she tries to chase your line of sight. “It's not that I don't want to be around you, Yelena,” you start. “In fact, I want to be around you all the time.”

Yelena’s breath hitches at that. She frowns, trying to decipher your meaning. “So, what’s the problem?”

You muster the courage to lift your chin and finally meet her gaze. “I like you. A lot. So much, in fact, that I'm terrified of what could happen next. I'm scared I won't be able to hold back from falling in love with you.”

She blinks, taking in your confession. “You're such a stupid idiot,” she mutters, more to herself than to you.

“You know those are synonyms, right?” you retort, trying to inject some levity into conversation.

She arches an eyebrow, “Dense.”

“That's just another synonym,” you mumble, meeting her challenging stare.

But before you can come up with another witty retort, she closes the gap between you two, whispering, “Shut up and kiss me.”

XVI

It’s getting harder and harder to control yourself around Yelena. Being around her has started to feel like you're navigating a minefield.

There's that time you're lounging in her bedroom, reading a book while she goes to shower. The sound of water running and the muffled hum of her voice singing a familiar tune combine to become your favorite music. The soft sheets of her bed, the faint scent of her on the pillow next to you, and the intimate setting conspire against your self-control. You have to consciously remind yourself to breathe evenly, to focus on the words in front of you, and not on the vision of Yelena in the shower.

Even small moments become loaded. Like when she's talking to you, and she tilts her head, exposing the soft curve of her neck. The light catches on her skin just right, and all you can think of is how it would feel under your lips. How she might shiver at your touch, how the pulse beating beneath her skin might race under your caresses.

Then there's the way she's been touching you more. A brush of her fingers, lingering hugs, those almost-too-close moments that send shivers down your spine. It feels like she’s playing a game, seeing how far she can push before you crack.

The dreams aren’t helping either. Some nights they’re tender, others they’re, well, a bit more heated. Waking up from them leaves you flushed and out of sorts.

One balmy afternoon, as the sun's rays filter through the slits of your bedroom curtains, the two of you find yourselves tangled once again. Suddenly, as you're catching your breath, Yelena pulls back slightly, looking deeply into your eyes, the desire evident. “I want you,” she whispers breathlessly, her voice shaking with want.

You freeze, her words threatening to make you combust. “Yelena,” you start, throat dry, “I don't think we should. Natasha doesn't even know about...this.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes with an exasperated sigh. “This isn't on us. Natasha's off at some super-secretive training camp. How are we supposed to tell her?”

You try a different approach. “You’re sixtee–”

“You’re seventeen,” she cuts you off quickly.

You smile softly at the pout forming on her lips. “I’m turning eighteen next week.”

“Semantics,” Yelena argues.

Your chest tightens, and you finally admit, “There's something else. I've... I've never been with anyone like that before.”

To your surprise, Yelena's confident demeanor falters. She looks away, biting her lip, “Me neither.”

Your eyes widen. “But... Jeremy?”

She looks away, biting her lip. “That night you punched him? That night, it's supposed to happen. But…” She takes a deep breath, her eyes searching yours. “All I can think of is you being outside that room. I can't do it. I've always... I've always wanted it to be you.”

The fact that she hasn’t been with anyone makes you even more nervous. You want her first time to be memorable and good.

“Yelena, uhm,” you start, fidgeting under her gaze. “I have no idea what to do.”

Her thumb brushes over the back of your hand, a soothing gesture. “Neither do I. But that's okay. We have each other.”

“And if we mess up?”

She smirks a little, that playful glint returning to her eyes. “Then we mess up together.”

XVII

It’s a mess, but neither of you would call it ‘messing up’.

When you’ve removed the final piece of clothing off her body, you find yourself staring at the juncture between her legs, your mouth watering at the sight of it.

It’s a beautiful mess.

Yelena shifts slightly, drawing your attention back to her face. Those brilliant eyes of hers are watching you, filled with understanding and the smallest hint of amusement. “First time seeing one up close?” she teases gently, breaking the tension.

Your cheeks warm, but you don’t look away. “You could say that.”

She reaches out, her fingers gently lifting your chin, guiding you to meet her gaze. “It's okay. Remember? We're learning together.”

You nod, kissing her fingers before she lets go of your chin.

“But please, touch me already,” Yelena husks out, arching her back and lifting her hips closer to your face in offering. “You’re driving me crazy.”

With that, you let go of your reservations, letting instinct take over.

But you take your time.

You slide your hands under her buttocks, palming her cheeks and keeping her place just in case. The heady scent of her arousal draws you in closer, a fresh wave of wetness collecting between your own thighs.

Tentatively, you stick your tongue out to touch its tip against the hood of her clit. The sharp intake of Yelena's breath and her subtle tremor give away her anticipation, making the corners of your mouth lift in a fleeting smile. It’s such a small action, and you can’t believe how responsive and needy she’s become.

“God, you're perfect,” you murmur, before flattening your tongue against her core and licking the entire length of her. Your eyes fall shut the moment you taste Yelena for the first time. She tastes as good as she smells, and you can’t help but repeat the act again and again. Each pass draws a deeper reaction from her, coaxing more wetness to cover the lower half of your face. As Yelena's responses intensify, you're grateful for your foresight in keeping her grounded, especially when she instinctively tries to pull away from the overwhelming sensations you're giving her.

Opening your eyes, you’re met with the most gorgeous sight of Yelena–her fingers clutch at the pillows, pulling them close, while her body arches and writhes–a pure picture of ecstasy.

Emboldened by her reactions, you focus your attention on her clit, drawing the sensitive nub into your mouth, letting a gentle suction build. The sound Yelena makes is sharp and unguarded, her fingers weaving into your hair, pulling you closer, urging you closer to her heat.

The flush on Yelena's face intensifies, painting a path from her cheeks to her collarbone as you continue your ministrations. The squelching sounds created by your eager mouth intermingle with her breathy moans, the rustle of the sheets beneath, and your own low sounds of appreciation.

Sensing her impending climax, you momentarily cease the gentle suction, prompting a desperate plea from Yelena, “Please…” But before she can voice her needs, you plunge back in, your tongue swirling insistently around her sensitive nub.

With a final, muffled cry into the pillows, Yelena's body convulses, waves of pleasure coursing through her. You ease your movements, allowing her to ride out the aftershocks of her climax.

Gradually, Yelena's breathing steadies. The vibrant flush of arousal is gradually replaced by a more relaxed hue. Still nestled between her thighs, you place gentle kisses on her inner legs, giving her time to come down from her euphoric high.

Her fingers, previously tangled in your hair, begin to relax, though she doesn’t release you entirely. Instead, they trace delicate patterns along the nape of your neck and your shoulders. A contented sigh escapes her, and you can feel her legs relaxing around you, the earlier tension now but a memory.

Taking this as your cue, you wipe your mouth and chin and gently climb up, situating yourself beside her, pulling her into a close embrace. Her head rests against your chest, listening to the thud of your heart, which beats just as erratically as hers.

“You okay?” you ask softly, brushing stray strands of hair from her face.

She nods, her lips curving into a small, satisfied smile. “More than okay,” she murmurs, snuggling closer. “Thank you.”

You both lay there in comfortable silence, enjoying the warmth of each other's presence. The outside world feels distant, irrelevant.

After what feels like hours but is probably just minutes, Yelena tilts her head up to meet your gaze, her eyes turning a darker shade of green again.

“My turn,” she whispers, her hands already exploring.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you arch an eyebrow, the sudden role reversal causing a thrill of anticipation to snake through you. “Impatient, are we?" you tease, the hint of a smirk playing on your lips.

Yelena grins, her fingers deftly tracing a path along your collarbone, down your chest, eliciting a shiver from you. “Maybe I've just learned from the best,” she counters playfully, pressing her lips briefly against your neck.

She doesn't rush, taking her time, soaking in every one of your reactions. The softest of kisses to the inside of your wrist has you inhaling sharply. Yelena watches, a glint of mischief in her eyes, before repeating the action, this time lingering longer. Each delicate press of her lips feels like a brand, and you're aware of the rising heat that courses through your body, centered where you want her most.

The press of her thumb against your pulse point, just beneath your jawline, elicits an unexpected moan from your lips. She chuckles softly, clearly pleased with the discovery. “Found a new spot, did I?” Yelena whispers, her voice husky.

Your response is lost as her mouth travels down, her tongue painting a trail down your collarbone, causing you to arch into her touch. “Yelena…” your voice is a breathy plea, laced with desperation.

Her fingers splay across your abdomen, her touch light, almost ticklish. It's a stark contrast to the firm press of her lips against the soft flesh of your thigh. Your hands find her hair, urging her closer, but Yelena pulls away, teasing.

Her eyes meet yours, filled with a playful defiance. “Patience,” she chides, her hot breath against your skin sending another shiver down your spine.

The build-up is excruciating, driving you to your limits.

When her lips finally meet the wetness between your thighs, the sensation is electric. She starts by laying a series of soft kisses there, each one making your hips jerk slightly, seeking more of her. Her tongue dips into you, tasting, exploring, teasing.

Her fingers join in, sliding through your wetness, gathering it before pressing into you. The combined sensation of her fingers moving inside while her mouth focuses on your clit is almost too much to bear. The slick sounds of her mouth on you, combined with the rhythmic thrusting of her fingers, fills the room. The dampness between your legs grows with each pull and push, with every flick and suck she delivers.

As Yelena works her magic, she surprises you by letting her fingers wander further back, teasing the rim of your other hole. The unexpected sensation causes you to gasp sharply, eyes widening in surprise and a new sort of arousal.

“Trust me?” she murmurs against your heated skin, her voice a low rumble that sends another jolt of pleasure through you.

All you can do is nod, your usual articulateness lost to the whirlwind of sensation. With the slickness from your arousal aiding her, Yelena gently applies pressure there, testing, probing, adding a new layer to the pleasure. The combination of her mouth, fingers inside you, and this new, intimate exploration has you spiraling.

Your fingers clutch her head, guiding her, even as your back arches, pushing yourself further into her touch. Yelena, sensing your nearness to the edge, doubles her efforts. The world blurs out, every nerve ending centered on the wet slide of her fingers and the firm, insistent press of her mouth against your most sensitive spot. With a final cry, you come around Yelena’s fingers, leaving you trembling, soaked, and sated beneath her.

For a moment, there's nothing but the two of you—the heavy breaths, the shared warmth, and the intoxicating scent of your combined arousal.

Then, with a tantalizing slowness, Yelena extracts her fingers from within you. You can feel their absence keenly, the cool air hitting the warmth they've just left behind. As she brings her fingers to her face, the wetness on them catches the dim light, making your heart race even faster.

Her eyes, dark with desire, lock onto yours. You're held captive by that gaze, and then with a smirk, she slides her fingers into her mouth, sucking on them deeply, audibly. The sound, the sight of it, is almost too much.

“Yum,” she murmurs, her voice dripping with mischief and satisfaction. The single word breaks the spell, sending another jolt of heat through you.

You don't even get a moment to process her bold move because, in the next heartbeat, you're overcome with a renewed surge of desire. Drawing Yelena closer, you can feel the slick heat of her pressing against you, the intimate wetness of your arousal mingling together.

The sensation of her clit, swollen and sensitive, rubbing against yours elicits deep, guttural moans from both of you. Your hands grasp her hips, guiding and urging her into a rhythm that sends sparks of pleasure ricocheting through your body. The room is filled with the sounds of skin on skin, punctuated by the wet slide of your clits moving together, and the heady scent of sex.

Yelena's eyes, half-lidded and wild, fixate on yours, capturing every reaction, every moan that slips past your parted lips. Her fingers dig into your hips, anchoring herself to you, as your bodies grind together, lost in wild abandon.

Your hands cradle Yelena's face, bringing her mouth to yours. As your lips meet, the kiss is all-consuming—a frenzied mix of passion and urgency, the taste of you still on her tongue.

Your hips falter, and you can't hold back the whimper that escapes when you feel that familiar sensation above your groin. The sensation of Yelena's body moving against yours, combined with the feel of her lips and the taste of her mouth, pushes you closer and closer to the brink.

Your focus narrows to the point where the only thing that matters is the tantalizing friction between the two of you. Yelena's rhythm matches yours, her hips moving urgently against your own.

“God... don't stop,” Yelena breathes into your ear, her voice shaky with need.

Your reply is caught by a moan as the coil in your belly tightens even more, threatening to snap. “Yelena…” you manage, voice raspy and broken.

Suddenly, her teeth bite down into your shoulder, making you gasp. “Sorry,” she mumbles against your skin, but you can hear the edge of ecstasy in her voice.

“It's okay,” you manage, voice strained with pleasure. “Feels... good.”

Yelena's hips grind unevenly against yours, the slickness between you both growing with each movement. Every thrust sends ripples of pleasure through you both, wetness mixing and coating your inner thighs, creating a deliciously slippery friction. You can feel the warmth of her arousal as it mingles with your own, the combined sensation dizzying.

“God... can you feel that?” Yelena gasps, her voice ragged and desperate.

“Yes,” you breathe, nearly overwhelmed by the sensation. The raw intensity of the moment, the feeling of her wetness against yours, is almost too much to bear.

“I'm close,” she warns, her voice strained.

“Fuck, me too,” you whisper back, lost in the sensation.

Suddenly, Yelena's body stiffens, her muffled cry against your shoulder sending vibrations straight to your core. The feeling of her release, warm and wet against you, combined with the bite of pain from her teeth, triggers your own climax. Your bodies shake together, still feeling the rush of pleasure even after the most intense moments have passed.

The room falls silent except for the sounds of your labored breaths and the gentle rustling of sheets. The rawness of the moment makes your skin tingle, and you become acutely aware of the warm stickiness between your thighs and the pulsating ache where Yelena had left her mark on your shoulder.

She pulls back slightly, her green eyes, now softened, searching yours. The corners of her lips tug upwards in a tender, adoring smile. “That was…”

“...unreal,” you finish, still catching your breath.

She chuckles lightly, shifting her weight to lie beside you. “Yeah, I didn't think... I mean, I hoped, but that was…”

“Beyond words,” you murmur, pulling her closer until she’s resting on top of you.

You both lay there for a moment, bodies intertwined, enjoying the afterglow. Yelena reaches out to caress the bite mark she left, a look of concern crossing her features. “Did I hurt you?” she murmurs, lips brushing against the reddened skin.

You wince slightly at her touch but shake your head. “It’ll bruise, but it's okay. Kind of like it, actually,” you say with a sly grin, making her laugh.

She leans down, pressing a gentle kiss on the bite mark, her lips lingering against your skin. “Sorry, I got carried away,” she mumbles against your shoulder.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” you reassure her, tilting her chin up to capture her lips in a soft, languid kiss. “But maybe we should clean up a bit.”

She nods in agreement, and the two of you untangle yourselves from the sheets. The air feels cooler against your flushed skin as you help each other clean up, using damp cloths to wipe away the evidence of your shared passion.

Afterward, Yelena snuggles close, her head resting on your chest, listening to your heartbeat.

You drape an arm over her, fingers absentmindedly playing with her hair. “I’m glad it was with you,” you whisper, pressing a kiss on the top of her head.

“I love you,” she says, tightening her grip around you. Those three words nearly bring tears to your eyes as a surge of affection for the girl in your arms envelops you.

“I love you too.”

XVIII

You want it to last forever.

More than exploring each other’s bodies nearly every night, you want each moment spent with Yelena to last forever. You might think it's too soon, but honestly, it feels like you've known her forever.

She’s it.

She’s the one.

Time, however, has its own pace. Before you know it, you and Yelena are receiving an email from Natasha herself that she will be coming home in two weeks. You can't help but feel a growing tension, a deadline looming over your idyllic world. But at the same time, you’re excited to have your best friend back.

One evening, as you both lay in bed, the soft glow from the streetlights outside illuminating the room, you broach the subject.

“When Nat comes back,” you start, tracing patterns on Yelena's arm, “I want to make us official. Tell her about us.”

Yelena's gaze meets yours, and though she nods, there's a hesitation in her eyes, a shadow of doubt. “Of course,” she replies, but her voice lacks the enthusiasm you'd hoped for. But for now, you pull her close, not wanting to read much into things especially with how perfect the past few months have been.

XIX

The atmosphere feels different since Natasha’s unexpected return.

A few days have passed, but the three of you continue to circle around each other, resembling planets in an unsure orbit. Yelena and Natasha seem wrapped up in their own reunion, while you tread carefully, waiting for the right moment to bring up your relationship with Yelena.

This evening, you find your opening. Yelena has stepped out, leaving you and Natasha alone in the living room, sitting at opposite ends of the couch.

“Has Yelena told you anything recently?” you finally break the silence, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness.

Natasha tilts her head, narrowing her eyes slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Did she mention something big? I mean… you were gone for quite some time and I understand if you’re shocked, but–”

“Uh, yeah, she did mention something,” Natasha interjects softly. “She got accepted to a program in Leeds.”

The world seems to tilt off its axis. Leeds?

“What?” you ask, failing to keep your voice down.

This is news to you. What’s going on?

“She’s leaving in ten days,” Natasha continues, looking at you curiously. “You didn’t know?”

You only realize Yelena's been distancing herself when you hear about Leeds.

Even though you still see her every day, she's managed to avoid spending time alone with you. Every time the topic of informing Natasha about your relationship comes up, she finds an excuse to divert or leave. Now, she consistently includes Natasha in your plans, turning what were once dates into casual hangouts.

As school ends one afternoon, you spot Yelena's familiar figure quickly exiting the building, her pace hurried, as though trying to escape. It's evident she's avoiding running into you on her way home. You remember the desperation that had led you to skip your last class, just so you could finally confront her.

Taking a deep breath, you quickly catch up to her.

“Yelena!” you call out.

She pauses, her shoulders tensing, and then slowly turns to face you. There's a hesitance in her eyes, but you're determined.

“Why Leeds?” you blurt out, all your emotions hinging on that single question.

She exhales sharply, looking as if she's been cornered, her gaze darting around. “I... I applied a while ago. Before everything between us started.”

Your heart sinks. “Were you planning on just disappearing without saying anything?”

Yelena's eyes shimmer with unshed tears. “I was scared,” she admits. “I didn't know how to tell you.”

“That's not fair,” you say, your voice choked.

She nods, biting her lip. “I know. I'm sorry.”

“I just...when did you apply?” you ask, trying to make sense of the timeline in your head.

“After Natasha told me about her own plans,” Yelena whispers. That was before you saw her in this new, intimate way, before everything between you two began. “I thought it would be best if I too had something to focus on.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “So you applied because Natasha was leaving? Why didn’t you tell me? We could have figured something out together.”

She sighs, her gaze drifting downwards. “It was a spontaneous decision, a way to cope with the changes, I guess. And then, you and I happened... It all went too fast. Before I knew it, I was accepted and suddenly, telling you became the hardest thing to do.”

The realization stings. All those moments, all those memories, and all the while, there was this looming secret she hadn't shared. “So,” you mutter, a tremor in your voice. “This was all just... a distraction for you?”

Yelena's eyes snap up, wide and filled with panic. “No! Never! It wasn't like that at all. What we had, what we shared, it was real for me. More real than anything I've ever felt.”

Your eyes blur as tears gather around your eyes. “Then why Leeds? Why not tell me? Why not give us a chance?”

You find yourself repeating the questions, hoping that if said enough, they might somehow reshape the truth, making it easier for you to accept and move on.

“I didn't want to put you in that position," she confesses, her voice breaking. “To make you choose or feel tied down. I love you too much for that.”

You exhale deeply, gritting your teeth in order to hold yourself together. “Yelena, love also means being honest and facing challenges together."

“I know,” she whispers, unable to hold back her own tears. “I'm so sorry.”

The world around you seems to blur. “So, is this it? Are we just... done?”

She hesitates for a moment, searching your eyes for understanding. “I don’t want to hold you back, and I need to focus on this new chapter. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

Nodding slowly, you muster the strength to say, “Goodbye, Yelena.”

XXI

For several days, your room's four walls become your entire world. Natasha, sensing something amiss, checks on you with growing concern. When she questions your seclusion, you blame it on a virus, claiming it's safer for you to stay isolated. But the truth is, your heart is shattered, and you can't bring yourself to share the painful reality with your closest friend.

At first, Yelena's messages are filled with apologies, each one dripping with regret. But as the days go by, her tone shifts. There's worry evident in the string of texts that asks if you're okay, questions about your health, pleas for just one response.

Then, as silence from your end persists, the messages take on an edge. “Is this really how you want to handle things?” one of them reads. “After everything, you're just going to shut me out completely?”The accusations sting, but you're in so much pain already that it hardly makes a difference.

A particularly scathing text catches your eye one evening: “I thought we meant more to each other. Is this really how you want us to end?”

The screen blurs in front of you as tears threaten, leaving you torn between reaching out and honoring the goodbye you've already given.

XXII

Seven long days of silence later, something shifts within you.

Distance can't be an end. You can't let it. You decide it's time to act, to see Yelena, to tell her that you’re willing to put in the work despite the long distance.

Pulling on a jacket, you make your way to her house. Your mind races, framing and reframing the words you want to say, the assurances you want to give, the hope you want to share.

As you approach the house, you immediately notice the absence of music from the living room. Yelena always ensured a playlist was playing in the background, a comforting constant whenever they were home. That familiar comfort is missing now, replaced by an unsettling silence. A knot of unease forms in your stomach. You knock, hoping against hope.

The door opens, and there stands Natasha, mildly surprised to find you at her doorstep.

“Hey! Wasn't expecting you today,” she greets with a lightness. “You here for Yelena?”

You nod, trying to find your voice. "Yeah, I wanted to talk to her."

A puzzled look crosses Natasha's face. “Oh, she said she talked to you a couple of days ago. I thought... Anyway, she took an earlier flight this morning. I assumed she told you?”

The ground seems to fall away beneath you. You manage a weak smile, masking the wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. “I must've missed that. Thanks, Natasha. Maybe I’ll just text her…I think I left something on at home. Better head back.”

You retreat before Natasha can ask any more questions, literally running out of the house before you fall apart in front of her.

Reaching your place, you shut the door behind you, leaning against it as if trying to barricade yourself from the outside world. Your phone buzzes with a message notification. It's from Yelena:

I'm sorry.

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x you #yelena belova #yelena belova fanfiction #marvel #marvel wlw #my fics #my writing #IFISS #ILGOSS #natasha romanof #friends to lovers #smut #angst #yelena x reader #yelena x female reader

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wardenparker · 6 months

Text

The King's Queen - chapter 7

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Prince Javier of the Balearic Islands has always known that one day he would have to follow in his father's footsteps to be the caring and steadfast king that his people deserve. What he did not know is that he would be stepping into the next phase of his life alongside a woman he has never met before - and amidst a rocky sea of unusual circumstances of every kind.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 13.2k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: arranged marriage, age gap, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, mentions of American politics, deceased parents* Mentions of a funeral, shitty parents/family, coping with shitty family, SO much fluff and flirting. A slightly sexy moment with someone unexpected. Summary: Javi has a gift for you on the morning of your crowning, and an idea for an even greater gift that night. But of course, an otherwise beautiful day has to be spoiled by your demanding family. Notes: The sisterhood between Daisy, Maisie, and Gabriela is everything to me 🧡

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6

"Your majesty." Javi nearly sighs as someone else calls for his attention as he walks to the office. No wonder his father was sometimes abrupt when walking around the palace. He has felt like he was being pulled in several different directions, everyone offering their heartfelt condolences on losing the king. He turns to see one of the staff rushing towards him, an apologetic expression on her face.

"A message, your Majesty." The young palace page has a card on a silver tray that she holds out to the king, trembling nerves written on her face for having to actually speak directly to the new monarch. It is early in the morning and when he was the prince, King Javier did not have a reputation for being a morning person whatsoever. The only solace is that it is your brother's already familiar handwriting on the face of the card.

"Thank you, Constanza." He takes the note and flips it open to read it, smiling slightly at the strong, sharp writing and even more at the meaning of the words. The woman is still waiting, hovering at his elbow and obviously ready to take his answer back to the personal assistant to the Princess. "Sí." He nods. "Tell him yes. I will."

"Yes, your Majesty." She is off again like a shot, ready to convey the simple but seemingly all-important message, and barely manages to not collide with the king's personal assistant as he comes around a corner from the hallway. Julius has spent his morning running back and forth to make sure the king's needs will be taken care of this morning and is finally ready to report that things are on track appropriately. There had been a misunderstanding with the setup for the crowning that simply would not do. "Your Majesty," he manages to get the king's attention easily and moves toward him with purpose. "All is well. Everything will be ready in less than an hour, just as needed."

Javi nods, "We have the film crew discreetly placed?" He had only allowed the royal film crew to be present at the actual crowning in the gardens, his need for tightened security growing after news of the king's murder. The video would be streamed to all the public stations to broadcast to the country and world.

"They have been stationed where they will have three good angles, but not intrude on the ceremony in any way," Julius assures him. It will not be the grand, over-the-top event that some crownings have been, but the morning ceremony followed by an intimate reception in the garden will give the members of court a chance to meet their new Crowned Princess properly. Last night's state funeral was not an appropriate moment for such introductions.

"Good." He sighs softly, the weight of his father's funeral still bearing down on him, although it had been a beautiful state ceremony. Most of the country had turned out to pay their respects.

"For your lapel, sire." In his hand, Julius has a boutonniere just like the ones he had pinned to the previous king's formalwear many dozens of times over. The choice to have the country's national flower feature prominently in the decorations for the event today was a wise one and the small pink and white flowers of the almond tree will look beautiful against the king's black suit jacket. "And try to remember to breathe."

“I can’t make many promises.” Javi admits with a short laugh. “I have never been so worried about things going wrong in my entire life.”

"There is very little that is within your immediate control today, sire." His assistant advises him, fastening the flowers to the lapel of his suit carefully. "The princess has far more to be concerned about in terms of ceremony. As long as you can place the tiara on her head and bow, you will be just fine. The words to be spoken will be said by the archbishop and you will merely repeat them."

He knows that. It’s more that he’s nervous for you. Holding you extra close this morning and kissing you tenderly before having to let you go get ready for the moment you will become the Crowned Princess of Mallorca. “I wish for the Princess to enchant our people the way she has enchanted me.”

"I do not doubt it for a moment." Most of the palace staff is already enamored with the American princess, and those that are not are mostly stubborn about you being American or else they are loyal to the Count of Ibiza. "But for your own sanity, I have moved your meeting with the ministers to tomorrow morning." Taking his job very seriously is part of what Julius does best, and he had noted that the Senator and his wife are amongst the listed guests for the event today so he had sought to provide some small solace for the king. An afternoon with fewer commitments is no small feat.

“You are wonderful.” Javi groans quietly. “I understand our evening meal will include the Senator and his wife as well?” You had pouted slightly about that, but he had told you that if you didn’t wish to have dinner with your father, there were many ways to cancel that.

"They did arrive in time for the ceremony this morning, sí. And will therefore be present for photographs this afternoon and at dinner tonight." With the flowers pinned perfectly in place, Julius fusses momentarily with the placement of the king's pocket square before stepping back in satisfaction. "The Senator is reportedly quite pleased with his accommodation, and in a particularly good mood." This was, of course, according to Sebastian. Who would know his own father's mood better than most.

“Good.” At least the trip is starting off on the right foot. “Please make sure that the Senator is well attended to.”

"Of course, your Majesty." Julius nods, having planned on doing so anyway. "I believe..." he clears his throat quietly. "If one wished to see the princess privately before the ceremony, one might find her in the greenhouse."

“Thank you, Julius.” Javi bites his lip for a mere moment before he is turning and striding towards the doors that would take him to you. Eager to see you and calm any last moment jitters, yours and his own.

******

Pacing the greenhouse was the very best place you could think of to get away. Sebastian and Flores had been an expert team at keeping your father, stepmother, and sister busy all morning after breakfast and you had deflected by closing yourself in your suite with the dressmaker who carefully buttoned and fastened you into your ceremony dress. She assured you the myriad of fastenings would make sure the lines of the cream-colored lace tea dress stayed true in all the photography that would be necessary today, you had simply nodded your consent and stood still until she was finished. Now, as time for the ceremony rapidly approaches, you nervously pace through the fruit trees and beautiful blossoms of the palace greenhouse wishing that Javi was near.

Javi strides towards the little greenhouse, the purpose of the stone cottage changing over the years to where now it was more of a little tea house. His mother had changed it during her time as queen. He sees movement in the glass and wonders if you are pacing nervously. Walking up to the door and knocking since you were not expecting him.

The sound makes you jump, heartbeat pounding in your throat as you wonder if you’ve been caught by some member of the court — or press — or worse, if your father found you. But through the trees you see curly hair and broad shoulders at the greenhouse door and you sigh audibly. “Javi.” It doesn’t matter that no one can hear you, seeing him is a balm over your anxious soul and you move across the open room quickly to unlock the door and let him in.

"Margarita." You are stunning. The tea length dress is formal, but not too formal. The daytime coronation is one that the ladies on your staff and his own advisors thought should be less formal than some of the other monarchies' pomp and circumstance. "You look....stunning."

“Do you like it?” The dress had been agonized over, and though you love it, you are relieved to see that he does too. You are even more relieved to see him, though, and instantly sink into his embrace while being careful not to muss his suit. “You look like a dream, querido.”

"I love it, amor." He assures you with a soft smile when he pulls away. "You look like a princess, my princess."

As jittery with nerves as you are, breathing him in centers you in a way that you can’t describe. “I want to make you proud today,” you murmur, smiling reflexively when his own beaming expression washes over you. “The rest…the cameras, the guests…everyone watching? As long as you’re proud of me I know it will all be fine.”

"I am already proud of you, margarita." He promises, reaching up carefully to caress your cheek without smudging your carefully done makeup. "You were my rock yesterday when we had my father's funeral. You have been my safe harbor in the storm since your arrival."

“Thank you for letting me stand by you.” As deeply as you already feel for each other, he still might have easily decided that he wanted to stand alone at these events or that love did not immediately equate to trust — and you could not have blamed him for thinking either of those things. As it is, you’re grateful that he embraced you as a partner immediately. “And you did wonderfully yesterday.” The funeral was dignified, with a beautiful service and many meaningful tributes. Javi had stood tall for everything, always stalwart despite the crushing sadness of losing his father.

"I want to celebrate with you tonight." He's been spending a lot of time thinking about love and grief and the next steps he wishes to take. He cannot let his entire life be ruled by his job, or the loss of his father. His need to let his desires grow has been something he wants to discuss with you.

“What did you have in mind?” Thinking of something relatively simple like dessert on the balcony or taking a drive to the cliffs, you are ready to agree without hesitation.

"I—" He takes a deep breath, knowing that even if you are not ready, you will not chastise him or think badly. "I want to make love to you tonight." He admits quietly. "Celebrate that we are alive."

“I—” The lump in your throat is not nerves now but the touching sweetness of the man in front of you, and you feel the soft smile on your face blossom easily. “Mi amor, if you are ready, I am ready. I promise you.”

"I'm ready." He squeezes your waist. "If– there's no use in wondering what might have been." He decides after a moment. "We can only focus on what our future will be."

“Our future will be what we make it.” You wish you could kiss him now, but the makeup artist that came in to complete your look this morning was exacting. “Come to my room tonight like you always do, querido. We will let things happen naturally.”

"I love you." He murmurs quietly. "You are the queen I have chosen." It's important for you to know that he chooses you. That he will choose you every day.

“And I love you.” With his forehead pressed to yours, a wave of calm washes over you and allows you to smile widely. “More than I ever thought possible.”

"Then we will make sure that our people know that we share a deep love." He vows softly.

“I think that all they will need is to see how we look at each other,” you observe with quiet amusement. “My brother said that we looked like a fairy tale when he saw us before breakfast yesterday.”

"I think your brother is paid to find the positive in everything." Javi jokes. "Especially from the stories he was telling me about working with your father."

“He is an excellent person to have around when you need cheering up.” You can attest to that completely. “But he also knows me. And he knows how happy I am with you.”

"We had a talk yesterday afternoon." Javi tells you, not sure if Seb had. "It was very good."

“He didn’t mention it.” He must have decided that it was personal, or that you didn’t need your head full of extra things rattling around with the funeral that day. “But I’m glad you’re getting along.”

"It's standard practice for anyone who is coming to work on the staff to have a meeting with the king." He explains.

“I can take some of those meetings on for you after we’re married,” you offer immediately, knowing that he has more than enough to keep him busy. “To lighten your load a little.”

"I appreciate that, but I enjoyed meeting with him." He admits. "Especially since you so obviously adore him."

“He’s the second best guy in the world and whatever girl finally gets him to settle down is going to be the second luckiest woman in the world.” Second, of course, because you count yourself luckiest for having Javi.

Javi smiles, obviously getting the point behind your comment. "I will endeavor to make sure that your feelings about that never change." He promises, taking your hand and kissing the back of it gently.

“I don’t think you’ll have to work very hard.” The warmth in your cheeks that flashes through your whole body is proof enough of that, and you smile again. “How much time do we have?”

"Twenty minutes." Javi glances at the small, elegant clock that is sitting on the table. "Are you ready, my love?"

“As ready as I think I will ever be.” The crowds have been assembling in the rose garden for a half hour already, and you exhale deeply to steady yourself. “But you’ll be there with me, so I will be just fine.”

"Right beside you." He will already be wearing his own crown, but he smiles at the thought of sharing this momentous occasion with you. "I'll never let you do this alone."

“We will be each others’ rocks.” While you know that you came here to be his, it fills you with a sense of warmth and rightness to know that he wants to be yours.

"I have something for you." He gives you a small smile as he pulls a square of fabric from his pocket. "My mother–she adored the idea of you being my queen." That was an understatement, since it was because of her insistence that the contract was struck between her college friend and the crown. "She had these made for you. I–they were in father's things."

“What a—?” Your confusion dies when he presses the soft squares of linen into your hand, and you can not only see but feel what they are. Beautifully stitched with scalloped edging and subtle colors, the pastel handkerchiefs were obviously made by hand and lovingly attended to. The cream colored square has a butterfly stitched into the fabric, the mist blue has the outline of a dove, the dusty pink has the beautiful form of a stitched roses in the corner, and the golden yellow handkerchief has your initials in a monogram that includes the prominent letter ‘G’ for Gutierrez. While you immediately decide to carry the cream handkerchief today, you hold the yellow one up for Javi to inspect. “I’m going to save this one for our wedding,” you tell him with a waiver of awe in your voice. “Your mamá was planning ahead.”

"She was a woman who enjoyed planning." Javi admits with a smile. He's proud that you seem to love the handkerchief, even more so that you would carry one on your wedding day to him. It will be like having a piece of his mother there.

“The more I learn about her, the more I see how remarkable she was. Our mothers were alike in that way.”

"It is too bad that we could not have met them." He murmurs quietly. "I would have loved to see them together."

“If we are lucky maybe we will have two daughters just like them.” The smile you flash at him is broad and genuine, and you cup his cheek with one hand. “Or one little girl with both of their names, even.”

"I think that would be a good tribute to them." Javi hums dreamily, smiling at the thought of such a future. "A continuation of their legacy."

“It will be something to think about in the future.” Your thumb graces his cheek, smoothing over his warm skin. “And I am so glad to be able to plan my future with you.”

"Have they contacted Seb about the investigation?" He doesn't know if your brother would bother you with it today, but he's curious.

“Yes.” It is a lot to handle and to be coordinated, but you don’t want to put it off. It’s far too important. “I’m meeting with the investigators tomorrow after breakfast.”

Nodding seriously, Javi sighs. "I wish I could be there with you, but it would be best if we talk to the investigators separately. So it doesn't seem like we are conspiring."

“We would probably be best not to speak of it at all in private,” you admit, even though you know it will be hard. But being able to honestly say that there has been no discussion whatsoever is essential.

"You are probably right." Javi admits, squeezing your hand and sighing. "We will be cleared quickly and then we can talk."

“We’ll be just fine.” The best either of you has right now is the hope that this will all be over quickly and that the culprit will be caught. And you’re going to hang onto it like a lifeline.

“I know we will.” Of that Javier is certain, it wasn’t him, and he knows it wasn’t you.

“Chin up, mi amor.” It is becoming abundantly obvious that resisting him is not something you are good at, and you nudge your nose against his to keep yourself from kissing him and smudging your makeup. “Today, at least, will be happy.”

“Yes it will.” He hums softly. “You will be wonderful.”

“I hope so.” Glancing past him and out the windows, you can see Sebastian and Julius walking toward the greenhouse together and you sigh. “I think we are about to be summoned, mi amor.”

“The ceremony won’t be long and then the reception will be for you. A social engagement.” He smiles and nudges your nose with his. “Cocktails allowed.”

"And I will nurse those one or two cocktails longer than any other drink in my life." Being very well aware of your own tolerance, and having approved the menu for the day yourself, you know that you're not eating heavily at this event so you shouldn't drink heavily either. But then...as a royal? You'll never be drinking heavily where you can be observed ever again.

“Absolutely.” As a new king, he completely understands why you would have that outlook. “And I will be with you, and after..” he smiles. “We can have another few cocktails while we relax in our private rooms.”

"We've developed quite the routine," you hum, the softness and affection in your eyes completely obvious, thinking of those nights with Javi out on your balcony. "I like it."

“I’ve enjoyed it as well, but I was thinking…” he leans in right as there’s a discreet knock on the door. “We could use that tub tonight.”

Your eyes widen to an almost comical degree at the suggestion, and your mouth is nearly unhinged when Julius and Sebastian step into the greenhouse looking dapper and official. "Forgive the intrusion, your Majesty, but it is almost time to— your Highness, is everything alright?" Julius looks concerned immediately but Sebastian is doing very well to hide a smirk behind the older man.

“Everything is perfect, Julius.” Javi assures his assistant. “The princess was just surprised by a suggestion I had.”

I'll bet she was, Sebastian thinks as loud as humanly possible as he hands you the soft lace gloves that you will wear during the ceremony and reception today. "Flores is already standing by with pins so the tiara can be secured to your hair after the ceremony is over." He promises you.

"Thank you, Seb." Possibly the most difficult part of this whole thing is not the oath you will take or the ceremony itself, but the fact that you will have to balance that priceless tiara on your head for a full twenty minutes without it being secured in any way. Thank goodness your father was one of those people who still insisted on you learning good posture with a book on your head.

Javi smiles at the obvious affection between the two siblings in front of him. He had always wished for a sibling to share secrets and experiences with. It might be one reason why he had tolerated Lucas's presence.

“We should get the two of you into place,” Julius urges, although he has to admit that he is loath to let you at times like this. You had obviously been having an intimate moment.

“Of course.” Javi nods and squeezes your hand encouragingly. “Today we crown a Princess, one that will be beloved by her people and the world.”

“Let’s not get carried away.” You tease, even though your cheeks are warm from affection and bashful from the compliment. Squeezing Javi’s hand one more time, you put your gloves on and nod to the three men around you. “Alright. It’s showtime.”

Javi lets you walk out of the little greenhouse ahead of him, nodding to Sebastian and Julius before he follows you out into the gardens where music will be piped in through hidden speakers.

The staff had outdone themselves. The traditional gardens, with neat manicured bushes and flowering plants, look radiant with the changes they had made for the ceremony. Flowers had been trucked in from local florists. Red, yellow, blue, and white blooms, all the colors of the flag, arrange in pots that mark the path towards the center. A recreation of the flag in flowers is displayed on the raised bed, the perfect backdrop for photos when you are crowned. Even though it is daylight, the lights that are strung in the bushes, providing a festive celebration of the crown. Javi beams in pride as he walks behind you.

The string quartet that has been brought from the Royal College of Fine Arts is set in a portion of the garden and mic'd, their stunning rendition of the national anthem playing through the speakers that have been hidden amongst the bushes and decor. The rose garden looks stunning, and in the center of all are about a hundred and fifty guests surrounding the platform where the Archbishop of Palma stands beside a beautifully ornate antique Savonarola chair that you recognize from the photographs of Javi’s mother’s crowning. The Throne of the Princess of Mallorca may technically be small but its symbolism is enormous.

Javier knows how intimidating this can seem, having undergone his own coronation when he was of age in a traditional ceremony. He had been so scared he almost threw up.

The carefully curated path through the rose garden has been scattered with petals and every step you take brings perfume to the air. With Javi walking at your side – his hand holding yours up in front of the both of you and wearing a splendid suit with you in a white dress – it feels like a very deliberate rehearsal for the wedding that will follow in a few months' time. There is nothing accidental about the choice to put you in white, of course. It is the color of hope for the people of these islands, worn by kings and queens past as beacons of the future. Guides through dark times. Here, it is not brides who wear white to symbolize their purity, but leaders who wear white to symbolize their good intentions. It was why you wore that white day dress for your arrival to the country, if you are completely honest with yourself. And now, it is why you wear white before the eyes of the entire nation. To promise them that you have every intention of giving them hope, and that you have nothing but good intentions for their future.

Javier stands next to the archbishop and turns to face you, his own crown set on his head before he had walked out into the garden. Looking every bit a strong and confident king like his father had hoped for.

The longest part of this ceremony will be the archbishop’s speech. He begins with words of welcome as Javi moves slowly, gracefully, in a circle as you practiced and stops beside your throne to sit you down comfortably. Between guests and staff there are over two hundred people watching your every move in person and hundreds of thousands if not millions more on television — the sensation of needing to be sick is definitely one that Javi has warned you about but it’s stronger now than you ever thought possible.

Javier's heart pounds, both because he is nervous for you and because he's sad that his father didn't get to witness this. He knows the king would have approved of the elegance in your movements, looking like you have settled on this throne a thousand times before. His steps take him to stand beside you and he wishes he could hold your hand right now, but he cannot.

It will not be a full service of any kind, thankfully. Otherwise this ceremony would take place in one of the nation’s many churches. But the archbishop begins speaking immediately in his all-important tone, preaching to the assembled crowd and cameras as well as to you about duty, responsibility, and the importance of hope. Javi reminds himself that he’s not a child, he cannot look around in boredom. Or stare at you as the other two hundred people are doing. You are beautiful, regal. You are the Princess and future queen that his people deserve and today is the beginning of that legacy.

The guests assembled in the garden are inspecting you. You know they are. But that is part of what you are here for — to be seen and judged by the very people that you are wearing to serve. The thought had terrified you right until the second Javi stepped up to the small dais beside you, coming right back to your side. He makes the chaos of the world quiet around you. The strength of his broad frame at your side makes you feel invincible and the fact that he believes you can do this makes all the difference in the world.

The ceremony is beautiful, the words spoken by the archbishop ring out clear and true. Making Javi nod when he speaks of duty to the people. Listening to the words with a clarity and care he had never had before.

When the archbishop steps back from your other side where he had been giving his advice and instruction, he is also making room for Javi to come forward. The king, already wearing his crown, will be the one to take the selected tiara from its cushion and set it on your head. If this ceremony had happened even one week ago it would have been his father to elevate you in this way, but you will not let the moment be melancholy. This is, the way it is happening now, a monumental occasion. Javi is choosing you this morning — for himself and for his country — and you are grateful for it.

Javi lifts the tiara, holding it in his hand for a moment as he looks you in the eye. A small, subtle wink is flashed at you as he lifts the crown up to place on your head with dignity.

It has the perfect effect: making the smile on your face broad and sweet when the heavy bejeweled tiara is set into your carefully styled hair. The first moment of your life as a Crowned Princess is smiling up at the man you love, ready to take your place at his side. The flash of cameras is everywhere but you hardly notice, straightening your back and raising your head up to your full height on the small throne that is now your own. You look almost angelic, making Javier know that this moment will be the one that he wants made for you. Hoping that the sculptor will capture it. He knows it will be a moment he wants to cherish forever.

What is supposed to be a solemn moment of accepting one’s duty changes very quickly, and you swear you hear the applause begin very nearby but it crashes over the assembled guests like a great ocean wave. Instinct should always be trusted though — because when you glance to your left, Maisie is smirking in a very self-satisfied way from her seat in the front row.

"Your Royal Highness." Javier smiles at you, watching as you execute a perfect curtsey to him and he gives you a formal bow in return. Then he can take your hand and press a kiss to the back of it.

“Your Majesty.” It is not customary for you to give a speech, thank goodness, because right now you’re sure you would faint or stumble or forget every word. Instead you accept the larger leatherbound volume that is being offered to you by the Archbishop — a printing of the laws and rules of Balearica that symbolizes your agreement to uphold them with honor — and you begin the long walk back to the greenhouse where Flores is waiting with hair pins and hopefully encouragement. Javi will follow you. The only time in his reign as king that he will ever walk behind another member of the court.

Your dress is beautiful and you walk with such grace that Javier beams with pride. As soon as you are around the topiaries, he is rushing forward to take your hand. “You were perfect, margarita.”

“Really? I swear I was shaking the entire time.” As much as you want to dive forward into his arms, you only reach out to squeeze his hands and stand perfectly still as Flores attacks your hair with the fist full of pins necessary to secure the tiara. You will now wear one to each and every formal occasion thrown by the palace or royal family and it’s going to take some getting used to.

“You were beaming.” He promises. “Glowing with pride for your station.”

“I am proud.” You can promise him that, just like you can promise him that you love him. They are both deeply true, but the mood is light so you can afford to joke. “And I am also proud that I managed to walk back here without the tiara falling out of place.”

“You were as regal as any princess and queen that have come before you.” He assures you, guiding you into the greenhouse. It will be just a moment before you are needed back out in the gardens, but there was time built into the schedule for a moment to breathe.

Once inside, pins in place and away from the eyes of the court, you pull Javi to you without hesitation. He is what is grounding you today, nothing else. “Te amo.” Even whispered, the words ring clear and true, and you soften under his proud gaze.

“Te amo, mi amor.” Javi wants to kiss you, but he knows that your lipstick is going to transfer. “My queen.”

“Your Majesty.” The voice behind Javi belongs to Julius, but you can tell even without looking that he is smiling. “Your Royal Highness. Very well done. You will be expected at the reception momentarily.”

“Of course.” Even as he answers Julius, he is staring at you. “We will be right out.” He assures his man. “But for now, I need a moment alone with the Princess.”

“Of course, your Majesty.” It is oddly reassuring to see the young king so enraptured by his princess, and Julius blocks Sebastian from entering the greenhouse with a firm but kind hand on his arm. “Give them a moment,” he advises with a smile.

“I have to admit that I wish that we could skip the reception.” Javi admits, leaning in and kissing your cheek, his lips grazing your ear. “I think you should wear the tiara to bed tonight.”

“Javi!” With breathless disbelief in your voice, the shiver that rolls down your spine is delicious. “I promise to choose something very easy to remove when I change after the reception.” This dress will be moved into a special closet of items worn for ‘historic’ events and probably not be taken out again for quite some time.

For the first time since his father has passed, his gaze is more lecherous than loving and he smirks. “It’s good to be the king.”

“I think it’s probably good that I can’t kiss you right now,” you murmur, surprised but not at all upset to see this side of the man you’ve fallen for. “We might not stop.”

“It is a very good thing, mi corazón.” Javi chuckles, leaning in and kissing your cheek again, letting his lips linger. “Later.”

So this is the playboy prince, you think with a grin, reflecting for just a split second how easily his charm comes when he is not burdened with grief. You saw it the first day you were here and seeing it again now is just a confirmation. And you certainly can't fault any of the women who came before you for their good taste. "I think you might be a tease, mi amor. Let's see how long you keep whispering in my ear at this reception and perhaps you will prove me correct."

“I will whisper in your ear all night.” He promises with a wink as he steps back. He’s aware that he has an obligation, as do you. Indulgences can come later.

Apparently the biggest challenge of the day just became keeping a straight face while your fiancé murmurs – possibly dirty – sweet nothings in your ear, and that sounds like exactly the kind of challenge that you are up for. You let him wrap your hand around his arm to lead you back out to the party and arrange your face into something approaching serene instead of your honest expression of eager anticipation. You are very much looking forward to tonight already.

You are never a step away from him. Javi makes sure of it as you begin to make the rounds. This is your introduction and it is only right that it be by his side. His hand settles on the small of your back as he talks, introducing you to those you have not been acquainted with while constantly looking over at you in both awe and reassurance.

There are as many members of court as there seem to be stars in the night sky, and you really are doing your best. But by the time you are able to take a deep breath and have a sip of the drink that you have been carrying so as to politely avoid any attempts at shaking hands or other embraces, the warm cup of tea has turned cold. Thankfully you could not possibly care less, because Javi is still right by your side and the moment to breathe is well appreciated.

“Do you wish for a flute of champagne? “His question is soft, noticing that your tea has gone cold. You have been wonderfully approachable, holding conversations with everyone who wished to speak with you.

"I suppose it's appropriate." He's being very doting and sweet, and you have to admit that you're basically a puddle on his arm at this point. "Since we're celebrating."

“We will have our own celebration later.” Javi reminds you, leaning in to whisper enticingly. “Perhaps we should have a bottle sent to your room?”

“We could certainly do that.” When he puts the glass in your hands it takes all the strength you have in that moment not to react to the enticing spark of his fingers caressing yours. Even for such a small touch, it takes over your entire body. “Our private little treat?”

“With some strawberries.” He hums. “Strawberries enhance the flavor of champagne.”

You have to smirk to yourself a little, because he seems to be approaching the idea of tonight very romantically, but your filthy mind had already conjured up the image of Javi drinking that champagne off of you, not from a glass. “Whatever you wish, querido.”

He catches the small smirk and the physical portion of his attraction and love for you takes over, making him twitch in his pants. “I believe we should both be satisfied, my love.”

“And I have absolutely no doubt that we both will be.” There is heat in his eyes, and probably in yours too, but this would be a very improper time for that to be shown to anyone but each other. “I have a feeling we might be speeding through dinner tonight,” you hum, amused at the thought of it.

“I’m ravenous.” Javi hums. “But not for food.”

“You’re going to be the death of me.” Being only the vaguest of chastisement, it’s really more about the fact that Javi had a lot more practice keeping his poker face on at very important events than you do. You have never needed to not look horny in front of a few hundred people before. Looks like you’re going to learn.

He knows that it's not proper to tease you at your first formal function so he decides to dial it back a bit. Knowing that you will be meeting a lot of important people. "Only after a lifetime, my love."

******

There really has been no peace today, and through meetings and everything else the only thing that has kept your mind clear is looking forward to seeing Javi in private again. It’s the only thing keeping you sane while you sit in formation on a set of carefully arranged chairs in the conservatory of the palace with you father, stepmother, brother, and younger sister being photographed for innumerable royal press releases.

“You there.” Your father snaps his fingers at Julius. “Make sure my office gets copies of these.” He commands, eager to have his own press release again, to remind his constituents what he brings to the table during the election cycle coming up.

“Julius doesn’t take orders from anyone besides the king, Dad.” You murmur, keeping your polite smile plastered to your face and managing an apologetic expression in the direction of your fiancé’s assistant. It isn’t strictly true, since Julius frequently takes direction from you, but he certainly does not take it from your father. “I’ll have Seb send them to your office when they’re ready.” Even though your brother is right there a few feet away, you’re not about to turn and give him orders right now.

Frowning, there’s a disapproving sound from your father, but he doesn’t protest further, getting his way is all that matters. Giving a terse nod and then turning back towards the cameras.

"When do I get my tiara, Mommy?" Though she's smiling as she's been taught to do, your younger half-sister's voice is full of a pout.

"Princesses normally receive their first tiara when they are thirteen." Javier explains quietly, looking towards you and tilting his head in question at the girl's question. "That is our custom here."

“So next year!” Michelle bounces in place, her eyes turning to her mother expectantly. She knows she’ll be scolded for moving during photographs but she wants that tiara more than she wants to sit still. “Next year I get to be a princess too?”

Gently clearing his throat, Sebastian steps forward. Figuring that he would be the one to break the news to the half sister you share. "Unfortunately, that's not how princesses happen in this country, honey." He kneels down and pats her knee. "You either have to be born a princess or marry a prince, just like the movies."

Unfortunately for everyone present, the preteen’s reaction is instant. Her chin starts to wobble and water springs to her eyes, and she turns on the pout that makes her mother cave to every single whim. Very few people ever tell her no successfully. “But…” she looks down at Sebastian and back up at her mother. “We’re supposed to share.” It’s infuriating when Michelle plays the ‘little girl’ card because she’s actually quite clever. Being clever and spoiled has made her greedy and manipulative, though, and you can’t believe you didn’t anticipate this. Of course she’s whining about wanting all the attention you’ve gotten today. God forbid the middle child get anything nice. “Sharing is important, Michelle.” You give a subtle signal to the photographer to pause for a moment and turn toward your little sister. “But there’s more to being a princess than wearing a tiara. And I know you wouldn’t want to give up spending time with your friends and riding your horse to move across an ocean and become a princess just for the tiara.”

"But...." Her eyes narrow in calculation as she weighs the need for a pretty tiara against her passions. "I could bring my horse and my friends here and still get a tiara." She decides after a moment, working out the logistics in her mind in a typical, simplistic fastion of a pre-teen.

“That still isn’t quite how it works, Chelle.” You can feel Javi and Julius and everyone else in the room watching this exchange, but the only thing it does is to show how fundamentally ignored your situation was while growing up. Michelle has known for her entire life that one day you would leave the US and marry a prince. But still no one thought to explain it thoroughly. All she’s ever known is that one day everything of yours would be hers — so it makes perfect sense that she assumes that will include your title and new life.

“I hate this!” She literally stomps her foot and crosses her arms. “I want to be a princess!”

“I think that’s enough photographs for now.” Julius murmurs to the press, not wanting notebooks or recorders to come out.

Your father, sensing that this would be a bad look for the American family of the future queen, leans over and whispers in Michelle's ear for a moment. As if by magic, her face clears and she uncrosses her arms.

“Her Royal Highness and her father will be available for more photographs in the library in ten minutes.” Ushering the press from the room, Julius gives you a barely perceptible nod.

"Surely something can be done." Your stepmother offers Javi a politician's smile, just as concerned with optics as her husband, but her own daughter. "There must be some formal title for members of the family."

“That isn’t how it works.” With the press cleared from the room, you watch Julius shut the door behind himself before turning back to your stepmother and half-sister with as much patience as you can muster. “Dad’s title is Senator. Yours is Señora. Michelle is Señorita Michelle. That’s as formal as it gets unless you plan on becoming Balaerican citizens and earning a noble title through good work for the people of this country.” The fact that they barged in and started demanding special treatment like ugly Americans isn’t even what surprises you. What surprises you is that now they’re encouraging Michelle to do it, too.

"I think we are a little bit more than normal family." She tells you, keeping her polite smile as she cuts her eyes to her husband.

"Dear, I don't think that it is what we should be discussing right now." Your father decides that tact would be the better part of valor right now. "She is not married yet, she can only suggest change at this point. Wait until she is the queen. It will be far more useful then."

“Excuse me?” When the only people in the room besides your family are Javi and two footmen, you are much less self-conscious about raising your voice to your father than you might have been otherwise. The idea that you will be useful to them in any way is atrocious and you stand from the sofa immediately. “Please tell me that I misheard you just now.”

Your father frowns at you, surprised that you have any complaint about what he said. "What do you mean?" He demands. "What was there to mishear?"

“I am hoping that I didn’t just hear you say that you intend to abuse my position as queen for personal gain.” You aren’t stupid. There’s no way you think that this arrangement — your betrothal — wasn’t agreed to for the prestige. You aren’t blind enough to think your father hasn’t been drafting press releases and planning to work his way into something diplomatic by riding your coattails. But you honestly hadn’t gone so far as to think that they would expect you to perform political favors. So maybe you’re a little stupid after all. Or at least overly idealistic.

"Has my time in Washington taught you nothing?" He asks, shaking his head in disappointment. "It's about connections and I happen to have a connection to the throne." He scoffs. "I would be a fool to not expect to be able to speak to the movers and shakers here."

“Speak? Sure.” You can feel your eyes roll back so far in your head that they threaten to go a full three hundred and sixty degrees. “But you don’t get to waltz in and give orders to Javi’s staff and presume on noble titles just because we’re related. That isn’t how this works.”

While he senses that you are not going to be open to dialogue right now, your father decides that it is best to pull back on the conversation. "Of course not." He shakes his head. "It was tactless and presumptuous of them." He motions towards your stepmother and half-sister. "Excitement."

“Does that apology go for you, too?” Considering he was the one who started snapping at Julius like a misbehaving dog, your exasperation is very real at this point.

He tilts his head in contemplation as he wonders why you are pushing back against him. He opens his mouth to ask that question but instead offers a 'sincere' smile. "Of course it does, pumpkin." He offers. "I apologize. Thoughtless because of the jetlag."

That smile is practiced. It is perfectly executed and usually reserved for people he considers — privately — deeply beneath him. The fact that he’s using it on you is unsettling to say the least. “We have pictures to take in the library.” Is what you say instead, before turning to Javi and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I know you have a meeting, mi amor. I promise we will all behave ourselves until dinner.”

Javier can see the worry and upset in your eyes and he wishes to pull you away to talk to you. Right now is not the time and he makes a note to tell Julius to have Sebastian to check on you and let him know how you really are. "Of course, mi amor."

“I will see you for dinner.” A quick squeeze of his hand and you are turning back to your family with a serious expression fixed back on your face. “Sebby, I think our stepmother and sister would like to see the palace grounds before dinner, don’t you?”

"Would you like to see the royal stables?" He asks Michelle, knowing that will peak her interests. "I'm sure that we could arrange some riding while you are here."

When your bonafide horse girl little sister shrieks with joy at that suggestion, you know that at least things will be okay on that front. Your brother leads them away to change into riding gear and head down to the stables, and you nod to your father. “The library is this way.”

"It seems that our decision was good for you." He offers as he extends his arm for you to take. "The King seems to be very warm to your presence and you to him."

There is a moment of reluctance, of hesitation before you take your father’s arm, but eventually you decide to have less fuss and accept the gesture to walk along the hall. “It turns out that Javi and I have a lot in common.” Not because of the endless poking and prodding to make sure you watched the movies and read the books that the prince liked. Not because of that. But because of who you are fundamentally as people.

"Then we have done well." He hums, extremely pleased. A happy king is an accommodating one and he can see this as being very lucrative to his career. Perhaps he will become an Ambassador here. It would be fortuitous and sometimes ambassadors have more discretion to make policies than senators at times.

That isn’t necessarily how you would put it, since one of the things you have in common with Javi is demanding fathers who didn’t really take the time to get to know you. So for now you just hum and politely nod to the few people who stop to pay their respects to you in the hallway as you walk. “It could just as easily have gone badly,” you remind him quietly.

"Except that it hasn't." He doesn't like that you are focusing on the what could have beens instead of the what ares. You have a tendency to do that. He does like the measure of respect that you are being shown, and in turn, he is being shown.

“Through no measure of coercion, or play acting, or ulterior motives.” Up ahead, the door to the library is already open and the press are waiting inside. “I love him. It’s as simple as that.”

He's not quite sure how you have come to love a man you have only met a few days before but he pats your hand and gives you a beaming smile that is sure to be captured by the press. "I am glad. It's all I want for you."

It isn’t. You both know it isn’t. But it’s a lie that you are comfortable living with for the time being. Instead of instigating a conversation about anything of the sort, you hold your head high and glide into the library to the best of your ability.

If there is anything paternal about the man who has created you, it’s this moment that it shines. His smile turns almost genuine as he courts the press and makes a show of settling you into the chair Julius has set up for you. Photographs will be taken of you sitting in a lush rose-colored upholstered chair with deep wood tones to offset the damask fabric. Still in your tiara and crowning dress, you sit in front of your standing father with your ankles neatly together and his hand elegantly – so he says – held to his midsection. Perfectly posed, it's obvious that you have both taken countless photographs before. The difference is that this is the first time that your father has ever been the one in the secondary role.

Once the countless photos are taken, the Senator expects a few candid shots from the press and helps you up with the same manners as when you entered the room. Enjoying the way the staff and the journalists bow or curtsey, pretending it’s for him.

“I have a few things to do before dinner.” As soon as you’re out of the room and Julius has reappeared beside you, you carefully extract your hand from your father’s arm and smooth out your dress. “If you’d like to go down to the stables I’m sure Julius can arrange for a car,” you offer. It’s not even that you have things to do — it’s that you need some time to breathe.

“Of course.” He knows when he’s being dismissed and while he doesn’t like it, there’s not a whole lot he can do about it. “Looking forward to a family dinner together.” He promises.

"We'll meet you in the drawing room before dinner for an aperitif," you tell him, trying to sound nonchalant about a thing that you are actually not looking forward to at all. Standing around having a drink with your family sounds agonizing. "Seb knows the way. He'll go down with you."

"Well then...." It's quite a change of pace to be the one dismissed, to be left for others to have more important issues to attend to. Slightly disconcerting for him but your father nods and moves towards the doorway. "Perhaps a footman can show me to the stables?"

“I’m sure Rafael would be able to show you the way.” The nearest footman is one who has been assigned to see to your needs specifically so you don’t feel odd about asking him out of all of the other staff present. Still getting the bearing of things around the palace, you’re at least able to learn your own staff quickly.

“Of course.” Your father doesn’t even think to bow to you, just nods his head and turns to walk towards the footmen as they stand near the door.

The careful, pointed way that Julius clears his throat in your father's direction is about as polite and subtle as he can manage, but the palace staff all know what it means. No one moves, although they should step aside to open the door for your father right away. They would have – if only he had shown you the proper respect. And if only Julius hadn't quietly pointed it out.

Your father stops, realizing what is required of him and turns back around. “It’s hard to remember that my daughter, my little girl, requires a bow.” He jokes, even as he bristles at the faux pas. He offers a stiff, formal bow before he straightens back upright.

"I'll see you at dinner." It shouldn't be as satisfying as it is that he has to be formal with you, but after an entire lifetime of being bossed around it does make your shoulders feel a little more square and your chin tilt a little higher.

"This way, Senator." Rafael opens the door and waves your father through right away.

As soon as your father exits the library, your ladies in waiting file in, ready to accompany you.

“I’d like to change,” you murmur to Maisie and Gabriela as soon as they’re at your side, wanting to be anywhere but under the public eye at the moment. Things with your father feel weird – shaky in a way – and you don’t like that one bit.

“Of course.” Gabriela nods and immediately takes your arm. “Are you excited by having your family here? They all looked so proud during the coronation.”

“My family is complicated, as I’m sure you can understand.” The offer of her arm is a comfort, though, and you take it readily. “I’m glad their visit will only be a few days. It makes it easier to make sure they enjoy it.” And easier to make sure nothing goes wrong…

"Of course." She understands, more than anyone else, what it means to keep the peace. Even if it means sacrificing your own comfort for some time. In her case, it's all the time. Especially in the past year.

“Did you two enjoy the reception?” There was barely time to say hello to them afterward, with the number of acquaintances there were for you to make in your first hours as Crowned Princess, but you had seen them laughing and eating with friends in the garden.

"I—" Gabriela bites her lip. "It was very nice to socialize." She admits. "Thank you for selecting me again to be one of your ladies." Often Lucas would dominate the conversations or steer her away from most people. It was a nice change to be the more important of the two.

“I’m grateful you agreed.” You tell her honestly, before looking over at Maisie. “Both of you.”

"What else do we have to do?" Maisie teases as she leads the pair of you towards the door, nodding as the footman rushes to open it.

“There’s plenty to do these days.” With wedding and the joint coronation — when Javi is formally crowned king and you become queen — is the sole focus of your work these days.

"Only as your ladies-in-waiting." She chirps as the three of you march down the hall towards your suite.

“There should be something in the planning soon for each of you to enjoy.” As much as you know that they are here to help you, you also don’t want them to dread the time you spend together. There should be things to look forward to that aren’t about you at all.

Gabriela hums and leans in. "It will be very busy right up until your tour of the kingdom." She reminds you quietly. "You just need to decide who you would like to have accompany you on the tour, since it is technically your honeymoon." The jealousy that she had been expecting wasn't there, just worry about being left behind.

“Should that not be up to the two of you?” Honestly you’re not sure at all what the protocol is, so you’re really asking.

"As queen, it is your decision who accompanies you on the tour." Maisie reminds you, her eyes on Gabriela. Wondering if the Countess is trying to get out of going or throwing her hat in the ring.

“I have a feeling I’m going to miss the days when I could get out of making decisions,” you murmur good naturedly as the three of you turn into your suite. Privacy is such a luxury today that you sigh. “I would be delighted to have either of you come,” you tell both ladies. “But if one of you would rather not, for any reason, I fully respect that.”

There's a pause before Gabriela speaks again. "I–I understand that my presence might make your trip.....uncomfortable." She admits. It would be awkward to have the woman that Javi once wished to marry on the honeymoon with the new wife. "Perhaps it should be Maisie."

“If it would make you uncomfortable, that is one thing.” Alone with them, you turn and take both of Gabriela’s hands. “As far as I’m concerned, you are a very kind friend who is about to be family. If I had thought this would be uncomfortable for you or Javi, I would never have asked you to be my lady in waiting in the first place.”

It's almost embarrassing how she tears up. Biting her lip and trying to keep her chin from trembling. You have been so kind to her, despite you having every reason to despise her. Closing her eyes, she nods. "I–I would like to go. As your lady."

“Is that alright with you, Maisie?” You have a feeling that she might feel about it like you do — that getting Gabriela away from regular life for a little bit will be a good thing. That giving her something new in life, and showing her actual appreciation? It’s more than just a little necessary.

“I think that it will be perfect.” Maisie agrees quickly. “Gabriela is a much better historian than I.”

"But I want you both to come to Monaco." There will be no ifs, ands, or buts about it. These are the two closest friends you have in the world besides your brother, and Seb will be there right alongside the three of you. "Before the wedding."

"Of course." Maisie agrees, shooting a grin at you before she starts to walk towards your closet. "We wouldn't miss it. What outfit would you like to wear?" She asks as she disappears into the closet.

“It’s a formal dinner, but something…less fussy would be good.” All you can think is that it’s going to be the thing that Javi takes off of you tonight, and you follow Maisie in with a slightly lopsided smile.

"Something.....playful." Maisie decides, looking back at you. "After the extremely formal events, I find it quite refreshing to wear something fun. Perhaps one of your own outfits you brought?"

“There is a burgundy dress in here somewhere…” You start looking around, trying to figure out where some of your American dresses were hung. “High collar, sleeveless, and ankle length. But it flows beautifully.” And the neckline is also tied up with a string at the base of your throat, something you feel positively tingly thinking about Javi untying.

"Burgundy is a strong color to wear." She muses, moving over to the section of the closet where your clothes have been neatly arranged as Gabriela comes in to sit down on the small settee. "So have you and Javi....you know, yet?" Maisie asks, her head stuck in the closet, pushing clothes out of the way.

“Maisie!” If she had asked the question five seconds ago instead of right when Gabriela walked up beside you, you would be far less embarrassed. Now you feel like your face is on fire. “No! N-no—I mean—his father just died!”

"You should." The former love interest of the now king smiles. Sitting down beside you and patting your hand. "Javier is physical, he needs touch." She bites her lip, knowing that it was very improper of her to talk about those things, but there is an openness between you. "He is honestly the best lover I've ever had. I know he will please you."

“It’s not—I mean—we’ve slept together,” you clarify, feeling awkward yourself after promising up and down that having Gabriela here isn’t awkward at all. You just don’t want to hurt her with how fucking deeply in love with Javi you’ve fallen so fast. “But actually sleeping.”

"That sounds romantic." It's bittersweet, a pang that she doesn't have that with Javi, would never have it again, but it was a star crossed love. It could never be real. "I hope that it has brought you closer together."

“It has.” It was unexpected, the way things have progressed, but not in any way unwelcome. In fact, you welcome tonight with open arms.

She smiles, truly happy that her former love has found happiness. it was all she had ever wished for him, even if she has not found it herself. "Then you should not waste a moment, an opportunity to make sure that he knows how you feel."

“We…” Looking between both women, you can feel the heat rise in your cheeks. “We…talked about…tonight…”

"Ohhhhh." Maisie's smirk grows wide and even Gabriela grins. "Now we need to talk lingerie." She decides and the other woman pulls you to your feet to drag you over towards the built- in drawers.

“I—I don’t own any lingerie,” you protest immediately, though they seem to be sure of where to take you. “Just regular things…not showy things.”

Gabriela bites her lip, aware that it would be too improper to offer you some of her own. Especially considering the circumstances. "I have some." Maisie offers with a grin. "And we will have the modesite come to measure you for some custom pieces."

“Is that…a normal thing to do?” Partially you mean to ask if it would be normal for a clothier to make lingerie specifically for a princess, but you’re also asking about relationships in general. You may have had boyfriends before — and done plenty of messing around with them — but the reality of still technically being a virgin is beginning to weigh on you as you think about tonight. The last thing you want to do is disappoint Javi.

If the question catches either woman off guard, they don’t show it. “Sometimes. It’s something fun and sexy. Especially under formal dresses.” Maisie answers with a grin.

“I take it it’s something your husband enjoys?” Since Maisie has only ever spoken well of her husband, you’re willing to bet those small, sexy surprises are a positive thing for them. A happy thing.

“A present he gets to unwrap.” She assures you with a naughty smirk. “I wear something sexy when I want attention, or to surprise him. Or just to feel pretty.”

"I've never..." Wrapping your arms around your waist, you debate telling them. Your whole truth is such an odd one and you don't know at all how they would react to it, so you swallow the thought for now and try again. "I've never been with someone long enough...to, you know...surprise them like that."

“Oh.” Maisie glances over at Gabriela and nods. “Nothing to worry about.” She promises you. “But it means virginal might drive Javi insane.”

"Is it..." They apparently knew exactly what you meant, and you feel yourself getting a little more self-conscious in the moment. "Something that...he likes? I guess I was always under the impression that men...preferred experience? Not that I'm inexperienced of course, it's just...it's that specific..." Nerves make you ramble, but you catch yourself and swallow a groan before dropping your face into your hands. "May I be honest with both of you? Or would you prefer I keep this to myself?"

“Please, share anything you wish.” Gabriela reaches out for your hand to pull it away from your face. “We are here for you and I wish to repay your kindness, your friendship, any way I can.

"The thing is..." With a sigh, you sit back on the pouf set in amongst the shelves and racks in your closet and look up at the two women who have agreed to help you through this transition. To be your friends. Arranged friends just like your arranged marriage. "I've known that I was going to marry Javi since I was young. Practically my entire life. Our mothers...it was all arranged by our parents, and I wasn't really allowed to have serious boyfriends growing up because I knew I was going to marry this faraway prince. So it's not that I'm completely inexperienced, but...this?" You curl your arms around yourself and shrug helplessly. "I have very literally been waiting for him my whole life. And it's just starting to hit me that the waiting is completely over."

“Oh, Daisy,” Gabriela softens even more and reaches for your other hand while Maisie holds the other. “I know you have to be excited, nervous. If Javier knows, he will be very considerate, even more than he always is.” She smiles. “I cannot think of a more perfect man to experience intimacy with for the first time.”

“He knows.” You nod once, squeezing Gabriela’s hand. “But he…he didn’t know about me until just before I arrived. I need you to know that, Gabriela. My parents prepared me for this for my entire life, but Javi had no idea that everything had already been arranged.” It makes it rather sweet, how quickly you have fallen for each other, but it’s important that Gabriela know that Javi had never lied to her. That he hadn’t kept this large secret while he was with her.

“I had been told.” Gabriela reveals quietly. “By King Miguel when he told me that he was rejecting Javier’s request to propose to me.” She squeezes your hand back. “The king ordered me to not tell his son. That it would be told to him at the proper time, but he wanted me to know that he was not denying him because he thought I would not be a good Princess, a good wife, for Javier. He and his wife had just decided on someone else long ago.”

“Please know that I truly do love him.” It is desperately important to you in this moment that you are honest with her, hoping to be able to put some of this awkward worry between you to rest. To be able to move forward as true friends. “I never expected it to happen so quickly, but it has been undeniable.”

“That is all I would hope for.” The former flame of the king assures you quickly. “You do not wish to be in a loveless marriage.”

Unfortunately, the implication is all too clear, and you pull yourself off the pouf to envelope her in a tight hug. “You are a kind soul, Gabriela,” you murmur after a moment. “And I hope you know I am grateful for your friendship.”

"As I am for yours." You have no clue how grateful she is. How indebted she is to you for the kindness and sensitivity you have shown, when she could not have expected it with anyone else. Especially since you seem to not care for her husband. Something else the two of you share.

“And yours, dear Maisie.” She cannot be left out of this for a single moment, especially as she has been your true and constant ally since almost the moment you met.

"We will all be one big, happy sisterhood." Maisie insists. "Now. Do you want to come to my room or should I run to go get those things for you to see and try on?"

“Do you have anything that would match the dress?” Gabriela prompts, finding herself on slightly surer footing now. With you, at least, she feels a bit freer.

"I have some black things that would go nicely, but there is...." She snaps her fingers. "I have a pale pink set that would go beautifully under the maroon dress. It's innocent and sexy all at the same time." She smirks. "Even better? I've never worn it for my husband."

“And you wouldn’t mind?” Sharing lingerie is very much a new experience for you, and you chew your lip with nerves. “I’ll replace it for you, I promise.”

"No, I insist, it's a gift." She winks at you playfully. "My contribution to the happiness of the monarchy." She holds up a finger. "Give me two minutes and I'll be right back with them."

“I’m nervous,” you admit with a sigh as Maisie goes bounding from the room. You only thing you can think to do is focus on dressing and you turn to the wall of shoes in your closet.

"Did–" Gabriela pauses delicately. "Is there anything I can share with you?" She asks softly. "Or questions to be answered?" While she's sure you know the mechanics of sex, it would be hard to be an adult in this age and not, maybe there are some questions that having a woman who is experienced would be able to be answered for you. She can't imagine you are terribly close with your stepmother.

“I’m inclined to ask if there is anything Javi particularly dislikes, but that might be too invasive of a question.” You bury your face in your hands again and sigh. “Please don’t feel the need to answer that. I’m just thinking out loud.”

“I know this is awkward.” Gabriela laughs quietly, embarrassed herself but she’s not going to let it stop her from making sure that you know what you need to. “Javi is a very giving lover, so he neglects things he wants.” She admits. “He loves being kissed and touched. Showing that you want him.”

“That…” A nervous giggle escapes you. “Will not be a problem. I can promise that entirely.”

She bites her lip and decides to be more bold. “There is something you can do, it’s – it is with your tongue.” She huffs, unable to come up with the words and takes your hand. “Let me show you.” She decides and pops your index finger in her mouth.

“Gabri—” Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you feel the swirl of her tongue, a wondrously uninhibited feeling for a person such as yourself who tries to maintain control of herself at all times. “I—” You stammer again, swallowing thickly. “I–I see why that would have been difficult for you to describe…”

"Yes it would have." Gabriela giggles in embarrassment as she pulls your finger out of her mouth and immediately produces a handkerchief to start cleaning your finger off.

“I will…bear that in mind.” It will surely give away that you have talked with Gabriela about him, but you aren’t so sure that that is a bad thing. After all, is she not the one who knows him best?

"You don't have to use it, I am sure that Javier wants you just as you are." She assures you. "Your closeness and your...." she searches for the word. "Groove together will come naturally."

“I don’t think anyone has ever implied I had a groove before.” You can’t help but giggle about it a little, feeling a little more relaxed for it. The wall of shoes in front of you is what should be holding your attention before you run out of time to appear out together, so you loop your arm through Gabriela’s and turn both of you toward the collection. “I’m very glad you’re here, Gabriela.”

"I am glad I am here too." She tells you, meaning every word of it. "What about the silver stilettos?" She asks, tilting her head as she looks at them. "Or, we can wait to see what color pink the lingerie is and see if we can match it. An homage to what is underneath the dress."

“For the first time it seems practical to have multiple pairs of pink shoes,” you joke, lending her a smile. “But if none of them match, the silver will be lovely.”

"I've got them!" Maisie crows as she sails back into the dressing room with a bag. "I thought this would be more discreet." She admits, holding it up for them to see.

“Yes. Much.” The bag is marked with the logo of a posh spa in the city that you had read about before. Anyone curious enough to look would assume that Maisie was bringing you lotion or some equally innocuous bath products.

"Strip down." She orders you with a grin. "We have to get you all sexed up tonight!"

“Absolutely the first time in my life anyone has said that to me.” With a burning face, you nab the bag from Maisie’s hand and duck behind the nearby dressing screen to change.

"Let me know if you need a hand!" She calls out, sitting down behind Gabriela. "How are you, honey?" She asks her quietly, knowing that she might have reservations about everything that she doesn't want to express to you.

“Okay.” She forces herself to smile, folding her hands in her lap as they sit together on the overly large pouf. “Better than you might think. It is…” She sighs softly. “It is a relief to know that he is loved.”

"You are a fantastic woman, Gabriela." She murmured softly, reaching out and covering her hands with her own. "A true lady."

“I hope so,” she whispers back, grateful for the quiet moment. There are so many things which have turned out so differently than she expected. If she has retained even an ounce of her own kindness, she will be relieved.

"I know so." Maisie, squeezes her hands again and then leans in. "If you ever need anything, I hope you know you can trust me." She offers. "I feel as if we will be wonderful friends going forward."

“Thank you,” Gabriel murmurs, breathing out a shaky breath as you step out from behind the dressing screen.

"Ohhhhhh." Maisie turns to you, immediately giggling. "You are going to knock the king on his ass tonight when he gets a load of this outfit on you. You look stunning."

“We seem to be the same size.” The pieces underneath your dress fit perfectly, which you admit is a bit surprising but right now you’re grateful for it. “Do you really—is it—do I look okay? Really?”

"What do you think?" Gabriela stands and guides you over to the mirror to let you look at yourself. "You look gorgeous. Sexy."

“I feel…outside myself,” you admit quietly. The dress is beautiful. It always has been. But knowing what is on underneath it makes you feel like you have the slyest secret of your life. “I just hope he likes it.”

"He will love it." That she can assure you. "Now, we can choose your shoes and change your makeup to something a little less sweet and more sexy."

The makeover is so quick that it feels like a movie montage, and in a mere half hour you’re restyled to be ready for dinner — and for Javi tonight.

******

Javi is nervous. He knows that you don’t have experience and he wants to make this good for you. “Julius, have a bottle of champagne and a platter of strawberries put in the princess’s room tonight after dinner please.”

“Of course, sir.” Julius doesn’t make a habit of asking questions, but it is a romantic gesture and the king seems nervous this evening as they wrap up his work before dinner time. “Is there anything else you will need tonight?”

“No.” He shakes his head firmly. “No one is to disturb the Princess and I once dinner is over unless war breaks out or the palace is on fire.” He declares. Everything else could wait for morning.

“Shall I post an extra guard?” Though he isn’t entirely sure what the king has planned, Julius can certainly ensure security if necessary.

“No, no extra guards.” The last thing he wants is for you to be embarrassed if someone hears something. “No guards by the doors. Have them at the end of the hall.”

“As your Majesty wishes.” He does find that to be a bit of a clue and smiles.

He knows the man isn’t stupid, he understands and Javi waves his hand. “Anything I’m missing?” He asks him seriously. “Candles? Flowers?”

“Do you know her favorite flower?” Julius asks, wondering if it is the sort of thing to have come up in conversation yet. If not, Flores will know. “That is always a nice touch.”

“Daisies.” He smiles softly. “She loves daisies.”

“I will have some arrangements sent to her suite while you are at dinner,” he promises. “Perhaps with roses for embellishment?”

“Perfect.” Javier smiles as he imagines your reaction. “And the candles. Just candlelight.”

“Yes. I will see to it now.” Julius slides from the room with a bow, off to collect the first footman he finds to begin preparations for the king’s evening. Paperwork can wait. The palace — even part of it — will have happiness again tonight.

Javier finishes up the last of the signatures needed and stands, sighing slightly. Hoping that your parents will behave better than they had before, hating that you had seemed so upset. He straightens his suit coat before he begins to walk towards the dining room.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit

TKQ: @storiesofthefandomlovers @mimimarvelingmarvel @patti7dc

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Javi Gutierrez #Javi Gutierrez x you #Javi Gutierrez x reader #Javi Gutierrez x female reader #Javi Gutierrez x f!reader #Javi G #The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent #TUWOMT #royalty au #arranged marriage

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passionpeachy · 5 months

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In regards to what happened to the fish and dog piece - i’ve seen instagram commenters berating an art doll maker for “dying their pets fur” and decorating them in jewels, treating animals like props, etc - not realizing the “pet” was incredibly small, didn’t move, and had very fantasy-like anatomy. Let alone looking at the rest of their profile to see their work. Your art is beautiful, I’m sorry it was so mistreated, but I can’t say it being demeaned and misunderstood by instagram is a surprise. I’d also 1000% want a print of it - the innocence and glow of the piece feels surreal and classic. Thank you for sharing it, despite all the hurt that may come with it now.

This is making me SCREAM. That’s honestly way worse than what happened to me, poor doll maker. I send them my condolences for dealing with insta’s dumbass commenters.

And it’s okay! I still like it for what it is, I just get a pit in my stomach now if I see it got reposted again by a big account. Almost wanna ask people to stop tagging me in it even if it’s to credit me 😅

I actually do have prints right here if anyone does want one. Thank you for the kind messages! 🌟

#asks

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mayakern · 4 months

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As someone who works in clothing manufacturing + packing in the states, I wanted to reach out and send my condolences for everything going on. It's hella stressful, to put it lightly, but y'all are doing a fucking amazing job at keeping it all together, and I'm continuously so impressed by everything y'all do. Super happy that y'alls sale went so well, and I'm so excited for all the things coming this year! Wishing you and the whole team all the best <3

thank you, i really appreciate this message 🧡

honestly, most of december was a huge clusterfuck and almost everything that could go wrong, did. we also spend much of the end of 2023 working on back end business management stuff that was hugely tedious and time consuming, but that is all basically done now. and i’m just so glad and relieved that with our new systems in place and the changes we’re making that 2024 is looking so much better already.

especially on the office landlord front. i haven’t really talked about this publicly bc there’s just been so much going on, but he’s been ignoring our requests to have things fixed for MONTHS and we finally got him into the building yesterday to see the damage caused by his negligence and let me tell you, he changed his tune real fast once he saw how much product we lost because of him. it was very vindicating, to say the least, and he will be paying for all of it.

#ask #store

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brummiereader · 7 days

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Hi everyone, I'm back! I just want to start by thanking everyone that left me their condolences and well wishes. Your messages of support and kindness have really touched me. I'm so thankful to be part of this incredible fandom, and network of friends I have made on here. I cherish each and every one of you. Thank you ❤️.

I have a lot to catch up on here since my small break. So bear with me as I make my way through all of the wonderful stories, messages, DM's, asks and tags I've missed. To my "Unchained Melody" readers, thank you for your patience and understanding. I hope to post the next chapter this Friday 🤞.

With my thoughts less foggy and feeling better, I'm looking forward to getting back on here and interacting with you all again. I've missed you all so much ❤️!

Brummie xxx

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tgmsunmontue · 21 days

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Online & Anonymous 1/16

Hangster. Explicit. (2.5k chapter) Years before they meet in person Bradley and Jake strike up a friends-with-benefits relationship online. And then something more like an actual relationship.

A predominantly epistolary fic set in a world where papers were pulled and events of TGM will take place and DADT exists until it is repealed at the end of 2011.

The website they begin chatting on is called 'Jake', which was a site that existed back in the early 2000s. (It was too good an opportunity to miss).

Odd year = Bradely's POV and Even year = Jake's POV

>>Bradley chatting (bold and italics)

>>Jake chatting (italics)

Many thanks to @celandinebergerac, @phisworld14, @redfurrycat and @nevergettingoverit for being my sounding boards as I hashed this out.

2005 – Bradley

Bradley refuses to be grateful about his years at college. Going the ROTC route has meant he’s likely had a wider exposure to certain elements than if he’d gone to USNA but he still doesn’t understand why Pete pulled his papers, or why Tom let him, but they’re his past now. He has a new family, his fellow classmates and the online message boards he found when he was exploring. He’s got them in his corner no matter where he goes in the world now, his own private little cheering squad. Of course he’s been lonely in the holidays, but he’s made do. Usually working to earn money to see him through the next semester.

One thing he has saved and scrimped for is a laptop. A personal laptop that he can use to keep in touch with his friends he made online and at college. Yes he could of course use the communal computer labs, and he will need to do that to actually get closer to the WiFi signal, however he doesn’t have to use a communal machine, which makes him more comfortable considering what he often uses his machine for. He’s aware of what he says and does could be used against him, but he’s aware now that he could do something else with his life if he had to. Not that he wants to, but he will if he has to.

And it’s all been worth it. He’s made it, he’s at flight school, is a commissioned officer in the US Navy and now he just needs to be the best. He knows he’s good, flight school is highly competitive and the fact that he’s here is enough of a confidence boost that he’s actually good enough, no matter what Pete or Tom think. That it didn’t take anyone’s name to get him here. He settles into the orientation session, listening intently, taking notes, and looking around at the rest of the class. He recognizes a few faces, but most are simply a haze, although he knows that will change soon enough. A break comes and the woman beside him turns to him.

“Hi, Natasha Trace.”

“Bradley Bradshaw, nice to meet you.”

“Is that actually your name?”

“Yep,” Bradley sighs, resigned to going through the whole thing with another group of people.

“Ouch. My condolences.”

Bradley laughs, pretty sure he’s going to like her.

2006 – Jake

Jake stares at the name of the site and he��s pretty sure he could use Jake as his username, and no one would believe that it’s actually his name. And he’s not actually going to use his whole first name, he remembers a few details about staying safe online. He creates an account, his hands shaking a little because he’s not ever gone looking for anything like this before, not online. Not where he might get found out.

>>Okay, if that’s the year of your birth you need to change your username. That’s not a smart thing to put on here.

Jake stares at the message, then at his username. It needed to be eight characters or less and something he’d remember. Of course he’d gone with his initials and the year he was born. Of course that maybe wasn’t the smartest thing in the world in hindsight, but he’s new to this. What this PeteF14 thinks he knows isn’t much, because he’s fucking using a first name and the name of a fighter jet. It couldn’t be more obvious. Well, maybe he’s just a fan of fighter jets?

>>What’s wrong with JAS1986?

>>And you’re using your first name, that’s not smart either.

>>Pete is definitely not my first name. It’s not even part of my name. I hate the name Pete.

>>Oh my god, why did I use the name Pete?

>>I don’t know, you tell me.

>>Just someone from my past I’d rather forget. How about you call me Nick instead? Actually.

>>PeteF14 has changed their username to NickNick

>>Again not your name huh?

>>Nope. But it is a family name somewhere in the line of my ancestors.

Jake snorts, because that could be father, uncle, grandparents. Hell, it could even be part of a last name, which he guesses is actually pretty smart as names go, for it to be something so generic.

>>You need to make a new username though. There are some dodgy people online.

>>But not you right?

>>I can be plenty dodgy if the circumstances require it, but just doing my civic duty. Change your username kid.

Fucking fine. He doesn’t want to be kept calling kid by strangers on the internet. This isn’t why he signed up to this account.

>>JAS1986 has changed their username to JASTexas

>>No! Don’t put where you’re from. Or where you live. Fucking hell. Is this your first time or something?

>>Yes, if you must know.

>>What would you suggest? Considering your name was something you apparently hated and is now NickNick, which is ridiculous by the way, double-barrel names like that sound stupid.

>>This isn’t why I signed up to this site. And Texas is a fucking huge state, and even if I did still live there, it’s not where I live now.

>>Sorry. How about TJASX, or 00Austin, JASUSA maybe?

>>You suck at coming up with usernames.

>> JASTexas has changed their username to 00JASTYX

>>Hmm. Yeah. Better.

>>So glad to have your approval.

>>I can’t tell if you’re being a dick, or if you actually want my approval. Because I do like that you listened to me. If that’s something you’re into.

>>I don’t know what I’m into. First time remember?

>>First time online right?

>>No. Not just online.

He pushes the laptop away from himself, suddenly mortified that he’s admitted that to someone. Not that it matters, not that he just can’t outright lie about it, and he shouldn’t care so much, but… well. He does. He doesn’t like not knowing, not having that life experience. Not that he can just go out and get it, hence… this.

>>You ever slept with a guy?

>>Yep. I got the whole college experience under my belt.

>>I’m jealous. None of that where I went. And not really easy now either.

>>You ever had cybersex? I can tell you what to do to yourself. Might get you off.

Jake’s pretty sure there isn’t any might about it, is already getting hard just thinking about it, just having this tenuous connection with someone, anyone, that might in fact be like him. Fuck. He has no idea if this Pete-hating Nick guy is even a guy, or how old he is, or even where he is in the world. It’s all sorts of freeing actually, this level of anonymity that despite the fact that Nick knows he considers Texas home and is born in 1986 there is nothing else about him that can be used to identify him.

>>No, but I am very open to new experiences. You want to tell me what to do huh?

>>No, I think this time I want to tell you what I want to do to you.

>>You can touch yourself however you like.

>>Trust me, you can just read. Multi-tasking takes a while to figure out.

Jake snorts, but Nick probably, no, definitely, has more experience than Jake in all things sex-related and if all he has to do is read words on his screen then he can manage that. Although he’s going to practice, wants to be able to jerk off and type at the same time, get good at doing it one-handed. Wants to be able to reciprocate in the future.

>>Your first time, I’d kiss you, slowly and softly to start with, and I’d hold your body close, because I want to feel it against mine, solid and warm. I’d slip a hand between our bodies, run my fingers up the length of your cock, feel how warm it is, how heavy…

>>God I love the feeling of a cock in my hand, knowing how much pleasure it can bring.

>>We’re still fully clothed, I want to enjoy undressing you. I’m not touching your cock to get you hard, more giving you a promise of what’s to come.

Jake’s mouth is dry, his entire body tingles at the images and ideas this is creating. These words are meant for him, and him alone and he runs his fingers down his body in a ghosting imitation of what it might feel like to finally have someone else’s hands on him. This is exactly what he was looking for when he made the account, something real but also not too risky. A little risky though, but it’s not heading out to the nearest gay bar.

>>I’m pulling your shirt out of your pants, getting my hands onto your skin, just touching for a little before I go back and undo the buttons and push your shirt off your shoulders.

Jake groans, part of him impressed that his guy has somehow picked exactly what kind of shirt Jake is wearing, and he pulls it off, along with his singlet top, lets his hand stroke over his skin and is a little surprised at the responding shiver his body makes. He likes this even more than he thought he would. He shoves off his pants, not wanting to wait until Nick tells him he’s taking them off.

>>You’re enjoying it, enjoying my hands on you, warm fingers just tracing over your skin, making you feel desirable. I’m still kissing you, still pretty softly, I don’t want to spook you, not this first time. I run my hand down your body again and I find your cock. It’s gotten harder, pressing against the front of your pants and I can feel how thick you are. I want a closer look. A taste.

>>I kiss down your neck, along your jaw, suck at your nipples a little until I’m on my knees in front of you.

Jake groans, imagines some guy wanting to do this with him, to him, for him. He reaches for his lube, glad he doesn’t have to try and type, squeezes a little out, he doesn’t like it too slick, grips his cock and strokes, tries to imagine what a hot mouth would feel like sucking him down.

>>I know it will be warm, I’ll inhale through my nose, learning what you smell like. I’ll exhale through my mouth, pressing it to your cock so you feel the warmth of my breath through your pants around your most sensitive skin.

>>I undo the button of your pants, carefully lower the zipper, and then pull them down, tugging your underwear down carefully as well. Then I can finally taste, get my tongue on you, let my fingers dig into the muscles of your thighs and bring you closer to me.

>>I am not in any type of rush, I love giving blowjobs, gets me off, having a guy trust me this much. Just let my face rest there and breathe for a few seconds before I lick up your length, one of my hands coming to fondle your balls. Some guys love having their balls sucked, I wonder whether you will?

Jake bites his lip, his hand stroking harder and faster, wonders when he’ll get to find out, god he wants to find out. If this is how good the written word is he really wants to find someone he can try these things with in-person. He might have to wait a couple of years still, but fuck it’ll be worth it. God it better be worth it.

>>I lick at the head of your cock, place a light kiss and then I lick and purse my lips, making a warm slippery heat for you to press into and then I suck you into my mouth and all you can feel is sudden tight heat around your cock. I’ve moved my hand to the bottom of the shaft, stroking you there but I’m sucking the head and top half of your cock with the sole intent that I want you to come in my mouth.

Jake whines, his hips jerking as he imagines coming in someone’s mouth, having someone wanting him to come in their mouth. For it to be sexy rather than dirty or forbidden. That idea, that he will one day get to be sexy, that he will have someone that is his, that wants to be with him, is what has him coming, his breath coming in rough pants, loud in the quiet of his room, all the tenseness in his muscles suddenly turning into hot liquid as he comes and he groans.

>>I reach for one of your hands, get you to run your hand through my hair, encourage you to pull a little as I suck you harder and faster. I want to make you noisy, want to hear your pleasure when you come. Want you to come.

Jake quickly wipes himself clean, the tissues by his head there pretty much there solely for this purpose and he wants to go and wash his hands before typing but he types one thing before sprinting to the little bathroom and washing his hands as quickly as possible before running back to his bed and laptop.

>>Wow.

>>Mmm. I’ll take that as a compliment.

>>I hope that was an okay first time.

>>You know where to find me if you want to.

Jake shivers, re-reads the words, because first time implies there will be more and he can only imagine the things he might get to share.

>>Thanks.

>>That was really something.

>>Was good. Amazing.

>>I enjoyed it.

>>A lot.

Oh god, he’s babbling through the internet and the guy is probably laughing at him.

>>Good. I’m glad. Can’t vouch for your first time in real life, but at least you can always hit me up if you find the real thing lacking.

>>Actually the real thing can take some practice and experience to get right, so don’t just go with the first guy who shows interest okay? Learn from my mistakes at least.

>>Your first time wasn’t good?

>>Nope. Got better of course. Eventually. But I had years at college to figure things out. Now I’m not at college, but I’m still figuring things out. Young yet though. Got time. Not as young as you though.

>>Haha. I’m legal.

>>Yeah well, I’ll have to take your word for that.

He signs off, feeling a little awkward and he wonders how awkward it would be if it was face-to-face. Yeah, he’s really not ready for that yet.

The awkwardness fades though, and he chats with Nick almost weekly. They definitely get better at the sex talk, and Jake becomes adept at one-handed typing. They also talk about other stuff, and Jake can feel like he can ask him anything, be open with his worries about his career, without going into detail about what that career is exactly. Nick is non-judgemental, answers all his sex questions and when he goes looking to verify some of the answers he finds that the information he’s getting is solid. Correct. It makes him trust him. Probably more than is wise, but he doesn’t share any further information that could identify him. The risks are too high and Nick hasn’t offered up anything either.

Then Nick says he’s going to be online less regularly, maybe not online at all, potentially for five to seven months and Jake is surprised at how disappointed he feels. Somehow, with the sex and the talking and the fact that he’s been able to be so open with Nick about being gay makes Nick feel like his best friend. He has other friends, but none of them know he’s gay. He’s far too scared to tell them.

Maybe one day.

2007 - Bradley - Chapter 2

#online and anonymous #Hangster #Sereshaw #hangman x rooster #Top Gun Maverick fanfic

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