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imaginespazzi · 3 months

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Part 1: Simple Things

Masterlist - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9

Cause your presence still lingers here (it won't leave me alone)

(In which a procrastinating writer starts another series to continuously procrastinate on)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining

Words: 5.8K (lowkey shocked I managed that)

TW: Swearing (I think that's it?)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 Look at me not being a liar! I'mma try to be good with updates but we all know me. This first chapter is mainly buildup and it's not my favorite but it's important to get the plot rolling. I know very little about California and it's going to become more and more apparent throughout this series so everyone who knows Cali, just pretend thanks! Did I edit? Yes. Are there probably still mistakes? Also yes. As always, let me know what you liked, what you disliked, and what you wanna see next!

February 2033

“Anywhere but GSV,” Paige says adamantly, staring at the white wall in front of her, instead of her exasperated agent.

Talia lets out a deep sigh, perfectly manicured sharp red nails tapping incessantly against her desk. For the most part, Paige is a dream client and when Talia says jump, she says how high. It’s easy to trust Talia’s vision when she hasn’t let her down once since Paige’s management company has assigned her to their basketball sensation. But most of those decisions had been about endorsement opportunities, opportunities that wouldn’t have other ramifications on the rest of Paige’s life, opportunities that didn’t come with personal consequences.

“Paige-”

“How about the Sparks?”

“They’re not offering nearly as much.”

“I’m okay with taking a pay-.”

“You do not pay me as much as you do for me to let you finish such a stupid sentence.”

“Fine,” Paige spins around in her swivel chair, “you’re telling me nobody else is offering me anything as big as GSV.”

“Well I mean Indiana…” Talia trails off, barely able to hide an impish grin at Paige’s pronounced eyeroll, “and of course you could always just stay in Dallas.”

Paige winces at the mention of the current team. With one championship and two MVP campaigns under her belt, it would be incorrect to say her time with the Wings hadn’t been fruitful but she’d never felt quite at home here. And that had been before the personnel changes had hit Dallas and suddenly, the team coming off a near perfect season with a trophy in their hand, was struggling to keep themselves in playoff contention. Paige had stuck it out two more seasons after, a testament to her loyal nature and desire to start and finish her career at the same place like many legends had done but ultimately enough had been enough and she’s come to terms with the fact that she’s not meant to be a part of the Wings forever.

“Can’t you try talking to the Sparks again?” she says, hands massaging her temple as she resorts to begging, “it’s fucking L.A. they’ve got to have some money lying around somewhere.”

“Even if they did, you and I both know the Sparks aren’t a good fit basketball wise either. GSV has everything you’re looking for. They need a PG and you need a championship contender who’s offering you a deal like they are. You can’t throw all of that away just because-��, Talia bites her lip, catching herself before she can vocalise out loud the real reason they’re having such a complicated conversation about what should be a simple decision.

Paige swallows uncomfortably, skin prickling with that all too familiar fire that spreads through her veins every time her past brushes a little too close to her present. It would be impossible to keep them from ever colliding, but for almost a decade now, Paige has managed to keep them separate beyond absolute necessity. She’s done the cordial handshakes when the Wings played the Valkyries and given due diligent praise when the media had asked about the competition, but that was it. More than that would have been like willingly walking into a fire with kerosene all over her body. And Paige can’t do that, not when the burn marks from years and years ago, still haven’t healed.

“Team chemistry is important,” Paige says finally, “I might be an on-court fit at GSV but that won’t matter if it’s a disaster off the court.”

Talia sighs and Paige can tell she’s fighting the urge to whack her head against her desk, “it’s been years Paige. You've lived a whole life without each other. The two of you are adults. You’re professionals and you’re two of the best goddamn players in the league. You have the same goal; you want to win. You don’t think you can put that behind you to get you both what you want?”

You've lived a whole life without each other

It’s like a well-aimed arrow that barely breaks skin but shatters something underneath, something buried deep within, something she should have gotten rid of years ago but hasn’t been able to let go of yet. Something that feels a lot like a forever she’d never gotten to live out and an always that had flown out of her reach. And Paige knows nobody lives the life they’d expected to live at fifteen or even eighteen but the truth is that most of her dreams had come true. The only thing missing was the person she’d expected to be there by her side when they did.

“Okay listen,” Talia begins again, “here’s what’s gonna happen.”

“Bossy,” Paige smirks, bracing herself, knowing she’s not about to like the next words out of Talia’s mouth.

“You’re going to go to San Francisco,” the older woman raises a silencing hand the minute Paige tries to protest, “you’re going to meet the front office, you’re going to meet the GM and you’re going to tour their facilities. And if after talking with them and seeing all they have to offer, if it’s still not enough to counter having to play with her, then we can revisit this conversation.”

“Can I say no?” Paige tilts her head with a sigh.

Talia smirks and it’s enough for Paige to let her head finally hit the table, “your flight leaves in two days.”

***

Azzi wakes up to a light weight sprawled over her back and tiny fingers rubbing circles against her temple. She can’t help but smile, keeping her eyes closed and listening to the sound of her daughter’s quiet breathing as the little girl continues her ministrations. It’s a new skill she’s been taught, to wake her mom up like this instead of screaming. So far, Azzi think’s it’s been a successful transition.

“Mama,” Stephie whispers in Azzi’s ear, “are you awake yet cause I really really want waffles.”

Azzi laughs, finally flipping herself over and Stephie squeals as she goes from on top of her mother, to landing on the bed, “I thought you said you wanted pancakes last night?”

“I did,” a thoughtful look crosses the five-year-old's eyes, “I think I changed my mind.”

“You think?” Azzi suppresses a smile. It’s uncanny really how she’d given birth to her perfect mini-me. The moment the nurses had placed the tiny little creature into her waiting hands, she’d noticed immediately how much it felt like looking through a door into her childhood. And with every passing day, it seems Stephie morphs more and more into Azzi. From the way her face betrays her every emotion to the way she can’t make a decision to save her life, it’s all Azzi and really it makes sense, because Stephie is all Azzi’s.

“Yes,” Stephie nods matter-of-factly as she sits up onto her knee and pulls at Azzi’s blanket, “so can you get up and make me waffles now?”

“Oh of course I can, your highness,” Azzi says dramatically, rising off the bed and letting Stephie climb onto her back, “would you like chocolate sauce or maple syrup with that your majesty?”

Stephie groans, burying her face in Azzi’s neck as if her mother has asked her to make the most difficult decision in the world. They settle into their morning routine, Stephie brushing her teeth as Azzi goes through her meticulous skin care regiment, occasionally dabbing little bits of this and that on her daughter’s skin, eliciting soft giggles from the little girl. It’s her favourite sound in the entire world. Azzi’s life isn’t perfect and there’s a million what if’s, one bigger than all of the others, that plague her mind sometimes but then she looks at Stephie, and she knows she wouldn’t change a single decision she’d made. Because they’ve all led to this moment, 9 am on a Friday, making waffle batter as her five-year old sits on the counter-top. It’s not everything but it’s enough.

The frantic sound of a door being haphazardly slammed open has both Stephie and Azzi startled, until Colleen comes bursting through it like a tornado.

“Oh thank god you’re awake,” Azzi’s best friend and manager says, out of breath, as she throws her car keys on the kitchen table.

“Hi Aunty Leen,” Stephie grins, waffle batter all over her mouth as she continues to dip and lick.

“Hey kiddo,” Colleen ruffles Stephie’s hair before sitting down and staring pointedly up at Azzi, “you might wanna sit down for this. I have news.”

“Sorry to break it to you Collen but your new h-o-o-k-u-p-s are not sit-down-newsworthy,” Azzi smirks as Colleen scrunches up her nose trying to keep up with the spelling.

“Oh trust me Az, I wish this was about my h-o-o- whatever,” Colleen takes a deep breath, “GSV is meeting with a potential point guard this week.”

“I would hope so. We really need a PG if we’re gonna redeem ourselves next season.”

“Right, well- you see- the thing is-”

“Today if you can please Colleen,” but there’s this knot forming in the pit of her stomach. Her sixth sense that’s been dormant for years is prickling and if she’s honest with herself, Azzi knows the next words that are about to come out of Colleen’s mouth before her best friend has even said them.

“GSV wants to sign Paige,” Colleen says slowly.

For a moment there’s silence and it’s ridiculous how all it takes is her name for Azzi’s mind to start flipping through pages and pages of a photo album she’s buried deep in the treasure chest of her mind. And for a second, she allows herself to get lost in a flood of everything we could have been until the sting of her hand slipping against the waffle iron jolts her back to reality.

“Fuck,” she curses, immedaitely blowing at her fingers. It does nothing. She should know by now that when things burn, the flames might die out, but even the ashes remain on fire.

“Bad word Mama,” Stephie chides immediately, unaware that her mother’s world has just been thrown off balance, “you owe me a kiss.”

She juts her cheek out and Azzi complies, trying to ignore the way her heart is desperately trying to beat out of her chest. It only calms down a little when Stephie presses a kiss of her own against Azzi’s cheek.

“Sorry sweetheart, mama’s bad, Here can you mix this batter for me,” Azzi whispers to the younger girl, distracting her child with something to do, before rounding on her best friend, “she can’t come here.”

Colleen sighs, getting comfortable in her chair, “unfortunately I don’t think you have much choice.”

“The h-” Azzi cuts herself off, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, “the haystack I don’t. This is my team and I don’t want her on it and I’m gonna walk into Ohemaa’s office and tell her exactly that.”

“Right and what exactly are you going to tell her when she asks you why you don’t want the best point guard in the league on your team Azzi? Your team, who mind you, lost in the finals last year because you didn’t have a point guard.”

Azzi flinches, gritting her teeth, both at the reminder of the loss that had happened not long enough ago and the fact that she couldn’t very well go into her boss’s office and blurt out the truth about a tragic relationship that had lived and died in secret.

“It's a bad idea, the two of us- we’ll kill each other Colleen,” she struggles to string the words together, swallowing away the we already have that tastes like bile on the tip of her tongue.

“Well you’re gonna have to learn not to,” Colleen says decisively, slipping from being Azzi’s best friend to her manager, “because you and I both know that if you want GSV to win another championship, you’re going to need her.”

“Are you my manager or GSV’s,” Azzi grunts, rubbing a tired hand against her forehead.

Colleen smiles, “it’s the same thing isn’t it? What’s good for GSV is good for you. And we all know the two of you thrive on the court together.”

“We did. Past tense,” the admission falls like lava from Azzi’s lips, singeing the edges of her mouth as everything that she’d let simmer underneath threatens to bubble over, “there’s no guarantee we still will. Besides, it's all a moot point anyways because she would never agree.”

“Wouldn’t she?” Colleen cocks an eyebrow and Azzi groans at the rhetorical question, waiting for the inevitable other shoe to drop, “because last I checked, she’s flying into San Francisco tomorrow.”

***

Paige has a problem. A really big fuck i really want to be a golden state valkyrie type of problem. She’d fought it every step of the way since she’d landed in San Francisco. Something about the city felt like it was bursting with basketball. The drive from the airport into Oakland had been bursting with murals of the Warriors and the Valkyries and for a split second, Paige can see her own face up on the billboards in a #5 Valkyries jersey. She just doesn’t know if it she can imagine herself next to the woman in #35 again, the woman whose smile in the posters is exactly as she remembers it to have been like when it was pressed into Paige’s skin every night almost a decade ago.

On top of that, Omehaa Nyanin had seemed to know exactly what made Paige Bueckers, the basketball player, tick. Every argument Paige had about why she shouldn’t be Valkyrie, the woman had a counter ready, as if she’d already anticipated exactly what the blonde would say. The Valkyrie coach had been even more prepared with videos of their offensive and defensive sets and how they fit in tandem with Paige’s own skill set, all ready to show off the minute she had walked through the door. It should be the easiest decision in the world to let herself just belong to this world that is screaming her name but there’s a rope around her waist trying to tug her back to safety, trying to tug her away from dousing her still-open wounds in salt.

Sighing, Paige lets herself into what she’s been told is called the “chill area”. Coach had offered to give her a tour of the facilities herself but Paige had declined, asking instead for her former UConn teammate and currently Valkyrie centre Jana El Alfy to do the honours, desperate for a familiar face who knew her history to bounce her thoughts off. It clearly wasn’t what the woman had wanted, but considering she was trying to convince Paige to choose them, whatever the blonde wanted, she was going to get. Massaging her temples at this irritating predicament she’s unwillingly found herself in, Paige’s head rolls back against the back of the chair, eyes closing involuntarily.

“You’re not supposed to sleep in here,” a tiny voice echoes and Paige almost jumps out her skin in shock.

“Fucking hell,” she curses as her eyes fall upon a little girl who seems to have materialized out of nowhere, “shit kid, you scared me.”

The child scrunches her nose and Paige feels her heart beat start to quicken as recognition settles in. She knows this little girl, has seen her on the sidelines at countless games and just like every other time, all she can think of is just how much this child resembles the future Paige had once believed would be hers.

“You owe me three kisses,” the girl says matter-of-factly, her tone so similar to her mothers. It shouldn’t surprise Paige, not when the kid has those same dark curls, those same doey brown eyes, that same nose scrunch.

“I owe you three kisses?” Paige repeats.

The girl rolls her eyes letting out a sigh far too grave for someone of her age, “yes. Mama says whenever someone says a bad word around me, they have to give me a kiss. You said three bad words, so you owe me three kisses.”

“And what does Mama say about asking strangers for kisses?”

“Stranger danger duh silly,” the child puts her hands on her hips, tilting her head as she looks at Paige with a far too familiar expression, “but you’re not a stranger.”

Paige purses her lips, “I’m not?”

“You’re Paige Bueckers. I’ve seen you at Mama’s games and Nanna and Pops have pictures of you in their house,” she stops, staring accusingly, “you don’t know who I am? Did you forget me?”

And Paige doesn’t know what catches her off guard more. The casual mention of a house that used to feel like a home, of people that used to feel like family or the fact that, that puppy dog stare still has the exact same effect on her that it did years ago, even if the owner of said eyes is different.

“Of course I didn’t forget you. You’re Stephanie,” Paige says softly, trying to muster a smile as she adds the last name, “Stephanie Fudd.”

“Stephanie Katarina Fudd,” comes the immediate correction, “but everybody calls me Stephie,” tiny hands wrap around Paige’s neck as Stephie climbs on to her lap, tapping a finger on her left cheek as she smiles up at Paige, “so now can I have my kisses?”

Slowly, Paige presses three featherlight kisses against the little girl’s cheek and when Stephie squeals in delight, she wishes she could record it. Someone somewhere is playing a practical joke on her, Paige is sure of it. Because all of a sudden, all the little things she’s been collecting as to reasons why she might just like the Bay Area are starting to feel insignificant in front of this one, in front of Stephie and her innocent smile and the way her free hand is curled around Paige’s neck as if she’ll hold on forever. And the world is definitely playing a cruel prank on her because Stephie can’t be the reason Paige wants to stay, not when her mother’s the reason Paige needs to go.

“Your Mama just lets you run around the building like this?” Paige asks, trying to focus on Stephie instead of the turmoil in her brain.

Stephie smiles sheepishly, “well I was ‘posed to stay with Aunty Leen while Mama talks to Miss O but then Aunty Leen got a call and I was bored so I came here.”

It doesn’t take Paige too long to decipher that Miss O must be Omehaa, but she’s stuck on who the hell Aunty Leen could be. She’s distinctly aware that her skin has no right to prickle, her hands have no right to sweat, her stomach has no right to knot, she has no right to feel anything when it comes to Stephie’s mother. But jealousy floods through her anyways.

“Who is Aunty Leen?” Paige asks and then mentally slaps herself for it.

“Aunty Leen is Aunty Leen,” Stephie explains unhelpfully, “so Miss Buecks-”

“Bueckers.”

Stephie shoots her an unimpressed look, “same things Miss Buecks. Are you here to join Mama’s team?”

“I-” Paige scratches her neck, only slightly taken aback by the direct question, “I don’t know.”

“You should,” Stephies says decisively, “Mama’s team is the best team in the world and Mama’s the best player in the whole wide world.”

Paige can’t help but smile at Stephie’s loyalty, “so why does her team need me then?”

Stephie looks contemplative for a moment before she uses her index finger to beckon Paige towards her, “can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course you can,” Paige says, leaning her ear down so Stephie can whisper into it.

“Don’t tell anyone but you’re my second favourite player.”

Paige swears her heart feels like it might burst. She’s been plenty of people’s favourite player and it’s always been nice to hear. But somehow, all of that seems to pale in comparison to being Stephie’s second favourite player.

“Why’s that a secret?” she asks softly.

“Cause you play for the wrong team silly. I can’t cheer for not Mama’s team,” Stephie huffs and then her eyes twinkle, “that’s why you should play for Mama’s team and then I can support you!”

“Can’t argue with that logic,” Paige concedes, battling against the part of her brain that’s conjuring up an image of Stephie on the sidelines, cheering for Paige.

“What’s log-ic?” Stephie asks.

“Just means you’re a really smart kid,” Paige says, tapping the little girl’s nose. Her head is ringing with warning bells because this floaty feeling of belonging that’s encompassed in this little bubble she’s found herself in with Stephie is not one she’s allowed to feel, not now, not ever.

“STEPHIE,” a shrill voice echoes outside and Stephie immediately dives into Paige’s neck, hiding herself in the crook of it as a frazzled woman bursts through the door. Her eyes soften when they fall on Paige and the blonde can’t help the caught expression that filters on her face. She knows she’s done nothing wrong; Stephie had been the one to find her after all. But perhaps it’s because she’s scared Colleen will take one look at her and see that tiny rebellious part of her that wants to fight what’s coming next, wants to fight the woman who’s going to take Stephie away from her. Paige isn’t one to get attached easily. It had only ever happened once before when she was fifteen and she’d just known that the girl shooting three’s next to her on the court was meant to be in her life in one way or another. But things had been simple then. Nothing was simple now.

“Stephie,” Colleen says slowly, “what have I told you about running away from me?”

Stephie peeks her head out from Paige’s chest, a coy smirk playing on her lips, “not to do it? But you were boring me Aunty Leen.”

Oh that’s Aunty Leen, Paige thinks and she absolutely should not let out a sigh of relief at that but she does anyway.

“I was on the phone for two minutes, Steph.”

“Two minutes too long,” Stephie counters and Paige has to stifle a laugh.

Colleen rolls her eyes before holding out a hand, “well your Mama’s nearly done so we have to get going kiddo.”

“Can Miss Buecks come with us?” Stephie asks innocently and both Colleen and Paige freeze.

“I don’t think-”

“I’m not sure-”

They both begin before their eyes flicker to each other and they can’t help but smile. It’s funny how relationships work, how one snapped string can cause a whole web to dissolve, no matter how hard everyone involved had tried to make it work.

“I’m waiting to meet someone sweetheart so I can’t come right now,” Paige explains, “but maybe next time?”

And she shouldn’t add that last part, not when Paige should be devising an escape plan to never be in Oakland again instead of giving Stephie false hope about a next time that’s far from guaranteed. But it’s worth it for the way Stephie grins, staring at Paige like she’s given her the world’s greatest gift.

Before Paige can say anything, the little girl presses her lips against Paige’s cheek and she swears she stops breathing for a moment, “I hope you choose to play for Mama’s team Miss Buecks. I think you’d look pretty in purple.”

***

May 2024

“I’ve figured it out,” Paige says triumphantly as she unceremoniously flops onto Azzi’s bed.

“Well hi to you too babe,” Azzi grumbles as she scoots over to give the other girl space. It’s unnecessary because the minute she does, Paige only moves closer, wrapping an arm around Azzi’s torso.

“Hi baby,” she whispers before pressing a kiss against her girlfriend’s lips and pulling away so quickly that it leaves Azzi chasing after her.

Azzi huffs and Paige laughs as she gets herself comfortable, resting her chest on the darker skinned girl's stomach, “I’ve figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“Our future,” Paige says triumphantly and Azzi can’t help but smile at the our as she intertwines their fingers together. It’s been years in the making and there’s nothing Azzi’s more confident in than those two words. Not everyone finds forever this young, but she’s certain they have because really she can’t imagine a life where they don’t belong to each other, a life where every night isn’t spent exactly like this.

“And what do you see for our future,” Azzi asks softly.

“Well it’s simple really,” Paige hums, “I’m going to get drafted wherever next year but the year after, you’re definitely getting drafted to Valkyries-”

“I don’t know about definitely-”

“Azzi it’s rude to interrupt,” Paige sends her a chastising look.

“Right of course,” Azzi nods solemnly, “continue.”

“As I was saying. You’re definitely getting drafted to the Valks and then we just have to wait for my rookie contract to be up and boom! I’ll join you in the Bay Area and we’ll be together forever and ever and ever.”

Azzi giggles, brushing her hands through Paige’s hair, “that simple huh?”

“That simple,” Paige promises, catching hold of one of Azzi’s hands to press a kiss to her palm, “it’s us Az, we’ll always be simple. Besides, I think we’d both look pretty good in purple.”

***

May 2033

The Valkyrie facilities are state of the art as expected. Jana is the perfect tour guide, pointing out everything she knows will garner Paige’s attention. As they step foot onto the practice court, Paige feels the overwhelming sense of this could be home that’s been dancing along with her every step of the way today. All the resolve she’d carried with her from Dallas is slowly crashing down and she can practically hear Talia’s sing-song i told you so voice echoing in her head.

“You’d be really good here P,” Jana says excitedly, doing a little spin.

“You’d be lucky to have me,” Paige teases, as she picks up a basketball and subconsciously starts dribbling.

Jana laughs, before a serious expression takes over, “we would. We got really close to winning it all last year and I think you might be our missing piece.”

“I want to,” Paige confesses, “I just-” her eyes flicker to the most recent MVP poster hanging on the walls, Jana’s gaze following hers, “I don’t know if I should. It’s so complicated.”

“Only if you let it be,” Jana says as she swipes the ball out Paige’s hands, “don’t think of everything else P, just- just think of the basketball. Because you know basketball-wise, this is the right move,” she passes the ball to Paige with a smirk, tilting her head towards the basket, “why not take a shot at it P?”

Paige shakes her head, palming the ball in her hands, “can’t believe my son’s all grown up.”

“Children of divorce have no choice but to grow up,” Jana says gravely and Paige laughs despite herself.

Taking a deep breath, Paige raises the ball, arching her arms perfect as she shoots it. It barely touches the rim, before falling through the basket with swish. Hitting the floor with a quiet thud, the ball rolls until it’s stopped by someone's foot. Behind her, Paige can hear Jana cheering for the shot but she barely registers it, her entire attention on the new figure who’s just entered the court. It’s a tale as old as time. Azzi Fudd enters the room and suddenly everything else in Paige’s peripheral fades away, until it’s just her and the girl who still manages to steal her breath away.

“Nice shot,” Azzi says, as she takes a slow step towards Paige. The air is thick with tension as if a time capsule has been opened and their past is leaking onto the pages of their present, staining it with marks of the you and me that we used to be. She should say something, even if it’s just an acknowledgement of the compliment but her tongue feels dry and she’s scared that if she opens her mouth, all the things she shouldn’t say will flood out instead.

“Hey Az,” Jana’s eyes flicker awkwardly between her former teammates, “I didn’t know you were coming in today.”

“Had to talk to Omehaa about a couple of things,” Azzi says airly, eyes still fixated on Paige, “Jana can we have a minute?”

“You won’t kill each other will you?” Jana asks nervously.

Azzi laughs and even Paige cracks a small smile, “no Jana, we won’t kill each other.”

“Just making sure because last time-” Jana clamps a hand to her mouth as both Paige and Azzi flinch, “because nothing- you guys- you guys talk. I’ll give you guys a minute.”

She scampers away cursing to herself about putting her foot in her mouth and it would be amusing, if not for the fact that Paige can still barely breathe. They haven’t been alone in a room since last time and the air around them hangs heavy with the casings of the grenades they’d hurled at each other.

“I’ve never seen you with braids this early in the year. They used to be your summer braids,” Paige remarks slowly. It’s a mundane change to notice but it’s significant of the larger truth, significant of all the time that’s passed, significant of the fact they don’t know these new versions of each other.

“Yeah um, can’t really do summer braids with the W season,” Azzi chews at her lip.

“Right yeah- yeah that makes sense,” Paige nods. The awkwardness is killing her. She’d never been a fan of the silence, always more comfortable in the chaos but it had been different with Azzi. There had been something peaceful, something calming, about the quiet, when it was just the two of them, hands intertwined, eyes closed, as they listened to the sound of each other’s heartbeat.

“Paige-”

“Are you here to tell me not to come to GSV?” Paige blurts out, “because it’s- it’s okay if you are like I get it. I mean- the two of us- it’s just really fucking complicated so I get it- I get it if you don’t want me here.”

“I didn’t,” Azzi admits and it shouldn’t, but Paige feels it sting anyways, “you’re right. You and I- there’s just a lot there and it would- it would be really complicated and when Colleen first told me I- I was gonna go fight Omehaa and be like abso-fucking-lutely not but-” she sucks in a deep breath, “do you remember the promise we made to each other?”

“We made a lot of promises to each other,” Paige says, unable to keep the harshness out of her tone, “sorry I-”

“No you’re right,” Azzi swallows, “but I meant the promise we made when we first started dating. We said we’d never let the personal affect the professional. We promised each other that no matter what, we’d never let our relationship affect us on the court And I know- I know we’ve broken a lot of promises to each other,” they both let out a breath at that, “but I think- I think maybe we should try and keep this one.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you need a championship contender and GSV needs a PG. Paige, I’m not here to convince you to not come to GSV, I’m here to ask you to join our team,” Azzi says resolutely.

Paige isn’t easily shocked by anything really. She’s lived what she’d consider a pretty interesting life but of course if anyone was going to surprise her, it would be Azzi. Azzi, who has always been an exception to every rule.

“You- you want me on your team?” Paige repeats, a little dumbfounded.

“Yes,” Azzi affirms, “you told me once that we could be the best backcourt duo in college basketball and we were, even if it was only for a year, we were and so now I’m telling you that I think we could be the best backcourt duo in the WNBA.”

Paige is silent for a second before a smirk takes over her features, “I think I did a lot more than tell you, pretty sure I had a whole video that proved it.”

“Are you asking me to make you a recruiting video?” Azzi raises an unamused eyebrow.

Paige shrugs, “could be a nice gesture.”

“I have a five year old child, Bueckers. Trust me when I say I don’t have enough spare time for bullshit like that when you can easily just search up our highlights on youtube. Or just look in your trophy case if you’re looking for proof of how good we can be together,” Azzi says, a hint of that familiar sass bleeding into her spiel.

“We really were good together weren’t we,” it spills out before Paige can stop it and it’s like they’re taking two steps back from each other, the friendly-ish banter of mere seconds ago being clouded by a past tainted by their mistakes, “on the court I mean. We were really good on the court.”

“Right,” Azzi averts her gaze, “just- just think about it okay? This doesn’t- it doesn’t have to be about you and me, not like that at least. It’s about basketball. GSV is the perfect fit for you and you’re the perfect fit for us. And deep down you must know that too, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe I’m just in it for the free trip to Cali,” Paige surmises.

Azzi scoffs, “you and I both know you make too much money to need a free trip to Cali. If anything, the hotel they’ve given you is probably cheap for your standards.”

“Maybe I just like feeling important? I always did love people showering me with praise.”

“You always did love the attention,” Azzi grins teasingly, “but there’s one thing you always loved more.”

You, Paige thinks but she can’t say that, “and what’s that?”

“Winning. That’s what this is about. You want another championship, so do we. Come help us and let us help you. It’s that simple.”

As Azzi turns to walk away, Paige can’t help but call out from behind her, “you know I think your daughter’s pitch might have been better.”

There’s a smile playing on Azzi’s lips when she turns her face back a little. It’s a new smile that Paige can only assume is Azzi’s Stephie smile, “yeah? What did she say?”

“She told me she thinks I’d look good in purple,” Paige smirks.

Azzi laughs, and it’s exactly like Paige remembers, “it’s that simple huh?”

“It’s that simple.”

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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daycourtofficial · 13 days

Text

Cold was the steel of my axe to grind

Pairing: Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader | WC: 8k | Warnings: blood, gore, violence, death

Summary: in the immediate aftermath of your arrival in Autumn, Eris moves forward with his plans to overthrow Beron and secure the throne for himself

Note: this is a part of my gingerfucker series and is a companion piece to ‘Chains around my demons, wool to brave the season’ but can be read by itself

Author’s note: Happy day 3 @erisweekofficial !!! The second I saw the betrayal prompt I knew EXACTLY where to go with it. I wanna give a big shout out to @mybestfriendmademe because they actually commented on my first gingerfucker fic about writing Eris killing Beron and it's always just been floating around in my head and now it’s here!!! Also need to thank @basketoffish - this fic wouldn't be half as good without her input/editing/brainstorming.

Beron Vanserra was going to die come sunset.

On the other side of the window, the trees shook from the wind, bending to their will. The branches occasionally scraped the window, calling for the male inside.

Eris laid in bed, gazing toward the closed window, his mate tucked into his arms. He never slept with the window open - it was a vulnerability, an opening, a way in. He watched the closed window, irritation creeping in at the persistence of the trees, their scratchy call grating on him.

You hadn’t been in Autumn for more than a few hours, but Eris could feel the tides changing. He couldn’t tell if your sudden arrival made the trees louder, their calls more insistent, or if he was more receptive to their pleas.

He felt the call deep within him.

Eris has had centuries to contemplate the many, many ways one can kill their own father. Wrapping his fingers around Beron’s throat, applying more and more pressure until he felt the life seep from his body. Tying weights to his ankles and pushing him into the nearby lake. A dagger to the heart. A sword slicing across his neck. A hunting ‘accident’ that saw Beron caught in a bear trap laced with faebane, a sacrifice to the animals nearby that his father’s flesh was worth more as a meal than as a father.

Eris had imagined it all, each scenario becoming more and more detailed and gory than the last. None seemed foolproof enough to kill his father.

All except one.

It was dark as he moved about the room, though no less loud as he continued to ignore the shaking windows, the frenzied tapping of the trees as they tried calling out to him. He knew what they wanted, wanted it himself, but pretended to avoid it - his destiny - for as long as possible. Their calls followed him as he moved about the room, steps silent as he outlined his plan internally, going through every step as he placed plates of armor on his limbs. The clay colored metal fit like a second skin, that layer of protection doing little to slow him. He ran through every minute detail, everything that has to work out in his favor for a positive outcome.

“What are you doing?”

Your voice stops him cold, halting his movements. He hesitates before he turns around to face you - he hadn’t heard you stir, hadn’t felt the twinge in his chest at you waking - had no time to prepare for this reckoning,

“Going for a stroll.”

You blinked, making a show of running your eyes over his partially armored body, clearly in disbelief. He could kiss you for not scoffing in question, cry because the understanding feels worse. He sighed in defeat, leaving his things on the bed before moving toward you. He reached out a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, mouth opening and closing, the words not coming, but you waited.

“Please.”

It came out more like a sigh. He could have said more. He probably should have. Your soft gaze hardened his resolve even further, determination further settling in his bones as his shoulders straightened. The bond picked up in his chest, the duet between your souls a familiar song. As the sun would rise on this day, the melody that was so familiar to him would be played with trepidation, tempo increasing as the day continued, as if the string connecting your souls had no idea the outcome the day would provide, the Mother herself plucking the string in anticipation.

He took in the planes of your face and he could feel the lightest touch of your powers deep in his chest.

Resolve.

Determination.

Love.

He could hold you, tell you how he had to do this. How he couldn’t stomach the thought of you in Autumn with Beron just around the corner. How his world shifted with the mating bond, as if he had been walking through life at an angle but could now stand straight. Instead, he watched your breathing, eyes roaming across your face. His thumb brushed your lip, taking in the shape of your lips, the slope of your nose.

“My mate.”

It conveyed all of his thoughts and more. His thumb caught your jaw, holding it in his grasp just enough to keep you from turning away. As if you would ever look away.

“Stay with my mother. Please.”

His tone was urgent. A final instruction he had to share or else he’d be unable to leave. You must’ve seen the urgency, the plea in his eyes - protests and questions swallowed as you nodded. This was his fight. A meticulous plan he had cultivated over a century of scheming and bargaining and debating. The abruptness of his plan being put into motion wouldn’t stop him from keeping out any unknown players.

Especially you.

He looked to the window, finally acknowledging the call from the trees, allowing their song to entice him and coax him from his place of comfort.

Gods, he hated leaving you. Hated every part of it. Years later, when he would think about this day, mull over all of the impossibles that happened, he would tell his children that the hardest part of the day was when he gave one final kiss before departing without looking back.

His hands itched to hold you longer, his palms burning with the feeling of you as he winnowed outside the Forest House, landing not too far from the exit. He had considered winnowing directly, however he had to be careful to reserve his magic for the day to come. He only winnowed outside the house so he would be seen by as few people as possible.

Eyes and ears were everywhere inside.

Eris moved through the forest, the wind through the trees a familiar song as he looked to the moon, asking for the first time in centuries for some entity to look over him. A century of unanswered prayers led him to not bother to ask for much, but tonight it was more than his life on the line.

Eris followed the beaten path to the stables, long legs leading him through the stalls, until he finally came to a stop before Cameron, his red friesian, and his preferred mount of many years. She had been a young foal much too small to hold his weight when Eris first met her but he'd been patient and encouraging, feeding her sugar cubes as he watched her grow into her gangly limbs. He was rewarded by the now sure footed beast with gentleness and docility, even as the stable hands fought to land in her good graces.

Cameron had been a young foal when Eris met her, much too young and small to handle his weight. He had enjoyed watching the young beast grow, feeding her sugar cubes as she went from gangly limbs to a sure footed force to be reckoned with, docile and gentle for eris even as the stablehands fought to land in her good graces, but she was always docile and gentle for Eris.

He walked her out of the stall after providing a saddle for himself, closing it behind him, leaving as little evidence he was here as possible. Once out of the stall, he mounted her, swinging one leg over her back before she took off, the Forest House disappearing behind him quickly.

Eris tries not to think of the day ahead as he goes through the motions of saddling Cameron. Doesn’t want to think of the many lives on the line for him nor about how he would rather not involve Cameron or his brothers in this. He closed the door, double checking the stalls to make sure he's left as little evidence as possible. He cannot afford to count his regrets now. He will have an eternity to repent, as hellion or High Lord. Once out he mounted her with practiced ease, swinging a leg over her back mid stride, the Forest House a speck in the distance before he's fully seated.

The landscape changed as Cameron galloped beneath him, her hooves leaving impressions in the mud in their wake as they rode north, the trees leading Cameron with their song. Once the song got loud enough, he pulled the reins, stopping in a clear field. HIs pull urged Cameron to stop before dismounting and tying her reins to a nearby tree. He gently stroked her mane, the horse unsettled at Eris’s destination. He spoke softly, telling her he wouldn’t be long. It had a slight effect on the mare, her hooves staying planted as Eris turned from her.

The leaves crunching beneath his boots got louder as he approached the exact spot he’s thought about every day for the past century. Mapping out the exact route in his head thousands of times. The leaves sounded like the bones of the fallen beneath him, a walk through the graveyard of his father’s reparations.

He could feel the thrumming in his chest as he got closer, a rhythmic pulsing mirroring his own heart. It sounded nothing like the song of the mating bond inside him, the tones deeper and more primitive. Almost like the drums of fire night, calling to him from deep within his soul. The call to fire night is one of claiming a body. This call was the same, but the call asked for violence, not eroticism.

The drums became louder as he walked in circles, trying to pinpoint where the sound was loudest. If the sound grew softer, he marked a line in the dirt with his boots before turning around until eventually he had made a circle of marks about three feet in diameter.

Eris considered turning around, taking a moment to collect his thoughts, but the wind pushed him forward. He sunk his knees into the earth, his fingers breaking the topsoil. Dirt clung beneath his nails as he clawed through the soil, moving mound after mound toward him. The dirt began caving back into the hole, causing him to start pushing the dirt away from him.

He felt more and more rabid the further he dug, as if he should have brought his hound Clover to do this instead, her paws much more efficient and adept at digging than his fingers.

But he didn’t want Clover here, or any other living creature for that matter.

He hardly wanted Cameron here, but he needed her. Too far to travel by foot, and he didn’t want to waste his magic by winnowing everywhere.

The song in his ears had gotten louder as he dug, a chorus of long gone heartbeats drowning out all noise. The song was deafening now, uncertain he’d ever be able to hear any other song again.

His nails made a toe curling sound as they scratched across a metal box, his ears twitching at the sound. He dug around until he could see the entirety of the box, his hands moving to pull the box from the earth. He inspected the long box, the metal exterior having no cracks or screws keeping it in place. After finding none, he took a deep breath before placing his hand on the top side of the box, pushing heat from the palm of his hand onto the surface of the box, the dark gray metal glowing orange from the heat.

His fingers gripped the hot metal, his skin unflinching from the heat as he curled his fingers into the metal, forging his own opening. The contents glittered through the hole he created, his eyes full of reflected light as his fingers wrapped tightly around the jewel encrusted hilt that turned into branches.

The hilt was magnificent - a sword truly made for slaying a beast. The song in his ears was louder, the heart beats racing as he unsheathed the sword from the prison it had been confined to for over five centuries. A legendary sword - one of the few magic imbued items in the Autumn Court.

The Spine of Autumn.

A name unspoken for centuries, millenia perhaps. Beron had spent a long time ensuring the few who had known about it were quickly taken care of, never to be seen again.

The light hit the metal as he pulled the sword out, the blade glistening in the sun. The sword was harsh on his senses - the glint of the hilt nearly blinding, the song in his ears deafening.

The only thing keeping him grounded was the cool touch of the sword against his palms.

He placed the sword into the sheath he brought with him, the long blade covered in cracks of lava hidden once more.

He placed its old sheath back into the box before he reburied it, the efforts much quicker than unearthing the blade. With the box in the ground once more, Eris turned his back on the mound of disturbed soil. His steps were quick as he reached Cameron, mounting her quickly before taking off once more, the handle of his sword gleaming in the sun.

The sun rose higher as Cameron ran through Autumn, her chestnut braided mane glowing in the morning light. Both of his stops were kept to a strict itinerary- entering his younger brother’s separate homes, Alastor and Cormac, telling them that they knew exactly what to do and to begin their work.

He didn’t linger - hardly spent enough time in their home for his scent to linger for long before departing onto the next brother. He hadn’t bothered planning for Flint, knowing it would be in vain. It was more likely that Flint would turn him into Beron for his treason than even consider helping, so he stuck to the brothers he knew would provide some aid.

The long journeys between his brothers gave him large chunks of time devoted to praying to the Mother that things were going as they should in the Forest House.

There was, unfortunately, one place Eris had to winnow to. Too far to reach in time by horse, once he had made it a few miles from the barracks, he had dismounted from Cameron before tying her reins to a tree once again.

“I shouldn’t be long, Cam.”

He stroked her mane slowly, trying to reassure the mare that he would be fine. There was a nip in the air as Eris strolled into the human lands, the early morning fog hovering just above the wet grass as he approached the manor.

Swift knocks twinged with urgency met the wood. He could hear movement from behind the door, hushed voices coming from behind it before it swung open, a dark skinned woman with bright red hair looking up at him. Her eyes looked Eris up and down, an eyebrow raised as she quickly shut the door, steps quick as she went further back into the house, before a moment later the door swung open again, Lucien’s tan skin greeting Eris instead. Lucien’s hair shone against his dark chest, his fingers fumbling with the tie of his breeches.

“Lulu.”

Lucien met Eris’s tone with an eyeroll and a quiet fuck you before his fingers moved to shut the door, but Eris quickly placed his foot in the doorjam. Lucien sighed out of his nose, turning on his heel inside the house knowing Eris would follow. The inside of the manor was covered in gray walls, gold ornate furniture, and, much to Eris’s amusement, a bright pink couch he walked towards as Lucien sat opposite him in a red and gold armchair.

“What do I owe the displeasure?”

Eirs took in the room - a handful of landscape paintings on the walls, the two humans Lucien lived with down the hall listening. Lucien’s scent wasn’t very strong, meaning he likely got back into the moral lands not long before Eris’s arrival.

“There used to be a time when you were delighted to be in my company, sunshine.”

“Anything is preferable to the company of our other brothers.”

The ruse grated on Eris. He had half a mind to come clean, uncaring of the two humans listening down the hall. But this was Lucien’s life. The choices he made were his to tell, and if Lucien wanted to continue the ruse, then so be it.

“I see your choice in decor has become rather flamboyant with time.”

“My time in Spring made me quite fond of hues of pink.”

The two brothers stared at one another, not letting many words pass between them, an almost awkward silence stifling the room. Eris had turned to the one common ground that always remained between them, like a second language only they knew.

“Have you heard about the birds of Night? The one so precious to Rhysand and the other bats?”

Lucien’s eyes widen if just for a second before returning to an unamused look.

“Yes, I’ve kept my ear to the ground and heard rumblings.”

I know about you two.

Eris reoriented himself, fixing his posture. “The flightless birds have left outside of their normal migratory patterns.”

She’s left Night unexpectedly.

Lucien shifted in his seat, and Eris knew he understood.

“And where have they gone?” Lucien was giving Eris his full attention, and it panged in Eris’s chest that the only reason for that was the subject matter.

“They’ve begun crossing the border, making it past Winter into Autumn, either forgetting or not caring about the predators that lurk there.”

“And why are you here?” An almost accusatory tone, one he has become accustomed to hearing from his youngest brother.

“I know you’re quite fond of these birds and I’m sure we can come up with some plot to protect them.”

Please help.

Lucien’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes cast to the door Vassa and Jurien stood behind with bated breath.

“Yes, I’m sure we can. Did you have something in mind?”

Eris nodded without speaking. Lucien nodded quickly before rising, running a hand through his long hair.

“Allow me to change into more appropriate attire and I shall accompany you.”

After several moments, Lucien reappeared in light armor that had their family crest on the chest, but he could see black leathers peeking out from beneath the metal plating. Eris’s throat went dry at the sight, not knowing Lucien had such armor, much less kept it for whatever purpose.

“Don’t look so surprised. Mother brought it some time ago.”

Of all the reasons for Lucien to be wearing Autumn armor, that was certainly not one of them. Before he could ask, Lucien clarified further.

“She dropped them by one evening quickly because the last time we had met, I had told her an interesting story about a bird and a fox.”

His mother had known for quite some time - but Eris had never indulged her in details past the night he discovered his mate. “And how did the story end?”

Lucien shrugged, attempting to seem unbothered, but his eye betrayed him. The golden thing whirred in its socket, making the hair on Eris’s arms raise. “It hasn’t yet.”

Eris waited as Lucien changed and the two brothers winnowed directly into the barracks, Lucien groaning at the site of Alastor and Cormac before him.

“You failed to mention the likes of these two were involved in your harebrained schemes.”

“Don’t be a fool, Lucien. Everyone save for Flint is involved.”

Lucien opened his mouth to speak once more, but Eris’s raised finger stopped him.

“When all of this is done, the three of you may fight for a century for all I care. We don’t have to like each other, we just have to be in agreement as to the real threat.”

No one spoke his name. A habit since childhood, as if the utterance would summon him.

Eris breathed in through his nose, preparing himself to share parts of his grand plan.

“The three of you will be a part of my army.” Their voices started up again, but his raised voice immediately silenced them. “The three of you will blend into my army, seizing the Forest House. I will be meeting with him this afternoon, and the three of you will work with my guard to take control of the house once I’m inside. Once we have control, he will fall shortly after.”

“What of the advisors?” Cormac’s thick accented voice cuts through, interrupting Eris.

“Don’t worry about them. They are being dealt with now.”

That raised more questions than it answered, but Eris didn’t have the time to walk his brothers through his plans.

“I have to go, but I am entrusting this to you three. Having a stronghold in the Forest House is key to this plot, otherwise it will all fall apart and we will all be executed for treason.”

His eyes looked at each of his brothers, taking a few seconds to remember their faces. None of the relationships within the Vanserra family tree were ever simple and clearcut. His brothers all hated him for various reasons, and he them. The only thing truly connecting them other than blood was pure hatred directed toward their father.

On any other subject, he knew having his brothers involved would be a risk. But the three looking at him now would do anything to see Beron disposed of, no matter the cost. Petty squabbles can come later. His ears rang again with the drums, his fingers annoyed at every surface he touched that wasn’t the hilt of the sword.

He spent several minutes going over the layout of the house with them, which strategies would work best for taking it as a stronghold. It was mostly for Lucien’s benefit, Beron having changed a few things around since his youngest brother was ran out of Autumn.

“You all know what to do.”

He didn’t have the ability to convey any of his feelings towards them. How he felt like he failed them by allowing Beron’s corruption to turn their hearts. How he should have killed Beron centuries ago.

But he doesn’t. Instead he turned, walking through the barracks before finding Cameron once more and riding through the trails of Autumn toward the Forest House.

Upon Eris’s arrival into the Forest House, the house moved about in a sense of normalcy. Servants fluttered about, avoiding his eyes as they went about their duties. He made his way to the throne room, where Beron preferred their private meetings to be held. He pushed open the double doors to find Beron already sitting at the throne, waiting expectantly. Eris walked forward before stopping halfway between the door and Beron to kneel.

Over the years, Eris had allowed himself to seem sloppy for this moment. He spent the mornings and afternoons training his soldiers, his armor more like a second skin.

The first time had been a mere accident. He had forgotten to shed his armor, not thinking about the rules and expectations Beron sets upon his family. Instead of the issue they had planned to discuss, Beron had forced Eris to shed his chest plate, spending the hour-long meeting whipping his back instead.

When Eris had returned to his training, the pain from the wounds on his back gave him an idea. He didn’t do it frequently enough for Beron to punish him outside of these perceived wrongdoings, but just enough so a small pattern would form. Eris just needed the right moment, just needed Beron to be comfortable enough so he could move things into motion.

But it never came.

Beron’s voice filled the hall, the room entirely empty save the dais decorated with one throne.

“Any male in a position of power will always wonder how he will fall. He will try to see thousands of possibilities.”

Eris remained kneeling, not having been dismissed or even acknowledged when Beron began speaking.

“It is always on your mind - who is an ally and who is a foe?”

Screaming could be heard through the halls, the unmistakable sound of fighting coming through the crack beneath the door. Beron didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge the sounds beyond the door. Somehow he knew this was coming.

Eris kept his head down, gritting his teeth in annoyance that someone tipped off his father, but his jaw fell slightly at the sounds of barking beyond the door.

It was Clover, he was sure of it. He had told Alastor to put armor on his hounds and release them, wanting them to act as an alert system to those inside the house that more soldiers were approaching. He didn’t expect them to be in the middle of the battle.

He could hear their growls and the shrieks of those they dug their jaws into.

He had been training the hounds for years on who to attack. Any advisors who happened to pass the kennels and were received less than kindly, Eris chalked it up to his hounds being bitches. The real truth was he spent decades gathering the scents of those advisors, guards he couldn’t sway, anyone who would stand in his way, using the clothing or fabric whenever he would be training his hounds on aggressive tactics. Getting them used to their targets.

But they still weren’t supposed to be here.

Thousands of hearts were beating in Eris’s ears, uncertain which was his own. He was sweating now, trying to keep the sword unsheathed for as long as possible.

Beron’s smile was feline as he took in the sounds of chaos. “Beautiful sound, isn’t it? I always loved the echo of treason in the afternoon.”

Beron breathed in deeply through his nose, straightening as he stood. Eris finally stood before he unsheathed the Spine of Autumn, the sword glowing all on its own. The molten lava in the metal practically crackling with heat. Beron laughed at the sight of it.

“You wield the power of things you don’t understand, boy. Give it to me.”

Berin held out his hands, fully expecting Eris to blindly obey his command.

“No.”

Beron’s eyes crackled with anger. He never responded well to any defiance from any of his sons. In a fit of rage, Eris struck first. The first deviation from his plan. His sword sliced through the air, Beron quickly unsheathing his own to block. Beron’s counter attack was expected, Eris able to block with his hilt quickly.

Several moments passed as the two swapped blows back and forth. Eris was sweating profusely, the roar of the sword growing louder in his ears, now silently chanting kill, kill, kill. Their combat consisted of matched hits, the room a sweltering heat between the two of them. Eris rolled from Beron’s blade, maneuvering through the room, trying to use anything in the bare room to get any form of leverage against his father. He walked up the steps of the dais, blocking each of Beron’s blows as he walked backward up to the throne.

The doors shook, he could make out occasional shouts and yells from his brothers from the other side, their voices desperate to get in. Each time he swung the blade, he could practically feel the rage of his last act of betrayal through the doors as he could hear them fighting off any more of Beron’s guard.

“I always wondered which one of you fools would try to overthrow me. Delightful to find out all of you participated in the coup.” Eris swung once more, his centuries of training his body into a weapon needed for this very moment.

“Eris.”

His name was a hiss from his father.

“You are playing games you do not understand.”

The only other noise in the room was the clanging of their swords, the air heavy with dreams on both sides. One wanting a successful coup, the other wanting to prove time and again his strength and brutality.

“I understand well enough, father.” Beron tsked as if admonishing a schoolboy, his mouth sneering into a smile. “No, you don’t.”

Eris’s limbs ached as he bore the brunt of Beron’s full strength with each block and each attempted attack, the throne room devoid of any way to tell the passage of time. Was this purgatory, an in between life for those the Mother deemed unworthy of rebirth?

“A month before you were born, the stakes with Hybern were rising steadily. I found a witch and had a curse placed on myself.”

The drumming in his ears made his father’s words next to impossible to make out, but somehow his mind knew what he was saying even if his ears couldn’t pick them out.

“Whoever kills me, kills themselves in the process.”

His father’s words did little to stop his movements, his attacks using more and more of his strength. The doors rattled once more, an echo of broken promises added to Eris’s neverending list of lies and betrayals.

He knew he was lying to his brothers when he said they would have a chance at Beron. The lie had rolled off his tongue, a means to get them here no matter what. Every plan he had had to get to this moment with their involvement in one way or another. Vengeance was always at the forefront of their minds and he gave them a taste for it. All he can do now is hope they will see this through.

His father having a debt for his soul, a life for a life, was not surprising to Eris. He was certain there was some cosmic debt for killing his father. Everything he worked for in this life came at a cost, why should that stop now in his final act?

If this was the end, he’d do all he could to ensure he had slain the dragon.

Eris mustered the last of his strength. The male who calculated every move, every breath he had taken over the past five centuries.

It was the last move to make. The last time he’d deviate from the plan.

A life he’d dreamt of so close if he outstretched his arms his fingertips could ghost over it.

He thought of whispered promises, midnight declarations of love.

And he erupted.

The sword was bright and covered in blue flames as it met Beron’s sword once more, the clanging metal echoing through the air. Every slash, every hit was countered perfectly.

A battle of wills.

Eris tapped into the well of rage within him, using that to push himself forward. To keep striking, even as Beron matched every hit. Eris felt his father having to use the well of power within him, and he was certain if he could just wear the bastard down he would have a shot.

Beron was powerful, a magic so deep and vast it wasn’t unheard of for new High Lords to drown in it. But Eris was ravenous, a hunger for that power so deep his bones were malnourished.

After what felt like centuries, Eris was finally able to thrust under Beron’s guard, the point of his sword nicking Beron in the neck. His father acted quickly, his counter parry catching Eris in the side, the heat from the blade slicing through the metal of his armor. Beron stomped forward, his sword raised over his head and Eris just barely blocked with his hilt in time. Eris pushed forward, using his legs to push Beron off of him to allow himself some breathing room.

Beron took Eris’s expectation and used all his force to swipe his sword through the air, causing the Spine of Autumn to slip through Eris’s grasp.

Beron used the advantage to hit Eris in the torso, the reverberations from his armor causing his chest to vibrate. He took two more hits before his knees fell, the armor digging into his skin as he panted for breath.

“You stupid, stupid boy.” The words crashed into Eris as Beron’s sword hit him in the side.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t see the greed in your brothers’ eyes? Expect your wretched softness to stray your mind?”

Another clang, this one to his thigh. His limbs were roaring in pain, the heat of the room sweltering.

“You think I’d make my father’s mistake and let his runt of a son take his crown? No, my dear.” His tone was softer, as if he were imitating Eris’s mother, the sound causing Eris’s stomach to churn.

Eris saw the sword glint in the moonlight, and he watched a hand cover the light from it. Beron smiled, his teeth covered in blood, making him appear more animal than fae.

“All of my idiot sons working against me. I should be proud to produce such heretics.”

Beron turned his sword, using the hilt to hit Eris square in the chest, causing him to fall onto his back, the clang of the armor echoing through the throne room. His father stalked toward him - a predator at the end of the hunt. His teeth gleamed in hunger.

“Perhaps your little coup would have worked if you had just one more of your brothers aiding you.”

Flint stepped out of the shadows, appearing from behind the High Lord. Flint was only a few years younger than Eris, but he had gladly taken on the personality that Beron wanted him to have. His long, practically maroon-colored hair covered parts of his face, but he made no move to fix it.

Eris was the only son to live permanently in the Forest House, all the others were scattered across Autumn in the hopes to keep more of the population in line. Flint had been sent to the furthest reaches of Autumn because he so resembled Beron with his cruelties that the High Lord wished for the farthest communities to feel his power.

Flint carried with him an air of unease, the scars on his face making him seem far more sinister than the legends that surrounded him could. He kept his words far and few between, preferring to keep any disagreements in the physical sense.

“Do not fret, I’m sure your mother and brothers can learn some very valuable lessons from your folly, even if you’re too charred to do the teaching.”

Beron gleamed with wicked delight as he heard Flint pick up the sword, his steps growing nearer. His father stayed rooted as his brother moved closer, dragging the sword behind him, the drag creating a terrible high-pitched noise.

Eris’s eyes were calculating as he looked to the sword, trying to gather any semblance of strength to move, to pick himself up. He just needed a speck of energy, to hold out long enough for the magic of the new High Lord to heal him.

But he was stuck. He couldn’t move. Forced to observe his own failed assassination. Ruminate on the life spent to get to this moment just to fall short.

Flint heated the sword, his flame dancing around the metal, turning into a redhot coloring.

His thoughts flicked through the hundreds of people he brought with him today, the fighting in the hallways, the banging on the throne room doors. It all faded to nothing, the only sound in his ears the tune of the mating bond deep on his chest.

It was a beautiful thing, even if it was only real for a glimmer of time.

Flint handled the sword, checking the weight of it as Beron looked to his oldest son, his eyes full of eagerness at the possibility of spilt blood.

Eris’s breathing was labored as Flint lifted the hilt high over his head before he quickly turned and sliced the sword through Beron’s neck, his blood flowing across the front of his body. The heated sword sliced easily through the High Lord, a squelching sound coming from him as Beron’s face remained with the sneer he held before it fell from his neck, his body following suit. Beron’s head rolled a few feet, his body slumping to the ground in a thump. He watched Beron’s eyes, watching the life seep from them as his head landed a few feet from Eris’s knees.

Beron’s armor clanged throughout the throne room, the last sounds of a tyrant jarring and almost anticlimactic.

The beast was slain, a shocking finale to a tyrant’s life. Eris couldn’t focus on him, couldn’t allow himself to feel anything other than concern at the male that was staggering before him, swaying on his feet.

Eris quickly moved to stand, not bothering to look at his father’s body as he darted forward, just in time to catch Flint. His weight was heavy in Eris’s arms, the deadweight nearly causing both males to collapse. Eris wiped the blood from his own mouth before trying to speak.

“What the Hel were you thinking?”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes, the deep brown full of sadness as if Eris could watch all of his memories through them. The air was colder now, the rhythmic prose of the sword gone from his ears as his intended target had been slain. The bloodthirst sword had been quenched, but his brother had paid a steep price.

“You told me to strike when they least expect it.”

Autumn leaves crunched beneath his feet, his boots blocking out the chill of the air, his ears full of the sounds of tiny exhalations. He stood, watching the small boy maneuver around the tree, cutting up the bark with each slice.

“You’re too loud.”

Flint moved his head quickly, startled at Eris’s presence.

“I didn’t hear you.”

Eris moved toward his younger brother, easily pulling the sword from his hands.

“That’s because I didn’t want you to.”

He looked at the hilt of the sword - much too heavy for a boy his brother’s size. He huffed as he pulled a small dagger from the lining of his jacket before handing that to Flint, ignoring his brother’s attempts at reaching the sword again.

“Flint, there’s a reason every male worth his weight carries a dagger.”

Flint handled the small blade, flicking it through the air as if fighting an opponent, nearly cutting Eris’s jacket in the process.

“Why?”

“Because daggers allow you to strike when your opponent least expects it.”

His own words echoed back to him, feeling so unfamiliar in Flint’s mouth.

He always had the same eyes. Full of depths Eris could never fathom, a bottomless well of sadness and concession to an unwanted life. Somewhere over the centuries they lost that spark that Eris loved so much. He wondered briefly if to have a child is to watch that spark dull. But then his thoughts wandered to Lucien - the only one who got out, who got their spark back.

“Flint, we’ll get the healer. Mother’s coming, you have to- you have to see her.”

Eris started clawing, tugging with everything in him on the bond in his chest, urging you to come quickly. He needed someone, anyone to come. To see what his brother had done for him, for all of them, for Autumn.

“Eris, I-“

His bloodied hand reached up, shushing Flint. He was growing pale, his cheeks losing the red glow they always had.

“It’ll be okay. You’ll- we’ll be okay.”

Tears fell from Eris, landing directly onto his brother’s chest. He wasn’t sure where it came from - perhaps some pit deep inside of himself still cared for Flint. Their relationship was rife with double and even triple crossing, each conversation a meticulous game of chess that allowed for no winners, only heartbreak.

The blood loss was getting to him, he was sure of it. The room was spinning and the pounding in his ears finally stopped only to be replaced with an incessant ringing. His limbs felt so warm, his body overheating. He wrapped himself around his brother, trying to warm him.

“Flint, I have - I have a mate.”

As he spoke, he heard the doors burst open, and could hear the footsteps as several fae entered the throne room. He didn’t look up, instead keeping his eyes on his brother’s. He didn’t know why the admission had come forth, some part of him knowing that his brother was not going to make it through the night. It slipped from his lips, only now realizing this was the first time he had told anyone he had a mate.

His mother had sniffed it on him the night the bond snapped. Lucien - Eris had no idea how Lucien knew.

But Flint was the first one Eris ever got to tell. And he watched his brother smile, an act more taxing than it should be, his eyes flickered with the life they used to have. Flint’s hand reached up, cupping Eris’s, before he nodded his head.

It was too late for words, but Eris knew what his brother was saying.

Eris looked into that dark brown - the color of soil, chocolate, coffee. Things that give life, things that are worth living for. And he swore he watched the life fade from them slowly, a dull sheen creeping in from the edges.

Traitors don’t get a victor’s life.

To stab from behind is either cowardice or cunning, depending on which side of the blade you’re on.

He felt the presence of others, but this moment was all consuming: grief, relief, the new influx of emotions and sensations as High Lord.

This was supposed to be his ending. He had accepted that the moment Beron mentioned the curse, having given up any hope of leaving this room alive. He had accepted that Beron would be the last face he saw. A terrible ending to a life unlived.

He looked down at Flint, his eyes still having some life, and he called for his mother, beckoning her near. He didn’t take his eyes from his brother, but he somehow knew she was who Flint would want to see in his last moments.

“Flint,” Marigold cooed, dropping to her knees next to Eris. He moved Flint’s head into her hands, his brother relaxing at her gentle touch, combing her fingers through his hair. His brother didn’t stir, so Eris jostled his body, desperate to get Flint this final moment with their mother.

“Come on, wake up. You have to tell her.”

Eris jostled him a bit more before his brother opened his eyes, half-lidded looking up at Marigold. Eris’s heart panged for her - another son gone at the hands of a Vanserra. Beron’s cruelty left no survivors, not even for a mother.

“I did it for you, Mother.” His voice was weak, but his words were full of need, as if this were a final confession. Marigold’s face remained soft, a flicker of a memory passing through Eris at being tucked in at night. Her soft voice lulled him to sleep, her serene smile the last thing he saw before he slumbered. Eris hoped death felt safe and warm like that memory.

“I know, sweetheart.”

Flint coughed, a congested sound that didn’t sound right echoing through the throne room. Eris knew his other brothers littered about the room, but he didn’t dare look away from Flint. For the brother who gave up everything, Eris could devote his full attention in these final moments.

“It was all for you.”

He clutched her other hand tight in his, and she pulled him up to rest his head in the crook of her neck, sliding him from Eris’s grasp.

“I know, I know.”

Marigold did not ask for a healer. She must have known what Beron’s curse entailed. Perhaps having three of her sons killed by other family members was enough penance for her wrongdoings.

Eris felt the magic surging through him, amplifying his senses, emotions, everything in him. It stitched and healed all the broken skin, the marred flesh. He felt his mate’s presence on his back, gentle touches that screamed I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. But his eyes stayed on his brother, each breath more taxing than the last one.

It was Lucien who came forward with the ornate crown that looked like an infinite circle of branches with dying leaves and berries in his hands. A crown Eris had spent his whole life imagining how it would feel on his head. His neck didn’t ache with the weight of expectation like he thought it would as Lucien placed it atop his head.

It felt as if the sprigs were nestling onto his head, the crown coming to life to fit him perfectly, to take root with him as if to say you cannot go back.

Choices all led to this moment. Every decision made over the course of five centuries led to the thrumming power in his veins, the powerful family of nine now about to be a dwindled mess of five.

There was no way back. What even would there be to go back to?

For centuries, Eris had thought he was doing it all alone. Scheming in the dead of night, forced to bloody his own hands. As his mother held Flint, his breaths taking longer pauses in between, his heart slowing in Marigold’s lap, Eris realized that he would never have gotten to this point alone.

A family fractured and wounded by each other for centuries, all coming together for this one moment in time. Nothing was simple in the Vanserra family, no relationship untouched by Beron. No matter how warped and twisted they were, this was still Eris’s family and they all came through when it mattered most.

There was no way to know how the future would unfold for the Vanserras. Millions of cruelties lay between all of them, even his mother was guilty for holding a grudge with him for what he took from her. No one in this room had the joys or naivety of youth.

Flint stopped breathing in his mother’s grasp and once she knew he was gone, she began sobbing into his head. His mother hardly cried. He had watched her deliver all of his brothers and been there in the aftermath. Heard her cries when Beron had first discovered her affair with Helion. These cries were different -like an animal howling at the moon in anguish. An unjust ending for their beloved child. Fire crackled in Eris’s veins, a silent promise that this was the last betrayal on the Vanserra line.

Roots popped up from beneath the tiling, startling Cormac before they wrapped around Beron’s body and severed head and dragged him beneath the surface, uncaring as they broke limbs and skin, the resounding crunch from either the tree or his body. His father’s body was pulled from the surface, a violent burial that left the throne room a disaster.

Outside the doors, Eris could hear the trees and paused at the tune of his mating bond. Despite there being no windows, the song was so loud his brothers could make out the melody. He listened closely, the song had a slow melody that flowed well. It sounded different than before - as if there were a different arrangement of instruments. The melody was the same, but it was less harsh than it was when he left the Forest House this morning. Then it sounded like a march, a call to battle. But now it sounded like he could make grand sweeping movements to it, spinning about a dance floor. It was then he understood. It was a waltz.

He listened once more, hearing the silences of the song that were usually filled in by your presence, only to find the gaps more prominent without your duet. His eyes stung as he realized they were singing a song of him and that it sounded beautiful.

The song of Eris floated through the trees, being carried on the wind throughout the fields of Autumn, telling the land that the evil has been expunged. The fields would bloom quickly, the land becoming more fertile and bursting with the life that had been missing for centuries.

Across Autumn, the new High Lord’s song would be whispered, a beacon of hope to those long suffering beneath a tyrant. For the first time, the fae would hear Eris’s song and they would dance to it.

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

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tkwrites · 5 months

Text

Elimination - Quinn Hughes x ofc

gif by @thombordeleau

Title: Elimination

Author: Tory / @tkwrites

Relationship: Pre-established: Quinn x Sarah

Warnings: Sad Quinn, fluff and comfort, smut (18+ only), unprotected sex, p in v, oral (f receiving), if I missed any others, please let me know.

Summary: When the Canucks are eliminated from the Stanley Cup Playoffs, Sarah offers Quinn a kind of comfort he didn’t know he needed.

Word count: 4,200

Comments: This snapshot has been a long time coming. The idea of Sarah comforting Quinn the way she does came to me while I was driving to work one day, and I immediately wrote it down. It took me quite a while to figure Quinn’s family into the story, including his brothers (yes! They're finally here!).

As I was editing the comfort scene, I found the story continuing in a way I didn’t really expect, but mirrored Before I meet your parents… in a way I couldn’t ignore.

If you enjoy it, please let me know by commenting or reblogging! Your comments really do inspire me to keep writing!

Elimination

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

The playoffs were a whole different beast than Sarah had become accustomed to. Not only was the season much longer than any of the guys were used to, practices were more intense and heated, video more in depth, the need for rest and recovery more acute. She knew first hand how tired the team was because she knew first hand how tired Quinn was.

In the first round, they'd lost the first game in the series before rallying to win the next three. The Kings won one more before the Canucks stamped them out with the last win coming on home ice in overtime. Despite the final score only being 1-0, it was the most exciting game Sarah had ever been to.

When she was sitting with Quinns family, Luke had taken to teasing her in that little brother way every time her hands ended up clutching her face with each shot directed at Demko or Talbot.

“Calm down, Sarah,” he’d said, when she jumped in her seat, hands flying up to cover her mouth as Demko barrel rolled to stop another shot from Kopitar.

She'd sent a playful glare his way, “I'm surprised Kylee hasn't told you you should never tell a woman to calm down. That's a surefire way to get yourself into trouble.”

Kylee, who was sitting on Lukes other side, snorted. “Oh, I have. He just doesn’t listen.”

Luke took it in stride and laughed. He reminded Sarah so much of her oldest nephew, Ryan. Good natured, friendly and a little bit goofy once she broke through that shy shell.

Sarah glanced at Jack, who was sitting with his some of his cousins farther down the row. His eyes darted away, as if caught staring at something he shouldn’t.

The strained way he acted around her was getting better, but he was still pretty standoffish toward her. When she asked Quinn what she could do to fix it, he said to just give it time, and Jack would come around eventually. He didn’t think it was actually anything about her, but rather Jack needing time to adjust to the situation.

“I think he finally realized how serious I am about you.”

“You’re serious about me?” she’d asked, all flirty lashes and coy smiles.

“You know I am,” he’d responded before leaning in to kiss her.

So, she turned back to the game, giving Jack time and hoping he would see how much she loved his older brother and that she only meant well.

When Garland shot the overtime goal off a picture perfect pass from Quinn, he managed to catch Talbot above the blocker, sending the puck sailing into the back of the net with a definitive whoosh.

The arena erupted into a wall of sound.

The entire team, clad in blue, spilled onto the ice, throwing helmets and gloves, crowding around Conor and Thatcher.

Quinn was ecstatic that evening. Practically bouncing off the walls of the club they went to to celebrate. Sarah had never seen him so loud - caught up in the atmosphere and moment.

Halfway through the night, he pulled her into a dim corner and kissed her so thoroughly, she actually considered pulling him into the dingy bathroom to have her way with him right then.

Jack interrupted, drunkenly loud, and demanded that Quinn come with him for a round of shots.

Quinn paused, meeting Sarah’s eye.

“Go celebrate,” she encouraged, trying her best to not come between them. She and Quinn could find a spare moment to celebrate on their own later.

With his family in his house, that moment hadn’t come, but she was glad to see Quinn celebrating so heartily with his brothers.

In the second round, after three straight losses to the Predators, Vancouver battled, forcing game five, before dominating in Nashville two nights later, selling their comeback story.

When they got back to town, the whole city was buzzing.

Despite the excitement, game six was awful to watch. Sarah had her hands over her mouth through most of it.

Now that they were fighting to tie, and the Preds were fighting, once again, to clinch the series, Nashville was playing dirty: exploiting every Canucks weakness they could find. They needled, drawing penalty after stupid, preventable penalty until they were three goals up at the end of the second period.

Quinn was exhausted. Sarah could see it in his skating and in the slumped set of his shoulders as they went into the dressing room for the intermission.

She sent him a text, I’m so proud of you.

He didn't reply, but they battled back, holding off all Preds offense and getting within a goal by the time Demko was pulled at the end of the third. Quinn battled fiercely to keep the puck in the offensive zone for more than a minute, giving a master class on body-eye coordination as he skirted the blue line, dodging Nashville players as if someone were controlling him with a top ice view.

Their passes were perfect: tic-tac-toe from Quinn to Mikheyev to Lafferty, but as Sam tried to get the puck to Höglander, the pass was intercepted.

Nashville fought to center ice and chipped the puck into the Vancouver end.

Quinn chased it, but he just didn't have enough in the tank. He caught up just as the puck bounced back out of the open net.

Full of frustration and despair, he smacked it into the boards. Caught at just the right angle, the puck ricocheted back at him, and he had to lift a hand to block it from hitting him in the face.

Sarah could practically see the frustrated embarrassment radiating off him as he skated to sit down.

Demko was pulled again and Quinn managed to get the empty netter back, but through the ugly march of time, the clock expired before they could score another.

The buzzer sounded and Nashville celebrated, throwing equipment all over the ice, all hugging and jumping as the Canucks limped into the dressing room.

Even despite the disappointment of losing, everyone was thrilled to see them get this far. Going from the middle of the pack last season to top of the league this year was no small feat. She knew Quinn wouldn’t be satisfied until they got the cup, but she was so proud of him.

He sent a text, telling them to go home and he would meet them there when he was done with the media.

It was torture for Sarah to have to leave and wait for him. She wished she could go down to the dressing room, but knew not only would she not be allowed in, Quinn would hate it. He would want to talk with her privately.

Everyone was subdued as they puttered around the apartment, waiting for him. Both Jack and Luke were on their phones, sprawled out over the living room furniture, while Ellen, Jim and Kylee were doing something in the kitchen. Sarah was too nervous to even distract herself. Quinn had lost before, of course, but she’d never seen him lose like this — not this kind of a season-ending, brutal loss.

When the elevator dinged, Sarah jumped to her feet, his family following suit, clambering into the living room.

To her surprise, Quinn came straight to her, not even bothering to shut the door behind him. His suit was rumpled, his tie attempting to slither out of his breast pocket. When she wrapped him in her arms, he practically collapsed against her.

Ellen knew Quinn loved and trusted Sarah and that he spent far more time with her these days, but it was still a bit shocking when he bypassed them all to go straight to her for comfort.

Sarah reacted in a way Ellen never had and upon seeing the scene play out, she realized Sarah’s reaction may have been something Quinn had been longing for for a long time.

She would usually hug him for a while, before talking him down. They would soon end up dissecting shifts and plays. He would lament how he could have been better, and she would try to comfort him while still being realistic.

Sarah just stood there, holding him. She didn't say a word, even when Quinn started to cry softly. She just ran a hand into his wet hair, while the other traveled slowly up and down his back.

She didn't assure or placate him, or even try to get him to stop crying. She just let him express the emotion without judgment or commentary. It hit Ellen suddenly that Sarah reacted this way because she had dealt with so much sorrow in her life, she knew how to comfort in these hard moments.

The family stood by and watched. She didn’t look up and meet their eyes with a conspiratorial, he’ll be alright, look, or invite them into the embrace. Her whole intention was focused on Quinn.

While it was sweet to see them together in this way, it was also a little awkward to watch, especially for the boys, who looked like they had no idea what to do.

It was full minutes before anyone said anything, and even then, it was just Sarah asking if he wanted to sit down. He shook his head so she did a little two-step, and kept on.

As Ellen watched them interact, it was obvious how much they meant to and understood each other. It was so sweet to witness her son finding the person he needed that she pulled out her phone to record them, wanting to document the moment.

When they finally spoke, Ellen was glad she was filming.

“I let everyone down,” Quinn said, his voice choked with emotion, just above a whisper.

“No.” Her voice was quite loud, the word definitive, leaving no room for doubt. It was a bit shocking to hear Sarah be so forceful.

Taking his jaw, she gently lifted his head up so he had to look into her eyes.

“No,” she repeated, her voice a little softer now. “This wasn't only your fault, and it didn't happen because of anything you did by yourself.”

Ellen wasn’t sure she would go that far… If he had gone for a change, someone with fresh legs may have been able to chase down that empty netter.

“You don’t win as a team, but lose by yourself. That’s not how this works.”

Now she understood where Sarah was going.

“I know this run is ending sooner than you wanted and I'd be more concerned if you weren't sad.” She paused for a long moment, looking into his eyes as if she was searching for something. When she didn’t find it, she continued, “I just - I want you to remember that I don't love you because you play hockey.”

His lower lip trembled and Ellen felt hers do the same.

“I love you because of this big, kind heart,” she said as she pressed a hand to his chest, “and because of this brilliant, thoughtful mind,” her other hand slid into the hair at his temple. “And those are the same as they were this morning. You're so much more than hockey.”

He was looking at her like she'd hung the moon.

Ellen felt tears slip down her own cheeks. All her life, she’d been trying to strike a balance with her boys - trying to find the right way to tell them hockey was just a part of who they are. And here Sarah was, walking into their life, and saying the exact thing Ellen had been trying to say all along.

Right then and there, the remaining reservations she had about Sarah were swept onto the back burner. She knew it would still take some getting used to, but how could she not love this woman standing in front of her, telling her son she loved him for who he was and not for the things he did? It was all she could ask for as a mother.

She glanced over at Jack, who looked a little dumbfounded, as if seeing Sarah for the first time. Luke was smiling in a glad, knowing way, his arm looped around Kylee.

Jim, standing on Ellen’s other side had a mixture of pride and disappointment on his face. Ellen knew he was going to battle with himself at the thought of Quinn crying over being eliminated. When they were kids, he would have told the boys to buck up, despite Ellen’s insistence it was okay for them to express their sadness for a little while.

The happiness at seeing someone accept Quinn as he was won out, and Jim put his arm around Ellen with a conspiratorial smile.

“Of course you’re going to be sad,” Sarah continued. “Like I said, I’d be more concerned if you weren’t. But you,” she poked him gently in the chest to emphasize her point, “sure as hell didn’t let me down.”

Quinn threw his arms around her in a fierce hug. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He wiped at his eyes, then turned to the family. They embraced him one by one.

After she’d hugged Quinn, Ellen went to Sarah, “I don’t know how you did that,” she said, pulling her close, “but that was exactly what he needed.”

When Quinn made his way back to Sarah, he kissed her temple. His eyes were still red, cheeks still splotched with color, but he looked settled. Not satisfied or happy, really, but settled.

Later that night, Ellen sent the video to her sister, making her promise to not share it with anyone. She just needed someone else to see the tenderness.

Oh, Elle, I'm so glad Quinn finally found a good one. I can't wait to meet her.

At the same time Ellen was texting her sister, Quinn was lying next to Sarah in bed. Her words from earlier replaying over and over again in his thoughts.

He'd practically begged her to stay over. She hadn't planned to with his family in the house, but he felt a bit needy and wanted the comfort of her next to him.

“Thank you for tonight,” he said, turning to her.

She rolled onto her side so they were face to face. “I'm always gonna be in your corner, Quinn.”

Leaning in, he kissed her - gently at first, but it soon turned more passionate.

The fact that they would be apart before too long was on both their minds as they made love that night.

“Oh, Quinn. Right there, right there,” she chanted, voice soft.

The simple fact that he could make her feel this way made his heart feel full to bursting. At least he hadn't lost that.

Keeping eye contact, his hand traced to her left knee and pulled it up over his hip. He didn’t want her to have the same old orgasm. Not tonight. A big part of him wanted to prove he could still excel here.

Head tipping back, Sarah panted.

His other hand came up to guide her chin back down.

The way she clenched around him when their eyes met made his hips stutter.

She lifted herself up to catch his mouth. It changed the angle of his thrusts, making his whole body quiver. He tried to brace against it, slowing down and concentrating on kissing the breath out of her.

It worked in that they were both breathless before too long, but didn't ease the feeling of being pulled to the very edge of his restraint. The competitive streak inside him wasn't about to allow himself to come before she did - especially not tonight, when he had so much left to prove.

“No,” she gasped when he pulled away. “I was right there.”

He laughed into her skin. “I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he said, before tracing his mouth over her clavicle and trailing his tongue between her breasts, savoring the salty taste of her skin.

The blankets pulled with him as he settled between her legs, and Sarah gasped as the cool air of his room hit her.

She looked so ethereal in a pool of soft light from one of the skylights, her chest rising and falling at a hurried, steady pace.

“God, you're beautiful,” he whispered.

Times like these, Quinn still wasn’t quite sure how he’d managed to find Sarah. She seemed to be his perfect match in every way. It wasn’t always smooth sailing - nothing ever was. This summer was sure to take a toll on their relationship. He knew, somehow, they would come out on the other side, better and stronger, but all the same, he wasn’t looking forward to spending so many nights without her.

Pushing that worry out of his mind, he concentrated the task at hand and lowered his mouth to her hot center.

It was his turn to give thanks.

She was acutely aware of his family in the apartment: brothers on the floor below, while his parents were down the hall. They were never particularly loud in bed, but the thought of his family overhearing hushed her vocal cords even more.

“Quinn,” she whimpered.

He ate up every whisper, every little whine and panted breath, knowing they were just for him.

Making some unintelligible noise, her back arched, lifting off the mattress.

She whined when he eased two fingers into her and lifted his mouth.

“Help me find it?” he whispered, crooking his fingers.

“Higher.”

He moved slowly, not wanting to go too fast and pass over it.

“There, there,” she panted.

Reaching up with his free hand, he disentangled her fingers from the sheet so he could grasp her hand, linking them together.

“You can press a little harder. It’s not as sen -” her voice broke off into a groaned, “oh, fuck,” as he urged that soft, spongey spot with a heavier touch.

They’d done this more after his revelatory first time, and he loved discovering new things about her. He still had a hard time finding her g-spot on his own, but he was learning. Tonight felt like a whole new ego stroke, one he was seeking if he was being honest with himself.

His mind wandered back to the first time he’d touched her, the way she’d reminded him of Helen of Troy - beautiful beyond belief. He ached for her the same way now as he watched her fall apart. Mouth dropped open as her body pulled taught as a bow string, one hand grasping the headboard for stability while the other clutched his like a vice.

As she came down from her high, he kept his fingers pressed into her.

Even as she squirmed against the sensitivity from his strong touch, she felt a blaze of pleasure reignite in her belly, faster than it ever had before.

Still kneading with his fingertips, he lowered down, sucking her sensitive pearl into his mouth. She let out a strangled cry that left him dizzy with satisfaction.

The contrast of his warm mouth and soft tongue on her core against the harsh rasp of his playoff beard on her inner thighs wound her tighter and tighter until he was sparking so much ecstasy in her body, she couldn't quite remember why she was trying to be so quiet.

Her fingers tightened in his at the same time her legs trembled and he knew she was close. He continued on, mouth soft and steady while his fingers worked with more focused intent.

The way she whimpered his name made him groan and rock his hips into the mattress to get a bit of relief.

When the tension in her pelvis finally snapped, Sarah cried out.

It was only after she came back to herself and he eased his fingers from her that she worried about how loud she'd been.

Before she could ask, he knocked her breathless again as he slid his fingers into his mouth, cleaning them with apparent relish.

“Did I yell?” she whispered as he crawled back over her.

He shook his head, “not too loud. I don't think they heard.”

The anxiety ebbed away as he leaned in to kiss her.

“Can you turn over?” he asked, lips barely grazing hers.

She pulled back to look into his face.

“I want to make you feel good,” he said.

“You already did. Twice.”

“Please?” he asked, ghosting his lips over her cheek, “let me make you come one more time.”

In reality, Quinn was tired, but his pride was insistent, eager to feel her again and he knew if he got her on her stomach she’d come faster than in missionary.

He could see worry in her expression, but she did as he asked, the sheets clinging briefly to her back as she rolled.

One of his hands grazed down her side, following the curvature of her hip before tracing her hamstring all the way to the knee. Hooking his hand there, he eased her leg out to the side.

He really was spoiling her. Eagle with a broken wing was her favorite position other than missionary, but they didn’t do it terribly often, both generally preferring to see the other when they were together.

She felt Quinn’s heat before any of his skin, and raised her hips slightly to facilitate him.

“You’re —” she broke off into a groan as he eased into her again. She was so sensitive, she was fairly certain she would have fallen apart all over again if he had given her an intense enough look. Heat was already climbing up her spine and he hadn't even moved yet.

His hands appeared near hers as he braced on his forearms. She moved to lace her fingers through his.

When he began to thrust, he felt her fingers curl until her nails kissed his palms

Listening to her sweet sounds, he couldn’t get enough of her. He wanted to live in her forever.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, chaos sparking all over her skin. “I didn't think I could come this many times so quickly.”

Her hushed statement rushed to his head. “Sarah,” he moaned into her neck. “Fuck, Sarah.”

His mouth traced the curve of her neck before gently biting the ridge of her shoulder.

The prick of pain from his teeth combined with the way he was hitting her g spot in a steady, continuous rhythm had Sarah’s mouth falling open. “Oh. Quinn,” she moaned. “Just like that. Please don't stop.”

Feeling out of his mind with pleasure and pride, he rested his forehead on her back.

Only after he felt her tremble and pulse around him and chanting that he loved her, he let himself go, spilling into her with a loud groan he tried to muffle into her skin.

They stayed that way for a long while, his sweaty chest pressed into her back. He was a comfortable weight, pressing her into the mattress.

Quinn talked himself into moving and eased out, his wince matching the breath she hissed through her teeth. Before he could decide which side to roll onto, she was turning onto her back, and pulling him into her embrace.

Resting his head on her chest, he sighed.

Sarah smiled, tired but gratified and pushed a lock of hair off his forehead. She wanted to get up and go to the bathroom, but waited, knowing Quinn needed this extra affection.

“I don't…” he started to say, then trailed off, slowly tracing a circle around her belly button.

He had never felt supported and loved like he had today. Not only when she just let him cry, but when she reminded him that she loved the things about him that weren't his job.

Quinn hadn't known how much he needed to hear Sarah’s words until she was saying them. His whole family was so entwined in hockey that, even though he knew his parents loved him, it sometimes felt like his success and failure in the arena were wrapped up in their affection and approval. It was one of the reasons Jack always felt like the favorite child, as he had the most natural talent.

“You don't?” she urged when he didn’t say anything else.

He shook his head and took a steadying breath. “I feel like I don't deserve you.”

A little smile played on her lips, “I feel that way sometimes, too, but I'm not really sure it's about deserving. Everyone deserves love.”

She paused for a long time playing with his hair. It relaxed Quinn, causing him to practically melt into her.

“I'm glad we're both willing to put in the work and try to meet in the middle,” she said quietly.

He agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of her breast.

As they stayed that way for a long time, Quinn felt cocooned in her love and hoped she felt the same.

“Okay,” she said a little while later, starting to feel sticky and itchy, “I’m sorry, but I really need to shower, or at least rinse off.”

They took a quick shower, and Quinn changed the fitted sheet as she redid her skincare.

When they finally fell asleep tangled together, she in a pair of his shorts and a t-shirt, and he in his boxers, it was well after three.

After sleeping like the dead, Quinn woke close to ten, still feeling that strong swell of gratitude easing the disappointment in his chest.

If anyone in his family had heard them, they were all excellent actors, and didn't say a thing.

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

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i-hate-accidents · 5 months

Text

i hate accidents: the between

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary: the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections: I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n: bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings: classism, mentions of financial survival, microaggressive sexism, microaggressive gender assumption, intersectional low self-image of y/n, positive/supportive families, retelling of recurrent microaggressive homophobic experience with y/n’s family member in [II.vi], short description of almost throwing up (not related to low self-image) in [II.vii]

word count: 9.1k (of 38.8k)

story context: everything in s1 and s2 of the tv series is canon for this story except for the s2 epilogue with the bridgertons. this story takes place leading up to and into the 1815 season.

additional notes: this story is incomplete. scenes that are not written are described in chevrons <> with third person pov or are delineated by isolated ellipses. additionally, the author has only watched s2! she has not watched any of s1 aside from clips, and they have not read the books aside from quotes used in edits. they have not yet watched queen charlotte. the author kinda knows the gist of an offer from a gentleman; they are familiar with sophie beckett (and are excited to meet her/them in the tv series!).

author’s note: this is the first time the author has written fanfic in 13-15 years. :) it is her hope that they have made some progress since her pre/teens. additionally, this fanfic has been written, on and off, over the course of two years. the author sincerely hopes you find some sort of joy in it, especially the readers who maybe hope to see themself a little more specifically in the world we so love.

tagged: @omgsuperstarg @bedobeeeee @stvrdustalexx @anisas-nonsense @crazymar15 and all who have liked the story so far: the author extends her gratitude for your engagement with the first section. <3

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“have i told you that you are the best model who has ever sat for me?”

it has become a common occurrence. whenever you read while in the drawing room, benedict asks if you can be his model for his hand studies. you oblige, seeing how you are already so still while reading aside from the occasional page turn, and—more so—you want to support how benedict progresses in his craft. today, you and benedict are sat at a table as hyacinth plays a solitary game of cards on the floor and kathani and anthony sit at a couch with some delicious smelling tea. you had come over to meet eloise and penelope first thing but were soon informed that the two young ladies were still at the markets with colin. that made you smile; your loud friend is, no doubt, inserting herself emotionally and physically in between your two friends in love.

you feel yourself scrunch your eyebrows at benedict’s comment.

“surely you are exaggerating.”

“hyacinth was my last model; she was horrific.”

you hear an aghast gasp and do nothing to hide the amusement in your smile.

“it is difficult to sit still!” the youngest bridgerton yells.

“hyacinth, it is not becoming of a young lady to ye— ow!”

you see somewhat in your periphery how kathani puts the hand she used to thwack her husband’s arm back on her teacup handle, smiling. benedict, in the meantime, groans and seems to be focusing even more intently on his sketch as not to make eye contact with his youngest sister.

“yes, i understand it is difficult, but you did not sit still for even eight seconds.”

you have not shifted your position in the past half hour or so as not to ruin the angle of your hand for benedict; but you need not visual confirmation to already know that hyacinth has rolled her eyes in response to her brother and returned to her game.

“well, what about the art academy?” you continue. “there must have been very good models there for you to draw.”

and very beautiful ones, at that.

“it is true, there were; but,” you see him smile as he smudges his paper, “none are comparable to you.”

you feel your cheeks light aflame and, with a cough, focus even more intently on your passage.

“then i ought to give up on my profession as a basket weaver and put in my request as a model at the art academy.”

“you do realize that you would have to pose—” you see how he pauses his drawing, looking to see where the youngest is in the room, and lowers his voice as he leans forward towards you; (you attempt not to roll your eyes), ”—nude, in order to be a model there, y/n.”

“yes, and what issue is there with that?”

you look away from your passage to benedict to make a point with your stare and are startled to see how startled benedict looks, the familiar ocean of his eyes almost entirely gone and replaced by the black of his pupils.

“nothing. there is no issue. no issue at——” he coughs, scratching the back of his ear, no doubt smudging it with charcoal, “would you like to see my progress so far?”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< in the gardens of number five. penelope, eloise, hyacinth, and gregory are adventurers looking to save the princess benedict from the banshee y/n.

< hidden behind a hedge, y/n and benedict bicker. >

“you are a middle child on a technicality, benedict.”

“what is that supposed to mean?”

“you have seven siblings. anthony the eldest, hyacinth the youngest—and everyone in between simply a middle child? you all could not be more different from one another, and you are at the very top; you are practically an eldest child.”

“i’ll have you know that no one, myself included, sees me as such.”

“i’m familiar. an eldest sibling with a penchant for peculiar tea is not one i would describe with an overwhelming sense of duty.”

“how do you know of that?”

“kathani told me. she recounted to me her first dinner with the family and how transcendently in the most literal sense you had behaved.”

“so you two talk of me?”

you feel the tips of your ears heat, but fortunately your hair hides your embarrassment sufficiently. you roll your eyes.

“is that what you gleaned? do not think too deeply about it.”

“i shall think about it deeply and often,” he states with a twinkle in his eyes. in an attempt to ignore your fluster and flutterings, you roll your eyes again and shove him. he laughs, his nose scrunching and eyes crinkling adorably whenever he is truly delighted. despite your best efforts (you put in no effort), you smile at him. it cannot be helped when you are around benedict.

“now, make haste; hyacinth is about to cast a spell, and she needs a princess to save. may i grasp your arm?”

“grasp my what?”

“your arm! i need to pretend as if i am holding you captive, but i am not simply going to take hold of it without permission.”

“how chivalrous of you.”

“i suppose i’ve learned from a sufficient enough gentleman.”

benedict grins and offers his arm.

“i am yours for the taking.”

it is preposterous how much this man makes you want to roll your eyes. and how much you welcome it. in the moment, however, you refrain yourself and, instead, smile at him in return as you yank yourselves both out of the hedge to be seen by the others.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< on a morning before she is off to number five, y/n realizes that her last remaining skirt still needs to be cleaned after she had spilt a bottle of ink on it. (she was devastated by losing so much writing material and money in one fell swoop.) she had been so preoccupied with work that she had forgotten to clean it.

< in a rush, she looks throughout her house for extra skirts but to no avail; the only thing she finds that she can wear is a pair of trousers from when her father was younger. she finds this suitable enough, puts them on, and runs off to bridgerton house.

< upon arriving at the drawing room wearing trousers, y/n hears a choking sound. she looks over and sees that benedict has somehow spilt tea all over himself. as the bridgerton family makes comments of curiosity and support of y/n’s current attire, benedict excuses himself, y/n hearing how he mumbles that he needs to change his clothes.

< after some time, benedict returns, but y/n notices that, aside from removing his coat, he still wears the clothes he was in. she remarks to herself: how can he have been gone for long enough but still be in the same clothes? >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you gasp.

“wait!”

you do not wait to hear a response from your companions; you right about turn, swing open the door to number five, and run into the house, straight towards the drawing room.

“benedict!” you shout, “you must come see!”

“wha—“

you grab his hand, pulling him up from his slouched lounge.

“quickly! you must make haste!”

adrenaline and joy rushing in your veins, you lead benedict out of the drawing room and towards the entrance where, upon returning, you see giles, with a large beam on his face, holding open the door. you laugh, shooting him a quick nod and grin of your gratitude, and bring benedict outside, pass penelope and colin, pass the gates of bridgerton house, towards the road, and halt yourself and benedict in place.

you shoot your forefinger outward, pointing towards the sky, your grin ever growing.

“look!”

benedict has been looking at you incredulously, as if you’ve completely lost your mind, and perhaps you have, but you’d be damned if you got to see this and benedict hadn’t. he shifts his gaze and grin from you towards the sky, and as you had expected, as you had hoped, his expression transforms from gleeful confusion into complete awe.

“see? it is just like your palette of ideas! the oranges, the reds, the yellows, the purples, the pinks. here it all is, made by mother nature herself, and you have already managed to capture the hues in the pigments of your paints!” laughter bubbles out of you. “it is amazing! you are amazing!”

you hear a soft buzz in your ear, causing you to turn towards the familiar sound. a bumblebee swirls about your head, and it makes you giggle. you always had a fondness for the sweet creatures; how wonderous one has come to greet you at such a moment! the bee lands on your nose, as if to give you a kiss, causing you to giggle even more, before it departs and flies off into the sky.

as you stare at your departing friend, as you stare into the sorcerous colors of the sunset, as your smile feels permanent in this moment, you ask benedict,

“isn’t it beautiful?”

“yes.”

you turn to benedict, expecting to see his side profile tilted towards the sky when, instead, you connect with his ocean eyes. gazing at you.

your smile fades away as you quietly suck in air through your nose. you feel a soft caress at your hand, and looking down, you see that you are still holding hands with benedict, him gently rubbing the side of your hand with his thumb. you look back up, and with indecipherable ocean eyes and a soft smile on his lips, he still gazes at you. butterflies flutter maddeningly within you. the way he looks at you, it makes you feel scared. but you’d be damned if you allowed your fear to tear yourself away from benedict. so, instead, you smile back and gently rub the side of his hand with your thumb too.

“well!”

you and benedict reel back from one another, letting go of one another’s hands. as you feel the loss of his touch, you whip your head towards the voice and see a smirking colin, by the side of a smiling penelope, both approaching the two of you.

“while i hate to get in the way of two— friends in the midst of a conversation, i must fulfill my duties and escort miss featherington to her home.”

you roll your eyes as you promptly ignore the fire that burns on your cheeks.

“you rich people and your escortings. penelope lives across the way! she would have already been home if you would have let her, colin.”

“yes, that is true,” pipes up penelope, “but then i would have missed out on such a beautiful sight,” and instead of gesturing at the sunset as her words imply, she keeps her eyes locked on you and benedict.

menaces. i am friends with menaces.

with smugness in their smiles and delight in their eyes, penelope and colin nod their heads in farewell. as they move past, you feel a soft squeeze on the side of your arm and see penelope giving you a wink. you stare off at the couple, penelope featherington and colin bridgerton, your absolute menaces of friends who have left you and benedict stunned in spot.

benedict.

benedict!

you turn your head to face him. he must have realized at the same moment as you, for you are greeted by an equally speechless expression. feeling yourself staring into his ocean eyes a moment too long, you cough and look away.

“right, i suppose— i, going— i should be going.”

“of course— yes, that is— right, yes, very good—— not! you going! you going is not— not good! i— we— are more than glad to let you stay!— not let you, but! but have you stay with—— us! stay with us!—”

“benedict,” feeling the instinct to touch his hand again, you hesitate and, instead, touch the side of his arm. you offer him a smile to his (adorably) flustered state. “i understand what you are trying to convey.”

he huffs out a breath and smiles warily in return, and it is truly absurd how beautiful he is when his suave falls away. when he takes off the façade he performs to the world and is just himself. not a bridgerton, not a second eldest son, not a gentleman. just—

benedict.

the one you—— care for.

the one you care for.

the one i care for.

“thank you, y/n,” you hear him say, “for sharing this with me.”

“of course. you were first to come to mind when i saw it.”

“shall i— shall i escort you home?”

you snort, inadvertently breaking whatever odd energy has grown between the two of you, and he grins in response.

“goodness, no. i am fully capable of walking there myself. besides, it is too far from here, unlike miss featherington,” you intonate the last of your words with mockery. you will battle colin bridgerton one day.

“i enjoy a long walk. and with such a beautiful sight, it would be much more a blessing than a burden.”

“daylight is fastly fading; the sunset will not last another eight minutes.”

“yes, the sunset. because that is what i was referring to,” he says as he stares at you with a lopsided grin.

rolling your eyes, and feeling the violent flutterings in your stomach, you shove benedict by his shoulder, which causes him to laugh and throw his hand up in mock surrender.

“good evening, benedict,” you finalize as you walk away, a smile quickly forming on your lips once out of his sight.

“good evening, y/n,” and you hear the smile in his voice.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“it is here!”

you had just begun to cross your writing when you look up and see kathani enter the drawing room, paper in hand.

“what’s here?” you inquire. the viscountess smiles.

“perhaps you should be the first to see,” and she hands you the sheet.

taking it into your hands, you are immediately struck by the ornate illustrations of flowers and foliage ornamenting the borders—they are printed on! rather than hand drawn. you run your fingers against the paper to test your observation. you’ve only seen such a feat in the books you’ve borrowed from the bridgertons, so it impresses you (though perhaps it shouldn’t surprise me, you remark to yourself) that kathani has found a press to accomplish this feat for her printing.

you then take in the lettering and read,

a ball in titania’s garden court

“come, now a roundel and a fairy song.”

the company of

is requested at bridgerton house, number 5 in grosvenor square, on thursday evening, jul. 6, 1815 at 9 o’clock p. m.

“you helped inspire the theme,” kathani remarks. you look up from the paper to her; her eyes are intently on you.

“me? how so?”

“with our reading of his work, and our conversations with eloise and penelope, he was naturally on my mind when planning for the ball.”

you beam.

“how wondrous! your first ball in the city, and you are bringing the fairies to it,” you turn to the others. “you must tell me how it goes! i’d be delighted to hear what the dresses were like, with the theme and all, and if any larks ensued.”

you note to yourself how penelope will likely know of all of the latter far better than any of the bridgertons, but it would be intriguing, nevertheless, to hear their perspectives. you turn to the viscountess once more, “it is a brilliant idea, kathani. i’m honored to have had some part in it.”

you see her open her mouth in response—

“oh good!”

—when you hear anthony’s voice at the entrance of the drawing room.

“you’ve accepted! that is wonderful news.”

you furrow your eyebrows as he approaches.

“accepted?”

“the invitation. to the ball.”

“what?”

anthony looks around the room to his family and then back to you.

“i— am beginning to think that is not what you were responding to.”

“how quick of you, brother,” deadpans colin.

“i have just entered!”

“and have proceeded to make a fool of yourself,” eloise counters.

“it’s appropriate for the theme, really,” colin turns to kathani. “sister, perhaps you might change the dress to costumes? anthony would make an excellent bottom to your titania.”

“i am—” you start, “still lost.”

kathani gently nods her head to the paper in your hand. you look down again. previously neglecting it for the printed words and illustrations, you now read what is clearly in the viscountess’s handwriting between ‘the company of’ and ‘is requested’:

miss y/n y/l/n.

“this is an invitation. for me.”

you look up from the invitation and are greeted by kathani, and the rest of the bridgerton family at number five, expectantly staring at you.

“but—— but—”

“now, i understand that this might be quite overwhelming,” begins kathani, “but after speaking with the family, we all agreed that it would be most wondrous if you were to attend the ball. we would make certain that you felt prepared, beforehand, with lessons in dance and etiquette, hence why i’ve prepared the invitations earlier than customary.”

“not! to assume that you are not already competent in these,” adds colin. “you certainly have more grace than eloise— ow!” and he rubs the part of his arm eloise just smacked.

“but if it would appease your mind,” violet interjects, “and help with your concurrence, then we would be more than elated to offer them, and to do them with you.”

“your attire would be paid for,” anthony states simply, “and we would pay the business of your employment their missed earnings for the days in which you will be preparing for the ball and resting from the event’s happenings. and, if you shall allow it, we would support you and your family from your abstained days of wages.”

“balls are dreadful,” asserts eloise, “but!” she continues swiftly, and exasperatedly, upon seeing her family’s reaction, “with your presence, this one would certainly be more bearable. pleasant!, even.”

“we,” hyacinth gestures to herself and gregory, “cannot attend the ball, but we will help you in any way we can before then!”

“and we will be there on the morning and afternoon of, if you would like!” gregory exclaims.

kathani was wrong.

this is not quite overwhelming. this is overwhelmingly overwhelming.

you do not even know where to begin in processing all of the information with which you have just been bombarded. the wages, the etiquette, the paying, the attire, the dancing, the days off, the ball itself.

but what strikes you most of all—

“you all… agreed? of wanting me at the ball?”

you look around the drawing room. your friends’ countenances are illuminated with beams. all, but one. you turn to him. he was the only one not to have stated his case in the family’s proposal.

before you can start to ruminate on the implications of such, he offers you a smile. small, but enough for those stupid, stupefying butterflies to flutter within.

“we did,” benedict says. “we do.”

you exhale.

“then,” though weary from the turn of this day, you offer a small smile in return, to benedict, to the family, “then yes. i shall go to the ball.”

hyacinth and gregory nearly knock you over in the chair you’re sat in by the sheer power of their hugs. violet, clapping her hands, laughs with delight at the sight. eloise exclaims something about penelope finding out. anthony states he shall begin the ledger. colin, for whatever reason, starts talking about the cakes that will be there. kathani remarks that there is much to do and that she, and all of the family, will be there every step of the way.

and benedict smiles. still small. still enough. with those damned ocean eyes.

i shall never understand the absurdity that is this family.

and how delighted you are by that. how grateful you are for them.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“your rehearsal partners will be myself and gregory,” states the viscount.

you try to withhold your sigh. you have been dreading this day since kathani first told you of it. you are utterly delighted to be a student under the tutelage of the viscountess; you are utterly petrified of being a dance student.

“and why do benedict and i not have the privilege to dance with y/n?”

it also does not quell your petrification that the entirety of number five has decided to be present for your lessons.

“because, colin, you two are unmarried men; i am a married one; and gregory is a child.”

“i have just entered my adolescent years!”

“precisely,” anthony grins, “a child.”

“kathani and hyacinth can be potential partners,” you suggest, diverging as not to join hyacinth in her laughter at gregory’s disgruntlement. despite the anxiety that somehow both swells and knots within you, you are resolute on being intentional and present during your lessons. “the former is married, and the latter is a child.”

anthony opens his mouth to respond but suddenly closes it shut. he blinks.

“why have you not considered eloise?”

“because she is unmarried. i am assuming that you do not want me to partner with colin or benedict, for fear of some sort of— romantic attraction forming. so i’ve applied the same logic to eloise.”

there is a small silence. you can see how anthony (and perhaps the rest of the room, you sense) is busily processing within his mind (and theirs) what you have said to him.

kathani pats her husband twice on his back and smiles at you.

“that is an excellent idea, y/n. we will rotate your partners amongst myself, anthony, gregory, and hyacinth. let us begin.”

and so you do, and it is quite horrendous. or rather, you are quite horrendous.

kathani is, unsurprisingly, a marvelous teacher, but not even she as a guide can prevent you from stepping on her, anthony’s, hyacinth’s, and gregory’s feet. you apologize profusely each time you do so, and so you apologize frequently and often, but each of your partners still smile at you without a drop of deceit or regret in their expressions despite their winces. they encourage you in all their particular ways. kathani gently knocks the foot you stepped on her to where it ought to be placed. anthony pacifies that you are doing well. hyacinth recounts how she had struggled as you when she first began her lessons. gregory assures that you are not nearly as heavy-footed as eloise.

even those who aren’t your partners encourage you. eloise confirms gregory’s statement, not once peeking into the book she holds in her hands. colin claps his hands to help you keep the tempo of the steps. violet, at the pianoforte, enthuses how much progress you are making with each passing dance. penelope, who joined the drawing room part way through a rather disastrous cotillion with anthony, begins to clap her hands excitedly upon seeing you.

the only bridgeton you haven’t heard from the entirety of your lessons is benedict. while rehearsing a sequence in a quadrille with hyacinth, you notice the vacant spot next to eloise where he once sat. you try to feign to yourself that your following misstep is due to your ineptitude in rhythm and nothing else. certainly not the lack of presence of a particular someone.

after you curtsy and kathani bows upon finishing a scotch reel, she beams at you.

“i believe that is enough lessons for today.”

you sigh with every bit of your lungs, your attempt at perfectly squared shoulders immediately slumping in relief. the family chortles in response and gives you a pleasant round of applause. you feel your cheeks go flush with embarrassment, completely unbelieving that your horrific display of dancing deserves any sort of praise, but the sentiment warms your heart.

“i would like to pardon myself, if that is all right,” you request towards kathani, “for a moment, is all.”

“yes, of course,” and she takes your hand. “and we do mean it, y/n. you have done well today. you should be proud.”

before you can respond to her, she gives a gentle squeeze of your hand and turns to walk towards anthony. blinking, you shake your head out of your thoughts. the bridgertons and penelope seem to respect your want of excusing yourself as they grin or nod their heads in your direction but make no move towards you. you take a moment more to look at the family and then turn to leave the drawing room. you cannot help the smile that blooms on your face as you cross the entrance—

when a hand catches your wrist and pulls you further away from the drawing room. you are about to scream when you see benedict, with furrowed eyebrows and pleading ocean eyes, swiftly put his forefinger to his pursed lips.

“fuckin’— benedict!” you whisper-yell, attempting to honor benedict’s unspoken request for your silence. “are you mad? and why are you out here? have you been here this entire time?”

“may i speak with you? in private?”

the urgency in his whisper stupefies you, any frustration felt within fading away.

“of course you may.”

he slides his hand down from your wrist to take your hand—

“follow me.”

—and, with haste, leads you down the corridor and up a set of stairs.

“are you certain this is all right? the last time we had spoken alone together, you were scolded by your brother.”

“i am more than willing to take that risk with you,” benedict says sincerely, with a smile, but it is strained. it is a subtlety, but with knowing him for as long as you have now, it is something you have noticed in his expressions.

“are you all right, benedict?”

he promptly ignores your question. it is unlike benedict, to ignore one of your inquiries. to retort with a snarky quip, yes; to make a particularly theatrical countenance, yes; to respond with uncertainty, yes. but never outright, deliberate evasion. it makes your heart swell even more with worry.

you and benedict arrive at a set of grand doors. turning the gilded knob, he opens the door and, in true gentlemanly fashion, holds it for you to pass. such etiquette would have caused you to roll your eyes, but with benedict’s current distress, you will yourself to refrain.

just as you enter the room, benedict enters too, turns around, and carefully closes the door shut. he reaches into his pocket and, after some shuffling about, retrieves a key. you hear a click of the door, and before you can comment on the absolute peculiarity of this situation thus far, benedict whips himself around and faces you.

“do you have attraction to both sexes?”

“i— what?”

“do you have attraction to both sexes?” he repeats with impatience.

“to all persons,” you correct with equal impatience. “and yes, i do.”

benedict blinks at your response but shakes his head out of his thoughts.

“and how long, how long have you known? of your attractions?”

“‘of my attractions’?”

“i am asking a question, y/n!”

“you are being strange, benedict!”

“i am!—” and he turns away from you, running his hands through his hair, sucking in air through his nostrils. he turns back to you and it startles you—how frustrated his countenance is, and how vulnerable his ocean eyes are.

“i am merely trying to ask a question. i am trying to understand. please, y/n,” benedict begs. “please.”

“i— all right,” you try to soothe. “i, i don’t know how long i have known. i suppose, since i was a child? or, perhaps, truly in my adolescent years, when i found myself gazing at those with names like emily and andrew and how i—” you swallow, suddenly feeling exposed, “how i held my breath around them, whenever they were close, when— whenever they were near.”

“and do you still feel that way?”

“pardon?”

“do you still feel that way? around people? for people?”

just for the one.

“i, i do.”

after staring at you a moment more, benedict turns away again, and you quickly exhale a breath—when you’re stricken with a sudden fear.

“does this change your opinion of me?”

benedict turns back to you, frustration still in his features but confusion slowly seeping into them.

“when i—” am i crying? “when i told my sister how i felt for a girl in our neighborhood, she did not—” you try to shake your head of the fog that starts to fill your mind at remembering, “did not look at me for weeks, and when she did, i felt like, like—— like a monster.”

his face falls.

“no,” benedict states, fastly approaching you, “no, no, no, y/n.”

“i am sorry,” you choke out as he places his hands on the sides of your arms.

“why are you apologizing?” benedict whispers, applying pressure to where he holds you steady. you had not realized you’ve been shaking.

“you had asked me questions, these questions of importance to you, and i— i have made it about myself— i am so sorry, benedict.”

“you have nothing to apologize for.”

you shut your eyes close, feeling your face contort in the way it does when everything simply becomes too much for you to bear.

“you were, and are, so much more courageous than me.”

benedict’s gentle voice and strange statement rouse you to open your eyes.

“i do not understand?”

“you have told another person about your attractions to both— to all persons. i…”

he goes quiet, unable to finish his thought aloud. you scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, but staring into his ocean eyes a moment more—vulnerable, scared, hurting—it dawns on you.

oh.

benedict.

your heart blooms as you shake your head.

“it is not about courage, benedict, i do not think. with my sister, it was about trust. i thought i could trust her with my feelings, with— well, with me. and she had proved me wrong.”

“and you have proved me right.”

“why are you speaking so vaguely today?” you manage to jest.

benedict rolls his eyes, a small smile resting on his lips.

“and you have proved me right in that i could trust you. and i do, y/n. i trust you with— with me.”

perhaps you should have thought better of it, but your emotions move faster than your logic, and your emotions call you to reach out your hand and cup benedict’s cheek as you see tears line his ocean eyes.

“as i trust you with me.”

you do not mean to do it; perhaps it’s the intimacy of your conversation, perhaps it’s the proximity of standing so close, perhaps it’s the way you can feel his bated breath mix with yours, but your eyes flicker down at benedict’s parted lips and, swallowing, you look back into his piercing, indecipherable ocean eyes and breathe,

“benedict—”

when a loud sequence of knocks thud at the locked door.

“oh god!” and you take off, running away from benedict and looking about the room when your eyes fall upon a wardrobe.

“what are you doing!” benedict whisper-shouts at you as you hasten towards your destination.

“i am trying to prevent you from being in trouble again with a certain eldest brother, and you ought to be doing the same!”

you open the door to the wardrobe, hop into it, and, grabbing the door’s edge, look at benedict and the adorable shock on his face.

“answer the door as i hide in here!” before he can babble out a response, you whisper-yell, “go!” and promptly, quietly, shut the wardrobe.

before long, you muffedly hear the clicking of the door and it being opened. there is a bit of quiet until gregory’s voice asks—

“what happened to your hair?”

“what of it?”

“it is a mess. it has not been that messy since—”

“nevermind my hair! what is it that you need?”

“have you seen y/n?”

“what? why would i know of y/n’s whereabouts?”

“do not play foolish, brother.”

“i am not playing foolish!”

“you two are always together! you and y/n are like eloise and penelope, anthony and kate, colin and food— you never see one without the other, and she hasn’t been seen since her lessons.”

“i have not seen her; does that answer your inquiry?”

“why are you so on guard! ugh, never you mind. hyacinth and i will look for her on our own, with no thanks to you.”

before benedict can retort, you hear footsteps walking away from him and down the corridor. there is another moment of quiet before you hear the shutting of the door and the turning of the key. you slowly open the wardrobe, and when you see a disgruntled benedict and benedict only, you hop out and walk towards him, unable to contain the growing smile on your face.

“you shouldn’t be so harsh on gregory. he was, after all, merely asking a question.”

“you’re taking his side?”

“of course i am. he, along with hyacinth, are my favorite bridgertons.”

“and where do i fall on this list of yours?”

“eighth,” you reply easily, and benedict’s jaw drops, “but that’s merely on a technicality— i have yet to met daphne and francesca.”

“what have i done to be thought of so little in your regard!” benedict’s expression is aghast, but you see the ghost of a smile on his lips (that you certainly do not stare at for another moment too long).

“do not mistake your low ranking in how i care for you,” you tease but then soften, unable to keep up the lark over your truth. “i care for you, benedict. for all of you. precisely as you are and what you feel and who you—” you swallow, “whoever you love.”

the jest and play fade away from his expression. benedict simply stares at you, ocean eyes once again indecipherable. before he can say anything, you step into his space and tidy his hair.

“you ruined your coif earlier,” you whisper.

“what fortune i have for someone to care for me so.”

his smile is so sweet, his voice so sincere, his ocean eyes so gentle. it is too much, it is so much.

“if you weren’t such a mischief maker,” you diverge, “you wouldn’t need such fortune.”

that makes him scoff, and you grin, quietly glad a new emotion begins to overtake your overwhelming one.

“wise words coming from a mischief maker herself.”

“a mischief maker who knows how to handle her trouble,” you respond pointedly. “speaking of which, i must be going,” and you turn from benedict and head towards the windows.

“and where are you going?” you hear the befuddled amusement in his inquiry as he follows you. you unlatch a window.

“i must leave by way of window and make it appear as if i have been out in the gardens this entire time,” you carefully open the window and peer outside. no one in sight. pleased, you turn around and are greeted by an adorably perplexed benedict. “how else will we deceive the family into believing that we were not alone together? particularly after gregory inquired after me and found you here. it would not help our situation if we left the same room, even if at staggered times.”

“this is not the first time you have escaped home,” he declares matter-of-factly.

“of course it’s not.”

“yet another thing we have in common.”

you snort but then cover your mouth. you turn around and peer out the window, hoping, willing that no one has heard you. no one in sight still. you sigh in relief and turn back to a grinning benedict.

“you are compromising my meticulous plans.”

“then you ought to be going. i shan’t compromise you any further.”

you roll your eyes deeply, ignoring the double entendre (and the flush you feel creeping across your face), but soften.

“will you be all right? are you all right?”

benedict inhales deeply and exhales equally so.

“i—— have much to think over. of myself. to myself. but, it is a comfort to know that i am not alone in this. in this experience, the feelings themselves, as well as in the navigation of them,” the corners of benedict’s mouth tug into a gentle but most radiant smile, his ocean eyes incandescent with joy. “thank you, y/n.”

the butterflies flutter violently within.

“i, i have done nothing.”

“you have done more than you know.”

unable to withstand the intensity of his gaze, you turn back to the open window and steady your hands onto the sides of the frame, leveraging your weight against the ledge to lift yourself up.

“be that as it may,” you assert perhaps too forcefully, “i truly must be going now.”

you carefully but easily shift your body over the ledge and place your boot against the exterior side of bridgerton house to start your descent. you should just go—leave and neglect the violence of feelings within you. but you do not. instead, you look up and are greeted by the sight of benedict at the window, hands also steadied on the ledge, body leaning towards the outside and downwards, beaming at you, the afternoon sun casting light upon his now even more beautiful countenance.

shit.

you will yourself to focus.

“if you need or wish to speak again on this, you will let me know, yes?”

he still smiles but you see the subtlety of his ocean eyes transforming, from delight to… something else. you don’t know what, benedict’s ocean eyes ever indecipherable in moments such as this, and it does nothing to quiet the flutterings within.

“i shall. and hopefully in a manner that does not require your escape.”

“oh, this is nothing.”

“of course it’s not.”

you smile broadly, a particular burst of fondness and play and courage overcoming you—

“farewell, princess.”

and you begin your descent down bridgerton house.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< kathani and y/n make a day of getting y/n a dress for the bridgerton ball. they meet first at bridgerton house early in the morning, before the rest of the family is awake. they break fast together, and kathani teaches y/n how to make masala chai. y/n remarks that how kathani speaks of indian drink and food reminds y/n of how her parents talk about their drink and food from their home country.

< the conversation then grows into talking about how much the ocean intrigues y/n because of how her parents have talked about it, especially in their stories of emigrating to england by ship. the mystery, beauty, comfort, fear, and joy of the ocean all in one entity.

< the conversation then shifts to kathani and y/n talking about the scrappiness of making do with what resources you have access to. it makes y/n recount a memory with her mama when she had offered to give up buying ink, quills, and paper to support the family once her elder sister had married and left their family home. >

“it is a hobby, mama, it—”

“it is important, she says pointedly. “it is your passion.” and she smiles. “we have managed once with just my and papa’s wages, we shall manage now. you need not worry, my child.”

< eventually, kathani and y/n finish their breakfast. they leave bridgerton house and hop into a bridgerton carriage to go to the modiste. it is the first time y/n is in a carriage and it is a surreal, lovely experience. it feels like a fairytale. >

–

< after arrival at the modiste and introductions, kathani decides to roam the markets of the neighborhood as madame delacroix tends to y/n in the back of the shop. >

“madame delacroix—”

“clients call me madame delacroix,” she interrupts. you feel shame flood your body. of course. you are not a client. you are a charity case. at the whims of this wealthy family that has bestowed their pity on you. how else would you be in such a position, in such a shop, before such a talented artist revered by the upper echelons of london. you’re a fool, you wish to run away, you must go when you hear what madame delacroix says next—and she’s smiling.

“friends, however, call me genevieve,” she remarks with a wink.

…

“now, y/n, how would you feel about me being,” genevieve flourishes her hand in the air, “experimental with your dress?”

a combination of fear and excitement perk up within you.

“how do you mean?”

“the ton are quite—” she seems to fight hard not to roll her eyes but admits defeat to a sigh, “—conservative in their fashion—”

“you mean dreadfully dull?” you chime in. genevieve laughs warmly.

“exactly, my dear,” she grins. “you, however, are anything but. i see the french silhouettes more fitting to your character, to your personality, to your spark.”

you feel overwhelmed by the kindness of words that flow easily from the mouth of your new friend. you have not known each other for more than ten minutes, and she seems to see something within you. it makes you feel self-conscious, undeserving, and incredibly proud.

“i would be honored to be graced with the true magnificence of your artistry, genevieve.”

your friend’s eyes shine with joy, and you cannot help but feel utterly delighted that you were the one to ignite such happiness within her.

“my dear, the ton will be green with envy at the sight of you. with your natural beauty and with my vision, you shall be an unstoppable force.”

you furrow your eyebrows at “natural beauty.” you open your mouth to comment—

“is there any person you are looking to,” she hums, looking for the right word while looking for her measuring tape, “impress?”

“no,” you lie. “i would not know anyone aside from the bridgertons and penelope.”

“ah, yes. miss penelope,” the modiste says with much fondness in her heart. “she is quite brilliant, is she not?”

you beam. “she truly is.”

“though,” genevieve ponders, wrapping the tape around your waist, “she is rather besotted with the third eldest bridgerton.”

“oh, yes, it is very appar— wait. why do you say that?”

genevieve shrugs, but you give it more thought.

“are you implying that i have affections for penelope?”

you love penelope. she has come to be one of your closest friends, and my god she is beautiful inside and out—but you have never felt an inkling for her beyond platonic love.

“i imply nothing—i’ve just said she’s besotted with the third eldest, did i not?” genevieve plays coy with a smile. “and the viscount, he is very in love with the viscountess.”

“are you now implying that i have affections for anthony?”

you feel your entire body shudder. the idea of having any sort of love for the eldest bridgerton beyond one that is platonic makes you want to— the very thought—

you put one hand to your mouth and the other to your stomach. genevieve laughs, delighted by this game she’s inflicting upon you and entirely unperturbed by your potential sick in her shop.

“so,” she continues on, “with mister colin and lady kate and their beaus eliminated, unless you are of the temptress kind—”

“no!”

“then,” laughs genevieve, “that leaves three—”

“what do you mean ‘three’!”

“y/n, please, you are a terrible liar. you have affections for one of your friends, that is clear.”

“i do not!” you lie again. she tilts her chin down, looking at you pointedly.

“as i was saying, that leaves three. there is miss francesca, miss eloise, and mister benedict.”

you feel yourself take in a small breath through your nostrils as you hear his name, and you pray that genevieve does not notice.

“aha!” she declares. your prayer has failed. there is no god. “ah, yes, mister benedict bridgerton. the second eldest.”

you hold back a groan, not wanting to give your friend evidence to her (very much correct) claim, so instead you lift your head towards the ceiling. when you snap it back down to look at her, you are startled by how her delighted expression from a mere moment ago has molded into an expression you cannot figure out.

“y/n, you must know,” she states, with so much sincerity in her tone. you are entirely confused by this shift in genevieve, and your confusion only intensifies when she gently takes your hand into both of hers.

“benedict and i... we had been acquainted— intimately, at one point.”

oh.

“oh,” you respond pathetically.

the words should not affect you. they should not affect you. they should— not— affect you.

but—

you huff out a laugh.

“genevieve, why are you sharing this? it’s all ri—”

“i share this with you,” she replies in earnest, “because while intimate, and yes, even passionate—” you try not to wince, “—it was brief and, most of all, not of depth,” she sighs. “but i can only speak for myself, can i?”

you swallow, hoping it will cure your dry throat, and with a smile say, “he is very lucky to have won your affections.”

“my dear.”

genevieve removes one of her hands from yours and brings it to the side of your face, softly wiping away a tear on your cheek. you hadn’t noticed you had started crying. you close your eyes, weak by and ashamed at the frailty of your heart, as you lean into the comfort of your friend’s hand.

after a few moments, you feel her hand leave your cheek and feel your chin held between her thumb and forefinger, lifting up your head. you open your eyes.

“anything i felt for him, i feel for him no more, y/n. he is lucky to have your affections,” genevieve declares. “and if benedict is an intelligent man, he must feel the same for you.”

you laugh.

“benedict is a beautiful person who attracts beautiful people. i am not a beautiful person.”

it is peculiar, how genevieve’s eyes flood with hurt as if you have offended her. what did you say that has hurt her so? you were only speaking of yourself. before you can think further on it, the modiste steels her expression, fire suddenly blazing her eyes.

“well! then i must prove to you what you fail to see, my dear! i dare you not to feel beautiful in the dress i make for you. and if you doubt your beauty,” she peers at you, “will you doubt my artistry?”

you laugh, this time sincerely, radiating gratitude for your new friend.

“it would be foolish to doubt your artistry.”

genevieve beams.

“exactly.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you kick your feet off again, swinging yourself back and surging forward as you look up at the stars. you try not to make too much noise. you know it’s not proper to ambledly hang about your host’s back garden at night as they all slumber. you feel as though you are taking advantage of the bridgertons’ kindness in allowing a pauper like you to stay the night at their home, in allowing you any time to stay at their home since making their acquaintance, in allowing—— you sigh again. you could not sleep. restlessness has entirely consumed you, and you had decided that some fresh air and some childlike fun would be exactly what you needed to calm your nerves. while the cool air and the beauty of the night have been a welcomed reprieve, your heart still pounds and your mind still races with anxiety over the ball tomorrow night.

“couldn’t sleep?”

you slam the heels of your boots into the ground as you hear the familiar voice, doing everything in your power to ignore the flutters of butterflies in your stomach upon hearing it, and fall over onto your knees, planting your hands into the dirt so as not to completely and embarrassingly plant your face there instead. you hear the body of the voice rushing towards you, offering his hand in your periphery. you look up as benedict’s soft ocean eyes stare into you. feeling your cheeks flood with warmth, you take your dirtied palm into his, promptly ignore the lightning that shoots out from the touch to the rest of your body, and lift yourself up with benedict’s gentlemanly assistance. you murmur your thanks as you dust off, in vain, the dirt on your nightdress.

“i did not mean to startle you.”

“well, you have very clearly failed at that,” you remark.

after one last whoosh about your knees to clear off the excess dirt, you look up at benedict and are startled by the utter sincerity of his concerned look. he looks as if he is about to say something, as if he is about to apologize, when you offer him a smile.

“i’m teasing you, benedict.”

he blinks once before breaking out into a smile, a smile that forcefully summons the butterflies within you to flutter about once again, and laughs. you cannot help but smile and laugh with him.

“may i have the honor of sitting with you, miss y/l/n?”

you roll your eyes.

“it is your home after all, you need not my permission.”

“am i to ignore the privacy a lady wishes to have?”

“a lady’s privacy, i am sure, is something you wish to have for yourself,” you retort, alluding to your lack of such a title.

he swallows.

“that is something i cannot deny.”

something shifts in the air as benedict stares at you. you feel yourself holding your breath and, in an attempt to shift away the energy from whatever this— this is (and how much it thrills and terrifies you), you playfully curtsy as you gesture to the swing next to the one that you had occupied.

“i would be delighted by your company, mr. bridgerton.”

the overwhelming gentleness of benedict’s expression transforms into an amused smile, and he follows along with an exaggerated bow of his head. you take a seat at your swing as he takes his seat at the other on your left.

“i couldn’t,” you say in reply to his first question. before he can ask why, you hastily jump into your inquiry. “and why are you up?”

“i was sketching. i had an idea for a painting and wished to lay out the preliminary work before it escaped me,” he sighs heavily, turning to look out to the rest of the garden. you feel the loss of his gaze. “i was frustrated with the results and thought some fresh air would do me some good.”

“what is the idea for your painting?”

he hesitates.

“a portrait,” he seems to admit carefully. feeling how benedict wishes not to be pressed further, you simply hum an affirmation in response.

“i am certain that your sketch is not nearly as horrendous as you think it is.”

“i appreciate your kindness, but it entirely lacked their spark.”

“you seem quite fond of this person,” you huff with a bit of a laugh, jealousy starting to pool in the pit of your stomach.

benedict smiles.

“i am.”

and he turns to look at you.

you swallow, averting your gaze from soft intense ocean eyes, and kick your feet off the ground to begin a gentle swing.

“you should continue with the portrait,” you rattle on in a hasty attempt at diversion. “not only are you blessed with natural talent but you are also fueled with such a passionate determination to ever improve your skill because that is how much you love your craft. an undying devotion to something for which you so deeply care. it is admirable and extremely apparent in all that you do.”

“and what of you?”

“and what of me?”

“of your passions?”

you scoff.

“my passions?”

“your writing.”

you halt your swing and whip your head to benedict. he is grinning with stupid satisfaction, and you would find a way to wipe it off his stupid (beautiful) face if you were not so aghast by the situation.

“how do you know of that?”

“well, whenever you are not reading or conversing with eloise, penelope, and kate; or playing make-believe with my youngest siblings; or squabbling with colin and anthony, you are busily writing in a folded quarto. or, rather, crossing in a folded quarto. crossing twice, if you can manage. you are quite the prolific writer.”

you gape at him, and he continues to grin.

“eloise also told me.”

“she told you!” you shriek.

“indeed. it is, after all, how you met penelope, apparently. and penelope is how you met eloise. and eloise is how we— how you met the rest of us.”

you slump in your swing.

“i feel betrayed.”

benedict laughs heartily, and you shoot him a glare. he holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“she was merely sharing a fact.”

“she is merely a traitor.”

benedict laughs once again, and you summon all the strength within you not to choke it out from his lungs.

“you seem not to handle perception of yourself very well, y/n.”

“when you are me, it is easy not to be perceived,” you mumble, still reeling from the traitorous nature of your loudmouthed friend.

there is a small silence.

“i do not think that is true.”

you turn to him, once again surprised by the gentleness of his sincerity.

“i see you,” benedict declares in a quiet but steadfast voice. his ocean eyes, indecipherable once more, gaze into you.

you feel yourself hold your breath, unable to stop the truth from ringing out in your heart, mind, body, and soul.

i love you.

you shoot up from your swing.

“i must be going, it is quite late—”

“y/n, wait—”

“thank you, benedict,” you say sincerely, turning to him. “i— i really enjoyed our conversation, as brief as it was.”

he blinks and offers you a small smile. i must control myself, you reprimand as you feel the butterflies viciously flutter within.

“as did i.”

“good night,” you whisper. with all the self-control you can muster, you turn away from benedict and hasten towards bridgerton house.

“good night, y/n,” you vaguely hear him say from the swings that brought you together. you attempt to tune out the wistfulness that you hear, that you imagine you hear in his voice.

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the-s1lly-corner · 23 days

Text

Singing songs w/ them in the car (various crps)

I tried cajun shrimp yesterday and omfg it's so good I need to make it again soon but ik itll be a while since my dad isnt a fan of the seasonings

Characters: laughing jack, nina, jeff, ticci toby

Notes: reader is GN, you're both just going on a ride around town, songs are grabbed from my playlist at random so! yeah!

CWs: none

LAUGHING JACK

the randomized playlist has chosen hot to go .... this one is going to be... fun...

doesnt know the lyrics, but hes following along with you trying to guess the words as you sing along with him- he definitely gets the spelling parts right on the mark as soon as hes familiar with it

very loud and very into it, and not at all embarrassed about messing up the words or stumbling over them

he likes the energy the song has- very fast and high energy... he loves music like that

bouncing in his seat, the car kind of shifts and rocks a bit because of it, very large and hes not very.. calm about it... hopefully you guys dont get pulled over..!

NINA

The randomized playlist has chosen psycho teddy, which is so... fitting for her...

it should come as a shock to no one that she knows this song by heart, regardless of what version you have playing- the original, a remix, or an edit... she enjoys any rendition of the song

puts all over her energy into getting the words out and can keep up with the song- including the various other sound effects/noises in the sound

would sing with the window rolled down and tries to encourage you to sing alongside her, thankfully there arent many people out and about tonight- otherwise you might get a few odd looks

and if you do, nina doesnt seem to care at all- youre both having a good time so why should either of you care what others think?

JEFF

The randomized playlist has chosen psychosocial !

you cannot look me in the eye and tell me jeff wouldnt be a slipknot fan- he knows most of their songs, and at least a handful like the back of his hand

that being said... hes not the type to sing out loud to songs... but given the delivery and lyrics of the song, hes definitely getting into it! is it a distraction to your driving? it might be at least a little, to be honest

if youre listening on your own playlist hes going to be very pleased in your taste in music, he generally doesnt make fun of you for your interest save for some teasing but he does have some genuine appreciation of your taste here

leaves him feeling a little more hyped than he was when he got into the car, grinning as the song comes to the close and you just know hes going to try to string you into some shenanigans- the question is what nature of antics will it be... knowing jeff, its not going to be something chill

TICCI TOBY

The randomized playlist has chosen mr blue sky !

honestly hes just happy to sit in the car with you while listening to music, and yes, hes going to belt out the lyrics- will loudly swear if he messes up the lyrics... its been a while..!

he uh... doesnt get to listen to that much music nowadays- you make a mental note to give him a player to keep on him so he has something to fill the silence when hes wandering the woods

definitely tries to pitch up his voice during the "so loong" at 1:50 in the song, his voice cracks but he just leans into it

overall hes having a good time and hes playing himself up simply because you seem to be happy that hes enjoying himself

101 notes · View notes

berrybaps · 5 months

Text

Oc introduction time! Again :3

Meet iris! :D✨💕

More info after the cut!

°Information i have of her as of now✨

Iris is 26 years old!

She works at pigsy's noodles! helps with cleaning and even cook the noodles as well, maybe also bake a few of her desserts for costumers to help with pigsy's business!

Yes, just like lian, she has a skill for baking as well

Although being a good baker, she actually doesn't like sweets that much, she likes her food a bit more salty

Her favorite food are just any noodles (y'know where that started)

Actually more timid and soft spoken than lian, she only speaks when necessary

Iris wants to build a bakery of her own but due to the events that has been happening at the recent seasons, SHE CANNOT ☝️

Acts like a big sister to the traffic light trio :3

She's half filipino half chinese!

Lives in an apartment near pigsy's noodle shop

Iris started obtaining the abilities of a red panda demon as soon as she puts on that neck accessory that was given to her by her grandmother.

Unlike lian who can control her emotions very well, iris cannot! She's very emotional so it was harder for her to deal with her newly found abilities.

As you can see from the ref sheets, her original hair color is reddish brown!

Some likes and dislikes✨

Likes

I already did state this but she LOVES noodles, it might even be considered an addicti—

She likes to draw too, not as much as baking though

Probably loves listening to songs from Alex G—

She loves collecting anything pink that catches her eyes, so as soon as you come in her apartment, prepare to feast your eyes upon many pink trinkets and plushies she has—

Dislikes

She HATES being compared, she used to be compared to a lot of kids back in her childhood so the hatred feeling of being compared to has stuck to her til she was an adult—

Probably dislikes loud places. with her newly found abilities her hearing became more sensitive.

She dislikes cutting her hair, she will trim it if it gets ridiculously long though!

FINALLY got to post her as well, Iris is the main oc i have that are involved with the lmk gang so it would be fun to figure out how she'll fit in on every episodes of the seasons :3, I'll have to post more ocs in the future hopefully YES I HAVE MORE!!

Bonus : Lmk Edits of her! (She looks a little different from these cause these are old ☝️)

#digital art #lego monkey kid oc #lego monkie kid #lmk #lmk oc #lmk oc art #drawing #artists on tumblr #lmk fandom #lmk oc; Iris

187 notes · View notes

dannyricsmirrorball · 1 year

Text

1989 • dr3 ੈ✩‧₊˚

ੈ✩‧₊˚ pairing || daniel ricciardo x singer!reader

ੈ✩‧₊˚ genre || social media au

ੈ✩‧₊˚ summary || y/n is releasing a new album!

ੈ✩‧₊˚ a/n || daniel is in the red bull 2023 seat in this btw! ahhh this was so fun, i’m so excited for 1989 tv and obsessed w daniel x 1989 edits so i had to make this.

liked by danielricciardo, scottyjames31, and 420,781 others

yourusername welcome to new york

tagged danielricciardo

username1 daniel.jpg in action

danielricciardo it’s been waiting for u 😉

username2 best couple back at it

username3 WE NEED NEW MUSIC

charles_leclerc that is so unsafe y/n!

⤷ yourusername ok grandpa lame

⤷ danielricciardo yeah grandpa

⤷ charles_leclerc look who’s talking 🤨

carmenmmundt pretty girl 😍

dianasilverss new york loves u

⤷ yourusername i love u

username19 patiently waiting for more music

georgerussell63 rogue australian w a camera

⤷ yourusername do u know him? he won’t stop following me!

liked by jackdoohan, jensonbutton, and 1,161,630 others

danielricciardo you can hear it in the silence

tagged yourusername

username23 y/n and danny in new york supremacy

scottyjames31 lookin fresh DR

⤷ danielricciardo just for u 😘

⤷ yourusername yeah ok.

yourusername you can hear it on the way home

⤷ danielricciardo can u see it w the lights out?

⤷ username41 um… are these… lyrics?!

username56 in love w their love

username43 smth bout danny is that he will ALWAYS be repping his own merch

marcusmumford sexy man

⤷ yourusername very 😮‍💨

⤷ danielricciardo i’m blushing 😘

liked by aarondessner, sukiwaterhouse, and 192,428 others

yourusername the best people in life are free

username11 guys i think we are entering a new era

username12 i’m calling it. new album coming.

lilymhe i miss u. come see me.

⤷ yourusername come see me!!!!

⤷ lilymhe nyc girls night out?? 👯‍♀️

⤷yourusername alex_albon make it happen

⤷ alex_albon booking flights 😐

username13 guys do we think that this is a lyric…

⤷ username14 we’re so starved

francisca.cgomes 🌟 girl

⤷ yourusername loml 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

⤷ danielricciardo 🤨

⤷ pierregasly 🤨

gracieabrams in love w you

⤷ yourusername in love w YOU

username42 LIVING for ny y/n

liked by landonorris, wearephoenix, and 342,093 others

yourusername kaleidoscope of loud heartbeats

tagged danielricciardo, landonorris, lilymhe, alex_albon, georgerussell63, charles_leclerc

username34 obsessed w her being friends w the grid

landonorris cute danielricciardo

⤷ yourusername lay off my bf 🙄

username83 y/n’s obsession w new york lately has to mean smth

⤷ username45 RIGHT like even danny is posting so much of new york

⤷ username83 and the weird captions… like lyrics??

⤷ username72 or they’re just enjoying being in new york during the off season?

⤷ username83 ur no fun 🙄

lilymhe u + me 4eva 🤭

⤷ yourusername umm yes? 🤭🤭

⤷ danielricciardo ??

⤷ lilymhe what abt it?

⤷ alex_albon ??

⤷ yourusername square up albono

⤷ alex_albon it’s ok i’ll just shake it off

⤷ yourusername 😳

charles_leclerc i don’t remember what we were looking at

⤷ georgerussell63 🎤🎤

⤷ charles_leclerc ohhhhh yes!!

⤷ alex_albon i’m sure she admires ur subtlety george

⤷ yourusername yeah thanks guys 😐

⤷ username62 UMMMM GUYS?? MUSIC???

liked by mickschumacher, enchante, and 183,801 others

daniel3.jpg been getting down to this sick beat 🎧

tagged yourusername

username87 WHAT SICK BEAT DANIEL?!

yourusername 👏👏👏

⤷ daniel3.jpg ❌🙋‍♂️🎁👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨💁‍♀️😱

⤷ username53 um ok…

username72 eating up any scraps of hints to new music

username91 obsessed bf talented gf peak

lando.jpg tell y/n to let me play 🥁 on the album

⤷ yourusername what album??

⤷ lando.jpg oh yk just like whatever one comes next yk like lollollol

⤷ daniel.jpg not looking likely mate

⤷ username57 uhhhh album???!??!!

username82 she’s so girl boss

username73 their matching ugly shoes 🥹🥹

⤷ username88 LMFAO they make it work

liked by sam_fender, chloestroll, and 980,284 others

yourusername tangled up with you all night 🪩

username56 OMFG SHES IN THE STUDIO

username98 NEW MUSIC NEW MUSIC NEW MUSIC

username92 WE WERE RIGHT ODNFHRUEJ

username24 NEW FUCKING MUSIC LFG

landonorris OMGOMGOMG

⤷ yourusername 😐

⤷ landonorris 🤷‍♀️

isahernaez that skirt 😍😍

⤷ yourusername omg complimented by the fashion god 🤭

username3 another lyric caption fs

scottyjames31 does he go anywhere without that damn camera

⤷ yourusername no.

⤷ danielricciardo photography is my passion 😍

liked by landonorris, chloestroll, and 342,510 others

daniel3.jpg high tide came and brought you in 🌊

username56 ok now the captions are just obviously lyrics

username92 he’s so obsessed 🙄 i love them 🥹

landonorris enough of the y/n dedicated jpg posts. mine next??

⤷ yourusername in your wildest dreams

⤷ daniel.jpg ofc 😚

⤷ yourusername oh.

⤷ daniel.jpg oh… 😳

⤷ landonorris AHAHHAA owneddddd yourusername

username72 the way he captures her. they’re so perfect.

username46 the seagulls on the beach??? like y/n’s post as well… this means smth

⤷ username81 someone’s getting delirious

liked by danielricciardo, gracieabrams, and 2,309,451 others

yourusername new album out 01/03/23 🌟

tagged jackantonoff

username63 OH MY FUCKING GOD

landonorris LFG

username12 WHAT WHAT WHAT

username23 IM NOT READY. MY PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED.

carlossainz55 ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

username46 she used the pics danny took of her. im so fragile rn 🥹

lilymhe THE MUSIC INDUSTRY EVERYBODY

⤷ yourusername i love u w my whole heart

georgerussell63 mega mate!!

francisca.cgomes so excited lovey!!! 💖💖

⤷ yourusername ily kika baby 💘

pierregasly let’s goooo

charles_leclerc congrats y/n 👏👏 can’t wait for evryone to see!

⤷ yourusername 🤍🤍 thanku for ur help charlie 😉

⤷ username16 no way…

⤷ username5 are we getting y/n ft charles OMFG WE ARE SO BACK

username3 AHHH SO EXCITED but also why’s it called 1989?

⤷ username78 this is just a guess but im 99% sure it’s bc that’s the year danny was born

⤷ username3 omg a y/n album named after/dedicated to danny, my heart can’t take this

username63 why is no one else talking abt the fact that the release date is daniel’s bday?!

⤷ username3 OH MY GOD IT IS

maxverstappen1 congrats y/n/n 💙

jackantonoff let’s goooo

⤷ yourusername absolute legend

danielricciardo so proud of u baby ❤️

⤷ yourusername i love u forever

lewishamilton 💜

gracieabrams proud asf

f1 ready for 1989 era

danielricciardo random release date 🤔

liked by arthurleclerc, gangofyouths, and 390,647 others

yourusername nice dresses, sunsets

username12 ugh i need to raid her closet

danielricciardo more of this 😍

lilymhe my girl 🤤😍😘💖💘

⤷ danielricciardo i’m sure u meant MY girl

⤷ lilymhe get ur own girl

⤷ danielricciardo i HAVE my own girl

⤷ alex_albon and SO DO U

⤷ yourusername calm down ladies, there’s enough of me to go around for the both of u 😘

⤷ username23 alex is lily’s bitch confirmed

jackantonoff red lips and rosy cheeks?

liked by danielricciardo, enchante, and 5,609,183 others

yourinstagram celebrating my person today! danny, thanku for being my rock, my heart, my everything. happy birthday my love, i am yours forever and always.

my new album 1989 is now yours! i am so proud of this album, thank you to everyone involved in creating my newest baby. most importantly, thank you to my most special muse. this album is about life, love, friendship, and everything in between.

daniel this one is for you 🤍

enchante x

tagged danielricciardo

danielricciardo the best present i could ask for ❤️

⤷ username41 nobody speak to me

danielricciardo so so proud of u, forever my girl

⤷ yourinstagram forever ❤️

landonorris hbd lover 😍😍 oh yeah and congrats y/n 🙄 so extremely proud 🧡

⤷ yourinstagram stop tryna bust the moves on my boyfriend - thankuu landini 🩷

jackantonoff PROUDEST

⤷ yourinstagram my partner in musical crime 🤍

maxvertsappen1 WOOOH LETS GO Y/N!!! happy birthday daniel 😘

⤷ yourusername thanku maxxie 🩷

⤷ danielricciardo love ya maxxie

lilymhe ALBUM OF THE YEAR IS OUT

lilymhe THATS MY BEST FRIEND!!!

⤷ yourinstagram I LOVE U

alex_albon absolute LEGEND

⤷ yourinstagram so sweet albono

username42 THIS ALBUM IS ACTUAL POP PERFECTION

username43 WE WERE RIGHT, MOST OF THE CAPTIONS WERE LYRICS

christianhorner congrats y/n 👏👏 happy birthday daniel 😊😊

francisca.cgomes so proud of u my talented sweet amazing girl 💘💘 (happy birthday danny!)

⤷ yourinstagram 🥹 love u sm kika

username63 THEY NEVER GO OUT OF STYLE!

ausgp it’s y/n and danny’s world, we’re just living in it 👏🥰

username13 how u get the girl??? floored by her genius

charles_leclerc congrats mate!! proud 🖤 happy birthday daniel 😘

⤷ danielricciardo thanku charlie 🥰🥰

⤷ username16 um ig we were wrong abt the charles x y/n song

⤷ yourusername 🤔

⤷ username16 oh?

oliviarodrigo masterclass in pop perfection 😍

⤷ yourinstagram 🥹

marcusmumford two absolute legends!!

joshallenqb hbd danny 🤤 congrats y/n!

scottyjames31 YES MATE! love ya y/n so proud ❤️ happy birthday danny boy 😘

⤷ yourusername thanku scotty 💘

⤷ danielricciardo see ya soon mate love ya

oscarpiastri congratulations y/n!

⤷ yourusername thanku oscar 🤍🤍

redbullracing happy birthday to our honey badger ❤️ and congrats y/n!

liked by yourusername, jackdoohan, and 1,927,038 others

f1 you’re looking at your australian gp pole sitter 🔥 for the first time in formula 1, the honey badger takes pole position at his home race.

tagged danielricciardo, redbullracing

username63 LFGGGGGG

username82 back where he belongs 👏👏

username9 he went back home and got that shine back

yourusername let’s gooo baby

redbullracing back on top 📣

ausgp 🍯🦡 is back baby

username47 i just know he was listening 1989 in those fuck ass beats the entire lead up to quali

aussiegrit 👏👏

scottyjames31 bring it home danny boyyy

username52 he was defs singing shake it off to zak beige in his head

username13 love to see it 🇦🇺🦘

liked by charles_leclerc, lorenzotl, and 1,209,839 others

yourusername it’s our home gp. it’s race day. danny’s on pole. 1989 deluxe is out.

after all the love for the album, i’m so excited for you guys to hear these three new tracks; wonderland, you are in love, and new romantics.

big love to my big bro jackantonoff for your inspiring dedication to your craft and being a masterclass act.

a huge thanks to my favourite pianist charles_leclerc for playing piano for the most special track - you are in love.

i hope you guys love it 🤍 big ups dannyric today everybody! 🇦🇺🇦🇺

username92 the best wag ever

username02 her releasing the album on his birthday and then the deluxe version on his home gp, she’s so in love.

danielricciardo i am in love, with you, forever and ever and always. thanku baby, my best good luck charm.

⤷ yourusername 🥹

redbullracing on repeat in the garage y/n!!

⤷ mercedesamgf1 same

⤷ scuderiaferrari same

⤷ alpinef1team same

⤷ alphataurif1 same

⤷ astonmartinf1 same

⤷ williamsracing same

⤷ haasf1team same

⤷ alfaromeostake same

⤷ mclaren same

⤷ username3 who invited them 😒

username13 AND YOU UNDERSTAND NOW WHY THEY LOST THEIR MINDS AND FOUGHT THE WARS AND WHY I’VE SPENT MY WHOLE LIFE TRYNA PUT IT INTO WORDS

⤷ username3 YOU’RE IN LOVE TRUE LOVE

⤷ username85 their love is one of a kind

⤷ username93 a forever kind of love

⤷ username2 her pen goes fucking crazy but it goes even crazier when it’s abt daniel

charles_leclerc it’s finally out! so grateful to work with you y/n/n, thanku for trusting me w this special special song. so proud to be even a small part of this brilliant project. see u tonight!

⤷ yourusername charlie 🥹 thanku thanku thanku! i couldn’t think of anyone more perfect to collaborate with for such a special song. good luck out there today!!

⤷ username16 i’m so not okay

lilymhe daniel is so lucky (don’t tell him yail is actually abt me)

⤷ yourusername 🤫🤫

⤷ danielricciardo i wanna be mad but im too happy rn

landonorris BABY WE’RE THE NEW ROMANTICS COME ON COME ALONG WITH ME HEART BREAK IS THE NATIONAL ANTHEM WE SING IT PROUDLY WE ARE TOO BUSY DANCING TO GET KNOCKED OFF OUR FEET BABY WE’RE THE NEW ROMANTICS THE BEST PEOPLE IN LIFE ARE FREE

⤷ yourusername i’m glad u liked it lan 😭

⤷ mclaren he’s blasting it in the garage

⤷ oscarpiastri can confirm (not complaining)

⤷ username81 he’s just like me fr