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novelistrry · 11 months

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Harry visibly clenched his jaw, but that didn’t stop Y/N from going on, “You want to speak of your deception and your dishonor?”

“I don’t think you have any right to speak about deception or dishonor, Y/N. You parade yourself as the perfect princess, and yet, you lie to your subjects. Do not lecture me on deception or dishonor,” Harry drew the boundary between them, a harsh red line that was clear and hard to miss.

“Is blackmail honorable, Prince?” Y/N seethed.

“Is fucking the stable boy honorable, Princess?” Harry didn’t know if this was actually factual, it was only the assumption he made as to why the stable boy would lie for Y/N for so long.

Y/N stuttered over her words, “I-I’m not!”

Harry is a prince, Y/N is a princess, and Harry is incredibly deceptive

Tropes: Enemies to lovers, forced proximity, fake dating, tension, etc.

Warning: Mentions of panic attacks, nightmares, wet dreams, praise kink, deception, etc!

Word Count: 15k+ with the prologue, 12k without.

Prologue (A/N: only read this if you have not read the blurb, if you’ve already read the blurb you can scroll down to where part one “The Ruse” starts)

Y/N hated Harry.

Actually, she wasn’t quite sure the loathing could run quite as deep as it did. It was almost as if when her eyes locked with his, or she got a whiff of his cologne in the corridor, the hatred would flow through her veins and act as a power source. As if the only fuel she needed was how much she absolutely and utterly loathed that man.

So when her handmaid had told her summertime was officially in action, and she knew what summertime brought, Y/N wanted to stomp her foot like a child and throw herself onto the floor.

Summer was supposed to be excellent, filled with fruits and sunny skies. It was supposed to be warm and lovely, but when Y/N’s parents invite Harry and his family to the palace every summer, it’s hard to find enjoyment in the season.

He was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, and Y/N wasn’t one to deny it. Green mosaic eyes, captivating and alluring like a siren sat atop a rock luring sailors in with that beautiful voice. Only instead of using his rhythmic voice to lure her in, he used the gaze of his eyes. Soft features and delicate sculpting to his face that were so perfect it was absolutely infuriating. He was perfect, truly, in every way possible and the people loved his beautiful face and charming personality.

Except when the large wooden doors shut, leaving Y/N and Harry alone (which wasn’t supposed to happen per Y/N’s request, by the way), his mouth was foul and his charming qualities were consigned to oblivion. Around Y/N, Harry was his worst version of himself and Y/N could not stand him.

“I don’t want him to come this year, Dorothea!” Y/N exclaimed to her chambermaid as her heels clicked against the large tile pieces. She was pacing back and forth, a nervous tick she’s had since she was little.

Sweat accumulated in the pits of her palms, a telling sign that she was nervous, though she would never say that to Dorothea or let it be known to Harry because he would never let her live it down.

See, Y/N and Harry were similar in two ways. One, they were both heir to a royal bloodline. And two, they were both so, so stubborn.

“I know, dear.” Dorothea, the sweetest old lady the palace could find, spent most of her day assisting Y/N in her needs even though there weren’t very many of those. Y/N was relatively low maintenance and hated to be waited on, “It’s only three months.”

With that sentiment, Y/N sat on the edge of her bed that was just made and fluffed, deciding she would spend her day sulking in her room rather than participating in any of the start of summer festivities. As if Dorothea could tell Y/N just wanted to be left alone, she quietly made her way out of the room, and left Y/N to her own devices.

____

Maybe dreams do come true, because the summer season had officially been in swing for three days and there were no sights of Harry, or his family, lingering around the palace. Eventually, she thought she would turn the corner and catch him chatting up a chambermaid with a devilish smile and eyes that would turn a girl into a puddle of melted candy, but it had been three days and even the girls she passed (who were anticipating him heavily) were whispering about the prince being late.

By the fifth day, Y/N was beginning to feel the weight lift off her chest and the ease flood through her veins. Though she didn’t dare to ask her parents about Prince Harry’s whereabouts because that would come with an agonizingly painful interrogation (they truly believed their daughter would wed the man), and a small reprimand because of her prior years sour behavior toward him, though they didn’t know just how insufferable he was in return.

Small talk whisked throughout the palace by the seventh day, explaining that Prince Harry would not be attending this summer season because he was to be married by the end of the year to a princess Y/N had never heard of. A small twitch shot through her chest, but she brushed it off feigning it as relief she never had to deal with him again. While Y/N acted oblivious, everyone knew the reason Harry and his family visited the palace every summer is because the families were hoping for an alliance of sorts— for Harry and Y/N to form a union, to form a bond that would end in marriage. As much as she chalked the twitch in her chest and the hollow in her belly as a feeling of relief, she was confused as to why she wished he would have written. Not necessarily her, but at least to her parents, informing that he would not be there this summer (or any summer for that matter because he was getting married) that way she didn’t have to walk around for days on end, thinking there would be a jumpscare in the corridor or the dining hall.

A flicker of annoyance lit inside of her, an emotion she was familiar with and actually grateful for at the moment because it took away from the abnormal sensation in the chest and abdomen. Why wouldn’t he write? Or his parents at the very least? What kind of person does that? Y/N knew just how hard the chambermaids, the scullery kitchen, and the people who made the palace function as well as it did were working to ensure their guests were accommodated and comfortable for the three months they were staying with them.

It was very unlike Y/N, usually very polite and soft-spoken to feel that kind of irritation. The kind that was so pent up it was making her breathing slightly erratic and she was puffing breaths in and out through her nose. In a very un-Y/N like fashion, she decided that if Prince Harry wasn’t going to write to her, then she was going to write to him and tell him how distasteful his lack of presence or notification on the betrothal was.

Before she could even process what she was doing, she was in the main library of the palace, sitting at the writing table and crafting a heartfelt message to her dear friend Prince Harry, slightly berating him in each line for his so-called prince ethics (or lack-there-of).

Dear Prince Harry,

I am sitting here, writing to tell you how distasteful I find your lack of arrival. It is great news within our palace that you are to be married, which in turn, delays your arrival to our annual summer festivities, and possibly inhibits you from attending these festivities ever again.

A true prince, knowing royal ethics, would have written far in advance, revoking his acceptance to my family’s invitation. It seems that, as always, you are too engrossed in your own endeavors to care about the people around you who have taken the time to prepare for your arrival.

I know our royal household has been working gravely to make certain you and your family have a wonderful stay over the summer, as they have done every summer for the past two years—

“I knew I would find you in here,” his voice, clear and steady, echoed through the library bouncing off the walls and the leather bindings of the books which sat on the shelves of the wall, “You’re always in here doing something or another.”

She knew who it was by the sound of his voice, deep and sultry. He always spoke with such precision and so bluntly that even with her eyes closed, she could tell who it was just by the energy that filled the space. Arrogance and tempting were his two most significant qualities and they always filled the room, leaving her to suffocate in his presence.

Quickly, she jumped up and grabbed the letter, crumpling it in her hands. The ink was so fresh it smeared all over her hands with her rush, and when she looked to see him standing under the doorway, she noted that not a thing about him had changed. He stood with that same arrogance in his posture, his eyes were still that deepsea green, and his lips, chin, and jaw were as beautiful (if not more) as the last time she saw him.

Quirking his eyebrows, he couldn’t help himself. “Now I need to know what was in that letter you were writing. Are you in love, my dear Y/N.”

He took a step forward, and she realized he thought she would just hand the letter over to him, like it was his property to be read. And even though it technically was, the letter was now void because he did, in fact, show up for the summer season. While it may have been intended for him, the content of the letter did not matter, and because he expected her to walk over and drop the letter in the palm of his hand, that absolutely infuriated her.

“I will not give this to you,” Y/N shook her head and furrowed her eyebrows. She almost cringed at the tone of her voice, so abrasive and calloused. Harry brought out the worst in her, he really did. Though, she didn’t understand how Harry could make this frustration brew inside of her when the rest of the Styles were so lovely to be around.

In two long strides, Harry was rounding the writing desk and in front of her. He towered over her, reaching for the crumpled letter in her hands and before she could grasp the paper tighter, it slipped beneath her fingertips and he was reading it aloud.

“I thought you said this wasn’t for me, Princess?” Harry wasn’t asking, it was more rhetorical than anything. The mock in his tone sent a heat through her, plummeting up from where her heart dropped in her stomach to the apples of her cheeks.

He held the letter above the both of them, the words still readable even though the ink was smeared on the page. As he read aloud, Y/N wanted to drop to the floor and cover her ears from listening to speak her foolish words out loud. If anything, the letter was an act of catharsis. She probably would have never actually sent it to Harry, even if she said she was going to, but writing the words on the paper and pretending like she was going to send it to him was semi-therapeutic. By the second line, she was jumping in the air like a fish out of water, trying to grasp the letter from his hands so he couldn’t continue. To make matters worse, he was chuckling between words and flashing wide grins in her direction when he paused.

Eventually, the way she was jumping and frantically trying to snatch the letter from him was just as humiliating as the strong words she had put on that piece of paper he held in his hands, so she stopped and turned away from him so that he could not see the look of horror on her face as he finished reading the letter.

Finally, he got to the part where he walked in and startled her from her writing desk, her thoughts coming to an abrupt halt on the paper when his voice echoed throughout the room, and even though he was done reading the letter, she couldn’t bear to look at him. If there was one thing about Harry, he always had the upper hand with her. Always.

“I wish I hadn’t interrupted your thoughts when I came in here a few moments ago. I’m positive the rest of this letter would have been a great read, and you print your thoughts so eloquently, Y/N.” He was trying to get under her skin, even though he knew he had already burrowed himself under the flesh like a mite the second he walked in the room. That was another one of Harry’s traits— he wanted to see just how much he could push her until she snapped, because he loved watching her snap.

“Enough,” she spoke, barely turning to look at him. She caught a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye, enough for her to squint just barely and for him to know she was giving him a dirty look.

“Well, Y/N, clearly this letter was for me. Was it not?” He was doing it; pushing and pressing until the temper within her flicked on a light and her thoughts rifling through her brain started spewing like fire, the world around them turning to ash with each word that fell from her lips and targeted him like a huntsman and its prey.

“It wasn’t for you—” She began, getting cut off by the prince.

“It clearly says ‘Dear Prince Harry, I am sitting here, writing to y—”

Within under a second, she was turning on her heels to face him once more and trying to pry the letter from his fingers. To no avail, she didn’t think she could handle him reading the letter out loud once more, so she covered her ears and began begging him to stop. The worst part was the feeling she had in her gut, the feeling one gets in their gut and their throat before the tears start forming in their eyes. While Harry had many horrid qualities about him, one of her terrible qualities were tears that formed, not out of sadness, but out of anger. Deeply, she inhaled to smooth out her thoughts and quiet her mind. “Stop, stop, stop.”

Grinning like the devil, he spoke slowly and quietly so any chambermaids passing by could not hear the words he was about to speak to her, “Are you embarrassed, Princess? The girl everyone thinks is so ladylike and polite writing words that would tarnish that sweet reputation.”

“I was never going to send it, and I think you know that,” she countered, and even though she knew he knew that letter was never going to leave her possession, she felt like she needed to reiterate that point.

Carefully and slowly—almost painfully slowly— he brought his finger to her cheeks and swiped across to feel the heat radiating off of her skin and she knew he was gaining even more satisfaction at the heat in her cheeks confirming his question, that she was embarrassed by him finding her letter. To rub salt in the wound, he folded the letter up and stuffed it in the pit of his pocket where she would not dare to fish out, as it was not very polite to stick your hand in someone else’s pocket, “For safekeeping,” he stated.

Those two words made her want to do it— stick her hand in his pocket and fish the letter out, tear it in little tiny pieces, and then stomp on the shreds of paper right in front of him, but she wouldn’t do it because she, unlike him, did not lack manners.

“You are absolutely unbearable, Prince. Do not think my opinion on you has changed. I can assure you it has not,” she wanted to get under his skin the way he got under hers, so she added, “Where is your betrothed?”

He paused for a moment, searching for the words, “I am not to be married, Y/N.”

The tone was cut and brief, not the same tone he had when she was pushing his buttons, but a clear line was drawn showing her this is where the boundary was placed, and as much as she wanted to upset him the way he upset her, Y/N did not want to pick and pry about his presumably failed engagement. Though, she did not blame the girl for not wanting to marry someone with such an insufferable attitude. And maybe, just maybe, she also didn’t want to hear about the girl. She didn’t want Harry to talk about how beautiful she was, or what her hobbies were. She didn’t want to know a thing about her or how she wormed her way into the heart of someone so aloof and out of touch with the idea of love. To put it plainly, she didn’t want to hear about their courtship and what he did to make her swoon.

Y/N would never admit it, but the first time she ever met Harry, she was taken with him. And then he opened his mouth, all-knowing and witty bordering intolerable.

“Well, then,” Y/N didn’t quite know what to say in response, seeming to be more uncomfortable with the idea of him getting married than he was.

With a mere couple inches between them, he leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Soft lips grazed the tops of her ears, a warm heat shooting through her, and though she was disgusted with herself for having such an instinctual reaction to his body and his lips so close to her skin, she was graceful enough to remind herself that it was only natural for her core to stir and her stomach to flip.

And when he finally spoke, his lips moved against her ear, “I am going to enjoy playing with you this summer, Y/N.”

She wanted to scream. She almost did.

Instead she took a step back, gasping and brushing out the wrinkles in her dress, “I absolutely loathe you.”

“I love that you loathe me,” he replied before turning on his heels and walking out of the library.

Y/N knew it was going to be a long summer filled with taunts from Harry.

And much to her dismay, that night she dreamed about his lips pressing against her.

I. The Ruse

Y/N had told Dorothea she was feeling too ill to attend the breakfast table that morning. Albeit, the truth of the matter was that she was shaken by her dreams poisoned by Harry— maybe they were good dreams about his lips, his fingers, the way he caressed her cheek, but the fact that it was Harry doing those things to her was enough to deduce it was a nightmare. A terrible, terrible nightmare.

“Should I fetch you some tea?” Dorothea pressed her hand to Y/N’s forehead, feeling for a fever, but when the skin under her hands was cool rather than clammy, Dorothea raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

“No, no,” Y/N swung the covers over her, revealing her nightgown. Stiffly, she planted her feet on the wooden planks beneath the bed as she made a show of stretching, “Don’t fuss over me. I’m already feeling much better, Dorothea.”

“Better enough to attend breakfast?” Dorothea questioned her, the brow still raised in suspicion, and Y/N knows she should just tell Dorothea the truth but it was her stubborn nature that prevented her from letting Dorothea know about her encounter with the Prince yesterday.

“I believe it’s late anyway,” Y/N reasoned, “I will fetch something when the dining hall has been cleared out.”

Dorothea only shook her head in disappointment, but Y/N pretended not to notice.

______________

In an effort to maintain his dignity, Harry had to stop looking at the chestnut oak double doors separating the dining hall from the rest of the castle. Each time a servant opened the door to replenish something on the table, Harry’s head snapped over, hoping it would be Y/N that walked through the doors just so he could see her again.

It was agonizing, honestly. She was sweeter than droplets of nectar. Bees were probably drawn to her, knowing her personality was as sweet as the honey they produced, attracting to her like the pollen they longed to search for.

That, precisely, is why she aggravated Harry so much. From the time Harry was born, it was engraved in his brain that he was a ruler; he was honorable, decisive, and empathetic. All the qualities that made up a leader, and he knew it, too. Though, he was self-aware enough to know where he was lacking, and he was lacking (probably) the most important quality a leader can have—compassion and the ability to connect.

For Y/N, that was something that came so naturally. She could connect with just about anyone. The princess blended in with the common folk so... Seamlessly, it was absolutely infuriating. Harry had tried, plenty of times, to blend in, to connect with his people and his royal household but he could never achieve it the way Y/N did. She was a real princess, and it made him feel like a fraud.

Years had passed with him learning about how to rule, the best way, the honorable way. For Y/N, it seemed that she was born with the knowledge, never having to lift a finger or read a book.

So it pleased him, angering her to the point of outbursts. In her court, she was polite, loved, and deemed the absolute most charismatic one can be. When she was just about shaking with rage, foul words dripping from her lips, that is when Harry was content— when she looked less like a statue, the perfect creation this court has formed her to be, and more like a human. More like him.

That is when the irritation he felt toward her stopped festering, just for a moment in time.

And he knew he was absolutely terrible for it, absolutely atrocious, but he wanted to corrupt her. Ruin the molding she was fit into.

Sounds of fingers fiddling on the doorknob caused him to look up, and when a servant walked in with another tray of warm bread and fresh butter, his eyes averted to his plate to avoid the teasing that was about to come from the King’s Hand— or well, Prince’s Hand, really, since he wouldn’t truly be the King’s Hand until Harry’s coronation.

But he was too late, and the words were already coming out of Niall’s mouth, “If you’re going to keep glancing up every time someone walks in, wishing her to walk through those doors, then why don’t you just go seek her out?”

“I don’t wish for her to walk through those doors, Niall,” Harry’s jaw tensed as he spoke, the inclination that he was waiting for her making him somewhat irate, “I am merely observing, isn’t that important? To be aware of one’s surroundings?”

“Yes,” Niall sucked in his teeth, moving his gaze from the angle of Harry’s jaw back to his plate of food, “Indeed it is.”

Harry spread butter on a fresh piece of bread, ignoring Niall’s comment, and when Niall realized Harry wasn’t going to say anything else, he continued to poke the bear. “Why didn’t you marry Duchess Violet when you had the opportunity? Why push the wedding? So you could come here? See her?”

A hiss left Harry’s mouth before answering in a hushed voice, low enough that the people around them could not hear. “Why so many questions, Niall?”

“I’m trying to understand,” he shrugged his shoulders, the level of his voice now matching Harry’s.

“I pushed the wedding because I did not want to marry the Duchess, Niall. Simple as that. I came here because my parents are convinced that Princess Y/N and I will form an attachment if I spend enough time with her. That is what they want after all.”

“Then what?” Niall’s questioning was causing sweat to bead on Harry’s forehead. He didn’t want to think of the then what factor.

“I suppose when I return home, the arrangement between the Duchess and I will initiate once more.” Harry cocked his head over to Niall, dropping the piece of bread on his plate. Suddenly, he wasn’t hungry anymore.

“What is your game here this summer, Prince?” Niall asked, locking eyes with Harry’s whose eyes were the same pigment as a field of green clovers populating in the crisp months of Spring, mischief dancing in his irises.

Slowly and carefully he gave Niall the essence of his plan, “I will convince the Princess to form an alliance with me— A facade, if you will. We will put on a show, and before our attachment is sealed with a ring, she will say she can no longer do it. And I will be so heartbroken, to the nation’s knowledge, that they will not pester me about marrying. I do not need to marry. I will not need to marry.”

“And will you be heartbroken, Prince?” This seemed to be Niall’s only concern.

“No,” Harry paused and then added on, “I do not believe so.”

“And what if she does not agree to a facade?”

“Then I will charm her. Seduce her.” This was all Harry was willing to say on the matter as he pushed his chair up.

______________

Y/N, to her credit, was full of secrets.

Every now and again, she would poke her head out, scan the corridor, then jump back into her bedchamber when she heard the sound of heels clicking against the flooring.

And she’s never felt quite so childish before. Usually, when Harry came for the summer, Y/N didn’t go out of her way to avoid him, but after their interaction in the study she didn’t think she was ready to face him yet.

If Y/N was honest with herself, two years ago when she first met the prince, she was quite smitten. And maybe it was the fact that he was engaged to someone else. .. Someone Y/N didn’t know. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t bother to tell her, or write to her family that got her so worked up. Maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that someone wormed their way into his icy chest and planted a seed of fire that caused him to want them.

She had trouble admitting it to herself, but she fancied Harry more than she let on. The only person in the entire castle that knew just how deep her feelings for Harry ran was Dorothea, though the words had never left Y/N’s lips and they might not ever.

Rage has simmered in her gut, boiling over into her fingertips that flowed against the page where she etched words onto a canvas that conveyed her grievances with Harry. The memory of her sitting there, rage-writing a letter she never intended to send, and Harry snatching it out of her hands and reading aloud sent a churn in her stomach, the humiliation of the moment festering inside her once more.

The true reason she had been avoiding him, at last. She was utterly embarrassed by the entire ordeal. All he had to do was read in between the lines, and all of her feelings were on display. Harry having that letter was a different kind of vulnerability.

So she snuck out to the stables, where her good friend Brad worked as the stable boy. Y/N and Brad shared a secret the people did not know, it was kept between the two of them, and she liked Brad for the fact he has known her secret for about four years and has not told a soul has made her like them all the more.

Boots trudged in the muddy grass as she made her way out to the stables, where Brad tended to her horses (and the other horses, of course). Birds cooed in the sky, the sing-song noises filling her ears and putting her at peace for the first time since yesterday.

When she had finally made it to the big barn, nearly a quarter mile away from the actual castle, Brad was nowhere to be seen. Quietly, she lurked around, craning her head around corners and scouting him out.

Right as she was about to call out his name, because it was very unlikely for him to not be here, she rounded one more corner and saw him nestled next to the Prince— next to Harry.

She almost audibly groaned when she saw him standing there, invading her space. Where she liked to go to clear her head, but before a noise could escape her lips, she realized if she slowly backed out of the hall then she might escape the pair before either of them saw her.

As she slowly tried to back out of the hall encompassed by horse stables, the two rather close together, both snapped their heads in her direction. Two sets of eyes locked with hers, her mouth watering as her stomach turns nervously when Harry’s green gaze of disapproval scans her up and down.

“Y/N?” Brad asked, projecting his tone down the length of the hall so she could hear him clearly, “What are you doing all the way down there?”

“Nothing!” Her tone projected as well, matching Brad’s. “I was thinking I could see Freya, but I see you’re busy.”

“Why don’t you come closer, Princess? So we don’t have to shout too loud.” Harry said, and Y/N knew the look upon his face. Whenever he was about to do something devious, a smirk would spread across his lips, his eyes sparkling with the game he was about to partake in.

And Y/N doesn’t know why she listened to him, why she didn’t just turn away, but before she could tell herself to stop, she was walking toward the both of them. Each step felt shameful, her eyes averting from Harry’s and to Brad. She couldn’t stand the way Harry looked at her, like she was a toy, like he could burn holes through her soul if he really wanted to.

She shifted her body to angle more toward Brad, not completely cutting Harry out of the circle they were now standing in, but angling herself enough to show that her body language was more open to Brad than she was to Harry.

“Isn’t this one Freya?” Harry pointed to the stall directly across from them. There stood her light gray horse, mane and tail braided perfectly.

Actually, if someone saw Y/N and Freya standing side by side, they would simply know Freya was meant for Y/N by the way she holds herself; strong, with a gentle demeanor radiating off her. The only problem is that people would never see Freya and Y/N side by side, because Y/N (as much as she loved Freya) was too afraid to take her out of her stall. In Y/N’s kingdom, it was inevitable that every young prince or princess had to ride, because at their coronation one of the requirements was to ride in on their horse. The issue wasn’t that Y/N didn’t know how to ride. She did. The issue was that Y/N wouldn’t because of an accident that happened three years ago, leaving Y/N scared to ever get on the back of a horse, or to even walk around with her lead rope in hand. Nobody knew, except Brad, that Y/N hadn’t been on the back of her horse since the accident, it was a secret the two of them kept together.

“Yes,” Y/N turned to him, just slightly, “That is her.”

“Go on, then,” Harry motioned toward her, “We don’t mind if you take her out.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped, glancing at Brad to see if he could help her worm her way out of this situation. He has helped her before, when her parents would find her in the stable and ask if she wanted to go on a ride with them. Brad would say something like, Princess Y/N just put Freya back, they went on a lengthy ride earlier and Freya is resting now. It made Y/N feel selfish to know how much trouble Brad could get in for lying, but she was too much of a coward to tell anyone her fears.

Brad interjected, just not with what she hoped for, “Y/N doesn’t ride.”

Confusion contorted Y/N’s features as he outed her secret to the one person she didn’t want to know an inkling about her. “Brad!”

Brad’s eyes widened slightly, his brows raising as he replied, “I’m sorry, Y/N! I thought it was okay for him to know? It’s not as if he lives in the palace.”

Harry stepped closer, putting a pin in the conversation Brad and Y/N were beginning to have right in front of him, “Why doesn’t she ride?”

Brad waited, momentarily, for Y/N to respond but when her lips stayed sealed, withholding the information from Harry he decided to come clean for her. “Y/N has panic attacks when she gets too close to horses. Nobody knows.”

At least he didn’t tell Harry why horses made her panic.

“Yet you come out here anyway?”

Heedfully, she took in a deep breath and began to collect her thoughts which seemed to be swimming everywhere. These past two days, she had never felt so exposed, so bare in front of him. First with the letter, and now with Brad’s indiscretion to Y/N’s secret. “As you may already know, horse riding is big in our culture, so I come out here to keep up appearances. And, I do love my Freya.”

“You’re a fraud, then? A liar?” Harry sucked in a breath, that grin teetering on amusement— a fine line between pure and utter cruelty.

“If that’s what you will call it,” Y/N tried not to let the emotions welling inside show on her face, remaining neutral and stoic was the best way to ignore Harry. She, too, could sink her claws in him and tear him apart by simply ignoring him. “I must be going.”

Swiftly, she turned, paying no mind to Freya and blocking out the snickering coming from Harry as she walked out of the barn. Her boots trudged in the mud once more, and the frustration brewing inside was threatening to spill over, though she would not allow it to until she was alone in the privacy of her own room.

The palace was in plain sight, she only needed to walk a straight narrow path before she could take a side door to the main corridor and scurry off to her room (hopefully avoiding many of the household staff on the way). It was unfair, but she wanted to yell at Brad for offering Harry such private information. Should she blame him, though? He’s been keeping her secret for nearly three years, lying for her, and obviously he didn’t know that Harry had brutish tendencies— especially when it came to her. In fact, she thought back to it. The way the two of them were standing, how Harry was shifting closer to Brad with each word. If Y/N didn’t know better, Harry was trying to turn Brad into putty in his hands which honestly might have been more of an issue than him knowing her secret panic attacks she would have in the privacy of Freya’s stall. Was Harry interested in Brad, trying to charm him with his good looks and that personality that oozed sweetness? Y/N may have never seen that side of him, but amongst the chambermaids he was quite the sweet-talker.

“Y/N,” a low, gruff voice called from behind her. When she tried to pick up the pace, she only heard the shuffling of Harry’s boots behind her go faster.

It wasn’t like she would be able to escape him, if he truly wanted to pester her he would find her in her bedchamber. It was better to have a discussion with him out in the open instead of him tainting her bedchamber with his attitude.

“What?” She turned on her heels and snapped her head toward him, the tone of her voice laced with anger.

“I wanted to have a discussion with you,” he took a few steps closer so they were only an arms distance from each other. He wanted his next words to be just barely above a whisper.

“Then speak,” Y/N pursed her lips together, crossing her arms so that she could shield herself against him in some way. Clearly, crossing her arms wasn’t actually going to protect her from him, but in a way, it felt like a mental shield, keeping him out of her head and far away.

“It has been two days of me gracing you with my company, and within those two days, I have obtained a letter I’m convinced you would not like to fall into the wrong hands, and I have discovered you have been deceiving many people and getting the stable boy to lie for you,” Harry’s pointer finger traced under her chin, noting the shiver that ran down her back as she stepped away from his touch, “Now, if you do not want that letter circulating throughout the palace, and if you do not want everyone to know you are a fraud, then you will offer me something I need.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Harry was blackmailing her? She had always taken him for possessing a certain cruelty about him, but never thought he would stoop low to the point where blackmail (quite literally when she takes the letter into consideration) would be hanging over her head like a bundle of mistletoe.

“What is wrong with you?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, stepping backward as her arms tightened around herself once more.

“What is your answer, Y/N?” He spoke with such an airy indifference that she almost couldn’t tell if he was playing a very humorless joke on her.

“I don’t believe I have much of a choice in the matter!” She barked back, and that flicker of anger displayed on her face and in her tone of voice made his lips curve up into a cursed smile, so she tried to cool herself down and remain stoic— just as unbothered as he seemed to be.

“I am giving you a choice, darling,” Harry said, the word rolling off his tongue like the pet name was second nature to him, “One option is unfavorable, though. For you, at the very least.”

It was written across his face; either answer she gave him was a win for him. This was a situation where she was going to lose, a situation where the upper hand was in his court and he was playing the game with no mercy. If she said yes, she was indebted to him, owing him a favor. And if she said no, the shame of her actions would not only reflect on her, but her family as well.

“Tell me what you need,” an exasperated sigh she didn’t mean to let out, falling from her lips.

“Agree first.” Harry was a politician first, a prince second, and a human being last.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, “Do you believe I haven’t learned to never agree to something binding without knowing the stipulations first, Prince?”

“And do you think I would present my vulnerabilities to you without an answer first? I tell you, you don’t agree with the clause, and now you know what I need. Why should I do that?” His reasoning was valid to her, though she would never admit to it.

“Then my answer is no,” Y/N began turning on her heels to walk away; get as far away as she possibly could, but she stopped in her tracks when he caught up behind her, hooking his fingers around her waist and pressing his front against her back.

Incredibly cool and collected, he pressed his lips against her ears before he spoke, causing a chill to rip down her spine and a tightening coil in the pit of her stomach. “You’ve made your choice, then. Tonight in the dining hall, while we are in the middle of dinner with the most important people, I will stand and tell everyone of your fraudulent activities. In fact, I might even embellish it— explain how you’ve been keeping the stable boy so quiet with your mouth. Do you know what that means, princess? I will tell them how you’ve squandered his innocence, and when the shame is rising from here,” Harry’s fingers trailed from her hip to her stomach, and then all the way up to the apple of her cheeks, “To here… That is when I will twist the knife, and begin reading your finest letter aloud. And when you are crying, I will not stop.”

Y/N turned back around, stepping away from him to get distance before spitting out, “You are cruel, Harry. So, very, cruel.”

“You are flattering me,” he quirked an eyebrow, and she so badly wanted to connect her fist to that stupid smirk on his face.

“Fine,” Y/N nodded her head, refusing to give him any more leverage, “I will help you.”

“Great, then I will court you for the entire summer, and just before it is time for me to propose to you… You will come up with some excuse to break it off, and I will pretend I am utterly heartbroken and need time to heal.”

Y/N was shocked his ruse was not nearly as bad as she had expected it to be. She thought maybe he would be requesting her to break into the general’s office and steal classified military documents, or something absolutely absurd and dangerous. But a courtship under false pretenses was… Dishonorable, but not a crime.

“That’s it?” She shrugged her shoulders. “Why?”

“Because,” he was beginning to feel frustrated, and Y/N could tell by the way he pinched the bridge of his nose in between his fingers. “I do not want to marry the Dutchess, and I fear if I do not place a ring on your finger, that is my destiny. However, if you end our courtship and I feign heartbreak, how could anyone tell me I need to marry when I lost the love of my life.” He rolled his eyes as he spoke the words.

“And—” Y/N began to ask another question before Harry interrupted her.

“That is all the information I will give you on the topic.”

“Fine,” she, herself, was done with the conversation anyway. There were much better things for her to do than scheme with Harry, “Now if you would leave me be, I would like some space from you.”

“Take what you need, because after dinner we will be attached at the hip once we announce our courtship.”

This might be the death of Y/N.

______________

Pretending to be under the weather was not going to cut it this evening, Y/N knew she couldn’t get out of another meal with her family, Harry’s, and the other important people that made it to the dining hall list without a stern talking to from Dorothea.

On top of that, she knew that Harry was going to announce their courtship, and he probably wouldn’t be too keen on the idea of announcing it without her there. Actually, she wasn’t too keen on the idea, either. Who knows what he would say?

With thoughts racing through her head, and the click of her ballet flats on the mosaic tile, she made her way down the corridor until she was standing just outside of the tall oak doors. As soon as they opened, she would find her seat, and her fate for the summer would be sealed.

“Looking nervous, darling.” Harry spoke from behind her, creeping up on her for the third time since he’s been here. Rolling her eyes was beginning to become a natural reaction at this point.

“Don’t call me that,” Y/N hissed out, barely taking her eyes from the door as he walked up behind her so he was nearly touching her backside as his fingers reached for the knob and turned it slowly.

It was quiet when her eyes locked with her mother and father’s eyes, and when she slid her gaze over to Harry’s parents, she couldn’t help but feel shame that ticked in her lower stomach. It was one thing to be deceptive to her own parents; it was another to be deceptive to someone else’s. This was definitely something she was going to bring up to Harry later.

Dorothea was sitting beside Y/N’s mother, and when she noticed her, Dorothea offered an approving smile and a small glance toward Harry’s direction. On multiple occasions, Dorothea had tried to convince Y/N that Harry was not that horrible as she knew him since he was a young boy, but Y/N would gawk and scoff and exclaim with exasperation: Why are you taking his side? Now, Dorothea had believed Harry finally charmed Y/N just enough to weasel his way into her heart, but little did Dorothea know, it was quite the opposite.

Dinner was going by smoothly. Every now and again, Harry would make some small talk with Y/N, and as soon as the pair began speaking softly under their breath, the entire table would stop talking to hear what the two of them were conversing about. It was making Y/N rather anxious to have so much attention thrown in her general direction, but she supposed if she were in their shoes, she would be just as curious.

Before the meal came to a close, Harry tapped a shiny piece of silverware against his glass, gaining everyone’s attention. Though, Y/N wanted to tell him if he wanted all eyes on him, all he would have to do is look at her, whisper her name, and the chattering amongst the table would cease so everyone could hone in on their private conversation. “Everyone, I wanted to announce mine and precious Y/N’s courtships. After two long summers of denying our tension amongst one another, we decided it was in everyone’s best interest if we gave our compatibility a shot.”

A couple people clapped, and Y/N tried so hard to repress the eyeroll and the scoff that wanted to surface so badly. Dorothea shot a wink in her direction, so Y/N offered a small smile because a grimace would lead to questioning from her later, and lying to Dorothea was not something she felt too good about. Y/N had already deceived her once today by feigning illness, and twice with Harry’s speech of their courtship, but she did not want to have a separate conversation with Dorothea that contained the weight of her lies.

As soon as dinner ended, Y/N found herself rushing from the dining hall, nausea filling her gut as bile threatened to creep up her throat. In a few turns, she was down the corridor, and finally, she was on the terrace, breathing in the crisp night air. Stars illuminated the sky, the moon brightening the path she was walking down, and she should have known better to think she would get just one moment alone (or one moment where Harry was not creeping up behind her).

“Y/N, I want to talk,” Harry whispered, although the words may have been hushed, but they were on the louder side like a… Hushed shout?

“I’m not sure I would like to talk right now,” Y/N replied back, kicking scattered rocks out of the path they were taking that led to the gardens on the right side of the palace.

“I promise I will leave you alone for the night after this,” Harry sounded sincere, “I just want to work out the logistics with you.”

“The logistics with me?” Y/N scoffed, pivoting on her heels and throwing her hands up in exasperation. The tone of her voice was laced with venom, and the scrunch of her nose which led all the way up to her eyebrows, giving her the look of an angry kitten was enough to tell Harry she was quite upset with the ordeal, “You mean, you would like to speak of your deception?”

Harry visibly clenched his jaw, but that didn’t stop Y/N from going on, “You want to speak of your deception and your dishonor?”

“Is blackmail honorable, Prince?” Y/N seethed.

“Is fucking the stable boy honorable, Princess?” Harry didn’t know if this was actually factual, it was only the assumption he made as to why the stable boy would lie for Y/N for so long.

Y/N stuttered over her words, “I-I’m not!”

“Maybe you’re not,” he looked her up and down, the sinister glare in his eyes making her want to recoil into herself, “But you want to.”

Y/N did not deny her attraction to the stable boy, though, she had never fantasized of him in such salacious ways, and that little flicker of emotion that ran across her features was something Harry picked up on immediately.

“Would it break your little heart, Princess?” Harry took a step closer, the vein on his neck popping out as he clenched his jaw harder, “If I let your stable boy lay in my bed?”

Y/N gasped. She had never heard someone be so… Vulgar.

The response she was looking for swam through her head but she couldn’t quite locate it as she filed through the crevices of her brain. How could she answer that? To her luck, Harry was on his heels and walking toward the direction of the stables so she didn’t have to respond to him. He muttered out the grumpiest, “I’ll find you later,” and Y/N’s heart sank as she realized Harry was trying to find Brad to either bed him, or tell Brad about her embarrassing little crush. Y/N had never felt so exposed in her own territory.

______________

“This is never going to work, Niall!” Harry exclaimed, kicking off his riding boots and pacing his way back and forth in Niall’s personal cabin. Niall was the Prince’s Hand, his second in command, but he needed his space. When they would come for the summer, Niall would occupy the cottage on the outskirts of the palace, the only way to get there was by horseback, which is part of the reason he felt so comfortable being open with Niall. There was no possible way the princess would be strolling down the corridor and overhear him chatting with Niall when they were so far away, and the only way she could get there was by horseback, which he knew she wouldn’t do.

“What do you mean?” Niall looked over at him, pouring a glass of sparkling wine that was located on the bar top near the kitchenette. Harry noted that Niall was pouring two glasses, one for Harry and one for himself.

“She’s too stubborn.” Harry sighed out, taking the glass from Niall as he reached his hand out, then plummeted into one of the cushion filled chairs in the corner of the room. “She won’t be able to go through with it.”

“And you have leverage over her, do you not? I thought that was why you were so sure of your plan?” Niall pressed the frosted glass to his lips, then tipped his head back.

Harry followed suit, tipping his head back after pressing the cool glass to his lip. The slight carbonation of the alcohol, and the burn of the alcohol itself singed the back of his throat before he shook his head and shut his eyes tightly. “I do have leverage as I told you about. I fear if she backs out, I would never be able to put her through that, though.”

“It was my understanding that you didn’t care and you do not like her. If that is the case, then what is the issue, Prince?” Niall questioned.

“I do not care about her and I do not like her, but what would it say about me if I grasped that leverage and exposed her so openly like that…” Harry’s voice trailed off as he brought the glass back to his lips once more.

“So you do not care about her, and you do not like her, but you care about what others would think if you humiliated her so publicly?” Niall was beginning to understand.

“Exactly,” Harry agreed.

Niall didn’t like giving Harry advice like this, but he was loyal to Harry first and always. When he began fitting the puzzle pieces together of the dynamic between Harry and Y/N, before he could even process his own thought process he blurted, “If you think she is too stubborn, then change that. Have you thought that maybe the reason she is so stubborn around you is because of the fact you are so mean to her. Stop being so cruel. Be a gentleman, make her like you. Hell, make her even love you, and at the end of the summer, if you still do not believe you are the type of man to marry, then begin corresponding with the Duchess again, forcing Y/N to break it off with you. You told her it was all a ruse, then so be it. However, that does not mean you have to make her life a living hell. You can charm her, make her fall for you, and when you invite the Duchess to the ball at the end of the summer, Y/N will have no other choice than to call it off.”

Harry paused, sitting upright in the chair rather than slouching over, “So you are saying to charm her still, even though she’s already agreed to the facade with me?”

“Precisely,” Niall pushed the guilty feeling down.

“And at the end of the summer when I want her to call it off, let her find me entangled with Duchess Violet?” Harry was the one asking questions now.

“Yes,” Niall let out a small breath.

“Smart man,” was all Harry said, and that was the end of the conversation as Harry slipped his boots on, bolted out the door, mounted his horse, and rode back to the main palace so he could talk to Y/N.

______________

Y/N was still in the garden, ruminating over the argument she just had with Harry. How could someone be so handsome, resembling a person who was probably carved by the most delicate angels themselves, have such a crude mouth and an evil demeanor? If Harry was a little bit nicer, she thinks he would be the easiest person to fall in love with.

“Y/N?” Harry whispered, and when she turned around to look at him, he noted the way the light from the moon reflected off the top of his curly brown hair, where it hit the highs of his cheekbones, and she noted the delicacy in his sea moss green eyes.

“I’m too exhausted to argue, Prince.” She remained grounded, her feet planted into the soil. Her cheeks were still wet from the tears spilled over after Harry left her feeling silly, and even though the streaks remained on her cheeks, there were no more droplets forming in her eyes.

He stepped closer, so close that his body was almost pressed against the front of hers. She noted the way his hand lingered by her hip, wanting badly to close the gap between them by positioning his hand behind her and pulling her close. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” She was strong, she was going to be tough.

“I feel terrible, Y/N,” the sincerity in his eyes was enough to send a ripple of shock through her. Honestly, the sincerity he felt was enough to send a ripple of shock through him. It was true, he did feel terrible. He never meant to make her cry.

“It’s fine,” Y/N said, beginning to turn away from him, but he caught her with his hand around her hip, then closed the gap between them so there was no space between the pair.

“It’s not,” he disagreed, “I… I want to be your friend, Y/N.”

“My friend?” She was so fucking confused.

“Yes,” he nodded his head, creeping his free hand under her chin and forcing her to look up and directly at him. “I do not want to be the only person benefiting from this deception.”

“Okay,” she didn’t know what else to say.

“Let me teach you how to feel comfortable on a horse again. I can give you lessons.” He decided showing her how to be confident atop a horse would be something she would benefit from. She wouldn’t have to feel confined to the palace anymore or lie to the people around her.

“So you can belittle me in our lessons?” Y/N asked, raising a brow at him.

“No, Y/N. No more of that, I can assure you.” He sounded so sincere, he was convincing himself. Maybe the truth was that arguing with her, getting under her skin, and picking her apart was exhausting and he didn’t like feeling like the worst version of himself around her. He was so confused. So confused. He hated this perfect princess exterior she put on, but he disliked being an asshole more.

“You really want to help me?” She could hardly believe it.

“Yes,” he dropped his hand from her chin and her hip, taking a step away from her, “Tomorrow morning, meet me at the stables.”

With that, he turned away and found his way back to his bedchambers. Harry really needed to decompress.

______________

The next morning, Harry found her in the stables. She had gotten there before him and was waiting by Freya’s stall. Brad wasn’t there quite yet. It was so early, the sun was just starting to poke through the horizon.

Colors of red, pink, and gold reflected from his skin as he approached her, and Y/N noted that the colors peaking from the horizon were almost as beautiful as him. While the sun rise was beautiful, it was not nearly as beautiful as him.

“Are you ready?” Harry asked, walking up to where she leaned against Freya’s stall.

“I’m ready,” she explained.

They had spent hours talking about how to form a bond with a horse, how to treat a horse, and where not to stand when around a horse. They talked about how to saddle a horse up, how to put the bit in a horse’s mouth without injuring yourself or the animal you need to be taking care of. Harry was actually a very good teacher. He wasn’t pushing her out of her comfort zone, he wasn’t belittling her for the things she was taught when she was younger but forgot how to maneuver. Harry even brought up what Brad had said about her having panic attacks when she was too close to horses, and told her that if she was feeling anxious to let him know, they could find a spot where she felt safe. Overall, working with him wasn’t too bad.

Y/N tried not to talk about the incident that made her so fearful of horses to begin with, and as much as Harry wanted to know why she was so afraid of them, he didn’t want to push and pry. He knew what it was like when people pushed their way into your personal space, and it was his biggest pet peeve, so he wasn’t going to subject her to something he hated deep in his bones.

Brad was surprised the first day when he came in, and saw Y/N, with shaky hands, petting on Freya. Freya seemed to enjoy it, and Harry stabilized her shaky arm as she reached in the window of the stall and pet her, whispering small encouragements in her ear. He was standing directly behind her, the front of his body pressed to her back as she reached in.

“Good girl,” Harry said, his fingers clutched around her elbow to combat the shakiness in her arm.

“She is a rather good girl,” Y/N said, touching the softness on Freya’s nose.

“No,” Harry laughed out, his fingers still gently holding her elbow steady, “I was talking about you. You’re being a very good girl.”

Y/N felt the heat rise to her cheeks, but chose to say nothing, and much to her good luck, Brad had finally showed up for the day, amazed at how Harry stood there with Y/N and held her from behind as she touched Freya.

“Wow,” Brad said, dropping some of the grain he was holding into the stall next to Freya’s, “You’re doing very well, Y/N.”

Y/N didn’t think she could handle all the compliments, so she redirected the attention to Harry, “It’s all him. He's a great teacher.”

“I bet he is,” Brad shot a look toward Harry, a smirk forming on the edges of both their mouths. It made Y/N wonder if they actually had some sort of relationship like Harry hinted at the night he told her he was going to bed Brad in order to spite her. “I just hope you don’t have nightmares tonight.”

“Nightmares?” Harry’s grip around her elbow tightened, pulling her arm out of Freya’s stall and letting Y/N’s arm fall to her side. “What does he mean?”

Y/N turned around, and threw a scowl in Brad’s direction. Her back pressed against the stall door as she let a sheepish smile appear on her face when she turned all her attention toward Harry. “I used to have nightmares about the incident.”

Harry’s lips pressed into a hardline, a serious look glossed in his eyes. “If you start having nightmares again, tell me. Please.”

“I will.”

______________

Y/N didn’t know what to do about the dreams she was having regarding Harry. It seemed that every single night her dreams of Harry were becoming more and more graphic. The first night she dreamt of him was the first night he was in the palace, and she dreamt of what his lips felt like on hers.

The second time she dreamt of him, she dreamt of the ways his hands felt around her body, and ever since then she had been having that same dream of him, over and over again. He would start by kissing her neck and touching her all over, calling her sweet names, and making her cry out in pleasure.

Every morning she woke up feeling debauched, and when she would meet Harry at the stables in the morning, she tried her best to not let the emotion flood her face. Sometimes she was scared that he could just look at her and know she was having inappropriate dreams about him.

A week had passed of her spending time with Harry. She learned about his favorite food, what he loved about his own kingdom, and even found out that the Marigold flower was native to his kingdom.

“You kind of remind me of a Marigold.” Harry said softly.

“Why is that?” She looked over at him, as he began putting the bit on Freya. Y/N wasn’t ready to ride yet, but today she was going to walk Freya along the property with Harry to get used to her holding the lead rope in her hand.

“They’re bright and beautiful,” Harry buckled the bit, pulling the lead rope through as he spoke to Y/N, “A lot like you.”

“I think we’ve come a long way,” Y/N noted, grabbing the lead rope with shaky fingers when Harry handed it to her.

When Harry realized that her fingers were shaking and her eyes were nervously glancing around, he grabbed the lead rope back from her and began walking Freya out of the barn and toward a trail nearby, “I’ll walk her for now. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

They walked together, talking about the most random things and getting to know each other. Y/N couldn’t believe she didn’t like Harry at first. Fine, he was slightly annoying, and when she thought about how she was technically still being blackmailed it made her a little furious, but when he was being so pleasant and lovely, she tried not to think of those things.

On top of all that, how could she say she still disliked him when she was dreaming of him every single night?

“Why don’t you try holding the lead rope as we walk, and I’ll hold your hand over it?” He suggested, coming to a stop in the middle of the trail. As much as he liked walking Freya, he did want Y/N to make some progress.

“I think I can do that,” Y/N agreed, grabbing the rope in her hand and locking it securely between her fingers. Her hand wasn’t on the rope for even two seconds before Harry threw his hand around hers and gave her a look that she knew said I’m here for you.

Her heart nearly skipped a beat as his hand enveloped hers and his eyes brought comfort to her hammering heart. For a moment, she closed her eyes and imagined how his lips would taste— probably sickeningly sweet. She thought of the way he might moan against her, like he did in her dream. The vibrations flooding through her, feeling like pure ecstasy.

What the hell was she doing?

______________

Y/N thought back to the first night Harry had been to the palace. That night, she had a dream of Harry pressing his lips against hers. The more time she spent with Harry, the more she dreamt about him at night, and as the days passed, the more graphic they got.

Today wasn’t the first time she had woken up with a puddle between her legs due to a steamy dream she had about Harry, though, it was the first time she had reached her climax in her sleep and she couldn’t help the shame that picked away inside her.

Quickly, she cleaned herself off and began putting on her riding clothes to meet Harry in the stables.

______________

This morning, Y/N could barely look Harry in the eye, and he wondered why that was. They had been working together for a little over two weeks now, and she was growing much more comfortable with him each day. Actually, it was rather frustrating for him to find out that he somewhat enjoyed spending time with her. She was kind of funny, a little sweet, and overall, easy to teach.

“Will you tell me why you can’t look at me today?” Harry grinned at her, and noted the way she dropped her gaze from his eyes back down to her hands, an emotion he couldn’t quite place lingering on her features.

“Sorry,” she mumbled out, still refusing to meet his eyes. This might actually drive him crazy.

“Tell me, darling,” Harry reached for the water that was sitting atop Freya’s stall door, and began taking a few sips, his eyes still locked on Y/N, waiting for her to explain. Sooner or later, she would tell him. She was quite bad at keeping secrets.

“Did you actually take Brad to bed?” Y/N still didn’t look up at him.

Harry choked on his water; that was the last thing he expected Y/N to say to him. “Why do you think that?”

“You told me you were going to take him to bed the night you told me you wanted to be my friend,” Y/N recalled.

“I did say that,” Harry hummed out, placing the water back atop the door of the horse stall before moving toward her, “No, I did not take him to bed.”

“Do you want to… You know? Do you like him in that way?” Y/N was trying to avoid certain words, too shy to actually say what she was thinking, and the shyness in her tone was enough to make Harry’s knees almost buckle.

“I think he’s handsome, Y/N, but I would not hurt your feelings like that,” Harry explained, shrugging his shoulders.

“So you only like him, then? That is why you would not marry the Duchess?” Y/N had so many questions rifling through her mind, she didn’t know where to begin.

Realization dawned on Harry’s face, “I have a preference for both, Y/N. I do find men attractive, but I find women attractive too.”

“Oh okay,” Y/N nodded her head, “I’m sorry I was just thinking of that night and how maybe you and Brad—”

“That’s so naughty, Y/N.” He took a couple steps toward her, reminding her of the night he told her he would teach her how to ride. There was only a small gap between them, the front of his chest pressed to the front of her chest, but this time, there was a wooden wall behind her and if he only took one more small step, she would be pressed against the wooden wall in the barn and the front of Harry’s bodice. She was so depraved.

Harry’s voice was full of teasing, but Y/N was so wrapped up in her thoughts, she thought he was chastising her, “I’m sorry, Harry! Not like that!”

“Darling, I’m only teasing you,” Harry’s grin was contagious, Y/N couldn’t help the small smile that spread across her lips, “Now won’t you tell me a secret? I’ve given you one of mine.”

Y/N didn’t even think about it before blurting out, “I wish I knew what it was like to be kissed.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, his hand pressed against the wooden wall, trapping Y/N between his body and the wall (still offering her a way out from the position on his left). All he needed to do was bend down and connect his lips to hers and she would know what it’s like, but he would never do it without asking first. “Would you like me to teach you?”

“I would like that,” she breathed.

So, he would give her what she wanted. In the matter of seconds, his knee was positioned in between her legs, almost touching her center. His head had swooped down so his lips were just a few centimeters from her own, and his eyes were full of peer lust. Without much thought, he pressed his lips against her gentle ones, sliding his tongue across her bottom lip, begging for her to open up for him and let him in. Though, Y/N didn’t understand the cue, and Harry understood that since this is her first time being kissed, she wouldn’t know the trick of sliding your tongue against someone’s bottom lip and what that was asking for.

Gently, he brought his lips to her chin and pulled down ever so slightly, parting her lips and allowing access to her mouth. It was the most pleasant noise he had ever heard, the moan that vibrated into his mouth and warmed his muscles. The blood was flowing to his cheeks, his heart rate quickening and pumping the blood through his body, and straight to his cock. Honestly, if they didn’t stop kissing, he might actually come in his pants, so he pulled away, leaving her breathless and hot.

“How was that?” He asked.

“I think I liked it a lot,” she panted out, pressing her legs together and Harry knew the signs of that all too well, but decided not to comment on it.

“We can do it again sometime.” He shrugged, removing his hand from the wall and taking a few steps back.

“O-okay.” She muttered.

Y/N was feeling things she had never known were possible.

______________

Harry’s lips were pressed against her neck, his hands wandering to the waistband of her underwear before looping his fingers around the elastic and pulling them down her legs. Before she even had time to process what was going on, he was gently laying her against the bed, but they weren’t in her room… No, she didn’t know where they were, and for a moment she was dissecting the bedchamber and all its decor until Harry’s thumb found its way to her clit and one of his fingers sunk into her, rubbing against the button that had her back arching off of the bed.

“Oh,” she gasped out, her breathing becoming erratic with each stroke. “Please, Harry. Please…”

In this scenario, she didn’t feel ashamed for calling out his name, for begging for his fingers. Harry had positioned himself so that he was on top of her, one hand holding him up so that he good get a good look at her face (in this scenario, he liked to watch the way her nose scrunched when she hit her climax) while his hand worked her clit and flicked against her g-spot.

“Don’t worry, darling girl,” he leaned down, his lips pressed against her lips as he spoke, “I’m going to get you there.”

She couldn’t help it, she needed him so badly. When he pulled his fingers out and inserted another, expanding the space inside her, she arched her back off the bed and bucked her hips into his hand begging for more friction than he was supplying her with.

“Don’t be greedy, love.” He found a different position so he could use one hand to pin her hips to the bed, and the other one to tease her with his fingers. “You need help orgasming, darling?”

“Harry, I need help!”

“Y/N!” Harry shook her shoulders, causing her whole body to shake as her eyes opened to reveal a panicked Harry peering down at her.

It took a moment for her to understand what was going on, but when she looked at her surroundings which were dimly lit by candles, Y/N realized that she was in her bedchamber, and no longer in the bedchamber in her dream, and Harry had pulled the chair sitting in the corner of her room to the side of her bed.

A dream. It was just another dream. And it took a moment before she realized that Harry was here, waking her from her dream frantically.

“Harry,” she breathed out, and though he heard the breathiness in her tone as a sigh of relief, for Y/N she was coming down from the orgasm she just had in her sleep. In front of Harry. “What are you doing here?”

“Baby, you were having a nightmare. You’ve been screaming my name,” he tucked a strand of hair that was coated in sweat behind her ear, and she noted the softness in his voice, a guilty feeling ripping through her.

Actually, his voice wasn’t the only thing soft about him. Harry was still sporting sleepwear, white linen pajama pants and a matching button top. His curls which were normally assorted and crisp looking flopped against his forehead, and she couldn’t help but notice the way he stroked his thumb against her head whispering sweet nicknames he had never called her before, but what she really couldn’t stand was the guilt and worry flooding those cloverfield eyes of his.

“I—” she went to explain that she wasn’t having a nightmare, but before she had a chance to get the words out, he was telling her what happened.

“They came and got me. Dorothea told me this is the fifth consecutive night you’ve been screaming my name, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me the lessons weren’t working, and they were putting you in such a bad place. I didn’t want this for you, baby,” Harry continued to stroke his thumb against her head, this time lowering his hand so that his thumb was stroking along her lips which wasn’t helping the sticky wetness pooling in her panties and the ache in her lower belly.

Y/N, filled with shame at the guilt in his eyes and the crude dreams she’s been having, tried to find her voice, “Wasn’t having a nightmare.”

“What do you mean, darling? You were screaming my name, asking for help?”

In response, Y/N only pulled the edge of her blanket closer to her chest, tucking herself away from him.

It took Harry only two seconds to understand, “Oh?”

“Sorry,” she muttered, dropping her head and inching away from the touch of his fingers.

“No!” He exclaimed, hooking his fingers around her arm as she tried to scoot to the other side of the bed, “Don’t be sorry. There is no need for that, Y/N.”

Y/N didn’t know how to respond, so she nodded and expected him to get up and leave her to her own devices.

Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper, “I just didn’t take you for a beggar, darling girl.”

It could have been the nickname, the same one dream Harry had given her as he brought her to her climax or the fact that he was calling her a beggar but she couldn’t help the heat that flooded through her cheeks as she averted her gaze from his, “Stop!”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said, and Y/N noted the way his fingers that were once tracing circled over her cheeks and then rubbing against her lips were now touching and grasping at her arm, like he had to be in constant contact with her. “You should never be embarrassed of what your body naturally desires.”

“Easy for you to say,” she scooted closer to him, back to where she was before she began inching away, “You’ve never been embarrassed.”

“I have. The first time I ever let someone touch me, I reached my orgasm in my trousers,” he began, offering her a questioning glance to ask if this is okay? When she nodded, letting him know he could climb into her bed, probably against her better judgment, he stood from the chair and put his knee on the bed. Before she knew it, he was putting his knee over her, straddling her momentarily, then found his way to the other side of her bed, so that they were laying side-by-side. Y/N couldn’t help the way heat filled her cheeks, tearing at the tiny tendrils of muscle throughout her body and igniting a fire from deep within her abdomen. How could she think straight when she was dripping with need, her body begging for some sort of release.

Harry continued what he was saying once he was in a comfortable position next to her, but Y/N had trouble listening to his words when the only thing she could focus on was regulating her breaths, “That was pretty embarrassing. The second time I was embarrassed was the first time I met you, and you were standing there looking so beautiful and perfect, I tripped over my words. The third time I felt embarrassed was when I read your letter in the office and you expressed that my actions were not that of a gentleman, and you were right.”

She didn’t know what to say, only that she was burning with desire and needed him as close to her as possible. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“You’ve got me all soft tonight. I was under the impression you were having nightmares because you were too nervous to tell me you didn’t want to continue with lessons. I am cruel, Y/N, you have always been right about that, but I am not a monster,” his words were honest and true, something he would probably regret tomorrow, “Believe it or not, I never wanted to give you nightmares.”

“You haven’t given me nightmares,” Y/N was used to feeling shame around Harry, even though she could cover it quickly by hurling a snarky comment toward him.

“You have no idea how relieved I was to hear that your dreams about me are nothing but good… I would like to rectify the situation for you.”

“Rectify the situation?” Y/N was beginning to feel even more confused than when she woke up in her bedchamber with Harry’s fingers wrapped around her shoulder, waking her from her vivid dream.

“Yes,” he breathed, turning his body so he was laying directly parallel to her, “Would you like me to take care of you?”

“I… I would like that,” her fingers held the quilt tighter to her chest, not quite sure if this was going to be a mean joke to toy with her and then laugh about it later.

“Do you trust me?” His eyebrow raised, knowing her answer without her even needing to speak the words.

“Not… particularly,” her breathing was becoming more rapid as the conversation took such a sultry turn.

“If you don’t trust me, I can’t make you feel good, darling.” He tried to reason with her, and as much as he wanted to run his hands over her sides and touch her all over, he knew he couldn’t do that. Not while he was trying to gain her trust.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said quietly, barely audible.

“I know,” he agreed, “We are going to take it slow. You are safe with me.”

And Y/N didn’t know if it was the look in eyes, or if it was because of the fact he rushed to her bedchamber when someone woke him up from his peaceful slumber to come comfort her from her “bad dream,” but in this moment, she really felt as though she could trust him. On top of that, he knew her biggest fear, and never let her feel uncomfortable when he was teaching her how to ride, so why shouldn’t she trust him?

“I feel safe,” she told him and expressed her limits, “I trust you. No mean words, Harry.”

“No, baby, only praise for how well you’re doing.”

Those three little words, the innocence in her eyes, and the way she clung to her blanket for a security measure could have sent Harry into a downward spiral. He tried to compose himself, tried to contain himself, because he knew he had to take it slow with her. He propped himself up so that he could loop his hands around where she clutched her blanket so tightly. “Have to relax, darling.”

She took in a few deep breaths, just how he taught her when she was trying something new, and her body released the tension as she made eye contact with him. Something about Harry was so contradictory. How could he make her feel so guarded and upset, but also make her feel so safe in her most vulnerable moments. As her grip loosened from the blanket, he asked if it was okay for him to remove it, to expose her body only dressed in her white nightgown. When she murmured a small yes, he peeled the blanket from her body. Cool air encompassed her, and she hadn’t realized just how hot she’d been under the blanket.

Y/N used her elbows to prop herself up, leaning back against the pillows, giving herself a full view as she sat up right, and Harry took this moment to lean back, so his upper body was still parallel to hers, but he still had enough room to use his fingers to work her to the brink of her orgasm. Fortunately for her, he was reading the situation thoroughly, checking for the signs that she wasn’t ready and verbally communicating with her to make sure she was feeling okay.

“How are you feeling, love?” Small touches is what he started with, using the arm that he wasn’t propped up on to trace heart shapes (though, Y/N couldn’t tell what shape he was making) with his forefinger around the bare skin of her hip.

“Feeling good,” her words were breathy, making his cock twitch in his pants, “I’m ready for you.”

Harry let out a small chuckle, his eyes glancing between both of her eyes as he spoke, “We’re going to take it very slow. I’m gonna teach you about pleasure, darling, with my fingers. How does that sound?”

“With your fingers?” She hated how demure it sounded, how underprepared and unknowledgeable the words sounded coming from her.

“Yes. With my fingers first,” he trailed his fingers from her hip, to her lower abdomen until he was over the cotton of her panties, feeling the wetness seep through, “You’re so wet, it feels like you’ve already reached your pinnacle. Did you?”

Sheepishly, she nodded. Though she may not know what it felt like when she was awake, she knew the signs when she woke up from a dream about him. Typically, she was as wet as she is now, a sticky feeling between her legs. “In my sleep.”

“Christ,” he breathed, pulling her panties to the side, but not taking them completely off in an effort to make her not feel so exposed. First, he used his thumb to touch her clit, using small circular motions at a very steady pace. When her breathing picked up once more, and small guttural moans fell from her lips in encouragement for him, he picked up the pace. Harry couldn’t help it, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

Slowly, he lowered his head, pressing his lips against her own as he continued to rub in circular motions. Her back arched from the bed, his lips still on hers as he swallowed the noises she was making against him, and her mind was spinning with absolute desire. Pure bliss is what she felt, her flesh hot with each touch as he continued to work her most sensitive spot while his lips moved against hers. She didn’t know she could feel this… Good. In her dreams she was a sweaty, whiny, mess, but in this experience. In this very, very real experience, she couldn’t hold back the whines or the way her back kept arching into his touch. It was a complete parallel to the way she felt in her dreams, the way dream Harry took care of her and the way real Harry was taking care of her now was so similar.

____

Harry’s mind was a whirlwind of emotion; he loved the way he was making her come undone beneath his fingers. While his thumb worked her clit, he slipped his middle finger in, the cool gold of his rings making her gasp against his mouth, and he took this moment to slick his tongue over her bottom lip and find his way into her mouth. Her mouth was warm, tasting of sweet fruit and honey… She was everything he could ever desire, and he hated the way he crumpled beneath her. She made him feel so out of control, but in this very moment, he had all the power. For a second, he removed his lips, staring down at her with her eyes shut. Her ribcage flared with each breath, her chest heaved as small whimpers tumbled from her lips with his name somewhere in the mix.

As soon as he found that spot inside of her, the spot he knew could make a woman buckle at the knees, she was finding her release and rocking against her hand. Normally, he would tell his partner to stop riding his hand to control the situation, to make them so pent up with frustration and desire that they could barely stand it. He loved to see tears form in his partner's eyes due to overstimulation and pure desire, but this time around, he just wanted her to feel good and comfortable as she reached her climax. This was a vulnerable moment for her, and he didn’t want her to remember it by looking back and thinking about how he wouldn’t let her cum… No, she was being such a good girl for him, rocking against him with such a politeness as she whimpered small pleases and thank you’s that he didn’t want to reprimand her for feeling what she was feeling. In fact, he decided she needed a good reminder.

“You’re being such a good girl, Y/N. So good for me,” as soon as those words filled her ears, her walls began pulsing around his fingers and he knew she was about to reach the brink of the universe, so he continued to encourage her, “Let it out, baby.”

“T-thank you,” she said, clutching the sheets in her hands as her back arched from the bed, and she clenched once more around his fingers, drenching his hand, his wrist, and the end of his pajama sleeves.

“So polite, darling,” Harry noted as her hips thrusted up once more, riding out her orgasm on his hand. Once she was completely fucked out against his hand, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open as she tried to maintain eye contact with him, and when Harry brough his hands coated in her arousal to his mouth and licked them clean, another wave of arousal shot down her spine.

“Is it your turn?” She asked him, barely able to keep her eyes open.

“Not tonight, darling,” his hands found their way to the quilt, covering her up with the blanket so she wouldn’t get cold after she fell asleep. Normally, he would clean his partner up before allowing them to get cozy in bed, but the thought of making her get out of bed and wash up felt too evil as she could barely keep her eyes open.

“When?” She muttered, eyes still closed, “I want to.”

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow, Y/N.” He lifted himself off the bed, and she mumbled a small okay as he walked out of the room.

Harry was so fucked.

817 notes · View notes

kiss-me-muchoo · 1 year

Text

𝙇𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙮 || 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜!𝙅𝙤𝙚𝙡 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙁𝙚𝙢! 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

part 2

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 • 𝙅𝙤𝙚𝙡 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙣𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙗𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙎𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙝. 𝙇𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙚 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙙𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙏𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 𝙩𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧. 𝘼𝙡𝙨𝙤, 𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙪𝙥 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙟𝙚𝙧𝙠 𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙇𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙮 𝙗𝙮 𝘽𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙣𝙚𝙮 𝙎𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨. 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 • 𝘼𝙂𝙀 𝙂𝘼𝙋 (𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙮, 𝙄'𝙢 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜, 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙗𝙖𝙙) 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙨 21, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙅𝙤𝙚𝙡 𝙞𝙨 34. 𝙄𝙩'𝙨 2001. 𝙉𝙊 𝘼𝙋𝙊𝘾𝘼𝙇𝙔𝙋𝙎𝙀 𝙖𝙝𝙪𝙚𝙫𝙤𝙤𝙤, 𝙅𝙤𝙚𝙡 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙣. 𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙎𝙏 + 𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙮 𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙡𝙤𝙩𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝘽𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙣𝙚𝙮 𝙎𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨, 𝙮2𝙠 𝙄𝙏𝙎 𝘾𝙇𝙀𝘼𝙍, 𝙪𝙣𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙧 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 (𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙢𝙜). 𝘼/𝙉 • 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙣 𝙤𝙙𝙚 𝙩𝙤 y2𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙮 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙙 (𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙢𝙮 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 2008 𝙩𝙤 2014 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙄'𝙢 𝙖 𝙮2𝙠 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮 𝙨𝙝𝙪𝙩 𝙪𝙥), 𝙄 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙧𝙚-𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙧𝙚𝙟𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙢𝙚, 𝙄 𝙜𝙚𝙩. 𝙐𝙣𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙪𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙮, 𝙄 𝙙𝙞𝙙𝙣'𝙩 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨, 𝙢𝙖𝙮𝙗𝙚 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚.

✰ 𝙄𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙓 (𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚)

♪ ♫ 𝙋𝙀𝘿𝙍𝙊 𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏 (𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩)

"Interesting," Joel thought. When he left with Sarah and Tommy to drop her at the school and head to work in the morning, the house across Miller's residency was still for sale. Now, at almost 5:45 pm was sold.

"Maybe they fixed the power…." That was what Tommy said. The white house, with old mosaics in the neighborhood, was the oldest.

"We should send something to greet whoever who's living there!" Sarah suggested. That was the only house that didn't match the facade of the street. Nobody was in that house because the power was extremely delicate, and when the summer was at its peak, it was hell in that house.

"Probably another nosy couple of grown-ups. Let's go…." Joel remembered Tommy tried fixing it for the old lady who owned the house in 1994. Joel only saw the lady twice before she left. And since then, the house has been empty.

"Don't be a bitter old man…." Tommy laughed at his niece's words. It was causing Joel to roll his eyes and gently push his daughter inside the house.

Whatever, I'm hungry. Fuck it… he thought.

"Oh, my god! I love her!" Joel turned to see Sarah entering the house with a big smile. He looked at the clock. It was 3:20. She comes later every Friday.

"Why are you here?" Sarah arched an eyebrow and picked a cherry tomato from Joel's bowl of vegetables.

"I live here," she said in some evident tone. Sarah loved to be irritant and tease his dad.

"No, you always come home at 4:15 and wash your hands before eating that."

"Ugh. Do you know? Our neighbor is the youngest person in the street apart from me" Joel gets more confused. He was slicing more vegetables to cook some meat with the greens to dine on a Friday.

"We don't have a young neighbor. You haven't washed your hands, and you haven't answered my question," she sighs. She is finally heading towards the sink and washing her hands.

"The mosaic house. It's a young girl who moved in there. I encountered her on my way back, and she showed me a bus route that made us end up here in 12 minutes" Joel stopped what he was doing to look at his excited daughter.

"And why are you accepting bus rides from strangers?" Sarah laughs and pokes his dad's arm. "Dad! she lives across the street. She's 21. She's in the community college across from my school. Oh, and she loves Britney Spears just like me!"

"Still. You can't just accept a stranger's help

just because they like Britney Spears like you" Joel doesn't like this new neighbor taking his daughter on suggested short bus rides.

"Hey! I'm smarter than you think. I won't do it again. Just… she's cool; she even invited me to her house to read. She's an English literature major and is doing a second degree in Spanish literature. Isn't that amazing?" Joel can't tell why, but he doesn't like how excited Sarah sounds about this nerdy girl living in the shitty house across the street.

"She sounds like an irritant teenager" although someone from 21 wasn't a teenager, for Joel, almost every young person was.

"Don't be mean!"

You were locking your house's front door the first time Joel saw you, wearing a long skirt with old Adidas sneakers and a hello kitty tee, slightly swaying as you held the silver mp3 player and some big headphones on your head. Joel accepted you were cute, dorky, but cute. Still, he didn't like you.

He knew you were in the mosaic house because it was your grandma's. You were a nerdy girl with an immature aspect, and you loved almost everything Sarah also did.

Maybe Joel was jealous of how much time Sarah was spending with you. Or he didn't like the idea of Sarah hanging out with someone older. Or maybe it was that Joel found you cute, dorky, and exciting and couldn't show it because now you were friends with his daughter.

Who knows?

He had only said hi to you a couple of times. And you always greeted him with a smile and tried to start a conversation with him. But he always brushed it off by heading inside the house. So maybe he was very distant with you, but he had nothing to talk to you about, unlike Tommy, that was always laughing and joining you and Sarah.

Joel had to see how you made them go out on walks every Tuesday and Friday afternoon. You ended up being a pretty nosy young single neighbor.

A few weeks later, you are walking on the sidewalk when you spot Joel fixing his truck or something. He noticed you, and you greeted him with a big smile.

"Joel!… Is it okay if I call you that? Tommy said neither of you liked when Mr. Is added," Joel stopped working and stood up to pay attention to you. He was very tall compared to you, with some casual shorts and sandals, looking very cozy and cute. Still, he could be on the verge of intimidating you.

"Whatever you want… it's okay," you sighed, relaxed. It wasn't a secret that Joel Miller was a tough one. He wasn't a burst of sunshine like his daughter or brother. And it didn't help that you liked him. "Uh, okay. So… Sarah wants to make dinner at my place tonight. I told her that I would talk to you first. So if you don't want to come, it's okay. Or if you really want to have her with you, it's okay too."

"Aren't you a little older to hang out with my daughter?" you blushed. Embarrassment flooded your entire self. And somehow, you thought everyone was looking through their windows.

"I don't have friends here. Back home, I only had like three real friends. I don't have siblings. Or relatives my age. I… I just have a good time with Sarah. She's just like me." Joel felt bad. He was a real dick to you sometimes. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Just… tell her to bring some strawberries, please," and with that, you left. You tried to wash the embarrassment away until you got into your house. The increased heartbeats stopped once you closed the door. And with that, your head started wondering about Joel Miller and how it was possible for you to love him. You never planned for that to happen. He just had to be such a good father and amazing man… except with you. You were trying really hard to make him like you. Baking cakes, helping Sarah with homework and even helping Tommy to paint the backyard fence. You liked the whole family and somehow wanted to have a long-lasting friendship with someone. Because you had everything, but you were alone. Growing up alone made you very dependent on your family, and now you were afraid of growing old alone. It didn't matter that Joel was older than you, but you didn’t wanted to push those feelings away because he was Sarah's father.

"Y/n is gonna love this!" Sarah cheered, looking at the player Tommy had bought her that day. A pink player was now covered with Lisa Frank stickers. The girl ran upstairs with the player, letting his family know she would call you.

"I don't get how much this girl is changing her," Joel said, sighing. Tommy left his mug on the counter. "She's a good girl, Joel. And a good influence on Sarah. If you only decided to give her a chance…."

"I don't know why I don't feel good about it. I know she's a good girl…." Tommy nodded. Perfect grades, academic success, shy and intelligent girl, no rebellious era, just existing. Yeah, you were that…It was weird talking about you like this, but it was about to worsen. "Maybe it's because she's like Sarah's babysitter? and you don't want to…like her."

"God, Tommy! She's 21. She could also be my daughter" this time, Tommy laughed. Joel had a very long time without blushing. It wasn't very comfortable that his brother was the cause of it. With the tone of his statement, it was clear he was suggesting something beyond a friendship between you and Joel. "I don't find it funny, asshole."

"It wouldn't be that weird. She's also a serious woman. I have talked with her. I dare to say you need someone like her in your life, man. To laugh and talk at the same time. Someone who can do both…." Joel sighed tiredly. He disliked this conversation.

"Just think about it. Even Sarah likes the idea too…." Joel didn't even hear Tommy leaving the house. He was deep in his thoughts. Of course, he couldn't like you. It would be weird. But at the same time, he really wanted to spend some time alone with you, without Tommy's lame jokes or Sarah fangirling over Britney Spears.

He wanted to know you better. He could even picture himself reading all of your books. Or pick you up from your classes. But then, he learned that while practicing to drive, you had a crash that scared you, so you weren't ready to own a car yet. So he would gladly take you wherever you wanted, but… he couldn't because you were a superficial girl who was befriending his daughter.

A crimson blush painted your cheeks because Joel was holding some ice cream behind Tommy and Sarah.

"Oh, come in!" After greeting the girl and his uncle, you looked at the entrance. Joel stood there, and you giggled because he seemed almost scared to step through your door.

"You can come in, you know?" he smiled, and once he was inside your house, he could finally take a look at your home. Very colorful and full of cool stuff like a red lips phone decorating your little living room, two cherries as a disco ball, and a giant poster of Shakira too.

"I-yeah, just… thinking," his vague excuse made you smile. He offered you the ice cream, and you squealed in excitement after noticing it was Breyer's banana split flavor. "I love this. Thank you…" Joel had to admit you looked adorable in a Havana top and aquamarine track pants. "How was work?"

"Good, thanks. College?" You sighed, closing your eyes, like feeling blessed for some reason. "Just finished a research paper and two literary analyses."

"About?…" he was curious. He followed you to the kitchen, where he could smell something in the oven. Tommy was with Sarah outside, probably looking at your mini garden.

"The Spanish conquest. And some novels from the Barroco era," Joel was ignorant to what you were saying. But again, he was curious and happy just by spending time with you, which also surprised you. He never asked this much of you, just hello, thanks, and goodbye.

"Like medieval times?" your laugh caught him by surprise. So he took that as a way for you to say he was stupid.

"Some centuries after that…" once he saw you opening the stove and taking something out. He grabbed a little towel to help you out. A tray with some fried chicken smelled super good, so he cautiously placed the tray on your counter. "Thanks"

"History wasn't my favorite subject" he doesn't ask to help you, and you don't object. You two are just serving the food. Spaghetti, the fried thing, and mushroom cream on top, like a casual dinner. "I was more of a basketball guy."

"The athlete? Oh no, I could never. I'm bad at every sport on earth" something about you placing a little piece of rosemary above the spaghetti made Joel smile.

"I've seen you dancing. When I came to drop a blanket for Sarah, remember? You're not bad at every sport, liar," of course. That memory haunted you since the holidays. Joel knocked on your door and opened it immediately, but he didn't hear anyone. Only to find you and Sarah dancing in the living room to genie in a bottle. Instantly you froze, and Sarah started laughing at you. "Gosh… let's forget about that"

"Nah. It's a good memory…" he caught your sweet smile. Even if you stayed quiet, your smile was all he needed to accept he liked you. And you were fun, just like his family had said. "Perv…"

"No! I, I-, uh…." you started laughing at him. "Joel, I'm kidding…."

"Oh… good. No, it's just… I didn't want to accept how good you get along with Sarah." But, of course, you weren't expecting that. Well, you weren't expecting anything because this whole half-hour talking with Joel, him helping you with the food, and laughing was surprisingly good. "Why?…"

"I don't know. Maybe because I…" the moment got interrupted by Tommy and Sarah. "Hey, sorry we didn't come to help."

"It's okay. I was about to make some cocktails. You can help me with the plates. Let's eat on the patio" Sarah nodded excitedly. While Tommy went to your fridge, taking a glass of lemon juice you had.

"You have to make some margaritas" Joel wondered how often his family had been in your house that they opened your fridge and wandered through your backyard so casually. "Best margaritas in Texas"

"Oh shut up!" you said, giggling, accepting the lemon juice and taking more things to prepare the cocktail. "I don't like commercial margaritas. I'm just telling the truth."

"You two had been here getting drunk with my underage daughter?" Joel was joking. He knew both of you were very good to his kid, but still, the idea resulted unsteady for him.

"Uh, can I have some of that?" Sarah asked after placing the food outside. She didn't know there was alcohol on the drinks, though. "I don't think so, miss. But I can make a mint lemonade for you if you want."

"Sure! Thanks, y/n" before she was about to leave again, she returned to you. "Oh, and you have two baby tomatoes in your garden."

"What? No way…" you almost yelled, dropping the container where you were mixing the cocktail. "I need to see."

"I need to see that too…" after you and Tommy left. Joel kept watching your figure as you disappeared from his sight.

"I told you she's amazing…." Sarah was enjoying the sight of her father looking at you with a smile. She really wanted to see him happy. "Yeah, you were right."

"Maybe you two could hang out sometime" Joel wasn't sure of what Tommy said about his daughter like the idea of you and him together, but now it was confirmed.

"She's your friend. Also, Tommy's friend…." Sarah shrugged, placing all the glasses in a pink tray you had. "So? I want to see you happy. And I would love to have a female figure like her in my daily life."

"We'll see…" he said once he heard your voice and Tommy's near them.

"Guys, the food is getting cold!" Tommy said, calling his family.

Once they were together, they started eating.

"Wait, this isn't chicken," Tommy said, confused. You only giggled, looking mischievously at Sarah. "No, it's fried eggplant."

"Oh wow. It's delicious" Joel was surprised by your cooking skills, to be honest. He wasn't healthy, but he tried to incorporate greens and protein as much as possible.

"This is good, y/n" it was impossible not to blush after receiving a compliment from Joel. The way he caressed your hand back in the kitchen was sweet, and you felt like he was reciprocating to you for the first time.

"Thanks…" his gorgeous smile. You didn't want to believe that maybe he felt the same. He couldn't be feeling the same.

That changed because he kissed you in the middle of the empty street later that night. Promising to take you on a date.

Spring was coming. Many flowers appeared in the streets, your backyard looked alive, and the sun was hitting harder. Things had a significant evolution since the lovely dinner on your patio. Some weeks later, you and Joel spent much time together, date after date. Some kisses, but nothing went further than that. Some days ago, he took you and Sarah to the mall. You wanted a nice candle from a new store of home furniture. Sarah went to Justice's to buy some rings, and Joel decided to make you some company. You learned a lot from each other, and he slowly accepted that he wanted to be more than your nice neighbor. But, of course, you didn't know that.

But every Friday was dinner at your house. Some Saturdays were hiking days, and Sundays were grill afternoons at the Miller's house.

And now, a warm Saturday of gardening with Sarah. By April, you would have fresh basil, tomatoes, and hopefully a good bunch of aguacates. Sarah enjoyed having some time to do something outside of her house. When it wasn't baking cakes with you, it was analyzing pop albums or you trying to help her write good essays. But now, she was carving in the dirt, hoping to plant some lilies. You helped cut undergrowth things with hedge shears until you heard the phone ringing inside your house.

"I'll go answer the phone. It must be your dad…" she nodded, and you started jogging inside, remembering to instruct her too. "Wait for me to continue…."

It was a little late. Joel was taking some extra hours at work. You didn't know why, but he wanted to plan a little trip with you. He would ask for a date the following Friday, and if you said yes, he would prepare a spring break trip to Florida with you. Yes, that far everything was going.

"Hello…" you answered happily. The sound of some machines and more greeted you before Joel's voice invaded your ear. "Hi, darlin', How's everything going?"

"Good, we are having a good time. We could wait for you, make you a good drink, and watch a movie," he groaned. Thinking it was a good idea, that's all he wanted. But before you could say anything else, you heard Sarah calling you. But his tone was a bit worrying, so you dropped the phone and ran outside. Only to find out the girl with a bloody hand. "Oh, God. What happened?"

"I tried using the hedge shears. I'm sorry…." you went into panic mode. But you remembered Joel was still on the phone.

"Y/n, answer me, please," you sighed heavily. Hearing his worried voice made your heart beat faster. "Something happened. Sarah had an accident, Joel."

"What? I'm coming over" you didn't like his tone, but his daughter had an accident. He wasn't there and he didn't know what was going on. Then, feeling some tears coming up, you heard he hung up.

Joel pulled outside of your house. He didn't even knock, he just invaded your home. Sarah was crying, and she had a bandage around her arm. You were holding her until you saw Joel.

"We're going to the hospital, now" you help Sarah to stand up. She let out some hiccups as Joel inspected the long and deep cut on her arm, accepting it would need stitches. "I'm grabbing my purse."

"No, you're staying here. You had done enough…." you frowned, looking at the pair walking through the door. So you followed them rapidly. "Joel, you're not being serious…."

"Yes, I am. You cannot take care of her like I thought" his words hurt you, but you weren't ready to give up. "Im an adult…."

"No, you are just a girl with a materialistic complex. You are still in school. You can't even drive, and your closest friend is a girl from 14 years old." Tears formed in your eyes. You were holding your arms, trying to protect yourself. "I thought you were a grown woman, but you're just a child living in a pink glitter world. Trying to be our friend, you're just scared of being alone, like a kid."

"Dad!…" Sarah yelled. Because he was wrong, you were amazing. It also hurt her the way his dad was treating you. Once his rage stopped, he realized what he had said. He saw the tears rolling down your face. Everyone smelled your embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," you said with a broken voice. Sarah wanted to go and hug you. But Joel only took her to the truck, leaving for the hospital. And you just stood there crying.

Joel felt remorse. Looking at the beautiful bouquet you sent as a get-well-soon present to Sarah, he thought it was judging him. It had been two days since the accident. And Joel hadn't seen you. But everything changed once Sarah slammed the house door, startling him from the living room.

"Everything is your fault!" Sarah yelled at him. Making Joel turn and see her surprised. "Excuse me?"

"You didn't want to date y/n? Okay. But I just saw her coming from school. I tried to thank her for the flowers and hanging out later, only to tell me she thinks it is better to keep some distance!" Joel never saw his daughter as mad as she was at that moment. He felt terrible for her, but he didn't know what to say. "It was my fault the accident! She told me to wait and be careful, and I didn't listen! So you've ruined everything."

Sarah ran upstairs crying and Joel couldn't feel worse. He sighed, throwing his head on the couch, feeling tired. He knew he had screwed up everything with you, but he didn't think about you, Sarah, or Tommy. The truth is that you were so good to them. Helping and making them happy. You made Joel happy. He thought about making you his partner, and now it would be hard. If not impossible.

You were avoiding the Millers, giving awkward greetings to Tommy when they were about to leave for work and school—giving a nervous smile to Sarah and ignoring Joel. The man tried to call you during the weekend, the lips phone ringing nonstop. You couldn't answer. It was too embarrassing. You were hurt. You thought you had your right to feel angry towards him. After all, you did, he only saw you like a little girl crawling to get his attention. This was an adult misunderstanding, but you were feeling like a child. And you felt alone again. Depressing on The Cure and watching silly movies.

Now, walking on the sidewalk over to your house, you just want to take a bath and read to forget about your stupid neighbor and his family. But, a pang in your heart grows as you Joel over the corner of your eye. You can't go back and wait till he gets inside his house. You must be an adult and casually ignore him until he spots you, drops his toolbox to cross the street, and goes to you just as you are some steps away from your door.

“Y/n!” You freeze and keep walking. But he holds your forearm, and when you turn, your face is all red.

"I've been calling you…." you don't know what to say. You even look scared, and he hates that. Probably you got frightened when he yelled in your face. "Sarah misses you… we all do."

"I've been busy," he nods. But, he's going to try because he cares for you, and you didn't deserve anything of what happened. "As I am right now. Excuse me…"

"Look. I know you must hate me, but…." you turn again abruptly. Rising your eyebrows.

"Hate you? Do you really think I am that of a child to hate you? I'm embarrassed, angry, confused, and I feel like shit. For something that wasn't anyone's fault. It didn't matter how much I cared for Tommy or Sarah and wanted to be a good role model for her. I just can't be around you anymore because I feel like the most stupid girl because maybe you were right. I was throwing myself at you, having a massive crush on you. And now it embarrasses me, so please just stay away from me. It's better for everyone." Again you find yourself crying and sprinting out of there, with your heart on your hands, slamming the door and letting intense sobs out when you are finally alone.

"… I'm sorry," Joel mumbled to no one. Looking at your closed door. He kicked his toolbox and went inside his home, cursing. Tommy was staying extra hours like him, and it wasn't like he could talk with him. And Sarah was mad at him. Joel tried to reach her room. But her door was closed, indicating that she didn't want to be disturbed. Still, he was able to hear some music.

Of course, it had to be Britney Spears. Somehow he ended up leaning into the door, paying attention to the song.

And they say she's so lucky, she's a star

But she cry, cry, cries in her lonely heart, thinking

If there's nothing missing in my life

Then why do these tears come at night?

His mind brought him a memory. Where he was with Tommy, drinking beers and making some grilled steaks. He went inside the house to grab some onions and chicken pieces. So he listened to you and Sarah talking.

"I loved the photo shoot of the album. Dear Diary was my favorite song. Yours?" His daughter asked. He rolled his eyes, smiling.

"I don't know. Oops!… I Did It Again? That's my favorite, but Lucky has a higher sentimental value for me!" you two started laughing, and Joel smiled, going out again.

Lucky has a higher sentimental value for me. Joel feels silly analyzing a cheesy pop song, but he realizes the theme is highly relatable to you. It's about a girl that has everything, but in the end, she's alone. Joel said you were a materialistic girl, shit. And also said that you were scared to be alone like a kid…

Thanks, Britney. Now I understand the asshole I've been, he thought.

___________

I'm indecisive. Idk if part 2 should be some time after this. But so… what do you think ab part 2

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller

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milkb0nny · 6 months

Text

Burgundy Leaves

Ivar The Boneless x gn!reader

Comfortember Day 3: Leaves Changing

Summary: You and your little sister decided to take a stroll through the forest to collect the colorful leaves of autumn. While you both ate some freshly made buns and played catch, you accidentally bumped into Ivar.

Note: Okay... I'm fangirling. This one kinda hit me a little harder than it should. It's so wholesome.

Warnings: none

word count: 999

With the arrival of the cooler season autumn, the leaves slowly turned from a bright green to a sensation of colors. The dense, towering trees of the forest beckoned, their leaves glowing with the fiery hues of autumn. It was a world of vibrant reds, golds and oranges - a symphony of colors that enchanted your senses. This was the kind of season where you felt most alive, and the beauty of the forest had always been your refuge.

Whenever the temperatures dropped the people in Kattegat knew to prepare for winter, equipping themselves with wood, blankets and a food storage. Although the colder season might not be everyone’s favorite, you quite liked it. You had a younger sister, named Ingrid, who also waited for autumn every single year. Therefore, the day you noticed the significant change in the leaves, you took her by her hand and dragged her into the town of Kattegat. Before you made your way into the forest, you stopped by a small stall. You knew the owner of the shop quite well because you had been buying freshly baked buns every other day. After putting the still steaming baking goods in your picnic basket, you and your sibling started your journey.

While you entered the nearby forest, the sunlight filtered through the dense foliage, creating a mosaic of light and shadow on the forest floor. The rustle of leaves beneath your feet and the chorus provided a soothing function.

Your sister ran free, catching falling leaves, collecting the most beautiful artworks by nature and eating snacks out of the picnic basket here and there. A bright smile covered your lips while you watched Ingrid being a happy child.

“Can we play catch, y/n?” She asked you, her eyes flickering in hope.

You answered, “Sure, I’ll count to ten and then I’ll come get you!”

The loud giggles emerged from your younger sister, as her feet made their way through the familiar collection of trees. Shortly after you reached the number ten, you began to run after her.

Suddenly, you trip over a thick branch as you ran around the corner. Though, your lovable face did not hit the hard ground.

With a soft gasp, you stumbled backward as you made contact with Ivar's firm, armored chest. The surprise was mirrored in his cobalt blue eyes as you looked up, a sudden rush of embarrassment coloring your cheeks.

“Y/n!” Ingrid screamed, speeding back to you immediately. “Did you hurt yourself?”

You shook your head, smiling awkwardly.

“I'm so sorry," you stammered, glancing at the tall man, your voice tinged with guilt. "I didn't see you coming. Are you alright, Ivar?"

You felt his icy eyes inspecting every single inch of you, thus made you flush. In all secrecy you owned a soft spot for Ivar. Of course you weren’t in a very deep relationship, but from time to time you helped him, accompanied him or cooked him dinner, whenever he didn’t want to eat with his own family.

“It appears we were both lost in our own little worlds," he replied, smiling softly.

Your sister, confused about the romantic tension between the both of you, distracted herself with collecting more leaves. Ivar studied Ingrid for a moment, his curiosity evident in the quirk of his lips.

“You are collecting leaves? A simple yet beautiful pursuit." Ivar grinned at your sister, who picked out a beautiful red maple leaf. She turned around and gifted it to Ivar, expressing her appreciation. Your heart warmed up at that sight, since he was so gentle with your little sister.

Ingrid’s high voice chimed in with enthusiasm, "Would you like to join us, Ivar? I’ll make you your own crown out of red leaves!"

Ivar, usually not so fond of children, appreciated your little sister a lot. She was honest and kind, unlike many other kids who lived in Kattegat. On top of that, the Viking loved one particular person who was linked to Ingrid - you.

Ivar considered the offer for a moment before a playful glint entered his eyes.

"Very well, little Lady. I shall accompany you,” he accepted, watching her happily run off to guide Ivar and you.

As you continued to explore the forest together, you couldn't help but be captivated by Ivar's presence. Since he had learned how to walk with his crutches, his tall body always surprised you. You liked him, crawling or walking, it didn’t matter to you.

You and Ingrid led the way to the most unique spots in the forest, where the trees cast long and the colors of autumn were most resplendent. Ingrid collected leaves of rich burgundy, while you gathered those of gold and orange. Ivar watched the scene with a hint of awe in his eyes. Ivar's gaze met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The connection between you deepened - you felt like you were the only two souls in the whole forest. Ingrid, ever the perceptive one, excused herself to give the two of you some privacy.

Ivar leaned closer, his presence filling your senses as he whispered, "Y/n, there’s something immaculate about you. I hope we won’t grow apart."

Red hues rushed over your cheeks, your fingers fidgeted with the fur of your coat and you unconsciously bit the skin of your bottom lip while you let his words swallow you whole. You barely could form a sentence under the embarrassment.

“Ivar, no. I apologize, I mean, I’ll always accompany you. Wherever you go,” you stuttered slightly, staring into the blue, vibrant eyes which formed a perfect contrast with the orange hues of autumn. As the forest whispered its melody and the leaves rustled, Ivar closed the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. His lips molded perfectly against yours, igniting passion that had smoldered beneath the surface.

A kiss you never forgot - your first one under the rain of changing leaves.

#ivar x reader #ivar lothbrok #vikings ivar #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings x you #vikings x reader #ivar x you #vikings

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tiyoin · 1 month

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cult of pomefiore #2

cw: describes imagery of cult sacrifices

maybe you’re friends with epel and the first year gang, mayyybe epel confessed to you saying how he’s liked you the moment he met you🙈 ofc he’s nervy, but he’s a man! not a pus- oh, you don’t see him that way? oh, no that’s okay! he just hopes this doesn’t effect your friendship!

he’s so calm and understanding on the outside, but on the inside oh ho ho ho, on the inside he’s seething

epel’s calling you horrendous names, wishing horrors on you for playing with him. you’re just like every other girl, using him. his grandma warned him about heart breakers like you, and he’s out for revenge.

so he gives your name to rook for a scarface. that’ll show you!! that’ll make you regret humiliating him like that! for giving him all these stolen glances and fleeting touches. that’ll show you for playing with his heart like that!

and yet… he can’t help but pause as he sees rook chatting you up. you’re giving him the same treatment you gave epel, shy eyes and fidgeting fingers, the tips of your shoes were squirming and you had that eye contact issue.

ah. so you were like this like everyone, epel wasn’t special, he was just delusional. letting the hunter play him like a fiddle and feeding him twisted truths and half lies… all to get, to you.

he didn’t know how long he was staring until a chill went up his spine. his gaze snapped to the hunter’s as purple met green. rook had caught him looking at you again. but this time, instead of beckoning the first year over, he put a gloved hand on your shoulder and guided you to towards the opposite direction, liquid praise trickling from his lips as an impish look shadowed his face.

rook had agreed with him when he brought up your name for a new member. to indoctrinate into the cult. he remembers the feeling anger and deep satisfaction when the hunter had all but brought you up to vil. spinning him tales of how untainted your soul was, yet how clouded your eyes were and how with a little training you’d be good for the table in time for the full moon!

and yet… watching the hunter leave with his prize made bile squeeze up his throat like squeezing toothpaste from its tube.

his books dropped with a mutter thud as he collapsed to his knees. his legs were numb and his forehead felt prickly, clamy as images upon images of you, sweet, innocent you flooded his minds eye. you were in a beauty, silky night gown the color of starlight. your hair was flowing like a rushing river, your eyes were shimmering like diamonds, and your lips were a deep red of the apples he and his family grew on his tree farm. your gaze upturned to the statue of the evil queen, eyes filled with hope and wonder and your hands clasped together in prayer.

like a slide show he was brought to the next image.

your eyes were closed, yet your soft smile never faltered. your hands were intertwined as you laid in your gown on a stone slab. ancient letters he could only dream of deciphering laid around your body like those blue mosaics on porcelain plates.

the room was dark and yet a soft yellow beam of light shone down on you. you looked… heavenly.

the chanting around you was anything but heavenly as he could hear the sadistic glee in the others words. he could hear the smiling as they recited the ancient texts they practiced just for rituals. they were shrouded in dark purple hoods, knelt on their prayer cushions as they dared not look up.

in front of you, rook was in his pomefiore uniform, a… distasteful glee on his face as he welcomed his brothers and sisters.

epel hurled chunks when he envisioned rook penetrating your chest with the ‘gift of the queen’, a lone tear of ecstasy escaping as the chantings grew louder.

the shadow above them was appeased.

the weight of epel’s rash decision now hung heavy on his shoulders.

epel had sold you to the devil

#i wanted to write about cult of pomefiore but i couldn’t answer the ask again since im still pained over it 😔#i’m sorry anon 💔#twisted wonderland #twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst #yandere rook hunt #rook x reader #yandere vil x reader

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badolmen · 3 months

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When I was little, some Palestinian Christians came to our church.

They didn’t call themselves that, of course, being in a white, right leaning American town in the mid to early 2010s. ‘Fellow Catholics from the Holy Land’ the reader for the week announced them as. After mass there were always announcements, and I remember this Arab man with a dark jacket taking to the pulpit. He and those with him were sitting in the front pew - just ahead of where my family sat each week.

He talked about his home in Bethlehem - though it was a little out of season, Christmas well since passed. He talked about the poverty there, the socioeconomic factors that made life difficult for Palestinians, but this was after a long Irish mass with a long Irish homily and no one was listening that intently. My mom whispered that he didn’t have much of an accent, and my dad whispered back that he agreed - not too difficult to understand.

They were here to sell treasures from the Holy Land. Hand carved olive wood rosaries and prayer beads, nativity sets, reliefs of the last supper. ‘A trade passed down from father to son for generations.’

The most expensive item they had was a lovely crucifix - olive wood inlaid with a hand carved mosaic of mother of pearl, four wells at the end of each piece of the cross containing olive leaves, incense, stones, and soil. It was over $50 - I remember because I begged my mother to let me spend my usual summer stipend of $25 for the next two years, and it still wasn’t quite enough. A few dollars short. But he gave it to me anyway.

For years I almost never took it out of its box - it was too pretty, I was too afraid to break it. I first hung it up after I moved out for college - it always caught the thin winter sunlight in my dorm room and seemed to glow. But it got dusty, and was difficult to clean with all its intricacies, so I put it back in its box. Safe with the dried palm leaves from last year’s Lent.

I saw a post a bit ago, mentioning how hand carved mother of pearl is a more obscure Palestinian art form, and I remembered my crucifix. I remembered the Palestinian Christian man who nobody really listened to at 9 AM on a Sunday while their kids begged to leave and get breakfast.

I counted the individual pieces of mother of pearl today. There’s 89. The cross itself is made of 14 pieces of olive wood perfectly slotted together. The figure of Christ is silver, weathering green with age. I’ve never washed this crucifix, but I probably should. There’s a stamp across the back - ‘Jerusalem’ - and another, fainter (quickly pressed with just too little ink) - ‘Mother of Pearl is Hand Made by Christian Families in the Hole Land.’ That’s not a typo - the stamp has an ‘e’ instead of a ‘y.’ It’s smudged, so maybe there’s an ‘i’ in there, but maybe not.

I looked up the company that made it today. Their website is freshly dated for 2024 in the bottom right hand corner, but they haven’t updated their blog posts since 2022. The posts that are up talk of sites of faith, the art process, and COVID. There’s a noticeable number of spelling and grammar errors, but I don’t really care.

The cross I own is listed as a work from Majdi Alshayeb. I can’t find them on social media, not at first glance. I hope they’re well. I wish they knew how I’ve revered this crucifix more as a work of art than as a symbol of faith. I hope God is with them.

#ra speaks #long post #personal #art #woodcarving #palestine #religion #christianity #I could make an essay about how western Christians treat ‘the holy land’ as this mythical cop out so they don’t acknowledge #israel or palestine or any of its history #but that’s not what this post is for. I’m reflecting and reminiscing and considering sending a message to their info email

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siriusleee · 8 months

Text

adamantine chains | part 10

"Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus." "What does that mean?" "Love is rich with both honey and venom." "I suppose that is true." Or which in König finds you broken in the mountains. König | F!Reader a/n: if you like this, and you can, consider donating on my ko-fi or commissioning a custom fic.

His words make you almost feral; you wrap your feet around his waist and pull him closer until he's pressed right up against you. You can smell the gunpowder and sweat on him; the smell ignites something inside of you. Fingers wandering towards his belt buckle, you try to loosen it, but König stops you.

"Nein. I will not make love to you dirty or in these clothes. It's not right."

"I don't mind, Kö."

König's fingers wrap in yours and gently push you away. Burying his face in your neck, he breathes in the scent of you, the rough fabric of his mask tickling the sensitive skin.

"It is not about if you care or not Taube. But I don't want to be - this - when I'm with you."

When he pulls away, his hands brush your stomach; the feeling causes you to jump, to try to fold in on yourself. You watch König's mask crinkle at the eyebrows; he reaches out to grab you again, and you intercept his hands with your own.

"You hit a ticklish spot, love."

You can tell he doesn't buy the excuse, but the thought of telling him about Oma's suspicions, about the doctor's appointment terrifies you. You think something in the tremor of your hand gives you away, but König doesn't say anything when you push yourself off of the counter.

"Come on König. The bathroom is the only place not trashed. Let's take a shower, and then we can clean up."

König lets you lead him to the bathroom, lets you push him gently down onto the toilet. He refuses to let go of your hand as you turn on the shower, the steam building quickly in the little room.

Fingers soft against him, König lets you strip him of his fatigues, of the dirt and sweat ladened button up and green shirt beneath. Of his mask, hair overgrown and disheveled. You trace your fingers across the little scars that litter his face, the stubble that's grown in on his usually clean shaved face tickling your fingers. Kneeling onto the hard floor, you work at the laces of his boots, pulling them off with his socks.

"I am a grown man Taube. I can undress myself."

"Is that why you've been letting me do it?"

His smile at you is barely there, a whisper against the exhaustion. You push yourself up, notching yourself between his knees. He doesn't make a move to stand, instead tracing his fingers up your side, pulling your shirt with it. When he slips your bra off, he doesn't discard it with the rest of the clothes, instead folding it and placing it on the counter.

His fingers fumble clumsy at the button on your jeans; you're scared that he's going to rip them, but they acquiesce beneath his finger tips. He leans into you, enough to push them down. His tongue sneaks out to lick the contours of your breast. You jerk back in surprise, laughing at the feeling and quickness.

"Come on Taube," König chuckles, standing up, fingers working his belt buckle enough so that his pants can slide off. "You need to stop playing so we can take a shower."

It's not easy to notch the two of yourselves so that the water runs over the both of you; the two of you have to eventually stand sideways so that König isn't blocking the water.

He's shades of black and blue, yellow and purple mixing together to form a mosaic of skin across his torso. The worst is at his rib cage, a deep purple. The kind of purple royalty used to kill for.

"König is your rib broken?"

He 'hmms' at you, head leaned back against the warming tile. Your eyebrows knit together at the sound; so casual at the suggestion that his rib could be broken. You palm his side; his muscles tense and bunch beneath the feeling.

"It's broken König; you need to lay down."

He brushes your hands away without opening his eyes.

"It's fine. It's an old fracture."

His voice is iron set, the kind of set you know means he won't let you care for him, won't let you fuss over him. So you settle for washing his hair, his back, his chest. He all but purrs beneath your touch. When it's your turn to wash your hair, his fingers tangle in your hair, massaging the shampoo into your scalp.

"I've missed you so much Taube. I worried everyday that I was gone; what if something happened to you, and I was halfway across the world."

"You're home now," you speak around the water flooding your face as he rinses your hair, "and I can't imagine who would dare bother me with you here."

"No one should have been here. Everyone knows this is my house. Our house."

His frown is deep, voice a rumble in his chest. With a sign, you reach around him to cut off the water, the air cooling immediately.

Neither of you move as gooseflesh erupts across your skin. Finally König speaks, pushing the shower curtain away from the two of you.

"Come Taube. Let's pick the mess up. Perhaps he destroyed all of your clothes, and I will need to buy you some more."

"Some more of those lacy underwear things you always try to get me to wear, you mean."

It takes hours to get the house back together. The two of you sort through the trash until the long stretches of the night. Eyes blurry and muscles aching, you collapse onto the couch. König lowers himself down beside you, hands braced on his ribs. A thin, quiet whine escapes his lips as he connects with the couch. The sound worries you - he's never come home from a mission this hurt, this black and blue and on the edge of broken.

"Kö, my love. Are you sure you're fine?"

He's a wounded animal, and you're reaching out to him with a shaking hand.

"Taube-"

"Don't lie to me Kö. Please."

His hands lay fisted at his side, and he keeps his eyes closed as he shifts down so that he can rest his neck against the back of the couch. You recognize the look on his face; he's trying to think of something to say to make you feel better, to stop worrying about him.

You know that he thinks his job is to worry about you, and make sure that you've nothing to worry about. But you have to worry about him. The sigh he lets out is massive, and when he releases it his shoulders slump, fully relaxed against the back of the couch.

"Yes Taube," his words are heavy, each one sinking him further into the couch, "I'm hurt. And I wanted to come home and fuck you and fall asleep beside you. But instead I come home to this, and I don't want to move from here. I'm sorry."

You rest your hands on his thigh, the only part of him not blossomed in a shade of the night sky.

"König I don't need you to fuck me to be happy that you're home. I'm just happy you made it home in one piece. That you're here now."

You press a kiss to the side of his forehead before pushing yourself away. König's hand lingers at your back, trying to pull you back in weakly. You knock the lights off as you make your way through the house, coming back with the pillows and blanket from your shared bed. The light of the television, so low you can barely hear it, makes shadows jump from the wall.

You arrange the blankets around König, pushing his hands away when he reaches up to help. Eventually, you turn the couch into a nest, crawling in beside him. You rest your head on his thigh, pulling one of the blankets up to your chin. König's hand comes to rest at the crown of your head, fingers tangling in your hair.

You let the patterns König draws on your scalp lull you to sleep, König's fingers stuttering as he relaxes beneath you.

The wolf is breathing down your neck again. Its heavy paws press into your back, nails digging into the sensitive skin as it forces you into the dirty concrete. The rancid smell of its breath curls around you as it lets a soft growl roll into your ear.

A scream cuts through the night, and you're not sure if it's coming from you or someone else. You try to turn your head - to see where you are, to see who's screaming, but the wolf shoves your head back down into the dirt.

You wake up screaming, your throat raw and nearly bloody. Large hands wrap around your wrists, trying to pin you down; you fight back through the din and try to force your eyes to sharpen, to discern who is kneeling above you.

"Taube stop. Stop love. It's me - please."

The ringing in your ears starts to turn down, and the sharp edges of König start to come to you. The light of the television illuminates the side of his face, tight and worried above you. He's got your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them down. His other hand pushes your sweaty hair out of your face, you try to focus on the feeling and calm your heart down.

"You were just having a nightmare, Taube. You're here with me - you're fine."

You don't realize your crying until König bends down to press a kiss to your cheek, tongue reaching out to trace the salty trail.

"Do you want to tell me what you were dreaming about?"

You have to speak around the lump in your throat, trying to figure out how to explain the images that have haunting you each night.

"I keep dreaming of my grandfather, and he's telling me to run, to go get help. But I can't. And I watch him get torn apart by wolves. And last night Marcus was there and -"

"Marcus?"

König's voice is low, his hands still in your hair.

"I'm sorry; he's there and I can't move. I feel so horrible thinking about him. And tonight the wolf was-"

You don't get to finish before König slides one hand beneath your knees and the other beneath your head. Even with a broken rib, he lifts you like you're nothing. He throws the blanket into your lap, and carries you into the bedroom. He doesn't let you go as he sinks into the bed.

You let him rearrange you so that you're tucked into his side, the blanket pulled high up above the two of you.

His hands trace patterns across your back, cold sweat still clinging heavily to your skin.

"Don't apologize for your dreams Taube. You are here with me."

You try to fall asleep in the warmth of him, but long after his fingers are still and his breathing slows, you stay awake, waiting for the next nightmare to come.

But they don't come for the rest of the night. In the morning, you detangle yourself from König's arms and stumble into the kitchen, bleary eyed and exhausted. The coffee pot comes to life beneath you, and you try to think about what you and König can do for the day, but instead your brain keeps turning back to your dreams, to Marcus.

Warm hands sneaking around your waist scare you, but König catches you mid-jump. He doesn't speak as he lets his hands wander the planes of your body, your hands braced against the countertop. When his fingers curl around your stomach you remember the call from the doctor, and the anticipation rolls back into you.

"Good morning love," you mumble, trying to pull your coffee towards you, but König pulls you back into him.

"Did you sleep better last night Taube?"

You know he doesn't expect an answer as he presses open mouthed kisses down your shoulder. You watch the mountains in the distance - the same one's König carried you down from so many months before. You catch his hands as they start to dip between your legs, pulling him back up so that he's eye level with you.

"Do you want to go on a hike today König?"

#konig cod #könig x y/n #konig #könig #cod #my fics #cod konig #konig mw2 #konig x you #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig cod #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare

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jamespotterthefirst · 4 months

Text

Familia (Ethan x f!MC)

Book: Open Heart, beyond

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey and MC (Lilac Allende)

Word Count: 2.7K

Rating/Warning: T/ Some Language

Summary: Ethan meets her family over a traditional meal of tamales.

Note: In which Lilac's Mexican mother teaches him how to make tamales. Translations at the end :)

The usually cold, pristine kitchen of his apartment appeared like a different place entirely that afternoon. For one, it was crowded as Lilac's family bustled about, the sounds of music, laughter, and lighthearted conversation filling the space. Every inch of the counters was covered in a colorful mosaic of ingredients, each meant for a different dish and each tended to by a different Allende. Tendrils of steam swirled into the air as Mrs. Allende stirred the contents of a sizzling pan, the aroma nothing short of mouthwatering.

It had never felt so inviting or close to a real home and Ethan felt momentarily stunned.

He paused at the threshold to admire it, his attention finally resting resolutely on Lilac. She, too, appeared entirely transformed as she cooked and joked with her siblings in both of her languages. Sparkling green eyes creased at the edges, more alive than ever, as she dodged a dusting of flour sent her way by her younger brother.

“You'll pay for that,” she told him mid laugh, followed by more vows of retaliation in Spanish.

Ethan basked in the sound of her voice and how her native language made it sound different— like a soft melody that swelled pleasantly with every word. Something soared within him as he watched this version of her, taking root in his chest and blooming very much like the first time he saw her at Edenbrook.

“Ya basta, muchachos,” Mrs. Allende chided over the hiss of the frying chilis. “Jaime, look at the mess you made all over Dr. Ramsey's kitchen. Clean up all this flour and go keep your dad some company in the living room.”

“Sí, señora,” Jaime Allende said with a mock salute that made his mother roll her eyes lovingly. Once her back was turned, he smirked at his sisters. “See you later, feas. I'll be in the living room enjoying the game.”

Laurel, the eldest, shoved him with her shoulder as he passed. It looked almost comical to Ethan since she was significantly shorter than him.

“Hey, you better clean this shit up,” she called out after him. When the warning fell on deaf ears, Laurel shook her head and murmured to Lilac, “Twenty four and he still knows how to trick his way out of doing any real work.”

“Typical,” Lilac returned cautiously, eyes on her mother's back.

Ethan took that opportunity to rejoin his girlfriend at the kitchen, his arms banding around her waist as he quickly kissed her temple.

Lilac let out a pleased little laugh, her body relaxing against him.

“How's my dad?”

“Quiet,” he replied, trying his best not to take it personally. Still, the nerves he felt about meeting her father had tapered into a fine point when the man had spoken less than five words to Ethan.

“That checks out,” Laurel commented knowingly from beside them.

Lilac threw her sister an unappreciative look which did nothing to help with his anxiety. She swiveled in Ethan's embrace, her scowl softening when their eyes met. “My dad's just a quiet person at first. Once he gets to know you, he's the goofiest marshmallow imaginable.”

Ethan remained unconvinced, afraid that her father was less than thrilled about their relationship. Then again, if Ethan had a daughter, he would absolutely take issue with the bastard who was both her boss and boyfriend.

“We found a football game on TV that he likes,” he commented, unsure of what else to say.

“As long as it's real fútbol, he'll love you already.”

“Yes, he can excuse sleeping with his daughter but he draws the line at American football,” Laurel mused with a wicked laugh, already dodging the slap Lilac sent her way.

Their mother caught the end of that exchange and sent them a single, silencing look that made both sisters cease at once. Then her eyes swiveled to Ethan and at once, her expression softened. Mrs. Allende straightened her spine and cleaned her hands against her apron.

“Doctor,” she said cheerfully in Spanish. “Thank you again for inviting us into your lovely home.”

“Es un placer,” he returned as he studiously avoided Laurel's gaze. It would no doubt silently communicate “Kiss ass.”

“Thank you for making dinner,” Ethan said to Mrs. Allende, who waved this away dismissively, though she looked thoroughly pleased.

“No thanks necessary. I hope you like tamales, Doctor. It's my mother's recipe.”

“I'm honored to try them. How can I help?”

This was evidently the right thing to ask because Mrs. Allende lit up with pure admiration and approval. If he didn't have her blessing before, he was convinced he did now.

Waving her daughters aside with fluttering hands and instructions in both languages, Mrs. Allende led Ethan to the part of the counter Jamie formerly occupied. She spent the next few minutes teaching Ethan how to prepare the masa.

“Muy bien,” she praised minutes later when Ethan had caught on to the technique quickly. “Ya está listo para casarse, Doctor.”

You're ready to get married now.

Three reactions occurred at once: Lilac coughed, Ethan felt his ears flare with heat, and Laurel all but cackled.

“Madre!”

“It's just a saying, mi vida,” her mother returned innocently, finding her way back to the stove. “Why don't you start on the filling?” To Ethan she added, “My Lilita makes the best green salsa, did she tell you?”

Ethan paused his movements, the sticky dough beneath his palm melting against his skin.

“She didn't.”

Lilac was studiously avoiding his gaze now, cheeks as red as the tomatoes she rinsed. For as long as he had known her, Lilac had made a show of professing her lack of culinary skills.

“You're missing out, Doctor,” her mother proclaimed proudly. “Her chilaquiles are the best too.”

Ethan quietly assessed his girlfriend, who gave him a fleeting, embarrassed look.

“You didn't tell me you could cook.”

Cheeks brighter still, she refused to look at him for longer than a moment.

“Nothing anyone I know would like.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mostly obscure Mexican food my grandma taught me how to make.”

The words were an embarrassed mumble.

“Your friends and I would love it.”

“Yeah, well…”

Something about the shame in her expression and the tension in her shoulders opened little fissures along the surface of his heart. With a pang, he began to comprehend that every time his Lilac said, “I can't cook!” it was the simpler alternative. Feigning incompetence was easier than explaining the dishes she loved so much to people who often looked down on them. Not that Ethan or her friends ever would, but all it took was one asshole to look down on her customs with disgust for a protective barrier to emerge.

When Mrs. Allende busied herself with the oven, Ethan moved to encircle his arms around his girlfriend, careful not to get any of the dough still coating his hands on her.

“Make it for me someday?”

She blinked at him in surprise and when he smiled, she relaxed against him, nodding quietly. The grateful smile she gave him made his heart skip.

“Dad's team is losing,” Jamie announced a

minute later as he reentered the kitchen, closely followed by his father. “He's mad. So he'd rather come in here and help wrap the tamales.”

Mr. Allende rolled his eyes at his son. “They have the ref bought, mijo. It's a waste of time to even watch.”

Unbeknownst to him, Laurel and Jamie silently mouthed their father's words in perfect sync behind his back. Ethan almost allowed a smile, unable to resist the infectious laughter that proved to be an Allende family trait. Before he could join in the myrth, however, Mr. Allende's eyes met Ethan's. The older man's expression was an impenetrable mask and it made Ethan's nerves buzz with a start.

It was only when Mr. Allende's eyes fell down to Ethan's hands, clasped securely around his daughter's waist, that he realized he still held Lilac in a rather close embrace.

Without thought, Ethan released her, almost shoving her away instinctively.

Lilac, slightly affronted, shot him a funny look. She was no doubt incredulous that a man Ethan's age was still afraid of his girlfriend's father like some kind of hormonal teenager. A cheeky part of his mind mused that when it came to Lilac, he was much like a juvenile version of himself.

“You're almost forty,” she teased in a whisper when her family was too preoccupied with an argument over what music to play.

Ethan threw her a dry, unappreciative glare. He couldn't add anything more because at that moment, the notes of an upbeat and unmistakably eighties song drafted from the small Bluetooth speaker.

All three Allende siblings groaned in unison, the sound dropping lower still when Mrs. Allende began to dance unabashedly to the beat.

“Not Luis Miguel,” Laurel sighed. “Our mother's crush.”

“Luis Mi Rey,” their mother corrected with a lovestruck sigh.

“I'm standing right here,” their father returned, arms crossed.

Ethan could see, however, that the faux stern expression threatened to break as he watched Margo singing happily. His wife pulled him close, singing lyrics about falling in love under the sun on a beach.

“I really lucked out,” Mrs. Allende said, voice sing-song and eyes fixed adoringly on her husband. “I ended up with someone better than El Sol de México himself.”

The sun of Mexico belted a high note from the speaker.

“Yeah, you ended up with the entire solar system with Dad,” Jaime teased, a wicked gaze falling on their father's generous belly.

“Don't body shame my dad,” Laurel returned sternly, though she looked on the verge of laughter.

The family dissolved into a good-natured argument.

Ethan watched them in silence, admiring the small pocket of chaos they occupied as they each spoke over one another. Even in doing so, they laughed and joked until all that could be heard was a chorus of mirth that made his heart ache.

“The sun is a solitary star,” Ethan found himself saying through the cheerful chatter.

Everyone fell silent, casting him glances that ranged from curious to downright confused. Only Lilac glanced up at him with a brilliant, knowing smile.

“Many astronomers believe it once had a companion. As it stands now, it's an anomaly because it's alone in the universe.”

Still, no one said anything.

Ethan was beginning to wonder if he overstepped and interrupted a family moment with his nonsense. Before panic could settle over his insides like a sheet of ice, his girlfriend wrapped an arm around his waist, settling into his side.

“In other words,” he continued, eyes moving to a quiet Mr. Allende. “You don't want to be like the sun. You and your wife are more like binary stars, who are gravitational bound forever.”

More silence followed his words and Ethan had half a mind to retreat from the room.

Finally, when the pause was almost unbearable, Mr. Allende chuckled.

“You hear that, viejita? I'm better than Luis Miguel. I'm a star.”

“Made of gas,” Jaime supplied.

In the chaotic symphony of their laughter, Lilac reclaimed Ethan's attention with a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Ethan Ramsey,” she murmured, impressed. “You are a bit of a poet after all.”

It's how I feel about you.

“I could've come up with that.” Jaime said loudly.

“No way,” Laurel returned at once. “You literally said Dad was as vast and old as the solar system.”

“Old?” her father asked in mock offense. “No one said anything about old before.”

After that brief glimmer of Mr. Allende's approval in the kitchen, the awkward edge in the air lifted. By the time Mrs. Allende promptly sat all of the men at the kitchen table to wrap the tamales, Ethan had proudly earned himself a smile from Lilac’s stoic father. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he watched Ethan studiously wrap the corn husks.

“My wife is going to favor your tamales, Doctor. You’ll make us look bad,” Mr. Allende commented.

“We do that all on our own, pops,” Jaime returned without missing a beat. As though to prove this point, a glop of dough fell from the corn husk he haphazardly wrapped.

Ethan paused, concerned. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“Not at all. They’re nearly damn perfect,” Mr. Allende chuckled.

“Ethan does everything with mathematical precision,” Lilac commented as she approached, placing a kiss on Ethan’s forehead.

Laurel muttered something from behind Lilac. Whatever it was scandalized her sister.

Luckily, Mr. Allende missed this because he grinned at Jaime. “See, mijo? You should put your degree to use, too.”

“I was too hungover the day they covered tamal wrapping in my engineering classes,” Jamie returned.

“Cabrón,” Mr. Allende laughed.

As it turned out, Mr. Allende was correct. His wife adored the neat work Ethan made of the task she assigned. Bursting with pride and delight, she squeezed Ethan’s shoulder. “Excellent work, mijo!”

Ethan’s heart felt weightless at the term of endearment.

“Ma, don’t go replacing me as the favorite son,” Jaime joked.

“About time,” Lilac muttered.

Jaime and Laurel rolled their eyes, exchanging a look.

“Middle child,” they chanted in unison.

They dissolved into a melody of voices and laughter once more. As the tamales steamed, they found themselves locked in a boisterous and heated game of Lotería. Ethan proved to be exceedingly good at it, much to everyone's delighted surprise (except Lilac's). After winning a particularly dramatic and fast-paced round, everyone flashed him an impressed smile.

Everyone except Laurel.

“Looks like you met your match, Lau,” Mr. Allende laughed.

“I only lost because I was calling them,” Laurel responded, red in the face. “It slowed me down.”

“Then let me call them,” Ethan returned, matching the challenge in her voice.

Lilac smacked an excited hand against the table. “This I have to see!”

Mrs. Allende, looking just as delighted, proclaimed, “Have him call out the personalized cards too, mija.”

“Personalized?”

“La Doctora,” Laurel said pointing at Lilac. “Mine is La Maestra and Jaime's is El Ingeniero.”

“Your parents don't have one?”

“Dad's is already in the original deck,” Jaime began with a devilish grin. “El Borracho.”

Mr. Allende responded with a string of curse words and hearty laughter.

“Ethan needs one, too,” Mrs. Allende said, kind eyes surveying Ethan. “We need to think of what his will say and I'll ask your cousin Natalia to make it.”

The group erupted into suggestions of what to name Ethan's card but he remained silent. His throat felt inexplicably tight as he watched them, thinking of ways to include him.

“How about El Anciano?” Lilac whispered close to his ear, her warm hand atop his under the table.

Ethan smiled at her jab but it was half-hearted.

“They love you already,” she said reassuringly, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

For once, Ethan was speechless.

“Alright, alright,” Lilac called out through the jovial clamor of voices. “We can decide on Ethan's card over the tamales and the bottle of tequila he bought for tonight.”

Jaime let out a loud cheer, his hands rubbing together in exaggeration. Lilac rose from her seat to retreat the bottle. When she returned, she raised it over her head like a trophy to the cheers of her siblings.

“Good choice, Doctor,” Mr. Allende commended as he caught sight of the label. “How did you know that was my favorite?”

Lilac telling him that morning is how Ethan knew.

“I just knew you had good taste and went with that.”

The smile Mr. Allende gave him left little doubt that he had effectively won him over too.

Laurel scoffed quietly, flicking a finger to the tip of her nose and spearing Ethan with a look that basically shouted “brown-noser.” On a whim, he flashed her a swift middle finger, careful to keep it hidden from her parents.

Jamie howled with laughter, Laurel looked impressed, and Lilac grinned, looking far more in love than he'd ever seen her.

It was then that Ethan realized that the foreign warmth coursing through him, welcoming and comforting as a morning sun, was a sense of belonging.

Translations:

Masa: Dough

Tamales: A Latin American dish made of dough and filling. It is steamed in corn husks or banana leaves.

Chilaquiles: a traditional Mexican dish consisting of corn tortillas cut into quarters and lightly fried. Usually topped with cheese, cream, and other ingredients.

Mijo/Mija: Term of endearment meaning "son" or "daughter"

El Sol de Mexico: The Sun of Mexico. A nickname dubbed to singer Luis Miguel.

Viejita: Affectionate way of saying older lady

Loteria: a traditional game of chance, similar to bingo, and is played on a deck of cards instead of numbered ping pong balls.

Maestra: Teacher

Ingeniero: Engineer

Borracho: Drunk

Anciano: Old Man

Note: Hi. Lots of apologies to give out. First off, sorry it's been literal months! I'm back. Sorry this is long. Sorry this is long overdue (I wrote it two years ago and held it close to my chest.) Sorry I still have other fics to finish!

And thank you so much if you're still here and read this!

#ethan ramsey #open heart #ethan x mc #playchoices

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lila-rose · 3 months

Text

This story is dedicated to @sydnikov as part of the 2K24 Winter Fic Exchange. I apologize if it's not precisely what you wanted, Sydney. The story initially was much longer and had Jack getting injured and reconnecting with his ex-girlfriend. But I think I overdid myself and ran into some GI issues that may be exacerbated by stress. As a result, I was forced to cut things short. I also apologize if Jack or the Devils seem out of character. I had never written to them before, so I had to take a shot in the dark.

Pairing: Jack Hughes x OFC

Words: 11.5K

Additional Tags: @aqueersouthofthemasondixonline @kurlyteuvo @callsign-denmark @behoright @likegoinghome @wyattjohnston

"Looking at me. Naw, come get it. Like what you see then you have good vision. Boy, this beat was so different. Let me show you what you've been missing," Maisy sang to her reflection in the mirror, using her nude lipstick as a makeshift microphone.

K/DA's beat reverberated throughout the white tile bathroom from an iPhone speaker buried underneath the mountain of cosmetics spread across the marble countertop. Mascara and cleanser leaked out carelessly screwed tops, creating a disgusting mosaic that undoubtedly needed to be cleaned and disinfected at some point. But only two things mattered to Maisy then: perfecting her makeup and stopping the butterflies in her stomach. After Ahri, Akali, Evelynn, and Kai'Sa reached their chorus, she returned to reality and painted the deep beige tint over her lips.

Her phone vibrated with a notification somewhere underneath her morning routine disaster. Digging through, she saw a glimpse of her white and gold phone case, which suffered collateral damage from her blush.

"Aww, shit!" Maisy cursed, wiping off the powder with an old towel and hoping she wouldn't have to dig anything out of the tiniest crook and cranny. Once the phone was clean again, she swiped down on her notifications and realized she had a text message from her father.

Dad Sent at 8:15 am I can't believe you're starting your first day with the Devils. It seemed like only yesterday that I was taking you to your first game. Best of luck, Mae. I love you!

Tears threatened to spill over Maisy's cheeks and ruin her makeup as she reminisced about her first hockey match and the photographer who was kind enough to immortalize the day. As autumn arrived in Newark, a chill permeated the air, and the verdant foliage surrounding the Pearson family home had long since turned burgundy and orange. Maisy sat at the kitchen table, stuffing her face full of cucumbers and trying to unscramble words for her first-grade homework. Her mother, a beautiful woman with waist-length chestnut hair, stood and julienned vegetables over the kitchen sink. From the driveway, a pair of headlights from a black Honda shined through the kitchen window, causing Mrs. Pearson to lift her forest-green eyes from her work.

"It looks like Daddy's home," she said over her shoulder to Maisy, who paid her mother no mind.

Within minutes, a dark-haired man dressed in a stuffy gray suit and a Prudential Financial computer case over his shoulder entered the home. Before stepping into the kitchen, he placed his keys in a catch-all tray in the mudroom entrance and his black loafers into the shoe rack. "Hi, Girls!" he greeted.

Mr. Pearson shared a kiss with his wife before turning his attention to his daughter. "How was school, Mae-Mae?"

"It was fun. Did you know that the Pilgrims first sailed here on a ship?"

"I did. They came here on the Mayflower. Maybe we should start calling you Mayflower!" Mr. Pearson jokes, patting Maisy on her chestnut hair. "But I have something that you may like."

Maisy climbed out of her chair to face her father, who placed his work bag on the ground and began to search through the pockets. After a few moments, Mr. Pearson produced an official envelope from Prudential with his name on the front and handed it to his little girl with a soft smile. Maisy did her best to open the envelope with her tiny fingers and pulled out a pair of red and black tickets to see the New Jersey Devils in the company's private suite at their eponymous arena in the Central Ward.

"What do you think? Do you want to go?" Mr. Pearson asked.

Maisy clutched the tickets to her chest and spread her lips into a large grin. "Yes, please!"

"Alright. It's not for a couple of days. But I'll pick you up from school, and we'll have a blast," Mr. Pearson replied before heading up the stairs to change out of his work clothes.

Mr. Pearson graduated with his Bachelor's and professional degree from Rutgers University and chose to dedicate his Juris Doctorate to Prudential. Most days, he would look over corporate contracts and occasionally had to persuade his bosses that Karen did not have grounds for a lawsuit because Brenda in Customer Service refused to transfer a call to her supervisor. But working for an insurance giant that was successful enough to buy the naming rights to an NHL stadium had its perks. Mr. Pearson had a few decorations in his office to bring life to its dull corporate atmosphere, including a picture of his wife and daughter and some artwork Maisy brought home from school. But the most helpful thing hanging in the office, by far, was the Devils' schedule.

Being only a few minutes down the road from the Rutgers campus, the Prudential Center, named the Continental Airlines Arena at the time, provided quick and accessible entertainment for the college-age Mr. Pearson and his roommates. They could typically scrape a few dollars together and secure decent seats to watch the Devils, and the boys in red have been a staple in his life ever since. A large flat-screen TV hung in his office, where he could watch his games if he ever needed to bring work home or if he wanted to free up the television in the den for his wife and daughter.

Occasionally, little Maisy would turn the ornate, brass doorknob to the office and poke her little head in. If Mr. Pearson weren't busy, he would allow Maisy to sit on the small black leather couch and turn the screen so they could watch the game together. Maisy would fixate her light brown eyes on the TV and watch the players go up and down the ice. She tried her best to understand what was occurring on the ice; sometimes, she would have to stop and ask her father to clarify something, which he did in the simplest way possible. Regardless, she soon began to understand the game using cues on when her father would cheer and when her father would boo. Mr. Pearson would look back over his shoulder with a smile and a sparkle in his eye as he saw his daughter enjoying something that had brought him so much catharsis over the years. It soon became their father-daughter activity to sit in the home office and watch the Devils games whenever their schedules permitted.

On the game day, Maisy and Mrs. Pearson woke up early to select an outfit for the game. They settled on a beautiful little dress with a black top and red polka-a-dots, and a red bow fastened on Maisy's right hip held a piece of tulle fabric over her matching skirt. For her hair, Maisy requested to divide her locks into pigtails with red and black hair bobbles. And as for her shoes, she selected a pair of sparkly black Mary Janes.

Maisy was the talk of her class that day. Many of her classmates approached her and asked why she dressed up, to which Maisy proudly proclaimed that she and her father were planning to see a Devils game later that evening. A few peers groaned as the teacher instructed everyone to take their seats. Whatever the lesson was that day, Maisy couldn't tell you because the teacher's voice seemed to fade into the background as she eagerly awaited for the clock to strike three. She watched the thin, black, minute hand agonizingly tick away above the classroom door. Every once in a while, she would try to divert her attention to their colorful classroom or the worksheet her teacher handed out as the daily assignment to make the time go by faster, but her eyes always found a way back to the clock itself.

Eventually, her suffering subsided as the school bell, at long last, rang its jarring melody, causing the school children to break into an excited cacophony as they rushed into the halls. Maisy did her best to dodge her way past her classmates as she clutched her bag to her shoulders and ran out the door. Stepping out onto the cement stoa, she found her father standing before her, smiling and waving as promised.

Father and daughter had to make a stop home for Mr. Pearson to throw on his old Martin Brodeur jersey that he kept for an occasion like this and explain their plan for the evening to Mrs. Pearson. Once they settled everything, the twosome climbed back into the car for dinner.

They traveled to a charming little American-style dinner on Broad Street down the road from the stadium. It sat in a small brick building with a red awning out front with the name Broad Street Tavern written in bold, white letters. What the restaurant lacked in curbside appeal, it made up for in its interior design. Several patrons sat at the metal bar and the reclaimed wood tables, enjoying a hamburger or other American fare by a roaring fire.

A waitress approached Mr. Pearson and Maisy within minutes of entering and led them to their table with a pair of menus. Due to the special occasion, Mr. Pearson allowed Maisy to indulge, getting her whatever entree she wanted and some ice cream. He quizzed Maisy on her hockey knowledge while dipping his French fries into her hot fudge sundae. Maisy, at first, wrinkled her nose at her Dad's strange eating habits. However, after some coaxing, she finally acquiesced and dipped a French fry into her chocolate ice cream, discovering for the first time the delectable balance of sweet and salty that she still sometimes enjoys almost twenty years later.

After they had filled their bellies, Mr. Pearson and Maisy headed to the Prudential Center. They used the parking garage tucked away at the end of the arena where VIP ticket holders — or anyone willing to spend $40 to park their car — could spare themselves from a long walk in the chill New Jersey climate. Maisy grabbed her Dad's hand and followed him to a large entrance decorated with portraits of the Devils, where her Dad handed their distinctive tickets to the usher. The woman dressed in red and black looked at the tickets, smiled and nodded, and opened the doors for Maisy and her dad.

The two walked the glass walkway that led to the luxury suites, high above the regular ticket holders mulling about through the concourse, exploring and buying their stadium food for the game while they waited for the game to start. Maisy turned her head and stared at the sea of people down below and, for once, felt grateful that her father's profession prevented her from getting lost in that nightmare.

It only took a minute or two for Mr. Pearson to reach the private concourse reserved for the suites, and it was evident that anyone willing to shell out the cash for a bit more privacy would get what they paid for. A chef in a white coat sliced meat under a heat lamp while their colleagues ran behind them, putting ingredients on the grill or in the fryer and ensuring the grab-and-go counters were well stocked. Several pairs of tables and chairs sat in a semi-enclosed eating area and faced large screen TVs, allowing whoever was hungry to follow the action on the ice without missing anything. The floor also contained multiple comfy couches and armchairs interspersed with Devils memorabilia, stretching back to their run as the Kansas City Scouts in 1974.

Maisy's mouth fell open slightly as she looked around at the luxury the piazza offered. She was so surprised she couldn't hear her father calling her name.

"What do you think, Maisy?" Mr. Pearson asked, shaking his daughter’s hand to get her attention. "Do you like it?"

But a shocked Maisy could only nod, causing her father to let out an audible laugh.

"Well, we probably won't be able to sit here all the time. But if you ever want to go again, I could pull some strings. C'mon, let's go find our suite!" Mr. Pearson said as he escorted his daughter down the hall.

There was one other perk of being a Prudential employee: the CEO's suite. The company designed it when it first purchased the naming rights to the stadium in 2007. It wanted a place to impress some of its more affluent clients. But sometimes, they were generous enough to allow their workers to use the room for private parties or to take their daughter to their first hockey game. The space was about the size of a single-bedroom apartment and several rows of padded seats near a sliding glass window. In the back was a small dining area with a fridge and a countertop well-stocked with snacks, drinks, and anything the patrons needed.

But to six-year-old Maisy, it wouldn't matter if her father and his bosses treated her like the princess of the world. What mattered was that she could finally enjoy something that had brought her and her father together outside the four walls of the family's home office.

During the intermission, Mr. Pearson had brought Maisy down to the regular concourse to visit the Devils Den to pick something up for his daughter to commemorate her first NHL game. She selected a small red and black teddy bear, whom she promptly named NJ after the team's mascot. There was still some time left before the second period, and Mr. Pearson inquired from Maisy whether she wanted to stay on the regular concourse or go up to the private suite.

Maisy tilted her head and stared into the distance, weighing her two options. On the one hand, returning to the private suite would rescue her from dealing with the crowds of people wandering outside the store. But on the other hand, she never knew what she would find if she did explore.

After thinking, Maisy looked up at her Dad and excitedly announced, "Let's go explore!"

Mr. Pearson nodded and led his daughter back out and into the congregation of fans. The main concourse was not as nice as the private concourse. Maisy held tight onto her father's hand as endless lines of people seemed to pass, chatting about the first period. Others stood around with beers in their hands or waited in a long concession lines for the second period. Despite clinging to her Dad as close as possible, Maisy couldn't help but take in the sights and smells of a Devils game. She scanned the large murals covering the walls and turned her ears to pick up on what some of the grown-ups were saying about the game for posterity.

During their walk, the two encountered a pair of Devils staff holding cameras next to a backdrop.

"Daddy, let's take a picture for Mommy!" Maisy stated as she dragged her father over to the photo booth.

"Say cheese!" instructed the photographer once the two had selected a background for their snapshot.

Maisy couldn't have known then, but that game was pivotal in her life. Watching the match from the CEO's suite was such a magical experience that Maisy resolved to grow up and work for the Devils to help recreate the same happiness for the later generations of fans. She wanted to become precisely like that photographer who had helped her enshrine the start of her journey.

Returning to the present, Maisy shifted her gaze from the picture to her face in the mirror and smiled, reminiscing about all the hard work that went into bringing her to this moment — her summer job at the Den, internships at the Newark Museum of Art, position on the Rutgers women's ice hockey team, and Bachelor's in Fine Arts. It led to this moment where Maisy would walk proudly into the Prudential, not as a fan but as an employee.

She stopped the playlist on her phone, which had long moved on to Fifth Harmony, and began addressing her bathroom calamity. Re-screwing the caps, Maisy collected everything and dumped it into an acrylic bin sitting on the free-standing bookshelf next to the counter before wiping down the countertop with some disinfectant. She took a step back to look over her work once everything was spotless and mentally scolded herself that, as a recent college graduate, she did not precisely have the money to risk losing her security deposit because she fixated on making herself look beautiful rather than taking care of her apartment.

Domiciled a block away from the Prudential Center, Maisy didn't have to go far to get to her new place of employment. She could see the arena from her apartment window. She spent many nights reading about daguerreotypes and the works of Adams and Cartier-Bresson for her courses, listening to the faint sound of the goal horn from the stadium and dreaming of the day she could proudly proclaim herself as one of their photographers. It would only take a few-minute walk and a couple of left turns to get to work, so Maisy looked over her outfit and belongings to ensure she had everything ready for her first day.

The clothes she selected for the day were a change from the skirts and sweaters she wore during her college days. When the call came in from the Director of Human Resources that Maisy had gotten the job, her best friends immediately took her over the river into New York City to buy her several outfits that would make her look more professional. She didn't exactly know what kind of work attire the Devils' creative teams wore, so she opted for an outfit that was both professional and casual by using a dark blue pants suit, a matching blue and off-white striped sweater, minimalist brown belt, and a pair of off-white slip-ons. Looking over herself in the bedroom, Maisy let out a relieved sigh upon seeing that her work outfit was devoid of makeup, strings, or tears.

"Lenses … check … Filters … check … Memory card … check … " she mumbled as she looked over all the slots in her camera bag. Everything seemed to be coming together, but not even that idea could assuage the butterflies flying around her stomach.

She checked her phone and realized it was finally time to face the fire. It was time to head over to the Prudential Center. "You have this, Mace. You already have the job, and the only way that you could fuck it up is if you take bad photographs. But you can't take bad photographs, can you? I mean, you could if you wanted to. But you don't because you went to Rutgers, one of the most prestigious schools in America, for your Bachelor's in Art."

Maisy continued her pep-talk as she fetched her black woolen overcoat from her hall closet and swung her work and camera bags over her back and shoulder. She stepped out in the hallway, locked her apartment with her keyfob, and pushed the down button on the elevator. Thankfully, since most people would be at work by 9:00 am, there wasn't anyone around to listen to Maisy’s endless monologue. The elevator arrived at the ninth floor with a ding and opened its doors, allowing Maisy to enter onto its tiled floor. She requested the lobby and gently began to rock on her toes as she watched the screen go from nine to eight to seven and so forth. Some of her wished the elevator would get stuck somewhere during the ride down and it would take the Newark Fire Department several hours to get her out. But alas, the lift did its job and brought Maisy to the lobby.

Maisy exited the elevator and readjusted her bags before heading towards the door. A young woman in an indigo suit, paying homage to the name of the apartment building, stood behind a dark gray modern desk, typing away at her computer.

"Have a good day, Maisy!" the front desk woman said with a wave. "Best of luck with the new job!"

A nervous Maisy gave her a friendly wave in return as she left the building. Buttoning up her coat, she took off down Broad Street, where the Devils' Creative Director promised he would be waiting to let her into the Staff entrance. She did her best to meander down the sidewalk, trying to slow her gait. However, as she neared the arena, she saw a glimpse of a tall, dark-haired gentleman wearing a pair of khaki dress pants and a black Devils pullover. He stood before a large black door with a matching metal marquee above that read STAFF in large, white letters. There was only one option for who this person could be: the Creative Director.

Maisy took one last deep breath and plastered a large smile, attempting to hide her anxiety as she approached the man. "Hi, Mr. Gambiano!"

"Please, call me Nick. You're part of the Creative team now, and we're nowhere near as fussy as the Front Office or Legal. We all operate on a first-name basis," the man responded.

"Right. I'm sorry, Nick. I'm ready for my first day of work."

"Sounds good. Come with me, and I'll introduce you to everyone!"

Nick produced a keycard from his pocket and swiped it on the scanner to keep the staff entrance locked away from unwanted visitors. The box beeped, turned its light green, and opened the door with a click, allowing Nick to pull.

"Ladies first!" he joked, gesturing for Maisy to enter.

The entrance led into a bleak white stone hallway that desperately needed some decorations. Only an old, framed corkboard with various notices hanging from it decorated the walls. On either side, several large gray doors stood, leading to different offices. Nick gently bypassed Maisy and stopped at the door frame to her right, conversing with whoever was inside.

"Maisy, c'mere. I want to introduce you to our security team," he explained.

Maisy poked her head around the corner and looked into the office. To the security team's credit, they did their best to brighten up their austere surroundings with pictures and other posters. Two men sat in front of desks with multiple computer screens with security footage from several places in the building, from the entry gates to the concourse. A few others enjoyed a quick breakfast or coffee to begin their workday at the small kitchenette. Everyone lifted their gazes and greeted Maisy with a friendly smile, welcoming her to the Devils' crew and promising they would get her a security badge by the end of the day. In the meantime, she could use a guest keycard that would allow her to get into various other parts of the arena, such as the tunnel and the employee elevator.

One by one, Nick and Maisy visited each door in the hallway, meeting the departments that kept the Prudential Center up and running, such as the Facilities Management Team and Groundskeeping and Landscaping. Maisy's shoulders drooped, and her gaze softened with each pleasant face she met, discrediting her fears that morning and finally settling the butterflies in her stomach. Once the two greeted everyone correctly, Nick led Maisy to a massive red freight elevator at the end of the hall.

"This is the maintenance elevator," Nick explained as the cage doors opened, allowing himself and Maisy to enter. "I don't take it too much because you never know when someone needs to bring down a large delivery. There's another one up the stairs that's a bit nicer. But this one is closer, so I thought we could use it for convenience." He placed his keycard on another reader and pushed the button for the seventh floor.

Upon arrival, the two stepped into a large, colorful open area. There were no designated offices on this particular floor. Still, it was evident that the employees who worked there all had their areas, given the eccentric collection of mismatched furniture. Various people mulled about, checking the broadcast equipment, discussing the season's social media strategy, and designing their graphic design templates.

"This is the Broadcast Floor," explained Nick. "All of the team's creative and social media specialists work here — social media, graphic design, broadcast, radio, and photographers, like you, Maisy."

He wandered deeper into the floor, taking time to say hi to some of his colleagues, with Maisy in tow. Unlike the departments working in the basement, few paid Maisy any mind. Some would give her a quick smile or nod before returning to their work. Maisy allowed their quietness to roll off her shoulders because she knew how annoying it could be to arrange an artistic vision and have someone constantly interrupt you with trivial things. Eventually, Nick and Maisy arrived at a group of people moving various graphic elements into place to create distressed posters of the Devils.

Nick cleared his throat, capturing the team's attention. "Everyone, this is Maisy. She's the Junior Photographer for the season. I expect you all to make her feel welcome."

"It's nice to meet you, Maisy," a thin, gray-haired man with angular features said, standing up from where he was fiddling with his camera and filters. "My name is Thomas, and I'm the photography director for the team. I will be helping you get acclimated to the job. Why don't you sit while we wait for Human Resources?"

Maisy shook Thom's hand, taking the empty seat next to him. She watched as he popped out a memory card from his camera, entered it into one of the USB drives on a nearby computer, and pulled up a project the team had been working on. The piece featured a distressed photo of Nico, edited to look like he was gritty and exhausted, standing in a sea of water in a raging storm.

"Wow, that's pretty cool!" Maisy complimented.

"Thank you!" replied Thom. "The theme that we went with this season is resilience. The guys gave it their all during last season's Playoffs. As a result, we wanted to message the other teams that, come hell or high water, New Jersey will persevere.

Together, Maisy and Thom walked through the proper steps of helping the Graphic Design team make artwork for the club's social media teams, from tips and tricks for getting the best shots of the players in the Prudential Center to uploading those photos to the company computers. After some time, a stuffy woman dressed in a business outfit strode to the group.

"Are you Ms. Pearson?" the woman inquired from Maisy.

"Yes?"

"I'm from Human Resources. Follow me, and I'll help you complete your paperwork."

"Don't worry. HR is a lot scarier than it looks. Just don't do anything reckless," Thom muttered to Maisy.

Some other Graphic Design members overheard Thom’s instructions and giggled as Maisy grabbed a folder of essential documents from her tote. She slowly rose from her chair, trying to avoid eye contact with the HR lady, who glared at the laughing bunch from behind her wire-framed glasses with pursed lips. Maisy silently followed the woman toward the employee elevator that Nick referenced earlier. It wasn't much smaller than the freight elevator in the basement. But Maisy still found herself fidgeting and clearing her throat, doing whatever she could to alleviate the deathly silence that permeated the air between her and the HR person.

A few minutes later, the lift finally arrived a few floors below, and Maisy stepped onto carpet. A gray plaque on the far plaster wall offered directions to three separate offices: the Legal Department was to the right, the Front Office staff was straight ahead, and to the left was Human Resources. She followed the stuffy HR lady into her corresponding office, where multiple employees kept their noses in their work, not even giving her the time of day. Eventually, Maisy and the woman arrived at an average-looking conference room with a medium-sized circular table and multiple black leather swivel chairs arranged around it.

"Have a seat," the HR woman instructed, taking a seat and readjusting the glasses on her face.

Maisy followed her instructions and took the nearest chair. She opened her folder of essential documents, such as a copy of her social security card and passport, and folded her hands in her lap, not wanting to show any signs of trouble.

Despite her appearance, the HR lady was reticent but polite, walking Maisy through her W-4 and Payroll information and answering any questions Maisy may have about the job expectations and benefits. When the HR woman concluded everything, Maisy shook her hand and stepped back into the Human Resources offices. An analog clock on the wall read that it was half past ten, meaning the players should arrive shortly for practice. Wanting to make a good impression, Maisy returned to the Broadcast Floor and scooped up her camera backpack from the corner of Thom's desk, where she left it for safekeeping.

"Would it be alright if I head down to the tunnel?" Maisy inquired.

Thom lifted his head from the digital album of player portraits the team had taken several days earlier. "I don't see why not! All you have to do is hop back onto the elevator and push the R button for the rink."

Maisy nodded and threw her backpack onto her shoulders. Upon reaching the tunnel, the elevator doors opened to a long, intimidating hallway. It resembled the basement connected to the staff entrance with its white-stone walls, several stick racks, and equipment bins pushed to the side. Memories flooded Maisy's mind as she recalled the few times she got to greet the Devils as they walked down onto the ice. They were once her idols and played a critical part in how she shaped the early years of her adult life. But now, these same men were her co-workers, and this was her place of employment.

Several Bauer sticks stood in one of the racks, waiting for the team to arrive. Maisy bit her lip and looked in both directions but saw no one. It would hurt for her to have one little touch, would it? Just one touch?

"Hey, what do you think you're doing!?" a tenor voice exclaimed.

A red and black glove caught Maisy's wrist before she laid a finger on the twig and pulled it back. Her eye drifted upward to see his slightly tan, youthful features. His face had a stern expression, but his gray eyes did not show malice toward Maisy. Several strands of his shoulder-length hair poked out from his matching red helmet.

"I asked you a question," the young man said, lowering his voice. He moved his face closer until his pink lips were only a few inches from Maisy's.

Maisy's eyes grew wide as the tiniest wisp of his body spray flooded her senses. She wanted nothing more than to free her arm from the man's grasp and try to stop the blood flowing to her cheeks, but his hand remained firm on her forearm. "You … you're…" she stammered, trying to ignore the growing lump in her throat.

"Yes, I'm Jack Hughes, and you need to answer my question. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"Maisy. Girl. Newest junior photographer for the New Jersey Devils."

"Do you have anything to back up your claim?"

Jack let go of Maisy's wrist to allow her to reach for any proof. She gently removed the black security lanyard from around her neck and handed it to him.

He flipped the card back and forth, scanning the plastic piece for spelling errors or other inconsistencies. "This is pretty good. You girls are getting good at replicating these things," Jack finally said.

"It's not fake, jackass. I got it from the Security te一"

"Ms. Pearson?"

Maisy and Jack turned their attention to the source of the new voice, one of the security guards. He looked between the two before clearing his throat and continuing, "I wanted to come and bring you your official security badge. Nick said that you would be down here."

"Yes, of course. Thank you so much for bringing it all this way," Maisy replied, turning and smirking at Jack. She yanked the guest keycard out of his hand without resistance and returned it to the guard. "I greatly appreciate it!"

"So … you do work here?" Jack asked Maisy, who exchanged a wave goodbye with the man.

"Yeah, that's what I just said about five minutes ago," stated Maisy.

An uncomfortable Jack shifted on his blades and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you or anything. We've had problems in the past of psycho fans making homemade security cards and using them to get into off-limit places like our locker room."

"Like the fabled underwear thief?"

"How did you know about that?"

"It was all over Devils Twitter a few years ago."

"That was one awkward meeting with the Front Office. But yeah, just like the girl who broke into our belongings and stole our underwear during games."

"I can't fault you for being suspicious. Even though it was impressive that the underwear thief managed to elude the Devils for several weeks, it wasn't fair that you had your privacy violated. Not everyone understands the boundary between fantasy and reality. I would've done the same thing if I saw some random girl I had never seen before wandering the tunnel."

"Thank you for understanding. Let's try starting over now. I'm Jack." He tucked one of his gloves under his arm to free a hand and extended it.

"Maisy!" she responded with a shake.

One by one, the Devils slowly wandered into the rink for practice. A few of them stopped upon entering the hallway to take notice of Maisy, exchanging gentle whispers amongst themselves as they observed how relaxed Jack looked while conversing with her. The elder Hughes was not known for idling when a big game was approaching. Though it was still the pre-season, the Devils needed to use this crucial time to perfect every little aspect of their play, mainly if they wanted to make it to late April. Their match against their rivals in Southern New Jersey, the Philadelphia Flyers, went splendidly, with the Devils winning against Philadelphia in a surprising 6-0 shutout. Everyone seemed eager to get their blades dirty after the team fought so hard to make it to the second round of the 2023 Playoffs but tragically lost to the Hurricanes in overtime. Their passing and puck handling were almost flawless, and the Flyers never seemed to be able to get comfortable anywhere on the ice.

But New Jersey had little time to celebrate because the league scheduled them to face their cross-river rivals, the New York Rangers, in a few days. During the 2022-23 season, the Devils kept the Rangers mostly at bay, finishing five points ahead of New York. The team also rallied to return from several multi-point losses during the postseason to close the series and move on to the next round. Undoubtedly, the Rangers would be just as eager to prove to the Devils and the rest of the league that they grew from their mistakes.

"I should get going," stated Jack, looking over his shoulder and realizing that Ruff and most coaches and players had arrived. "But it was nice to meet you, Maisy."

"Likewise," Maisy responded. "Best of luck with practice. I'll be sure to take some wonderful pictures for you."

Jack walked down to the end of the tunnel where Luke was waiting for him, while Maisy wandered in the other direction to the photographer’s hole. The Devils did not know who the Rangers would start in their goal. But because professional ice hockey also involved a few mind games, they practiced as if Laviolette would start Shesterkin by working in three groups to set Daws and Vanecek off-balance and try to get the puck into the net. Everyone lined up at middle ice with Jack and several forwards near the left wall, another line of forwards at center ice, and the defensemen waiting on the other side. At Ruff's whistle, two forwards and a defenseman would start skating down the ice as their teammates moved down the queue.

Jack glided down the line as his teammates ran through the drill. Each time he arrived at his new spot, his eyes would drift over to Maisy, who stood on the rink floor, talking to the photography director and taking snapshots of the team. Nico tried several times to start a conversation, but Jack responded with an affirmative grunt and forced his friend's voice to the back of his mind. He tried searching for a reason to explain why he felt so enamored with a woman he only met almost an hour earlier. Perhaps she wasn't like the other girls who flocked to him as a professional hockey player or that she stood up to him. Whatever the reason, he knew he didn’t want this to be the last time he saw her.

Suddenly, Jack felt the sting of Nico's stick blade against his calf. "Ow! What was that for?" he yelled, recoiling his leg.

"GO!" Nico shouted, pointing down the ice with his stick.

Jack followed the direction of the twig and realized that the second forward and his brother were already well into the offensive zone and prepared to take a shot on Daws. He skated as fast as he could to catch up with his teammates as Daws slid back and forth across his crease, attempting to anticipate where the puck would come from. In a moment of synchronicity, Jack, Luke, and the second forward realized that Daws failed to see Jack joining the action, giving them the opening they needed. Luke passed the puck to Jack, who tucked the puck into the back of the net under Daws' flank. As the attacking trio returned to their cheering lines, Daws fell on his side with his legs in the air. Players came and went until the coaches noticed a pattern of success with their current goaltender. At this point, Ruff blew his whistle for Vanecek to replace his partner. Vanecek took one last sip from his water bottle before placing his helmet on his head and giving a friendly blocker bump as he made his way to the pipes. Once Vanecek prepared himself and the coaches set up the puck back at center ice, Ruff blew his whistle again to complete the exercise a second time.

Like with Daws, the players went through their routine of trying to get the biscuit past their goalie, except this time, Jack was a bit more attentive to his place in line lest he wanted to face the wooden wrath of his captain again. Practice continued as planned until the team felt more prepared to face the Rangers, working on their shooting and defending against New York's robust checks. Eventually, practice slowed to a trickle until the players started mulling about and holding friendly competitions between themselves, such as seeing how many times they could bounce a puck on their sticks before it fell to the ice.

After noticing that his players were getting tired, Ruff blew one last whistle. "Alright, that's enough!" he called out. "Everyone, gather around!"

Jack, Nico, Luke, and several others skated over and took a knee before Ruff while the rest of the team remained standing. They listened intently as the head coach congratulated them on successful practice and reminded them that Rangers had everything to give when they met New Jersey in Newark for the first time since their elimination. A loss would not count against their record, but the Devils could still not afford to undo all their progress during the off-season and the first pre-season games. They needed to match the Rangers at every corner of the ice. But for now, the team deserved several days of rest to recuperate and reflect on the lessons they learned during today's practice to prepare themselves physically and mentally for their game in a few days.

Ruff dismissed the team, and Jack immediately rushed into the tunnel without a second thought. Perhaps it looked strange to his teammates, but he wanted to be the first in and out of the locker room to catch Maisy one last time before heading home. He flew into the room and immediately began to unlace his skates, stripping himself down to his jock before rushing into the showers with his post-practice clothes. Doing his best not to trip over the bathroom tile, he selected a few bare essentials 一 shampoo, soap, washcloth, and towel 一 set out by the Wellness Department before every practice and game. Jack didn't need to smell like he finished a cologne commercial, but he didn't want to make a second horrible impression by smelling sweat as he selected a shower stall and turned on the water.

The faint sound of conversation and the bathroom door opening and closing came through the shower's spray as Jack allowed the warm water to trickle down his chest and abs. A sigh escaped his lips, and his muscles slowly began to relax. If the Devils did lose to the Rangers, his body wouldn't soon forget the work ethic necessary to try and beat them. After some time, Jack grabbed the soap from the stall's built-in corner caddy and began to wash away any spec of dirt from his body. He gave his appendages a final glance, deeming himself presentable to Maisy, before turning off the shower and wiping himself down.

"You okay?" Luke inquired as his fully dressed brother returned to the dressing rooms.

"Yeah, why?"

"Because you've just been out of it since I saw you talking to that girl in the hallway."

Jack rolled his eyes and continued to dry his locks. Luke was the quietest of the Hughes children but also had the biggest heart and wouldn't hesitate to check up on his elder brothers if he thought something was wrong. "I'm fine, and her name is Maisy," he responded.

"Who, do tell, is this Maisy?" asked Nico from the other end of the row as he collected his stuff from his locker.

"She's the newest photographer for the team."

"Maybe you should ask her out. You seem to like her a lot," Luke suggested, putting on a pair of sweatpants.

"That's not a good idea!" Nico retorted.

"Why?"

Luke froze in place and looked between Jack and Nico with his downturned eyes, trying to decipher whatever silent message they exchanged. Jack widened his eyes and tilted his head, almost as if to tell Nico that he piqued Luke's interest, which meant that he had to tell Luke what happens when personnel get involved with the players.

Nico pursed his lips before turning to Luke and saying, "We generally try to avoid going out with the female employees because the organization can fire them for having romantic relationships with the team.”

"They were serious about that?" Luke murmured under his breath as he finished dressing.

"Yes, they were," responded Jack, tossing the used towel into a nearby laundry bin. "But don't worry, I wouldn't count saying hi to a girl five times before awkwardly shuffling off would constitute having a romantic relationship with someone."

"I still think you should get her number."

"Why?"

"I mean, if she could get The Big Deal to smile, she seems cool."

Jack shifted his gaze to Nico, looking for a final piece of advice from his captain.

"It's up to you. But if you do give her your number, I would suggest that you try to keep the relationship as professional as possible. You don't want to be that person who ruins a girl's career because you couldn't keep it in your pants."

Jack nodded as he threw his black duffel bag over his shoulders and exited the locker room. He watched as the equipment managers ran back and forth, putting back the pucks and the sticks from practice. But as far as Jack could tell, there didn't seem to be any sign of Maisy. Jack reassured himself that she had to be down there as he slowly wandered the hallway. There wouldn't be any reason she would have to return to work so soon. He poked his head in every corner, searching for any sign. However, as the minutes passed without success, Jack's expression started to sour, and a slight frown formed. If she wasn't in the tunnel, she could have return to the Broadcast Floor to learn how to touch up her photos. Jack could request access to the Broadcast Floor if he wanted to. The only problem was he would have to explain to Ruff why it was a good idea to allow the team's star player near their newest hire to give her his phone number.

As Jack tried to formulate a backup plan, a woman's laugh broke through his thoughts. He couldn't place a face to the giggle, but his heart already knew who it was: Maisy. Clearing his head, Jack rushed to the source of the voice and found Maisy conversing with the photography director over the pictures she had taken during the practice. Jack couldn't do anything in that moment lest Jack wanted to risk exposing his plan to the director, so he was content to watch for several moments. His frown transformed into a smile as he watched how her lightly freckled cheeks lifted every time she spread her lips to reveal her perfect, white teeth or how she sometimes lifted her manicured nails to her nose to stifle her laughter.

The photographer director left after a while, leaving Maisy alone. Jack immediately placed his back to a nearby wall and kept perfectly still to prevent the photographer director from noticing him as he passed. He relaxed his body once the photographer was safe and revealed himself from his hiding spot.

"Hey, Maisy!" he said, shoving his hand into his pocket, trying to act natural despite feeling his heart skip a beat or two.

"Hey, Jack! I saw you during practice. You looked good out there. Do you feel ready to face the Rangers?"

"Yeah, yeah … but, umm … I wanted to come and apologize again and see if I could get your number."

"My number?" Maisy asked as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Aren't most guys supposed to pull out some cheesy pick-up line like, 'Are you a camera? Every time I look at you, I smile.' I heard that one a lot while I was a student."

"No, no, nothing like that. I'm not that kind of guy," Jack reassured, keeping Nico's advice at the front of his mind. "Just like a pair of friends going to get lunch or something. That's not awkward, right?"

"I thought you hockey-types usually go after the long-legged, skinny, blonde model-type of girls."

"Some do, but not all. I prefer a girl more like you — a short and feisty one who looks, well, healthy."

Maisy smiled a bit before placing her camera bag on the floor and pulling out a pen and paper from a small side pocket. "I suppose we need to test your theory of not being like other guys."

"I should get going," she continued, handing Jack a neatly folded paper square. "There's still a few more things I need to learn before heading home. But if you ever get bored, hungry, or bored, text me, and maybe we could do something together."

Jack unfolded the paper and smiled at the pristine handwriting that wrote out Maisy's numbers. He could hear Nico's voice in his head, admonishing him for putting himself in a situation that would probably end up with either the Devils reprimanding Maisy, Jack, or both. But Jack's consciousness quickly shooed Nico away like an exasperated linesman trying to break up a scrum and didn't get paid enough. He knew that he needed to be careful moving forward. Still, he wanted to learn more about Maisy and perhaps himself, particularly if he had never felt this way about a girl. His gaze lifted once more to see the steel doors of the elevator closing on Maisy's visage as she waved to him.

"Win against the Rangers for me!"

A hockey photographer's life was unlike your typical 9-5. Many artists worked long nights, reviewing their photos and ensuring that everything looked right before submitting them to the team, league, or even Getty Images. Thankfully, Maisy would be able to make it home before the sunset. Thom, Nick, and the other members of the Creative Team wanted Maisy to stick around so that she could learn more about how the team would use her pictures to create art for the club. It was interesting, but Maisy couldn't wait to return to her cozy, warm apartment and change into something more comfortable.

She hung her keyfob on a mahogany key rack in the entryway and placed her bags near the little island in the kitchen before opening the small door protecting the closet in her one-bedroom apartment. There were clothes of various colors and textures sticking out from every angle in the little shoebox. The accommodations worked so well for Maisy while she was studying at university. Still, she was starting to get tired of the lack of space and decided to save up enough money to move out while she struggled to hold back the clothing avalanche that was threatening to spill over. Once Maisy felt the disaster subsided, she stepped back and looked at the mess for anything that looked clean and comfortable. Eventually, her eyes picked up a distressed band tee and pair of shorts. As Maisy finished putting on her shorts, her phone rang from the kitchen, catching her attention. A picture of her and her father standing in front of the wrought-iron Rutgers gate leading to the campus with her diploma popped up on the screen, causing Maisy to smile. Mr. Pearson had long since gone gray, and he was even considering retirement, but his eyes and smile still retained that same energy he had all those years ago.

"Hi, Daddy!" Maisy stated after a moment of reminiscing.

"Hi, Mace! Is this a good time to talk?"

"Yeah, I figured you would be calling. I just got home from the Prudential Center."

"Really, I never would have guessed! Anyway, how was your first day of work? Did you meet any cute hockey players?"

"DAD!"

Maisy and her parents talked well into the evening about everything, how she met some of the team, loved her new co-workers, and was happy to do something she loved. Once she had given her parents a play-by-play, her mother started a saga about how she ran into a book club member at the grocery store, which Maisy pushed to the back of her mind while searching her refrigerator for something quick she could make for dinner. As her mother babbled, Jack was the only thing she had on her mind. It felt like there was a massive debate going on inside her head. One side of her wanted to tell everyone that she had given her phone number to Jack Hughes, the Jack Hughes. Another part told her to keep things on the down low because it wasn't very professional for her to rush into a workplace situationship on her first day at her big-girl job. It didn't hurt that Jack Hughes had her phone number. All she needed to do is be careful when approaching this situation.

"Maisy, are you there?" her mother asked, interrupting Maisy's train of thought.

"Yeah, I'm here. I'm probably just tired from a long day of work."

"Alright, then, we should probably let you go. But we want to see you the next time the Devils have the day off!"

"Sounds good. I'll call you when I have more information. Love you!"

"Love you, too! Have a good night!"

Maisy disconnected and breathed a sigh of relief that her mother didn't pry any further like a detective interrogating a homicide suspect. She wouldn't know what to say if anybody asked her about her feelings for Jack, so it is best to keep things quiet for now. After sifting through various bottles and containers of Tupperware, Maisy finally settled on a container of sesame chicken from yesterday that she should probably hurry up and get rid of. With a belly full of food and an episode of her favorite reality blaring on the TV, Jack had almost faded into the back of Maisy's mind until her phone vibrated with a text message.

Jack Sent at 9:30 pm Hi, Maisy. It's Jack. 🙂

Maisy glanced over the phone, thinking it was probably her parents or some promotional text message from a store that she had forgotten to opt out of. But when her brain registered what the message said and who the sender was, she immediately sprung from her stupor and into action. Jack Hughes was texting her, which meant that it was go time. A thousand thoughts danced around Maisy's head as she attempted to figure out how she was supposed to handle this situation. Eventually, she took a deep breath and typed a generic greeting back before shutting off her phone for the night.

She plugged her phone into the little floating shelf beside her and immediately climbed into bed. Starting your dream job and meeting one of your favorite players, who also turned out to be super cool and accepted your phone number, takes a lot out of a girl. And Maisy wanted nothing more than this day to end. But as she laid her head down on her pillow and closed her eyes, she couldn't help but wonder if she was doing the right thing.

The Rangers game eventually came around, and the Prudential Center filled up with equal parts Devils and Blueshirts fans. Being the only member of the photography team to appear in the public eye, Maisy decided to dress up a little bit with a powder blue blouse and a pair of matching nude pants and heels. She waved to the security guards, who stood outside the staff entrance in their neon yellow jackets, feeling very proud and sophisticated as she swiped her keycard to enter the building. Ordinarily, she would be standing in line with the other fans with her father's old Martin Brodeur jersey. But tonight was Maisy's night to shine, to show how hard she worked over the years to obtain this position.

Maisy journeyed up to the Broadcast Floor, where Nick, Thom, and everyone else were busy preparing for the game. She retrieved her setup from the equipment lockers, activated the appropriate settings, and returned to take pictures of the players entering the arena. Jack hadn't responded to her message from last night, so Maisy figured that he understood that she didn't want to rush into this relationship. However, that didn't stop her stomach from threatening to spill the contents of her lunch in the streets.

After moments, she noticed movement across the parking lot, where the players traditionally parked their cars. Her eyes adjusted a bit and discerned the slicked dark brown hair of Brendan Smith, poking out from the top of his BMW driver-side door. Maisy smiled as she recalled rumors she had seen online of the rosy-cheeked Brendan, one of the team's more organized and punctual guys. He smiled at her and greeted her with a raise of his coffee cup before heading inside the stadium with the help of the security team. One by one, the players began to trickle in after Brendan – Dougie, Jonas, Nico, the other Nico, and Vtek. However, there was no sign of Jack. Players generally had to be at the arena three or four hours ahead of game time to prepare for the match, and Jack was cutting it real close. Maisy entered a vicious cycle of checking the time and lifting her head again. His delay was not helping Maisy's already heightened anxiety as she debated what she should do about the situation. She had his phone number and could certainly text him.

Thankfully, there was no need for intervention as Jack and another player, whom Maisy identified as Luke upon closer inspection, came running up to the door. She took a snapshot and shouted, "You're late!"

"Blame Luke!" a breathless Jack called back as he gently shoved his brother into the hallway.

Maisy giggled as she took one last photo and followed the Hughes brothers into the stadium. All the players disappeared into their locker room to dress for warm-ups while Maisy went to the ground floor to take pictures of the fans in the stands. It wasn't much longer afterward that the Rangers and Devils emerged to warm up for the game, and a deluge of fans descended upon the glass to try and compete for either a stick or a puck. As Maisy stuck her lens through the hole in the glass, Jack skated up to her and placed his face right up to the lens, giving him a fishbowl appearance. She smirked, turning off the flash and taking the picture of Jack for posterity.

Jack skated away to join the other players in helping Vancek and Daws warm up and the goal. The Devils won 2-1, causing the Devils fans in the building to leap from their seats in celebration. They hugged and high-fived each other as the disgruntled Rangers fans gathered their things to head back over the river. Meanwhile, the elated Devils lept from their bench to give Daws his congratulatory head bumps and the Blueshirts filed silently back into their locker room.

The games came and went over the proceeding months. As planned, New Jersey returned with a vengeance from their elimination during last year's Playoffs. There were a few teams who had the Devils' number. But the boys in red did their best to hold on and secured the second spot in the Metropolitan Division. However, that wasn't the only big narrative that circled through Newark that fall. Despite their promise to remain just friends, Jack and Maisy slowly started to break their boundaries one by one. They didn't do it outright to avoid suspicion, but rumors about their respective departments were circulating. Their families, friends, and co-workers could see it in how they smiled at each other, or they always seemed to find time to talk

As everyone suspected, Maisy and Jack's relationship grew underneath the surface. Their first date was pretty simple because they didn't want anyone – or even themselves, for that matter – to know that they had feelings for each other. It wasn't a big deal or anything. Jack invited Maisy for a hike and picnic at the South Mountain Reservation in West Orange. Both of them rationalized that there was nothing wrong with them getting a little exercise, particularly considering that Jack is a professional athlete and food was necessary for the body to rebuild muscle after exercise. There was nothing romantic about Jack and Maisy sitting together, surrounded by the beautiful leaves, laughing and conversing away from the prying eyes of the fans and the Devils organization.

There was one problem, though. These casual dates, which were nothing more than two friends and co-workers hanging out, soon became a pattern. Jack and Maisy would lie awake at night, contemplating their mistakes and how they should proceed. One day, on a team break day, Maisy was lying on her sofa, listening to music and surfing social media, when a text came in from Jack.

Jack Sent at 1:05 pm I'm bored. Do you want to go out and do something?

Maisy smiled as she sat up and clicked the notification on the top of her phone. She asked what Jack wanted to do, and Jack said he wanted to go to the Newark Museum of Art. Maisy pursed her lips at this idea. It wasn't the fact that she didn't want to go to the Museum. She still had many friends from when she interned there during her college years and popped in occasionally to see them and what new exhibits the facility has. But Jack never showed an overt interest in art. He thought Maisy had incredible talent and sometimes asked her about different photography terminology. Besides, he seemed more than content hanging with his brother or playing video games — typical guy things. Maisy was still intrigued all the same.

Jack Sent at 1:05 pm I just thought it would be fun.

Maisy just shrugged her shoulders and found a cute outfit before heading out to the Museum as planned. She pulled into the small parking lot beside the old stone building and selected a spot next to Jack's dark gray Mercedes-Benz Sedan. Despite its mundane appearance, the Newark Museum of Art had a lot of space and held tons of exhibits. Maisy opened the door and approached the white desk in the middle of the foyer, where a man and woman sat behind a glass countertop.

"Well, if it isn't Miss Maisy!" the gentleman exclaimed, causing the woman to look up from whatever she was doing on her computer. "Have you come back to visit the little people?"

"You're never little to me," Maisy replied, pulling out a pamphlet from the plastic holder on the countertop and opening it. "I'm here to meet a friend. Are there any new exhibits that I should know about?"

"There is a new exhibit that documents art from various cultures in America during the 20th and 21st century that I think you may like," the woman said, standing up and pointing to the page Maisy had open in the pamphlet.

"Sounds cool! It was nice to see you guys again!" Maisy responded as he waved goodbye and headed to the large, colorful arches leading to the exhibits.

"Of course! Don't be shy and come see us again!" the man and woman replied as they returned to work.

Maisy stepped onto the modern exhibit floor and wandered through some individual pieces as she examined the map. A lot had changed since she was just a teenager, working there to help stage pieces, sell tickets, and direct to the people where the bathrooms were. However, there was one thing that stayed the same: its eccentricity. Public historians had one main job, and that was to make history more accessible to the public. The Museum's art director certainly had that covered by ensuring that every exhibit was fun, interactive, and different than the last. Some say that it is a bit tacky and prefer the more sophisticated stylings of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. But it worked for the everyday citizens of Newark, got more people in the building, and made the place feel a bit more homey.

Maisy had no idea where Jack was in this whimsical maze, but that gave her more reason to wander around and see the Museum. She took the advice of the guides sitting at the front desk and visited the exhibit on Modern American Art. It was a gorgeous exhibit that featured art from many of the country's minority populations, from Indigenous Art to the Harlem Renaissance. Maisy stopped and looked at each piece of art, admiring the mediums and use of color as she wandered the different halls. She had almost forgotten about Jack until she saw him staring at a statue of Aphrodite of Knidos in an ongoing exhibit about ancient art history. Jack had his face turned to the installment, but Maisy could tell he put more effort into his appearance today. It wasn't that Jack was unclean or anything. As someone who spent half of his week in his suit and another half under several layers of padding, Jack usually liked to dress down on his days off, typically wearing a basic T-shirt and jeans. However, today, Jack looked extremely dashing with his brown hair brushed back, matching black shirt and pants, and matching gray sweater.

Maisy joined Jack at his side. "It's quite beautiful, isn't it?"

"Even though she's missing her head and limbs, you can still see there is beauty in how much care the sculptor put into the piece," Jack responded.

Afterward, there was an awkward science between the two, and a feeling of easiness settled into Maisy's stomach. There was a reason why a well-dressed Jack had brought her to a place that played such an essential part in Maisy's life for several years. The only problem was that Maisy did not know whether this was a good or bad sign.

"She kind of reminds me of you," Jack finally said.

"What do you mean?"

"Over the past few months, I have gotten to know Maisy, the photographer. But I haven't gotten to know the other sides of Maisy in the past few months. I'm pretty sure everyone has seen it, but I don't think we can remain friends — or at least not remain friends without acknowledging our underlying feelings."

Maisy shifted the strap on her purse and looked down at her ballet flats. This is the one thing she feared. She promised herself that she would never allow herself to land in this position when she accepted Jack's phone number. He was super sweet and did so much for her. He made her laugh, made it a point to talk to her every day after every game, and checked up on her whenever they had the day off. Maisy had written off the behavior as Jack just trying to be excellent. However, looking back on everything, she considered whether Jack developed feelings for her, she developed feelings for him or both. The problem was that if she indulged in these affections, she might lose the job she had worked so hard to obtain.

Was she ready to take this leap?

Jack's gray-colored eyes watched Maisy as she considered her options. "What are you thinking?"

"I think that's a lot to ask for. Surely, you know what happens to employees, particularly female employees, to get involved with players!" Maisy replied.

"Yeah, I have. And I'm not suggesting that you jump right into a relationship with me, but it would be a bad idea for us to let these feelings foster.

Maisy took a deep breath and asked, "What if I did take that chance?"

"Are you sure about that?" inquired Jack.

"Yes, I am definitely sure," Maisy finally confessed, letting go of her purse strap and relaxing her shoulders. "I have spent all of my life preparing for this job. Not once have I ever had time to think about the fact that this job is not guaranteed. And if I am ever going to let go of my fears of losing this job, I have to let go of my attachment to this job. And there's no one I would rather risk my job for than you, Mr. Hughes."

A large smile appeared on Jack's face as he grabbed Maisy's hand to bring her closer. Maisy could feel the calluses on his fingers, where he had spent so many days learning how to shoot pucks with his father and brothers on the homemade pond in their backyard. Yet, they were gentle and soft, reassuring Maisy that her decision would not go to waste. "Well, then, I think we should reintroduce ourselves," Jack joked. "My name is Jack Hughes, and I'm Maisy Pearson's boyfriend."

"It's nice to meet you, Jack Hughes. My name is Maisy Pearson, your girlfriend," Maisy replied with a giggle.

Without a moment's hesitation, Jack pulled Maisy in for a kiss. It all happened quickly, but it felt natural, like their bodies had been waiting for this moment for months. Maisy softly smiled, and her eyes fluttered shut as her mind began to process the sensation of Jack's lips being against hers. The kiss was warm and tender but delicate and tempting. It would be remiss of her to say that she didn't want more. She could see images of her and Jack sharing a passionate kiss several months later when their relationship was much more profound, and they weren't worried about any potential repercussions because of Maisy's job. For now, though, Jack's kiss was just enough to let Maisy know that there was something more that they could explore.

After a few moments, Jack broke off the kiss and offered Maisy his elbow. "Now that is settled, why don't you show me around the Museum? I hate to admit, but I kind of pulled that Aphrodite thing out of my ass."

"Oh, that's really nice to say to your new girlfriend!" quipped Maisy, giving Jack's shoulder a little slap as she linked her arm with Jack's.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Jack said. "Everything that I said was true. It was just a little hard to make up on the fly because I'm not good at this art thing at all."

"What color do yellow and blue make?"

"Uh, blue?"

"Look, you're learning!"

"Well, it's easy when you have such a smart and beautiful teacher!" Jack answered as he escorted Maisy deeper into the Museum and the great unknown.

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novelistrry · 11 months

Text

Harry is a prince, Y/N is a princess, and Harry is insufferable.

Tropes: Enemies to lovers, forced proximity, tension, etc.

Word Count: 3k

Disclaimer: This is an ongoing blurb. I do write full fics, but this blurb will have multiple parts and be posted in between fics (I am shooting for about 8-10 depending on the word count of each blurb).

Y/N hated Harry.

So when her handmaid had told her summertime was officially in action, and she knew what summertime brought, Y/N wanted to stomp her foot like a child and throw herself onto the floor.

Sweat accumulated in the pits of her palms, a telling sign that she was nervous, though she would never say that to Dorothea or let it be known to Harry because he would never let her live it down.

See, Y/N and Harry were similar in two ways. One, they were both heir to a royal bloodline. And two, they were both so, so stubborn.

____

Dear Prince Harry,

I know our royal household has been working gravely to make certain you and your family have a wonderful stay over the summer, as they have done every summer for the past two years—

Quickly, she jumped up and grabbed the letter, crumpling it in her hands. The ink was so fresh it smeared all over her hands with her rush, and when she looked to see him standing under the doorway, she noted that not a thing about him had changed. He stood with that same arrogance in his posture, his eyes were still that deep sea green, and his lips, chin, and jaw were as beautiful (if not more) as the last time she saw him.

Quirking his eyebrows, he couldn’t help himself. “Now I need to know what was in that letter you were writing. Are you in love, my dear Y/N.”

“It wasn’t for you—” She began, getting cut off by the prince.

“It clearly says ‘Dear Prince Harry, I am sitting here, writing to y—”

Within under a second, she was turning on her heels to face him once more and trying to pry the letter from his fingers to no avail. She didn’t think she could handle him reading the letter out loud once more, so she covered her ears and began begging him to stop. The worst part was the feeling she had in her gut, the feeling one gets in their gut and their throat before the tears start forming in their eyes. While Harry had many horrid qualities about him, one of her terrible qualities were tears that formed, not out of sadness, but out of anger. Deeply, she inhaled to smooth out her thoughts and quiet her mind. “Stop, stop, stop.”

Those two words made her want to do it— stick her hand in his pocket and fish the letter out, tear it to little tiny pieces, and then stomp on the shreds of paper right in front of him, but she wouldn’t do it because she, unlike him, did not lack manners.

He paused for a moment, searching for the words, “I am not to be married, Y/N.”

Y/N would never admit it, but the first time she ever met Harry, she was taken with him. And then he opened his mouth, all-knowing and witty bordering intolerable.

“Well, then,” Y/N didn’t quite know what to say in response, seeming to be more uncomfortable with the idea of him getting married than he was.

And when he finally spoke, his lips moved against her ear, “I am going to enjoy playing with you this summer, Y/N.”

She wanted to scream. She almost did.

Instead she took a step back, gasping and brushing out the wrinkles in her dress, “I absolutely loathe you.”

“I love that you loathe me,” he replied before turning on his heels and walking out of the library.

Y/N knew it was going to be a long summer filled with taunts from Harry.

And much to her dismay, that night she dreamed about his lips pressing against her.

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