#hurt! and then fixed!bea

[verricherri]

Rhett Abbott - friends with benefits turning into lovers with a baby on the way and all that chaos

Dawn Over Wabang

A/N: hehe 😈 i've always wanted to do this, it was an idea for "Right Here" but i scrap it off then @theres-a-bea's reply to "Right Here" was the final push 🫡 to anon: i’m sorry if this isn’t what you had in mind. feel free to drop another ask anytime! Warnings: you don't know what kind of mess this is but it’s not soft and it’s not clean. it’s messy Masterlist Feedback and reposts are appreciated  ☀️

The Wabang bar smelled like stale beer, spilt whiskey, and neon buzzing over bodies pressed too close, laughter biting like cold air in the lungs. The jukebox was struggling through a George Strait track, voices rising and falling under the low hum of a town that never really slept, not for the people who couldn’t afford to.

You leaned back against Rhett’s truck, breath puffing out in the cold, eyes glittering under the flicker of the sign above the door. Your smile was sharp, mean in a way that made him swallow, made him want to drag you closer and push you away in the same breath.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you said, the smirk pulling at your lips as you tilted your head, daring him.

“Like what?” he shot back, trying for casual, failing, hands shoved in his pockets so you wouldn’t see them shake. “Like you’re waiting for permission.”

You stepped forward, boots crunching on gravel, the space between you charged, every inch closer like stretching a wire too thin. The tension was heavy, heady, the kind that made your chest tight, made your skin itch for something, someone, anything to break it.

“This don’t mean anything, cowboy,” you whispered, close enough now that your breath hit his jaw, your eyes dark, your teeth catching your bottom lip. He let out a breath that ghosted in the cold between you, shaking his head, “You keep saying that.” “Because it’s true.” “It ain’t.” You laughed, sharp, breathless, like you hated him for saying it, like you hated yourself for hearing it. “Shut up,” you muttered, grabbing the collar of his jacket, pulling him down, your mouth crashing into his with a force that knocked the breath out of both of you.

The kiss was rough, teeth knocking, noses bumping, your hands fisting in his hair as he finally gave in, finally let himself take what he wanted, what he needed. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you against the cold metal of his truck, grounding himself in the feel of you, the taste of you, your tongue tangling with his as if you were trying to swallow each other whole.

You pulled back for a breath, just enough to look him in the eyes, your chest heaving, your pupils blown wide.

“Don’t fall in love with me,” you whispered, like it was a threat.

He didn’t say anything, just kissed you again, harder, desperate, because it was already too late.

—

It became routine, this dance you did, this game you played.

The barn, with straw sticking to your bare skin, your soft moans echoing between wooden beams as Rhett pushed into you, one hand over your mouth, the other gripping your hip so hard you knew you’d have bruises in the morning.

The truck, seats pushed back, windows fogging up as you rode him, your nails digging into his shoulders, your forehead pressed to his, your breath hot and heavy between you as you tried not to say his name like it meant something.

The feed store bathroom, quick, messy, your leg hitched up around his waist, the sound of your breathless laughter mixing with the quiet whimpers you tried to swallow.

You pretended it was nothing. He pretended it didn’t hurt to watch you pull your jeans back on, to watch you fix your hair in the cracked mirror before slipping out without a word, your perfume lingering like a ghost.

But it was everything. It was everything.

—

One night, you were sitting on the tailgate, legs swinging, a cigarette burning low between your fingers, the smoke curling up into the cold night air as Rhett leaned against the truck, watching you like he was trying to memorise you.

You turned to him, exhaling smoke, your eyes tired, soft in a way that made something inside him clench.

“We can’t keep doing this,” you said, your voice quiet, almost lost under the hum of cicadas and the distant bark of a dog down the road. “But we will,” he replied, just as quiet. You looked away, taking another drag, your lips curling into a sad smile. “Yeah,” you said, flicking ash into the dirt, “yeah, we will.”

And you did.

You kissed him again, pulling him between your thighs, your fingers gripping his jacket, pulling him close, pressing your mouth to his like it was the last good thing you’d ever have.

Because it was.

—

It happened on a Tuesday.

You were late, the clock ticking loud in your head as you sat on the edge of the bathtub, your breath shaking, the plastic stick in your hand spelling out what you already knew but didn’t want to believe.

Two lines.

Clear as day.

Clear as a life you didn’t ask for, didn’t plan for, didn’t want to want.

You pressed your hand to your mouth so you wouldn’t scream, the tears hot on your cheeks as you curled in on yourself, the world too loud, too sharp, too unfair.

You didn’t call him. You didn’t tell him. You pulled yourself together, washed your face, put on your jacket, and walked out like you weren’t crumbling.

—

Rhett found out anyway.

You were at the feed store, grabbing salt blocks you didn’t need, your hands trembling as you tried to load them into your truck. He appeared beside you, quiet, solid, that look on his face that always made your stomach twist.

“Let me help,” he said, reaching for the bag. “I got it,” you snapped, too fast, too harsh. He froze, blinking, his eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” “Don’t lie to me.”

You turned, shoving the bag into the truck bed, your hands shaking so hard you had to curl them into fists.

“Tell me,” he demanded, stepping closer, his voice low, tight, scared in a way that made your heart hurt. You turned to him, tears in your eyes, your chest heaving, your voice breaking as you whispered, “I’m pregnant.”

The world stopped. The birds, the wind, the distant clank of metal from the shop, all of it went silent.

Rhett’s face went pale, his mouth opening and closing, his hands lifting like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“It’s mine?” he asked, his voice cracking. You laughed, sharp and wet, tears streaming. “Who else, Rhett? Who the fuck else?”

—

It didn’t stop. The fling didn’t stop.

If anything, it got worse. More desperate. More needed.

You showed up at his trailer two nights later, hair wet from the rain, your eyes wild, your breath ragged as you pushed him back against the wall, kissing him like you were trying to drown, like you were trying to forget, like you were trying to remember why you were here in the first place.

“Don’t,” he whispered against your mouth, his hands gripping your arms, “don’t do this if you don’t mean it.” You kissed him harder, biting his lip, tasting blood, tears mixing with rain on your cheeks. “Shut up,” you whispered back, “just shut up.”

Clothes came off in pieces, your jeans around one ankle, his belt still half-buckled as he lifted you, pressing you against the wall, your legs wrapping around his waist as you pulled him in, deeper, harder, trying to silence the fear clawing at your chest.

It was rough, messy, the kind of sex that left bruises, that left bite marks, that left fingerprints on your skin like ownership, like promise, like regret.

After, you lay on his chest, both of you breathing hard, your tears soaking into his skin as you pressed your face against him, your hands clutching at him like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go.

He stroked your hair, his other hand resting on your stomach, trembling.

—

The weeks passed in fragments.

Rhett started showing up with prenatal vitamins you left untouched on the counter, unopened, gathering dust next to the sink. He fixed the creak in your door. Patched the fence you didn’t ask him to. Showed up with groceries, oranges and ginger tea you refused to touch.

You screamed at him in the kitchen one night, your voice raw, shaking, the glass jar in your hand shattering against the wall, pieces skittering across the floor like the shards of yourself you were trying to hold together.

“Stop trying to fix everything! Stop trying to fix me!” you sobbed, pressing your hands to your hair, tugging, the world closing in. “I’m trying to keep you alive!” he yelled back, his own hands shaking, tears gathering in his eyes, voice cracking under the weight of it. “I don’t want this!” you cried, fists hitting his chest, your body trembling so hard it felt like you were going to come apart. “I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I can’t—” “I do,” he whispered, pulling you to him, pressing his face into your hair, holding you so tight it hurt. “I do, darlin’. I want this. I want you.”

You pushed against him, trying to get away, but he held you, letting you fight him, letting you cry, letting you break.

“I can’t do this alone,” you sobbed, your voice small, terrified, your fists still pressing weakly against his chest. “You won’t have to,” he said, his voice low, steady even as it trembled. “You’re not alone. I swear, you’re not alone.”

You crumpled then, your body folding against his, your tears soaking into his shirt as you clung to him, shaking, letting the fear bleed out into the space between you.

—

The days after were quiet, cautious. You kept your distance, still moving through the world like you were waiting for it to collapse, but you started to take the vitamins, one at a time, the bitterness on your tongue reminding you that you were still here.

You let him cook for you, sitting at the table with your head in your hands as he moved around your tiny kitchen, the smell of eggs and toast filling the quiet.

You let him touch your stomach, his rough hand resting there carefully, his thumb brushing back and forth when he felt the baby shift. You let yourself watch his face when it happened, the way his eyes lit up, the soft, reverent way he whispered, “Hey there, little one.”

You tried not to smile.

You failed.

You still had bad days, days where you pressed your hand to your belly and cried quietly, fear and grief and hope tangling until you couldn’t tell one from the other. But there were good days too.

The day you felt the baby kick properly, strong enough to make you gasp, your hand flying to your stomach, your eyes wide as you called out for Rhett.

He came running, dirt still on his hands from the fence, “What? What is it?” “Feel,” you breathed, grabbing his hand, pressing it to your belly. And when it happened again, you laughed, tears slipping down your cheeks, your free hand flying to your mouth as Rhett grinned, eyes shining, breathless, “She’s strong, just like her mama.”

You let yourself laugh then, really laugh, pressing your forehead to his, your hand still on top of his, your heart hammering in your chest.

In that moment, you let yourself believe you could love her.

And you did.

You started talking to her when you were alone, your hand on your belly, telling her about the sky, about the horses, about Rhett, about the way the wind smelled after the rain.

And in those moments, you fell in love with her, with the tiny life growing inside you, even as the fear sat heavy in the quiet.

—

It was late, the wind slipping through the cracked window, making the curtains shift like ghosts. You were lying on your side, one arm under your head, the other resting on your belly, thumb rubbing small circles over the skin stretched tight.

Rhett’s hand covered yours, warm, calloused, still smelling faintly of dirt and horses. His eyes were on your stomach, watching, waiting, hoping to feel her move again.

You didn’t look at him when you spoke, voice low, steady, the way it always was when you were trying not to break.

“Rhett.” His eyes flicked up to your face, jaw tightening. “Yeah?” You took a breath, let it out slow. “You’ll take care of her, right?” His brow creased. “What kinda question is that?” You turned your head, met his eyes, yours sharp even as they glinted wet in the dark. “Just answer me.” He swallowed, hard, shifting closer, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ll take care of her.” “That’s not what I asked.”

The silence stretched, the wind rattling the loose pane in the window. You blinked, a tear sliding across the bridge of your nose into your hair.

“Promise me,” you said, voice flat, tired, but fierce in the way you always were when you meant something.

Rhett’s lips parted, breath catching, his eyes flicking between yours, searching for something to say that would be enough.

He nodded, just once, jaw clenching. “I promise.”

You looked at him for a long moment, like you were trying to memorize his face, like you were trying to say something without words.

Then you turned back toward the window, closing your eyes, pressing your hand over his, letting the quiet settle back in.

Outside, the wind moved through the trees. Inside, your daughter kicked once beneath both your palms, and you didn’t say anything else.

—

It was still dark when Rhett woke up, the kind of quiet that felt like the world holding its breath.

You were lying next to him, your back against his chest, your hand resting over his where it splayed across your stomach. Your hair was a mess against the pillow, the soft rise and fall of your breathing steady, the air between you warm.

For a moment, it felt normal. Safe.

He pressed his nose to the back of your neck, breathing you in, letting his eyes close again.

Then something shifted.

Your body felt too still. Your hand wasn’t twitching the way it usually did when you were dreaming. There was no sleepy sigh, no small shift of your hips, no soft sound in your throat.

“Hey,” Rhett murmured, his voice rough, sleep-heavy, squeezing your hand gently. “Darlin'.”

Nothing.

He lifted his head, blinking into the dark, trying to see your face, to see your eyes, to hear your voice telling him to shut up, to go back to sleep.

But you didn’t move.

“Hey,” he said again, louder this time, sitting up, his hand shaking as it moved to your shoulder, nudging you lightly. “Come on, don’t mess with me.”

Your body rolled slightly with the movement, your hair falling across your face, your lips parted, but your chest didn’t rise.

Rhett’s breath caught, something cold slicing through his veins.

“No,” he whispered, pushing your hair back, cupping your cheek, the skin still warm under his calloused palm. “No, no, no.” He shook you harder, his voice cracking, “Wake up. Come on, darlin', please.”

Your head lolled, your hand falling off your belly, hitting the mattress with a dull sound that made his stomach turn.

Rhett’s heart was pounding, blood roaring in his ears as he slid off the bed, pulling you with him, laying you flat, his shaking hands fumbling as he tilted your head back, pinched your nose, breathing air into your lungs, pressing down on your chest, again, again, again.

“Breathe,” he sobbed, tears streaking down his face, falling onto yours, “breathe, darlin', come on, please.”

The silence was louder than his begging.

Your body jolted under each compression, your hair splayed out around you like a dark halo, your face slack, your lips pale.

The baby started crying from the next room, a thin, sharp wail that cut through the quiet like a blade.

Rhett’s hands stilled, pressing against your chest, his head dropping forward as a sound tore from his throat, raw and broken.

“Please,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours, your skin cooling under his tears, “please don’t leave me.”

The baby’s cries grew louder, echoing off the walls, demanding, alive.

Rhett pulled you into his arms, clutching you against him, rocking back and forth, his hand tangled in your hair, his other pressed against your back, as if he could warm you back into this world.

“I love you,” he whispered, over and over, the words falling into your hair, into the quiet, into the dawn that was just beginning to break outside the window. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Outside, the sky was turning grey, the world waking up, the first light catching on the photo on the dresser—of you, of him, of you smiling the way you used to before everything got so heavy.

And Rhett held you, as your daughter cried in the other room, the dawn spilling light over your lifeless face, over the sheets, over the man who didn’t know how to let you go.

—

The sky was grey, the kind that pressed down on your shoulders, heavy, cold, the clouds holding back rain like a threat.

Wind whipped through the cemetery, cutting through the black coats and bowed heads, carrying the sharp cry of your baby as Rhett held her against his chest, rocking, shushing, even though she was too young to understand the hush, too young to understand why everyone around her was crying.

The preacher’s voice was low, words tumbling into the wind, lost before they could settle. The smell of wet earth and lilies hung in the air, clinging to the cuffs of Rhett’s shirt, to the blanket wrapped around the baby, to the wood of your coffin.

White lilies, because you liked them. Because you once said they reminded you of the mountains, of clean air, of something you could breathe in without choking.

Now they sat on top of your coffin, too bright, too clean, against the dark wood and the mud.

Royal stood beside Rhett, his hand on Rhett’s shoulder, a rare moment of softness in the way his fingers squeezed, in the way his eyes were red when he looked at the ground instead of at the box that held you.

“She’d have hated all this fuss,” Royal said, voice rough, cracked like old wood.

Rhett didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

He just clutched the baby tighter, felt her small fists gripping his collar, her cries softening into hiccups, into quiet whimpers that pressed against the fabric of his shirt, warm and alive and loud in a world that suddenly felt too quiet.

People left, one by one, their footsteps fading over gravel and wet grass, the scent of lilies and mud the only thing left behind.

Rhett didn’t move.

The baby shifted against him, her tiny head tucked under his chin, her breath warm, her small fingers still curled in the fabric of his shirt.

He stepped forward, closer to the coffin, the wood cold beneath his hand as he reached out, touching it like he was touching you, like it could somehow bring you back for just a second.

The world felt too big, too empty, as he dropped to his knees in the mud, the baby pressed to his chest, the wind tugging at his hair, at the blanket around her, at the edges of the black coat he hadn’t wanted to wear.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his forehead resting against the cold wood, his shoulders shaking as the baby whimpered softly, reaching a tiny hand toward the lilies she didn’t understand. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, over and over, words breaking, turning to breath, to silence.

Above him, the clouds moved, heavy and grey, waiting.

And Rhett stayed there, knees in the mud, clutching the baby to his chest, pressing his forehead to your coffin like it was the only place left in the world he knew how to be.

—

The house was too quiet.

It wasn’t the kind of quiet that felt like peace, like a Sunday morning with coffee on the porch and the smell of rain in the air. It was the kind of quiet that pressed into your ears, that made the floorboards groan too loud under your feet, that made the clock tick like a hammer in the walls.

Rhett moved through it like a ghost, the baby tucked against his chest in the sling you bought online, saying it would leave your hands free. Now it left his hands free, but he didn’t know what to do with them, hovering over the sink, the stove, the crib, the tiny pink laundry that smelled like the lavender soap you used on your hair.

He stood in the kitchen one morning, the baby fussing softly, looking at the coffee cup you left by the sink. It was chipped, a crack down the side you always said gave it character, your lipstick still smudged on the rim, faint, like a ghost of a smile you once gave him across the kitchen table.

He didn’t touch it. Couldn’t.

—

At night, he walked the halls with the baby, rocking her slowly, whispering stories he was too afraid to say out loud during the day.

“Your mama,” he’d say, voice low, breath shaking, “she was stubborn, you know that? She’d look at me like she was gonna bite me if I said the wrong thing.”

The baby would blink up at him, wide-eyed, her little hands curled into fists against his chest, warm and alive in the dark.

“But she laughed too,” he’d add, closing his eyes, swallowing hard, “laughed like she didn’t know the world was heavy.”

—

He talked to you, too.

In the quiet, when the baby was finally asleep, her tiny snores filling the room, Rhett would sit on the edge of the bed, holding your old sweater, pressing it to his face, breathing in the faint scent of you that still clung to the fabric.

“You’d be mad if you saw how I fold the laundry,” he muttered once, a bitter smile flickering before it fell. “You’d say I’m makin’ a mess.”

He’d sleep on your side of the bed, the sheets cold, the dent of your body gone, but he’d lie there anyway, eyes open, listening for the sound of your laugh in the hallway, the creak of the floor where you always stepped, the soft clatter of your rings on the counter.

Sometimes he swore he heard you, soft and close, like you were there just behind him, just around the corner, just out of reach.

—

He kept your things where they were.

Your shoes by the door, the hairbrush with your strands still caught in the bristles, the photo on the dresser of you laughing, your hair caught in the wind, your eyes bright and soft in a way they weren’t often, but that he saw when you let him.

The baby would stare at that photo sometimes, her eyes locked on your face, her small hand reaching out, touching the glass with a soft, curious sound in her throat.

“Yeah,” Rhett would whisper, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “that’s your mama.”

And when the baby would drift off against his chest, her breath warm, her tiny hand clutching his shirt, Rhett would close his eyes, letting the tears slip quietly, holding her tight as the house creaked around them, as the wind moved past the windows, as the world kept turning without you in it.

—

Dawn came slow.

The sky was a pale grey, the kind that made the frost on the grass glow, the breath in the air turn to fog. The baby was awake before the sun, fussing, small fists waving, her cries soft and searching.

Rhett moved through the quiet house, bare feet on cold floorboards, the baby tucked against his chest in the sling, her warmth seeping into him, anchoring him to the moment.

He stood by the window, looking out at the ridge, the pale light creeping over the world he once thought was endless, a world that felt so small now, so heavy, so empty without you.

“Hey, little one,” he whispered, brushing a thumb over her cheek, “easy now.”

She settled, blinking up at him, her eyes so much like yours it hurt to look at her sometimes, the same softness, the same sharpness, the same way of seeing him like she already knew the worst parts of him and didn’t care.

He rocked her, slow, the boards creaking beneath his feet, the dawn turning the frost into steam that curled and rose and disappeared.

“You know,” he said, his voice rough, tired, “your mama... she didn’t want a fuss.”

The baby made a soft sound, her tiny hand clutching at his shirt.

“She didn’t want a fuss,” he repeated, swallowing, “but she deserved one.”

His eyes stung, but he let the tears fall, silent, warm on cold skin, dripping onto the blanket wrapped around the baby.

“She loves you,” he said, pressing his lips to her head, breathing in the smell of soap and sleep and something that was yours and hers, “more than anything.” He closed his eyes, letting out a breath that felt like it took everything with it. “I’d give anything for one more day,” he whispered, voice breaking, “just one more.”

The world felt like it paused, like it held its breath with him.

And when Rhett opened his eyes—

—

He was back.

The music was too loud, the neon humming, the cheap beer stink clinging to denim jackets and scuffed boots. George Strait warbled from the jukebox, tangled with the sharpness of your laugh—alive, bright, cruel in its familiarity.

You were pressed against him, your fingers curled in his shirt, your lips hot against his, tasting of whiskey and whatever sweet thing you’d stolen from the bar. You kissed him like you were picking a fight, teeth scraping, your breath quick and uneven.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your smirk lazy, your eyes sharp under the neon, like you knew something he didn’t. Your breath hitched, lips twitching like you might laugh, like you might say something to ruin him.

“You good, cowboy?” you asked, voice low, teasing, the kind of softness that only came out when you were trying to hide what you felt.

Rhett’s hands were shaking when they came up to your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks, memorizing the heat of you, the shape of you, the alive of you he’d been begging for. His eyes burned, and he didn’t care if you saw.

Your fingers fisted tighter in his shirt, tugging him closer, your breath catching, your eyes darting over his face like you were reading a map you’d forgotten how to follow.

He pressed his forehead to yours, shutting his eyes, letting himself have this, just for a second.

You swallowed, your smirk faltering, your breath catching. “Rhett—” “Don’t,” he rasped, shaking his head just slightly, a tear slipping hot down his cheek, catching on your lip as you tilted your face up.

He opened his eyes, met yours, letting you see everything, letting it ruin him.

And he whispered, soft, breaking, so low only you could hear:

“If all I get is you for a while, I’ll take it. Every time.”

You froze, your mouth parting, something flickering in your eyes, something like fear, something like love, something like you’d heard this before.

And then he kissed you—hard, desperate, like a drowning man who had stopped pretending he wanted to breathe, like he’d been waiting lifetimes to taste you again, to feel you alive under his hands.

He kissed you knowing exactly how it would end, knowing you would slip through his fingers again, knowing he would find himself here again, kissing you under the humming neon, your laughter in his mouth, your hands in his hair, and he would choose it again, and again, and again.

Because you were worth losing, even when it wrecked him.

Because you were worth it, every time.

TAGLIST:

MY CHERRIES: veri🍒: @tokkiz @lizzie8878 @mrsparker3696 @pixie2k5 @0urlady0fs0rr0ws421 @amazingishlivy drop your cherries: veri🍒: tag for ALL of that character works

[bombiikki]

𝖈ross 𝖙he 𝖑ine ⸝⸝ 𓂃₊ ⊹

⋆˙⟡ — non idol!minji x fem!reader

♯ 𝖘ynopsis : you and minji were always just friends—the kind who held hands without thinking, who shared beds without question. but when feelings begin to stir beneath the surface, you’re forced to face the one line you swore you’d never cross.

𝖈ontains : friends to lovers, theyre both oblivious, and also lwk in denial, just a whole lotta fluff with like the smallest smidge of angst (but its only cuz theyre—again—in denial), hanni is in the middle of everything

𝖜ord 𝖈ount : 5.0k

𝖆uthor's 𝖓ote : requested by anon here! when anon requested a minji fic to “feelings” by lauv i fear they cooked with the idea… i tried my best bringing this idea to life and i kinda tweaked like a few things… 😓the ending is also lwk a LILL rushed

. ♬ ݁˖ 𝖓ow 𝖕laying — feelings by lauv

the day started like all the others did, with sunlight spilling lazily through the blinds and minji’s voice in your ear. she was talking about something—maybe breakfast, maybe the dream she had about being chased by a giant toast—but you weren't really listening. not because you didn’t care, but because you knew this version of peace only came with her. it was in the way her laughter curled into the air like steam off morning coffee. it was in the way she reached out, absentmindedly fixing your sleeve like she always did.

you’d been friends for years now, and in that time, you’d become something like a rhythm—so in sync, people hardly bothered asking if you’d show up together anymore. where minji was, you were. it wasn’t planned or forced. it just happened, like gravity.

your friends joked about it constantly. hanni, especially, would nudge minji with a grin and say, “you’re basically married, you know that?” and minji would laugh, the kind that always made your chest feel warm. 

“nah,” she’d reply, ruffling your hair. “we’re just close.”

close.

you’d memorised that word by now. tucked it into your heart and let it sit there, heavy and quiet.

some days it was enough. most days, it wasn’t.

like when she called you late at night, her voice soft from sleep, asking if you could come over because her room felt too quiet. and you did, of course you did, every time. and she’d curl up next to you like she belonged there, like your shoulder was made just for her to rest her head on.

or when she texted you just to say she missed you—even if you’d seen her that morning. your heart would skip, flutter, fall. but then she’d send another message right after: “also can u bring snacks i’m starving.” and you’d laugh and tell yourself to get a grip.

because she didn’t mean it like that. she couldn’t.

still, there were moments—tiny, trembling things—that made you wonder.

like the time she fell asleep with her hand in yours on the train, and even after she woke, she didn’t let go. or how she always waited for your reactions first, before anyone else’s, like your opinion meant more. like it mattered most.

and it did, didn’t it?

minji meant everything to you. in the quietest way possible, she’d become the center of your world. and you… you were just doing your best not to drown in the ache of it all.

“hey,” her voice pulled you back. you blinked, looking up at her. she had that look again—gentle, concerned. “where’d you go just now?”

you smiled, shaking your head. “nowhere. just thinking.”

she leaned closer, propping her chin on your shoulder. “thinking about what?”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. instead, you reached for your drink, pretending not to notice how close her lips were to your cheek.

“you’re weird,” she said, teasing.

“takes one to know one,” you shot back.

she grinned, and your heart did that stupid fluttering thing again. you wished it would stop or at least stop hurting so much.

later that evening, as the sky turned the color of old peach skins, you sat side by side on her bedroom floor, folding laundry while music played low in the background. she hummed along to the melody, not quite in tune but beautiful all the same.

“can i ask you something?” she said suddenly.

“sure.”

“do you think i’m… clingy?”

you looked at her, startled. “what? no. why would you think that?”

“just wondering. hanni said we’re always together. made it sound like i’m too attached.”

you laughed, though something stung beneath it. “we are always together.”

she shrugged. “yeah, but… it doesn’t bother you, right?”

you paused. your hands stilled over a pair of her socks. you looked at her—really looked—and saw that tiny furrow in her brow, the one she got when she was unsure.

“min,” you said softly, “i like being with you. it doesn’t bother me.”

her smile then was slow, sweet. “me too.”

and maybe it didn’t mean anything. maybe it was just a simple exchange between best friends. maybe she’d forget it by tomorrow.

but you wouldn’t. you never did. because every time she said “me too,” it felt like a promise. 

and every time, you wished she meant it in the way you did.

the sky outside was painted in soft watercolors—clouds trailing lazy streaks of white over a pale blue canvas. minji sat by the window of your favorite coffee shop, the same one with the peeling brick walls and mismatched mugs, her fingers wrapped around the warmth of her cup.

hanni sat across from her, scrolling through her phone, legs crossed, eyes occasionally flicking up with something suspiciously close to amusement.

“you’re fidgeting,” hanni said eventually, not looking up.

“am not.”

“you are,” she said again, sing-song. “like a nervous wreck waiting for their crush.”

minji rolled her eyes. “you’re being ridiculous.”

“and right.” hanni leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “so… what’s the deal with you and y/n?”

minji blinked. “what?”

“don’t play dumb.” hanni gave her a look. “you’re always together. like, always. people joke about it. you're basically conjoined. you do everything together, talk in code, wear each other's clothes—min, come on. if i didn’t know you, i’d think you were dating.”

minji laughed, but there was something off about it—too quick, too sharp. “we’re just close. that’s it. i don’t like her like that.”

hanni’s brow lifted. “you don’t?”

“not in a romantic sense.”

“mhm.”

“and she doesn’t like me like that either,” minji added, as if to make it clearer. “we’re just… we’re good friends. we just get each other.”

hanni tilted her head, unconvinced. “right. so you’re telling me you share your fries, your hoodie, your bed, and your deepest thoughts—but there’s nothing going on?”

minji fidgeted with the sleeve of her sweater. “yes.”

hanni sighed. “minji.”

“what?”

hanni sighed, leaning forward with her chin in her hand. “i love you, but you’re in denial.”

minji scoffed. “you’re reaching.”

“you’re repressing.”

minji scoffed. “i am not.”

“you are,” hanni said gently. “and that’s okay. it’s scary. love always is. but you don’t get to tell me you don’t feel something when it’s all over your face every time y/n’s name comes up.”

minji looked away, lips pressed into a thin line. her coffee had gone cold.

“even if i did,” she murmured, “what’s the point? she doesn’t feel the same. and i’d rather have her in my life like this than lose her completely because i was dumb enough to say something.”

hanni’s expression softened. “have you ever actually asked her?”

minji didn’t answer.

before hanni could push further, the bell above the door chimed, and minji’s head turned instinctively.

you walked in, hair a little wind-blown, hoodie sleeves too long, eyes scanning the café until they landed on her.

“hey,” you said, making your way over. “sorry i’m late. i had to chase down a bus, then realised it wasn’t even the right one.”

minji grinned. “sounds like you.”

“i’m lucky i didn’t get kidnapped,” you added, sliding into the seat beside her.

“you’d probably befriend the kidnapper,” minji teased.

“and ask for snacks,” hanni chimed in, laughing.

you rolled your eyes and leaned on the table, your arm brushing minji’s. she didn’t move away. she never did.

a few minutes passed as they settled into the warmth of each other’s presence.

then a barista approached with their drinks—a new girl, unfamiliar, with a practiced smile. she placed each order down carefully, but when she set minji’s down, she lingered.

“hope you like it,” she said, gaze fixed on minji. “it’s my favorite.”

“oh?” minji blinked, smiling politely. “thanks!”

the girl smiled wider. “you’ve got great taste.”

with one last glance, she turned and walked away.

hanni raised a brow. “well that wasn’t subtle.”

“what?” minji blinked. “she was just being nice.”

“min,” hanni deadpanned.

you snorted into your cup. “she was basically batting her lashes at you.”

“she was just being nice,” minji said, entirely genuine.

hanni shook her head. “min, you’re hopeless.”

“tell me about it…” you mumbled under your breath, eyes fixed on the foam in your drink.

minji didn’t hear it. but hanni did.

her eyes darted between the two of you. her lips curved into something knowing, something quiet.

the conversation shifted then—something light, something forgettable—but the weight of those earlier words lingered, tucked between sips of coffee and the spaces your fingers nearly touched.

and minji, who didn’t think you looked at her like that—never once noticed the way your eyes refused to look anywhere else.

the sky outside was still bright, though the air had cooled into something gentler. you and hanni stood just outside the coffee shop, the door shutting behind you with a soft chime as minji slipped back inside to grab a pastry for the road.

you hadn’t said anything yet. not really. just shared a long look, the kind that passed between people who both knew what wasn't being said.

hanni was the one who broke the silence first.

“so,” she said, sipping her drink, “how long have you been in love with her?”

you choked on your straw. “hanni.”

“what?” she shrugged, lips twitching. “someone had to say it.”

you looked away, your fingers tightening around the cold plastic of your cup. the words came out without much thought, raw and slow and aching.

“she gives me whiplash,” you said, voice low. “she’ll hold my hand like it’s nothing. she’ll fall asleep on me like i’m the safest place in the world. and then she flirts with someone else like it’s just air.”

hanni didn’t look surprised. she just leaned back against the wall and stared at you like she was finally seeing what had been obvious all along.

“she’s clearly into you,” she said.

you scoffed, but it sounded more bitter than amused. “if she is, she’s got a funny way of showing it.”

“you don’t see it, but she’s always looking at you,” hanni said, matter-of-fact. “like she wants something but doesn’t think she deserves it.”

you blinked. your chest felt too tight. “she told me she doesn’t believe in love. that it always ends in a mess.”

“what if she’s scared?”

“then why does she keep holding me like she’s not?”

hanni didn’t answer. instead, she reached into her bag, pulled out a pen, and started doodling on a napkin she’d saved. something small, a flower maybe. a heart cracked down the middle.

then she asked, voice soft and sure:

“do you love her?”

you froze.

you hadn’t said that word yet. not even to yourself.

“i don’t know,” you whispered. “maybe. probably. it feels like—like it’s in my bones already. like it’s been there for a while and i’m only just now realising it.”

hanni didn’t tease. didn’t grin or poke fun. she just nodded, slow and understanding. it was like she knew the feeling too well.

“you should tell her.”

you shook your head. “she’ll run. she’ll say we’re better off as friends. and then i’ll lose her.”

“but aren’t you already kind of losing her, every time she looks at someone else?”

your eyes dropped to your cup, where condensation had pooled like tiny rivers. you hated how true it felt.

the thing was, you could’ve lived with the friendship. you really could’ve.

but only if the lines were clearer. if she didn’t brush your hair back like she was memorising your face. if she didn’t text you goodnight with little hearts when she was tipsy. if she didn’t make you feel like maybe—just maybe—there was something unsaid between every touch, every lingering glance.

you didn’t mind loving her quietly. you just didn’t know how long you could survive the confusion.

“you think she really feels the same?” you asked, almost a whisper.

“i think she’s trying really hard not to,” hanni said. “but feelings are like fog. you can’t run from them forever.”

you sighed. the ache in your chest felt old and familiar by now.

“you think she’ll ever see it?”

“she already does,” hanni said. “she’s just scared to say it out loud.”

you stood in silence after that. not a heavy one, but soft and slow. a silence that wrapped around the both of you like a blanket.

then the door creaked open, and minji stepped out with a grin and a paper bag in hand. the top was folded neatly, and on it, scrawled in thick black marker, was a phone number.

hanni squinted. “is that a number?”

minji looked down, and her smile widened, sheepish and amused. “yeah. the barista. she, uh… she gave it to me.”

you blinked, words catching in your throat.

“so she was flirting,” hanni said, elbowing her. “what happened to ‘she’s just being nice’?”

“okay, okay,” minji laughed, lifting the bag in defense. “i didn’t know at the time! i’m just—i don’t know. i’m oblivious, apparently.”

hanni arched a brow, clearly holding something back. her eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to minji.

minji met her gaze, then shot her a look—playful but pointed. like she was saying see? i don’t like y/n without having to say it out loud.

“you’re hopeless,” hanni muttered under her breath.

minji slung an arm over your shoulder casually, like she always did, like it was second nature.

“come on,” she said. “let’s go eat this before it gets cold.”

you forced a smile and nudged her side. “wow, getting phone numbers and pastries. who even are you?”

“minji the irresistible,” she said, with a grin that made your heart twist.

and as the three of you walked down the street together, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could pretend the ache inside you was just part of being friends.

minji arrived at your door like she always did—without warning, without needing to ask.

“i bring gifts,” she announced, holding up a plastic bag full of snacks like some wandering hero returning from battle. 

“behold. ramen, choco pies, your favorite seaweed chips, and,” she paused for dramatic effect, “one overpriced convenience store cheesecake.”

you leaned against the doorframe and raised an eyebrow. “you trying to win my heart or rot my teeth?”

“both,” she said easily, brushing past you with a smug grin. “multitasking.”

you closed the door behind her and watched her kick her shoes off like she lived there, like this was just her other home. she knew where everything was—where you kept the extra pillows, the charger cable tangled behind the couch, the specific mug you used when drinking tea.

and it never stopped being strange, how something so ordinary could feel so intimate.

“pick a movie,” you said as she dropped onto the couch, legs sprawled out like a cat basking in the last bit of daylight. “but no crying tonight, please. my heart’s too tired to carry your emotional baggage through another sad indie flick.”

minji gasped dramatically. “i’ll have you know my taste is refined. cultured, even.”

“traumatic,” you muttered, grabbing the remote and handing it to her anyway.

she stuck her tongue out at you, then began scrolling. “fine. something light. maybe that dumb rom-com with the guy who keeps falling over everything?”

you smirked. “so, you mean the story of your life? got it.”

she swatted your arm, giggling. “rude.”

you made popcorn in the kitchen while she set up the film, the scent buttery and warm and almost enough to distract you from the way your heart clenched every time she laughed like that—freely, without walls.

when you returned, she was already nestled into your couch, blanket pulled over her lap and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“your spot’s waiting,” she said, patting the cushion beside her.

you sat down, close enough that your knees touched.

“you know,” she said, not looking at you, “if people saw us like this, they’d probably think we were together.”

your heart did a somersault. but you didn’t let it show.

“yeah,” you said softly. “they’d be wrong though… right?”

minji turned to you, eyes unreadable in the dim light. “yeah,” she echoed. “very wrong.”

but she didn’t move away.

and when the movie started, her head found your shoulder, slow and gentle, like maybe it was exactly where it wanted to be.

“you comfy?” you asked.

she hummed. “too comfy. might fall asleep and drool on your hoodie.”

“it’s your hoodie,” you said.

“borrowed. indefinitely.”

you didn’t reply. your hand moved on its own, fingers brushing through her hair like a habit you’d picked up from another life.

and minji didn’t stop you.

halfway through the film, you looked down at her, her cheek pressed against your arm, her lips parted slightly, eyes fluttering with sleep.

she looked so small in that moment. so breakable.

you wondered if she ever looked at you the way you looked at her—like she was some kind of miracle.

your chest ached with the weight of everything you couldn’t say.

“you okay?” she murmured, half-asleep.

you forced a smile. “yeah.”

she blinked slowly. “you’re quiet.”

“just thinking.”

“dangerous.”

you chuckled softly. “probably.”

the movie played on, but you couldn’t focus. not with the warmth of her pressed beside you, not with the way she sighed in her sleep like she belonged here, in this exact moment, with you.

and when it ended, you stayed there, neither of you moving, the silence stretching between you like a secret.

eventually, she stood and stretched, yawning. “sleepover?”

you nodded. “duh.”

“you say that like it’s not a privilege.”

“it’s not. you’ve basically moved in.”

“you love it.”

you didn’t deny it.

minji changed into one of your old t-shirts and a pair of shorts she left in your drawer weeks ago. you brushed your teeth side by side, bumping shoulders, laughing when you accidentally spit toothpaste on your own shirt.

and then, just like always, you ended up in bed—her on one side, you on the other, back to back but close enough that your feet touched beneath the blanket.

“goodnight,” she whispered.

“night, min.”

but neither of you slept. not right away.

you could feel her breathing. you could feel the warmth of her skin, the steady beat of her heart.

and somewhere in the silence, her fingers reached for yours under the blanket—just a brush, a moment, a whisper.

you didn’t pull away. you never did.

you closed your eyes and let yourself pretend, just for tonight, that she was yours.

and she let you.

the morning light slipped in soft and golden, brushing across the bed like a quiet apology for interrupting the peace.

you woke before her.

you always did when she stayed over.

minji was still curled beneath the blankets, one arm flung across your pillow, her hair messy and tangled like the petals of a dream left half-bloomed. her face was calm, softer than she ever let the world see. her lips parted slightly, breaths falling slow and even.

you propped yourself up on one elbow and watched her, heart caught somewhere between awe and ache.

how was it possible that someone could look like this—so warm, so close—and not know what they did to you?

her presence filled the room like music with no lyrics. and you? you listened.

you thought about how easy it was, this rhythm you shared. the laughter, the sleepovers, the way her clothes hung in your closet like they belonged. the way she stole your hoodies and your blankets and, without meaning to, your heart.

she shifted in her sleep, brow furrowing slightly as if something troubled her even in dreams. instinctively, you reached forward and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, fingers light, careful.

your chest tightened. 

god, you wanted her to wake up and see you. really see you.

you slipped out of bed gently, as quietly as you could, but the moment your feet touched the floor—

“don’t go,” she mumbled.

you froze.

minji’s voice was thick with sleep, eyes still closed as she reached out blindly and caught your wrist.

“stay,” she said, tugging you back toward the bed.

you turned, heart stuttering. “minji, i was just gonna—”

“five more minutes,” she whispered.

you hesitated. “we’ll waste the whole day.”

“then let’s waste it together.”

you didn’t argue after that.

you let her pull you back beneath the covers, her arms loosely wrapping around your waist as if this was the most natural thing in the world. her head found your chest, and your hands found her back.

the world outside the window didn’t exist. just this bed, just this moment, just her.

you stayed like that for longer than five minutes. who knows how long.

eventually, the hunger crept in.

you both stretched and stumbled your way out of bed like a pair of old souls in a new morning, brushing teeth in sync, bumping shoulders, sharing sleepy smiles.

minji pulled your sweatshirt over her head. “i’m stealing this again.”

“not stealing if i let you,” you said.

“so you admit you like it.”

“i didn’t say that.”

“but you meant it.”

you rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you with a smile.

the kitchen smelled of warmth and the weekend as you flipped pancakes in your old pan, minji perched on the counter like a queen in her kingdom, watching you.

“you know,” she said slowly, swinging her legs, “i agreed to go on a date next week.”

the spatula paused in your hand.

you turned, heart dropping like a stone.

“what?”

“mm.” she nodded. “you remember the barista? she asked me out yesterday and i figured… why not?”

you tried to keep your face still, tried not to let the hurt show in your eyes.

“but,” you said quietly, “weren’t you the one who said love always ended in a mess?”

she shrugged, looking away. “maybe i just said that to sound smart. maybe i was scared.”

you forced a laugh, but it came out flat. “so what changed?”

minji smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“i guess i thought it was time to try. open myself up a little. and i needed to prove hanni wrong”

the pancakes were starting to burn. you didn’t care.

“prove her wrong on what?” you questioned.

minji shrugged as she muttered a “nevermind” and picked up her phone from the edge of the counter.

you turned back to the stove, trying to hide the way your hands trembled.

you wanted to ask her—why not me? why not us? but you didn’t. you just flipped the pancake and said nothing at all.

behind you, minji swung her legs and stared at the floor.  her voice was quiet when she said, “you’re not mad, right?”

 “mad at you?” you smiled softly like your heart wasn’t shattering.

“never.”

you got there just after noon, letting yourself in with the spare key minji gave you months ago. her place was warm with the scent of citrus shampoo and fabric softener, a quiet kind of chaos unfolding in every corner—clothes thrown across the bed, curling iron plugged in, a half-bitten apple forgotten on the counter. it looked like her. it felt like her.

and in the middle of it all stood minji, hair half-dried and shirtless save for the sports bra she always wore when she was trying on outfits. she turned to you like you were her last hope.

“thank god,” she said. “i was two seconds away from cancelling just out of wardrobe-related stress.”

you laughed, not quite because it was funny, but because it was her. “you’re the one who wanted to give dating a shot.”

“yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, rifling through a pile of neatly folded shirts and then promptly unfolding them. “remind me again why i thought that was a good idea?”

you stepped in and gently swatted her hand away from the shirts, holding up a few options yourself. “because you said it was time to be open. and that you wanted to ‘prove hanni wrong’ or whatever. ”

she groaned. “ugh. me and my big ideas.”

but she took the shirt you held out—a dark navy button-up that brought out the depth of her eyes—and disappeared into her closet to change.

you stood in the center of her room, surrounded by the familiar. her polaroids pinned to the wall. a hair tie left on her nightstand. the book she was halfway through with your bookmark inside it.

“okay,” she said, stepping out, “how’s this?”

you turned—and felt your heart skip.

she looked beautiful. not done-up or overly fancy. just her, in that natural, easy way that always knocked the air out of your lungs.

“you look good,” you said.

“just good?”

you smiled. “you always look good.”

she smiled back, that soft, pleased kind of smile, the one that made her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. you wished it meant more than it did.

she sat down on the edge of the bed, tugging on socks, and you knelt beside her to tie her laces. she didn’t ask you to—you just always did. it was one of those little things. one of a hundred tiny acts that built a life together without either of you saying so.

“you’re too good to me,” she said, watching you double-knot the shoes.

you didn’t answer. just looked up at her and gave a lopsided smile. “i know.”

she laughed and nudged your shoulder. “cocky.”

you stood up, brushing your hands on your jeans. “you nervous?”

“terrified,” she admitted. “but… kind of excited too. she seemed nice at the coffee shop. funny.”

“that’s good,” you said, voice steady though your stomach twisted.

you didn’t know why this moment felt like a countdown. like something irreversible was about to happen.

she walked over to the mirror and started fussing with her hair. “do you think she’ll like me?”

you shrugged, fingers playing with the edge of her pillowcase. “what’s not to like?”

and you meant it. but it hurt, saying those words like you weren’t the one holding every soft piece of her in your hands.

you wanted to be the one she was getting ready for.

you watched her in the mirror. the way she tucked her hair behind her ear. the way she adjusted her necklace and tilted her head to the side to check her angles.

and something in your chest clicked. or cracked. or maybe it had been cracked for a while now, and you were just now noticing the pieces.

you didn’t want her to go.

you wanted to be the one she dressed up for. the one she texted when she got home safe. the one who’d sit beside her on the subway ride back, legs pressed close and hands brushing just barely in the dark.

you wanted to tell her.

she turned around with a grin. “okay. i’m almost ready.”

you nodded slowly. 

and maybe it was time for you to be ready too. ready to cross that line you both danced around. 

minji stood before the mirror, fingers lightly tugging at the collar of her navy shirt, smoothing down wrinkles she wasn’t sure were even there. through the glass, her eyes caught yours—eyes that didn’t look quite like themselves tonight. they were distant, caught in a quiet storm you hadn’t seen before.

you sat on the edge of her bed, hands folded loosely in your lap, the weight of something unspoken pulling your gaze away from her reflection. when minji turned, her smile was quick and easy, but there was an undercurrent of concern hidden beneath.

“hey,” she said softly, ruffling your hair with that familiar, teasing touch, “are you missing me already? what’s up with the look?”

you tried for a smile, one that might reach the corners of your eyes, but it faltered, a fragile flicker in the dim light. “me? miss you? in your dreams.”

minji didn’t brush it off. she tilted her head, eyes narrowing playfully but with a seriousness you couldn’t ignore.

“you okay?” she pressed gently.

“i’m okay,” you whispered, voice steady but quiet, like you were afraid to break the fragile moment.

minji shrugged, a small, uncertain movement. “if you say so.”

she stepped back toward the door, ready to leave for her date. the air hung thick with all the words you didn’t say.

but then you moved. slipping from the bed, your hand found her wrist, holding it softly but firmly—an unspoken question, an invitation. your grip was gentle, offering freedom and restraint all at once.

minji didn’t pull away.

she turned back to you, a nervous grin curling her lips. “hey, what’s this? you know, if you want food from my fridge while i’m gone, you don’t have to ask. just take care of my place.”

her joke floated between you, but it landed nowhere.

you met her eyes, vulnerability laid bare in your own. “minji... stay.”

the words were soft, fragile, like a whispered prayer.

“stay,” you repeated, voice breaking just a little, “don’t go on that date.”

minji’s brow furrowed, confusion and something deeper flickering in her gaze. “why?”

you took a breath, heart pounding loud enough to fill the silent room. 

“because i can’t keep pretending this isn’t love. because i’m tired of waiting for maybe’s and almosts. because i want to be the one you look at like you’re home. and if that scares you, i’ll wait. but i don’t want to lose you tonight.”

her eyes softened, and the walls she built around herself started to crumble like morning mist.

“then,” she said quietly, “maybe we don’t have to go anywhere.”

you exhaled a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding.

and with a small, shy smile, she stepped closer—closing the space between almost and forever.

there, in the quiet flicker of her bedroom light, love was no longer a question or a fear. it was simply everything.

[pedriache]

No surprises 𖦹 Pedri González !

summary. pedri felt drained, his job sucking the life out of him with every loss —but you, his god given solace, was always there to give him a quiet, loving break.

word count. 1.09k

disclaimers. angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, and happy ending.

bea speaks! fcb when i catch you...

The ride home from the stadium was silent. The hum of the engine and the occasional buzz from either of your phones were the only sounds filling the between you and Pedri. He hadn’t spoken a singular word since you’d left, since the realization that, once again, his efforts had not been enough.

You glance at him, his profile illuminated by the passing street lamps. His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips pulled into a thin line. He wasn’t hiding his disappointment, his sunken eyes and tight face only showcasing his exhaustion more. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles growing white.

“Pedri..” you say softly, reaching over to rest your hand on his arm.

He flinches at your touch, but doesn’t pull away. “Not now, cariño.” Pedri murmurs, his voice hoarse.

Leaning back against the seat, you chew on your bottom lip. You wanted to say something, anything, to pull him out of this spiral you knew he was going down—but you knew better. Pedri’s silence was his own way of holding himself together, insuring he wouldn’t break the moment he let himself express his hurt.

This wasn’t even the first time you’d seen him like this. Losing wan’t foreign to Barcelona. Not to mention the string of loses this season alone and the endless criticism from the fans and media. He bore the crushing weight of carrying the team that seemed to feel more broken with every match since October. But now, it was wearing him down completely.

When he finally pulled into the driveway of your shared home, Pedri parked, sitting motionless in his seat. He eventually dropped his hands into his lap after shutting off the car, exhaling a shaky breath and your heart broke at the sound.

“Lets go inside.” You urge quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

Silently, Pedri nodded, his movements slow and heavy as he walked beside to you into the house. Once inside, he found the couch, instantly slumping into it and burying his face into his hands.

Eyes softening, you kneel in front of him, prying his hands away. The sight in front of you would’ve made even the strongest man weep. His eyes were glossy, his lashes wet with unshed tears. “Pedri,” you whisper, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, “talk to me, please?”

The dark haired man shook his head, jaw tightening. “What is there to say? Another loss, another fucking failure.”

“You’re not a failure,” you say firmly, eyebrows knitting together.

He lets out a bitter laugh at your words, sending a course of pain through your heart. “Tell that to everyone else. To the fans. To the team, who, by the way, can’t seem to keep it together. Oh, and to the club who expects everything from me.”

Frowning, you cup his face, making him look directly at you. His eyes search yours, desperate and pleading. “You are human, you are allowed to feel this way, but you are not allowed to believe that you are not enough. You are. These loses? They are not on you. They happen, and you can come back from them. You are not the only player on the team, this isn’t your fault.”

He lets out a ragged breath, leaning into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “I’m tired.” He admits, his voice breaking. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take. It feels like everything—the team and all, it’s falling apart and I just don’t know how to fix it.”

You are quiet for a second, eyes flickering around his face. He looked dejected, taking all the blame and stuffing it into himself and it is suffocating him.

“You don’t have to fix it alone. You have a team, Pedri. And you also have me. Let me help you carry this, let me be here for you.” Your thumbs graze his cheekbones, like the touch alone could press the words into his brain, forcing him to let it go, and let you in.

Your boyfriends eyes close slowly, a singular tear finally escaping his eyes. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, his voice broken and weary.

Shaking your head, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You deserve everything in the world, baby. And I will always be here to remind you of that.”

For a while, neither of you spoke. His head fell to rest on your shoulder, and you held him like that, hoping the small moment would ground him. And it did, Pedri felt himself calming down. His breaths evened out and his shoulders relaxed.

Inhaling your scent, feeling your soft breaths against him, the way your hand slowly rubbed up and down his back—it made him feel okay for the first time since the loss.

“I scored tonight,” he sighed after the long silence, his voice an octave above a whisper. Despite the achievement, a lingering sense of disappointment was still in his voice.

“I know,” you hum, running your hand up his back to rest on the nape of his neck. “I was a beautiful goal.”

“But it doesn’t matter.”

You could groan.

“Doesn’t matter? It mattered to me.” Your lips form a tight frown. He was so hard on himself. Beating himself up over things that he should be proud of.

“Pedri, you got the man of the match. You were incredible, you always are. You scored a goal and gave your team hope. Sure, you lost. But, you still were amazing and you deserve to feel the pride from it.” Your words felt weak in comparison to how badly you wanted to comfort him, to assure him—but for Pedri, it meant everything.

He looked back to you then, his eyes softening. His heart felt warm, your touch was still warm, you were always the one there for him—comforting him. He loved you for it.

The burdening weight on his chest seemed to finally lift, if only slightly. “Thank you,” he murmured, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from your face. “I love you.”

A smile lifts on your lips and your forehead rests against his. “Of course, and I love you.”

As the night wore on, and you were finally in bed together, you were his grounding point. The weight of your head on his shoulder, your legs tangled in his and your arms wrapped around him, it kept him comforted. In the quiet of the bedroom, you were his solace, always.

likes, comments, and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future pedri posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @lechrts @joaoflms @sakashq @h4vertzz @spidybaby @gadriezmannsgirl @unx100to @st4rgirl-ellie @cececarmona17

[hippielittlemetalhead]

Never Took The Time (To Forget) part 5: Man Of The Hour

Life is mildly less sucky with depression being more managed (also the mood boost from Renaissance Faires 😁) and my weekends being free again for me to travel to see my person. Still full of dumpster fires but I want to scream about it less. Also, been in feels very similar to the ones that inspired this whole endeavor so... enjoy?

Anywho, here's part 5! Enjoy, my little nerdlings. As always, feel free to yell at/with me in the comments, tags, reblogs and/or ask box. If you see any mistakes feel free to message me about them. 😬👌

Part 1: Hop Fucks Up, Part 2: Pride and Prejudices (Joyce Edition), Part 3: One of Us, Part 4.1: With A Capital P, Part 4.2: Robin's Boy

Steve Harrington was an odd duck. That's what his grandmother always used to say. She would pat his already proudly coiffed hair as he hung off the arm of her rocking chair and tell him as much whenever his parents took him to visit. He would beam at her with his big (reportedly pinchable by every aunt and grandmother in the family) cheeks and quack at her before cracking up at himself like he told the funniest joke and she would let him laugh until he rolled himself off her armchair to the plush carpeted floor. She would laugh and reach way over the arm of her chair to poke his stomach or cheek or nose, sometimes just his little forehead, before leveraging herself up out of her chair and taking herself to the kitchen to boot his mother out of it. Steve Harrington was a certified 'odd duck'.

Steve isn't sure, as he sits in that old rocking chair he had stolen liberated from his parent's house when he moved into his new apartment, when he became whatever he is now. He slowly rocks himself back and forth, the chair creaking a little as his weight shifts. The kids and other teens are chattering on the walkie but it's nothing too pressing, just nonsense and junk food emergencies, Mike cursing out Hop. His ribs hurt and his nose is sore but it doesn't feel like anything is broken. It sucks he knows what broken feels like. It sucks that Robin is kind of mad at him for getting hurt enough Owens pulled rank and had him dropped off at home and assigned someone to be the Party's chauffer for the rest of the day. It sucks that all the kids have their own plans tonight, leaving him to try and find ways to keep himself distracted without their usual insanity. A lot of things just kind of suck these days.

He feels himself smiling and picks up the walkie to confirm that he was alive and resting like ordered when he hears Dustin bickering with Robin about invading his apartment to check on him. That doesn't suck he supposes. He knows Robin and the kids care and he knows that eventually the soldier tasked with driving his hellions around is going to be bullied into driving them to see him, other plans be damned and the thought makes him smile.

The smile drops when he hears what sounds like a soft knock at his door. It's too sharp to be Widow Bea two doors over who leans on her walker and kicks the bottom of his door with her soft leather slippers that belonged to her late husband when she needs him to fix a cabinet or mix batter for whatever pastry she was making that week. And it's not the distinct pattern of Clara Damon from down the hall who will come and tap at his door to ask if he has an extra cup of sugar or spoonful of flour as she bats her eyes at him simpering about how she's making cookies or a pie or a casserole of some kind and inviting him to dinner with her and her folks to have some. He's always got an empty pantry and a surplus of plans when Clara Damon comes knocking. He and Widow Bea have standing poker nights with the other older ladies who all meet at the recreation building.

(It used to be the Harrington house. But his parents decided to sell to prove a point when they up and kicked him out and Owens needed a place to set up a promised recreation space and the gym was already a relief supplies warehouse.)

But the knock at his door isn't either of those. It could be someone else in the building. Could be one of his neighbors who have started to associate Steve Harrington with fighting mutated wild dogs caused by government experiments gone wrong and hauling around kids who seemed to cheat death and holding I.O.Us signed by the U.S army instead of the absent Harrington socialites who are known for swanning into town, flaunting their wealth and making themselves scarce again. The ones who he can sometimes hear whispering about him as he makes his way down the street or through Melvald's.

The knocking comes again, louder this time and firmer. It could be a lot of things and he doesn't want to deal with any of them.

Steve sighs, it could be important. He gets up to answer the door, breathing slow and shallow and letting himself lean on walls as he makes his way to the door. A third round of knocking and he's starting to get tired of it. He takes a slightly painful breathe to call out to whoever is trying to knock down his door to calm themselves down when, "Hey kid, Harrington, you in there?" That stops him a foot from his door.

His ribs hurt and his nose is sore and his leg is throbbing where a demodog got a lucky swipe on the meat of his thigh. But nothing is broken. His leg will be fine in a day or two. He hates that he knows what broken feels like. He hates that he knows what infected feels like. He hates that he knows the stone in his stomach and the clenching vice around his lungs has nothing to do with his injuries. His ribs scream at him when he pulls himself as tall and straight backed as he can, shifting himself so his weight is on his good leg and he can (hopefully) use the hallway wall and doorframe to support himself long enough to talk to Hopper and send him on his way.

He opens the door with a smile and feels himself falter a little when he sees Hopper standing there in a big tan canvas jacket and baseball cap and he's reminded of the times the older man would show up on his parent's doorstep with the same look on his face asking questions Steve didn't always know how to answer.

"Hey, Hopper." His voice is light and smile wide and loose and he just needs to keep this up. "What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

"Heard you got a bit banged up on a patrol?"

Steve shrugs. It takes more than he'd like to hide the pain that causes. "Just a couple bumps and bruises, nothing I can't walk off after a decent night's sleep. Owens is just paranoid these days, ya know."

"Owens huh?"

"Uh, yeah? That's who told you right? Cause I took a couple hits?" Hopper doesn't say anything, just looks at him with something that Steve might have once thought was concern about his potential injuries. He doesn't know why today of all days Hop decided to show up cause he got knocked around a little more than planned but it doesn't bode well when something in his face shifts and he lets out a tired sigh. "Oh, but don't worry!" That came out louder than he intended. "I'm totally fine. Like I said, I just need to walk it off and I'll be back out there in no time. You don't gotta worry about a thing, I've got it handled. Like I said, Owens is just overreacting. Nancy can cover for me tomorrow and then I'll be right back on the roster I promise. You and Mrs. Byers don't have to worry about a thi-"

"Steve. Shut up." He feels his jaw snap shut, the edge of his tongue and inside of his cheek getting caught in his teeth. "I didn't hear it from Owens. The kids told me. Owens knows you're hurt?"

"Uh, ye-yes sir. He's the one who sent me home. Gave the kids a detail to transport them and keep them protected while I'm out of commision. One officer to drive them around and they're being tailed by at least 3 others in case anything happens."

"Four soldiers just to replace you?"

"Oh they're not in that much danger! I'm perfectly capable of watching them usually, its just that Owen's guys are still kinda green even this deep in. Most of them just can't wrap their heads around the whole 'other dimension stuck in 1983' side of things." Hop's eyebrows shoot up under the bill of his cap. "But again, it's fine! I always take point whenever we go into a new sector and those guys are good as backup at least."

"But you're hurt." His eyebrows have come back down but now they're furrowed like he's confused or upset.

"Just a little!" He is not making things better. "I swear Hopper, you guys don't have to worry about a thing. I've got it handled, you don't have to-"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Harrington! Just shut up!" Steve flinches back, stepping further into his doorway as Hopper yells. The older man sighs, a big hand coming up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He tries not to think of the times Robin and the kids have made fun of him for doing the same, calling it one of his 'dad poses'. "Look, I didn't come to try and give you shit about getting knocked around a little being stupid and playing soldier. I came to- I was going to ask." He sighs and his shoulders slump a little forward and his eyes are focused on the toes of Steve's (very comfortable) bat slippers that had been a gift from Wayne once the kids had told him Steve had been the one to drag Eddie out of the Upside Down. "Did you want to come over for dinner?"

Steve doesn't think he heard him right. "What?"

"Joyce is making some sort of spaghetti casserole-"

"Isn't that just baked spaghetti?"

"And we wanted to have you over. We haven't talked much since I came back. I'd like to change that."

"What?"

"You, dinner, at our place? With me and Joyce and the kids? I think Jonathan is bringing Nancy." Steve flinches and Hop silently curses himself bringing up the ex who cheated on him and the guy she cheated with.

"Why?"

"Uuh... Talking?"

Ah, he had it now. "What did the kids do? Just, lay it on me man, and I'll take care of it. Did they say something? I can have them over tomorrow and talk to them. Was it Mike, it was probably Mike, I'll get him to apologize, just-"

"Goddamn it Harrington I just wanted to ask you over for some dumbass spaghetti casserole thing and a decent conversation. Maybe watch a football game cause no one else in that house seems to enjoy a good game."

Steve isn't sure what's happening. "You want me to come to dinner. To talk?"

Hop sighs again. "Yes, kid. Just. Dinner and talking."

"Uh huh. Right. I'm just- I just need a minute." He tries not to slam the door in the man's face but he's definitely trying to be as fast as possible. He's not sure what the hell is going on but it has to be something because Hopper wouldn't just invite him over. And Joyce Byers definitely wouldn't want him in her house for something as simple as a talk and to watch football. It takes him longer than he'd like to reach the walkie on the little side table by his grandmother's rocking chair. His ribs are screaming at him and his elbow smarts from banging it on the corner as he turned into the sitting room.

"I need some sort of backup at my apartment. Like now please?!" He waits a second before pressing the speaker button again, "Over."

The walkie crackles and he hears an assortment of concerned chatter. "Steve?" Dustin's voice breaks through the general din. "What's the problem? Over."

"I- I'm not sure how to classify it? I've Got Hop at my front door but I think there's something wrong with him? Or something is trying to trick me it's him? Oh shit did I get Vecna'd??"

"Steve," Nancy snaps, shutting up most of the chatter and giving his rising panic something to focus on. "Why do you think it's not Hopper? Or that he's not in control of himself?"

"He- He invited me to the cottage for dinner?"

"What?"

"Yeah just dinner and talking? And that- that's weird right?"

Nancy sighs and Steve hears Hop say something from outside his apartment. He's running out of time. "Why is that so weird Steve?"

"Cause he doesn't like me. And Joyce really doesn't like me." He feels like that's obvious. "They don't like me and they're busy with other stuff. They wouldn't willingly ask me over for dinner and football or some shit so something has to be up."

"Seriously kid?"

He doesn't scream as he drops the walkie-talkie, spinning around to face the voice behind him.

"You're calling an emergency cause I invited you to dinner?"

Again, he feels like this is obvious. "Yes. I don't know what happened but we're going to fix it Hop, I promise. Or, like, if you're something controlling Hop or wearing his face or some shit I will figure it out and I will find the most painful way to kill you."

Hop runs a hand down his face again, he's going to have so many wrinkles after this. "Fucking Christ, kid. Is it so crazy that we wanted to try and get to know you? Make sure you're fed and taking care of yourself since apparently Owens isn't making sure you're alright?!"

What the fuck?

"Yes!" That seems to make Hop take a step back. "I tried for years to try and get the slightest acknowledgement from you! I've spent the last year taking care of the kids and monitoring the gates and fighting Powell and Owens every time they decide to try something stupid and almost get their men killed cause I realized you never meant it!" God he can hear his voice breaking and feel the tears starting to roll down his face. "You never meant it. But you meant it for El and Will and fuck, even Jonathan. And they deserved that. They needed you and you couldn't be there if you and Joyce were fighting with Owens and-" He can't hold back the sob that rips out from deep in his chest. "And I don't- I can't- I just-"

"Hey, hey kid. I need you to breath for me. Okay? Can you just let it out in one push and take a deep breathe in."

There's a large, warm hand rubbing up and down his back. His running nose is throbbing, his sore ribs are probably cracked now from how tightly he's folded in on himself and his injured leg feels wet like he pulled the stitches when he dropped to his knees on the threadbare rug. There's a deep rumbling voice talking to him, telling him how to breathe and asking him to sit up, let go of the walkie he can hear crackling as people call his name and ask Hopper what's going on. It's all just too much.

Why?

"What was that, kid?" Oh. He didn't mean to say that out loud.

"Why?"

"I fucked up. I'm trying this thing called owning up to my mistakes." Steve lets out a wet laugh that turns into a pained groan when it shakes his ribs. "Come on, let's get you up here." He tries not to cry out when Hop lifts him up from under his armpits, pulling at his ribs, but he knows he lets out a sharp whimper. "You fuck up your ribs?"

"What do you think?"

"Yeah, dumb question." Hop chuckles self-deprecatingly. "Look, let's get your ribs wrapped and we'll get you down to the hospital to get checked out an-"

"No. No hospital. Can't do 'em."

"Kid you need to get looked at and maybe some pain meds and antibiotics while you heal up."

"No fucking drugs." Steve practically growls, his teeth clenched and eyes burning as he stares up at Hop. "I'll take your fucking antibiotics but I can take a couple of ibuprofen and call it a day."

"A couple of- What the fuck, kid? You can barely walk and you're telling me you're not in serious pain?"

"I've had worse."

"Bullshit." The kid winces and the look on his face closes off. "Stop trying to be a hero and just admit you need help." Steve rolls his eyes.

"I'm fine, Hop. I've walked off worse."

"Again, I call bullshit."

"You know how thorough our Russian friends could be."

"What?"

Steve shrugs, an angry grimace on his face. "Once you live through Russian military questioning and hiking through Upside Down Hawkins, most everything after that's a piece of cake."

"Jesus Christ-"

"I don't think saying his name is gonna make him listen to ya now."

"Ya ain't cute, kid."

Steve gives him the same smile he always did whenever Hop crashed one of his 'King Steve' parties. "I'm adorable." He chuckles at himself and Hop finds himself laughing along at the kid's attitude. "What do you want, Hopper?" Steve's voice is quiet. It wavers in a way that tells him the kid is sad and hesitant and tired and Hopper can feel something niggling at the back of his mind. "You come over out of the blue asking me to dinner with your family like that's something we do. What the fuck man? What are you trying to do?"

"Like I said kid: I realized fucked up. Bad. And I'm trying to fix it."

"That's it?"

"Yeah. Yeah it is."

Steve leans back, the rocking chair leaning farther back than Hop feels comfortable with considering the kid's injuries but he manages to not rock back so far he falls. "Alright then. So what do you need?"

Hop can't follow this kid at all and he's not sure when that happened. If it's always been like that. "What are you talking about kid? You're the one that's all beat up." His mind goes back to swollen eyes and bruised knuckles covered in a rainbow of haphazardly placed bandages being fussed over by a group of dirty but uninjured kids. Bloody sailor uniforms rounding up rowdy kids without a mark on them despite obvious injuries and a slight limp and what might be bruised ribs. Bandages being removed to expose red raised around a strong neck that looks like someone took barbed wire to it and bulky bandages poking out from beneath stolen shirts. "What are you talking about what I need?"

Steve lolls his head to look at Hopper. For the first time all evening his eyes are trained on the older man unflinching and not anxiously darting away. His smile is more a resigned grimace. "What do you need to get Robin -and I'm guessing the kids- off your back?"

"It's not just because of them."

"But it is because of them."

"I want to make this right."

"It's not yours to fix, Hop. I've made peace with that. Thought I'd made that clear to the rest of them."

"I thought the kids didn't know."

"Not about you being my emergency contact and like, in charge of making big medical decisions if they couldn't get a hold of my parents. But that you'd stop by the house to make sure I hadn't like drowned washing my hair after I took a beating. That I put more stock in that than I should have."

"You were right to put stock in that stuff Steve. Fuck, if I knew anyone else in that situation I'd assume they'd basically adopted you. It makes sense."

Steve shrugs, wincing less this time. "That's life, can't fix it now."

"Will you let me try?"

"I mean. I'm giving you a get-out-of-jail-free card here man."

"And I'm not taking it."

"Well. It's there, whenever you decide to take it."

"Thanks but no thanks, kid."

"Hey, your choice Hop. Ever get tired of the boardwalk just say the word and it's yours. Do not pass 'Go!'. Do not collect $200."

"Monopoly, really?"

"My head may have gotten a knock too. Not a concussion but I'm a little... swimmy."

"Swimmy?"

"Uhm-hmm"

Hop chuckles, "You're an odd duck, kid, you know that? An odd, pain in my ass, duck."

Steve feels his face splitting in a wide smile that pulls at a small cut on his lip and lets his head fall back, his body finally starting to come down from the adrenaline rush that has been this entire interaction.

"Quack quack."

Tag list (I think this is everyone?)(If you see this post and your tag didn't work let me know cause they don't always work for me Idk why):

@thelittleclare @jackiemonroe5512 @0body0disphoria0 @strangersteddierthings @lingeringmirth @dead-cherry-bitch @irethsune @ink777 @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner @ledleaf @pansexuality-activated @paintsplatteredandimperfect @kinryuuki @yikes-a-bee @altocumulustranslucidus @ohimamarigold @samsoble @sensationalsunburst @xxbottlecapx @y4r3luv @swimmingbirdrunningrock @flustratedcas @rootbeerandmusic @vinteraltus @wonderland-girl143-blog @failedstarsandgoldenclouds @steddie-as-they-go @steveshairspray86 @youdrewstarsxaroundmyscars @i-amthepizzaman @wormapothacary @croatoan-like-its-hot @maya-custodios-dionach @ineffable-monster-romancer @asquareinverona @ellietheasexylibrarian @pukner @bookworm0690 @nightmareglitter @joekeerysmoles @salchica @lawrencebshoggoth @iheartjennaaa @child-of-cthulhu @anaibis @rocochen20 @katdeerly @samcoxramblings @fiore-della-valle

[spnfanficpond]

New Member Spotlight for June 2025

The Pond is always growing, and we want to make our new members feel welcome! Here’s a list of recent additions to our fishy family and a little info about them!

We've got a LOT of new members this month, so everyone is under the cut!

Guppies, Jellies, and Mutuals, oh my!

Jay - she/her, Atlantic Canada (GMT-4), @aka-faded

AO3 pseud? - aka-faded (screamingincolour)

Discord handle? - aka_faded

OTP? - Destiel

Other fandoms? - Not really active these days, but formerly in the 1D, Teen Wolf, & Marvel fandoms

Looking for in the Pond? - I've been out of the fandom/tumblr/fic world for a while and have been dipping my toes back in this year. Just looking to get some writing out there, as well as make some random friends.

Pairings you read? - Dean/Cas mostly, though I do like a good rare pair

Genres you read? - Angst with a Happy Ending, Secret Relationship, Retired

Favorite writer(s)? - fleeceframe and Northernsparrow are current faves

What do you like to write? - All kinds! I generally go for longer fics, angsty fics, but am also just kind of getting back into the swing of things so am kind of experimenting a little bit with range.

Masterlist!

Most underappreciated fic? - violent sweet music

Bea - she/her, Southeast USA, @brbrbeatrice

AO3 pseud? - Brbrbeatrice

Discord handle? - Beapopcowbot

Other SM names? - Instagram- brbrbeatrice

OTP? - I only like gen pairings. So Sam&dean platonic

Other fandoms? - Heartstopper

Looking for in the Pond? - I’ve never had any supernatural fic friends. I’d love to have a space to talk about it more and get recs and advice, and connect with people

Something to signal boost? - I sell a calendar with my art. It’s linked on my Instagram (brbrbeatrice), but it’s Heartstopper. But that’s the only thing I can think of!

Pairings you read? - My fav is gen

Genres you read? - I only like angst. And H/C 🫣

Favorite writer(s)? - Lennelle, mentholpixie, TheMarvelousTolkienJob, shangrilada, and others. Idk their socials. I just read their fics. Not even sure if any are very active still

What do you like to write? - Angst. If I write anything other than that, it’s usually for a gift. I’ve mostly been writing Heartstopper. But when I first started on AO3 a couple of years ago, I wrote some SPN fic that I want to return to. I’ve gotten better at writing since I started, tho, so I feel like I need to go back and fix my older stuff from 2022.

Masterlist!

Most underappreciated fic? - Heart & Soul

Something you haven't written but would like to try? Why not? How can we help? -I’m planning a Heartstopper/SPN crossover. But I’m feeling a little overwhelmed trying to plan it. I’m not a passionate outliner. 🤣

Elia - she/her, UK, @alwaysbeenyouandme

AO3 pseud? - Butinaparalleluniverse

Discord handle? - Historicalcheesecake

OTP? - Wincest

Other fandoms? - Law and Order: SVU

Pairings you read? - Wincest and J2

Genres you read? - Almost everything, with extra points if it comes with smut

Kmoraa - she/her, Central USA, @iwasneverinyour

AO3 pseud? - KmoraaWrites

Discord handle? - kmoraa (Kmoraa #8679)

OTP? - Destiel :D

Other fandoms? - There are so many fandoms, so I'll only list my favorites: Bat family and Superfam, Young Justice, One Piece, Demon Slayer, X-Men (Comics and Movies), Cosplay, and Art, but there are many more :)

Looking for in the Pond? - I just wanna find a community of writers that I can get support from, but I'm also interested it joining the sprint. 

Pairings you read? - I don't particularly like to read romantic or sexual relationships or similar pairings, so I would say any platonic/sibling/found family is what I enjoy most.

Genres you read? - Angst, Whump, Hurt, and Crack are my fav tags, I like the found family trope :D

Favorite writer(s)? - No but please let all the writers and artists know that they are loved and are doing great :DDD

What do you like to write? - I've actually written a lot of fics, but I've just never posted most of them. A lot of them include either OCs or AUs, because I like to experiment with different writing styles, characters, settings, and etc.

Masterlist!

Most underappreciated fic? - I've only got two fics posted so far, both of which are on my Works list lol

Something you haven't written but would like to try? Why not? How can we help? - Currently, I wouldn't say so, but I am always open to finding new things to write :)

Thatwriterlady - Eastern USA, @thatwriterlady

AO3 pseud? - thatwriterlady

Discord handle? - thatwriterlady 

OTP? - Destiel

Looking for in the Pond? - I'm looking for story ideas, people to talk to, maybe a new Beta

Pairings you read? - Destiel

Genres you read? - Fluff, romance, horror, smut, ABO,

What do you like to write? - I like writing fluff, parent Dean/Cas, ABO, romance, horror

Masterlist!

Most underappreciated fic? - Be True to Your Heart

Ray - she/her, @hellwillfollowoffical

AO3 pseud? - Through_The_Valley

Discord handle? - Raythevariant

Other SM names? - TikTok: hellwillfollow

Other fandoms? - The Last of Us!

Looking for in the Pond? - First time fic writer and looking to get established, meet fellow writers, and learn a little more about writing fics in general!

What do you like to write? - I love creating my own characters so fics with the main characters being an OC. I also like to explore the story deeply so long fics are also my thing. And anything canon divergence/AU because why not!

Masterlist!

Moony - he/him, Central USA, @thewanderingseeker

AO3 pseud - TheWretchedPoet

Discord handle? - gayeststrangerthingsfanatic

OTP? - Destiel

Other fandoms? - Stranger Things, Greek Mythology, & EPIC: The Musical

Looking for in the Pond? - Writing help & Getting peeps to read my fics

Pairings you read? - M/M

Genres you read? - Fluff, Slice of Life, and Smut

What do you like to write? - I’m all over the place… but mostly AUs

Masterlist!

Most underappreciated fic? - The Divine Tragedy

Something you haven't written but would like to try? Why not? How can we help? - A few rp plots I’ve written that would make great fics

Ashley - she/her, Texas, USA, @tumbleweedstillhaspanic

AO3 pseud? - DarnItTumbleweed

Discord handle? - grumpus89

Other fandoms? - Sons of Anarchy

Looking for in the Pond? - Finding a community of other fans

Pairings you read? - I tend to read just about anything.

Masterlist!

Most underappreciated fic? - All As it Should Be

Lindsey - she/her, Georgia, USA, @lindsey-in-w0nderland

AO3 pseud? - SlowBurnSiren

Other SM names? - Wattpad is also SlowBurnSiren, and FFdotnet is LindseyBrooke8997

OTP? - I don't have one!😭 I love so many fic types

Other fandoms? - SPN is def the one "big" fandom I'm in. Twilight and Harry Potter, obviously, but I love so many forms of media.

Looking for in the Pond? - Mostly looking for help with fic writing and SEEKING READERS. I am so desperate for feedback, I'm CRAVING IT.

Pairings you read? - Honestly, I love OC fics for smut, but I love a good slow-burn/high-stakes read.

Genres you read? - Lots of angst and suspense/high stakes, love smut and romance

What do you like to write? - Suspenseful high-stakes fics, always with a romance element. High character development, something to lose, etc. love a good smut read tho lol

Masterlist!

Something you haven't written but would like to try? Why not? How can we help? - I'd love to write horror at some point because I read a LOT of it but that is intimidating lol

That’s all for this month, folks! (If we’re missing anyone, let us know and we’ll add them to next month’s list!) Make sure to say hi to the newbies and make them feel welcome! Thanks to all from @mrswhozeewhatsis, @mariekoukie6661, @heavenssexiestangel, @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes, @walkingaline, @xpurdyglambertx, @leatafandom, and @manawhaat!

[m-jelly]

Hi Jelly! I haven't sent a request in a while, so I want to fix that now.

So what about Levi and the reader who secretly in love with him?

Levi breaks up with his girlfriend (it was her decision), he is devastated and upset. He comes to his best friend, who supports him. He thinks that he is unlovable, but she confesses her feelings to him.

She convinces him that he deserves love and she loves him. He realizes that his happiness was always next to him. Levi confess that he loves her back. And in the end, they become a couple.

Hi, I'm going to change a few things about this, hope that's okay cause I'm not a huge fan of the reader being used as an emotional blanket by a friend and then that friend "suddenly realising" they want them. I've been through this first hand and it hurt a lot and I'm still healing.

@ladycheesington <3

Time heals all wounds.

Levi x fem! reader

Modern world, becoming a couple, friends to lovers.

Communication is important and you should always be open and honest with those you care for. Levi faces his own emotions and becomes honest which results in you being honest.

The slam of your front door drew your attention. You lived in a cosy house in a nice welcoming town. Since moving to the town for your mental and physical health, you'd become much better. You were happy. The man who walked in through your door was the sheriff and someone you'd fallen in love with, but he had a girlfriend so you stayed a friend.

Levi trudged over to you in your window seat with his brows furrowed and a confused look. "Bea broke up with me."

You stared at him as a rush of emotions went through you. You were happy because you had a shot now, but you were crushed that the man you cared for seemed hurt. "Right. What did she say?"

"She said I've become distant, not fully invested and don't imagine a future with her." He sighed. "That I'm with her out of duty not love and I don't love or care for her."

You winced. "Tad harsh."

He hummed. "I think...she...was right."

You closed your book and sat up. "She was right?" You shifted on the seat and patted the spot next to you. "Sit."

He sat down and leaned his arms on his thighs. "I mean. I didn't look forward to seeing her. I didn't hate seeing her. It was more like..."

"Routine?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I feel awful about it. I don't want to hurt people, but I hurt her."

You nibbled the inside of your lip. "Were you fully invested in the relationship when you started dating?"

He looked up and started to remember a few things. "Ah, well..."

"Levi?"

He looked over at you and felt his cheeks heat up. "When you're in love, how do you feel or react?"

You tilted your head. "Are you questioning if you loved her?"

"Well, I am." He shuffled closer. "How do you know you're in love?"

You pressed your lips together as you thought. "Mm, well...I guess you feel warm inside you. You want to see them all the time. When you're going to see them or they message or call you, you get butterflies and you find yourself smiling a lot. When you're with them you feel comforted by their presence. All you can think about is growing old with them. You want to spend the rest of your life with them. Everything they do or say touches your heart and soul. You adore everything. You want to do everything for them. When you become a couple, you don't stop trying to woo them. You still get them gifts, you still take them on dates and you do everything to make them smile, Plus, holding them or being held by them just brings you inner peace."

Levi stared at you with a cute pinkness on his cheeks. "Mm."

You cleared your throat. "Y-You know Morticia and Gomez and how they are with each other?"

Levi nodded. "Yeah."

"Like that."

He leaned back and tapped the back of his head against your window. "Like that." He echoed your words as he stared at processed things.

You tapped your knuckles against his temple. "You got a lot going on in there."

Levi turned his head and looked deep into your eyes making your heart race. "I do. Your words have unlocked a lot inside me. I need to think a lot through."

You smiled at him. "Well, as always I'm here if you need me."

He grabbed your wrist. "Hey, thanks...I'm trying to...um...can I hug you?"

You stared a moment before nodding. "Yeah, sure thing." You wrapped your arms around him. "You sure to like my hugs, huh?"

He squeezed you. "You have a talent for it."

You pulled back and smiled. "Pizza and movies?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Can we cook together? I like cooking with you."

"Sure!" You walked to the kitchen with him following behind. "We'll make pizza. I need your expert skills in dough making. So get those muscles wor-." You flinched when Levi hugged you from behind. "Levi?"

He tapped his forehead against your shoulder. "Sorry. Just...just for a moment."

"Okay..." You assumed it was because he was upset. You had no idea what the real reason was for holding you. Levi had realised a lot.

It'd been two months after Levi and Bea had broken up. Levi was doing fantastic and seemed happier. He was spending every waking moment with you or his friends. Bea was the opposite, she was happy at first but seeing Levi doing great she was getting unhappier.

The feelings you had for Levi were screaming at you to tell him. Levi was a lot more affectionate with you. He'd bring you gifts, flowers, food and drink as well as arrange days with you. Your heart kept telling you he was interested in you and to confess, but you were filled with so much self-doubt and worried that being with him would tank his reputation so soon after his last relationship.

You were sat in your bookstore filled with your usual customers and new ones enjoying drinks as they read in your cosy corner. While at your desk you had a piece of paper and a pen with you. You decided to put your feelings down on paper, but it was hard.

After thinking for a while you decided to start writing and it just flowed out of you. You explained how you believed Levi deserved the deepest and most pure love in the world. You said that he deserved so much in this life and he should charge for it. Near the end, you talked about how you've always loved him and cared so deeply for him. You wished him all the best and you'd understand if he wanted to stop being friends because you loved him.

A customer calling for you brought you out of your focus. You slipped away from your desk and walked over to them. Smiling brightly as you assisted them with getting the books they wanted and felt excited when they asked you for recommendations. You walked back with the gentleman to your desk to see Levi was standing there and your letter was gone.

Levi was glaring at the man with you who'd been making you smile and laugh. "Find everything you need?"

The man smiled. "I did. She's a peach and so helpful." He winked at you. "Thank you."

You smiled softly. "You're welcome. Check through them and if you're happy, I'll check you out."

"I hope you do 'cause I'm checking you out." He laughed. "I'm jesting...shit bad flirt...uh...I'll be back in a bit."

You waved to him as you hummed a laugh. "Sure." You walked over to your desk and sat. "Hey, Levi." You look around your desk. "Uh..."

Levi huffed. "I don't like that man."

"Ah, he's okay." You looked up. "Levi? Was there a letter on my desk when you arrived?"

He lifted the letter up as he continued to stare at the man. "You mean this one?"

You went pale as you gulped hard. "Did...did you read it?"

"Yes." He looked over at you and leaned on the desk. "I've been thinking hard since you told me what love is. I know without a doubt what love is now and who I actually love." He reached over and grabbed your hand and ran his lips over your fingers. "Knowing that the woman I love loves me back makes me incredibly happy. I came here today to ask you on a date." He kissed your fingers. "Your letter made me happier than words could describe. When I saw you I felt a rush of emotions and for the first time I finally understood this dark feeling I have been feeling often around you." He locked eyes with you as his look became arousingly dark. "I was a little jealous of you being with that man."

You gulped hard. "H-He was just b-being nice."

Levi released your hand and walked around to your side of the desk. It was cute how you backed up against the wall. He cupped your cheek and tilted his head. "I want you to be mine and only mine. I want to grow old with you." He said your name. "I love you."

Before you could speak his lips met yours in a passionate kiss. The two of you clung to each other, bodies pressed as you explored your love and the deep desires you had held onto for so long. The world around you both just vanished and you forgot all about where you were.

A clearing of a throat made Levi release your lips and look over to the noise while you hid your face against his chest. Levi stared at the man who had flirted with you. "Yes?"

The man strained a smile. "I want to buy these books."

Levi hummed and released you. "I'll do it."

"I was hoping-."

"She's busy." He scanned the books. "I'll do it."

He leaned a bit. "But I can see her right-."

"She's. Busy." He paused and stared at the man before continuing the transaction. He watched the man leave before turning to you. "Now, where was I? Oh yes." He cupped your face making you giggle. "You were going to tell me you love me too, right?"

You nodded shyly. "Yes. I love you too."

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a

@youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity

@nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08

@levistealeaf @pelicanpizza @hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife

@demonic-bird @searriously @anti-cupid

[hightowerqueen]

Thursday Bangers

thank you for the tag @serensama <3 i'll tag @no1lucanispegger, @rookamell and @corvus-frugilegus if you guys want to play!

Rules for your Copy and Paste: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

This week's prompt: I'm prepared to sacrifice my life I would gladly do it twice - Mercy by Shawn Mendes

i fear i may have stumbled my way into ANOTHER parallel universe for the De Rivas. Rafe belongs to @nonagesimus (hi bb, i love you) and i am extremely not normal about him or him and Bea or either of them and Illario so. here you go.

referenced m!rook/illario, rook/rook

"Just go. They'll need someone to string up over this, but it doesn't have to be you." Bea's jaw drops. There's no fucking way Rafe is saying what she thinks he's saying. "What do you mean, go? I'm the one who dragged you into this in the first place!" "Yes, Bea. But do you want to make me watch them kill you, too? Haven't you done enough?" He's mad, and of course he is, but it hurts all the same, proverbial knife slid between her ribs as easily as if it were real, sinking through the flesh like butter.

The wound stings, because this is her fault. She's the one who'd gone and played hero, dragging him behind her, only to find out they'd somehow blown a Crow operation's cover sky high.

Rafe sighs, anger replaced by something defeated in his expression. "Viago is going to come knocking soon. He won't argue if I tell him I was working alone. He'd rather that than the truth."

He's right, again. He's looking at her with those maker-forsaken beautiful eyes of his, and she hates the way it makes tears pool in hers. Hates everything about this, hates how she's fucked everything up again.

This time it can't be fixed, she's pretty sure.

"You need to go, Bea," he continues, more insistant, "He can't find you here. Let him believe the lie, please."

There'd always been a line between them, before, an electrified fence they both stayed a respectable distance away from. But that seems stupid now, because they might very well never see each other again. The thought makes her feel ill.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, she finally crosses that line. Grabs him by the cuirass, yanks him in close enough to crush him in the circle of her arms.

"I'm getting Illario. There's gotta be some strings he can pull, especially for you," she whispers into his ear.

And then she's chasing his mouth with hers, the kiss a desperate, pleading thing she hopes speaks years of ignored feelings into his mouth.

She thinks it works, because Rafe goes slack in her arms, tension bleeding out of him and kissing her back like he's clinging to her just as hard.

They should've done this earlier. So much wasted time, and now it's over before it ever really had a chance.

She can still taste him on her tongue when she leaves.

-

In the end, Illario's connections aren't necessary. Viago negotiates for Rafe to be sent on a contract with Varric Tethras, something absurd about gods the only thing Bea catches. It's not death, but it also is, a mission with a scope that's almost designed to kill him off away from her eyes. Mercy, and not. Guilt claws its' way up her throat and she retreats to the rooftops, settling there and hugging her knees to her chest.

That's where Illario finds her, and they share a bottle of red to mourn the departure of the man they both love in silence.

She wonders, briefly, what ghost is hitching a ride with Illario for him to be so understanding of the weight she's going to carry from now on.

[banana-pancake5]

You mentioned in your initial Trinna post that her haircut had some lore… would you care to share :3

Also I offer Beatrix to Trinna as a potential friend and here are my official reasons :D

1) she too dislikes the attention from her wings

2) she wouldn’t get her own cabin till after the war assuredly so she would be chilling in Hermes, so they could know each other from that

3) they just have very similar vibes like idk every angy girl that feels the stuff needs her chill friend that struggles to feel the stuff you know???

4) They both have more experience than usual with the Greek side of the family so bondingggg

5) idk if Trinna like to do deadpan humor stuff but bea would probably find that hilarious

(This is all no pressure and just for fun btw XD)

DUHHDHUNDUHNSHUNS THIS HAS TAKING ME TOO LONG SO IM JUST GOING FOR IT NOW

Haircut lore: sooooo I just have a basic idea for this, but she cut it for practicality. When she was probably around 12 (when she had long hair) she was given a quest. She was SO excited for the quest since it was her first one, buuuuut it didn’t go too well. She still managed to complete it, but at one point she was losing a fight and the monster was able to grab her by the hair, which hurt a TON and left her in a very bad situation. Someone (maybe an oc I could make??) intervened and saved her. That same day she ran to her mom’s house and cut all her hair so it would never happen again.

Hm interesting idea… however, May I offer a counter point?

THEY WOULD BE THE BESTIES EVER.

(Little snippet of what Trinna is doing there and her initial reaction. I also didn’t know how exactly Bea would respond …..)

Trin & Bea’s First Meeting:

Trinna sat atop a high cliff within the camp’s boarders. She hid herself in the shadow of her wings, attempting to separate herself from the world around her. Camp had always been her home, the only one she ever really knew, but now it felt so foreign. It was like she was in another’s skin. Everything felt wrong. Whether she was training or sitting with her half siblings as they all laughed until it hurt, she was tense. She couldn’t laugh with them. She couldn’t focus on her training. She couldn’t do anything, and she knew the reason. The one person who knew her, the one person who understood her, the one person who truly felt like family, left her behind. Those words rang in her head, “The gods don’t care about us, Trin! Can’t you see that!?” It was uncanny seeing Luke act with such anger toward the gods, and what made it worse is that Trinna sat on the cliff side, wishing she could see what Luke did. She wanted to say yes to his absurd idea. To join Luke in “dethroning the gods.” It was an idiotic plan; she knew that, but if she knew how camp would be after he left, she might have just accepted. And that’s what she hated. She would’ve accepted. She knew she had no reason to and maybe it was dumb to think it would fix her, but maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad. Maybe Luke was right, the gods didn’t actually care. Maybe her father was just toying with her when he responded to her letters, but… it never felt like it. And if that was the case, if Hermes really didn’t ever care about her, then she would really have no one. That could’ve been the real reason she denied Luke’s idea. If she had joined him, she would have been accepting that her whole life was a lie, that everything that happened was a facade. She couldn’t accept that, but it doesn’t change how awful camp had become. Not only did everything feel wrong, but everyone acted like she was just about to snap at any moment. The camp knew Trinna hung around her brother a lot, they must’ve suspected that she was still in contact with him. Maybe they even thought she was a spy of some sort. It just made the whole “you’re the new counselor” idea a living nightmare. How could she be a counselor? Sure, everyone always thought she was anyway, but that was Luke’s job! He was better with people, Trinna was better at being annoyed by people. That whole problem was pretty easy to sort out though, she just told the Stoll brothers they were in charge. Of course, she had to get involved if they ever went too far, but that was nearly never the case because half the time it was too entertaining not to allow.

These thoughts went on and on as she waited for the day to pass— until she was interrupted. A strange sound and a gust of wind caught her attention. She lowered her wing and peered at whoever made the sound, unrealistically hoping to see Luke coming to cheer her up, but expecting the Stoll brothers coming to pester her with her own responsibilities. She stared at the shadow underneath a pair of purple sneakers hovering a foot off the ground without processing how it defied the laws of physics. Then the sneakers landed in the grass, and the initial thought “wait, that’s not how that works” hit her like a truck, immediately followed with, “whose shoes are those?????” She looked up to see the person who had interrupted her thoughts and leaped to her feet with her wings fully spread out in excitement. “NO WAY!?!???!!!” Trinna exclaimed, she stared in utter shock at the large, raven-like wings attached to the girl in front of her. The excitement overshadowed the off-putting aura and mystery of the stranger. Trinna stammered for a moment, then just pointed at the girl and managed the word, “WINGS?!”

——

YESYESYESYESYES THEY WOULD GE GREAT FRIENDS. AND TRIN DEFINITELY LOVES MAKING DEADPAN JOKES THATS PERFECT

I can imagine both of them chilling in the Hermes cabin talking about their Greek parents (Trinna would be so jelly that Bea has actually been able to meet with and talk with her’s)

[arkanis-englishupdates]

SUMMARY OF ALL ARKANIS POVS

DAY 57 & DAY 58 — 29/10/2024 & 30/10/2024

DAY 59 — 29/10/2024

The day in Valigma starts off chaotic with countless strange things happening.

The statue of Mayor Jota has disappeared from its location in the center of the lake, being replaced by a statue of a villager emitting a purple light. Some villagers also disappeared.

After the encounter with Choke, Guzhera wakes up and realizes that he has turned into a small frog (The kiss they shared on the date was what caused his transformation).

Quel, JVNQ, Gabepeixe, Beatriz, Guhzera and Coreano get together to talk about what was happening. Beatriz comments that Bia Raux threatened the new group if they hurt the specialists, in a conversation between Moonkase and Bia Raux.

JVNQ remembers a statement from Bagi about Cherry having been killed by Bia, draining her energy, information she got from Mona, but Quel clarifies that Bia was not responsible, without being able to go into more details. Quel claims that Bagi never liked Bia, and says in a rhetorical question, that Araldo would be the most obvious to kill someone/steal vital energy (Since he killed Alice in the same way).

Quel explains to Beatriz the classifications of encoders, decoders and Offrya training, as well as sharing Bia Raux's dreams, in which the new group represented the hope of a new type of Arkanya.

The group decides to call Moonkase to talk too. There, Moonkase explains about Bia's threat and about not being sure about teaching Arkanya to specialists, as it is a very complex power. JVNQ then starts arguing with Moonkase about her not actually wanting to teach them because she doesn't realize that if they don't cooperate, they might regret it again later (He says that, as the new specialists have not faced or dealt with deaths and tragedies in the city, they do not know how important collaboration is)

Quel interrupts the discussion between Moon and JVNQ, asking Moonkase what her suggestion would be. Moon admits that they don't know how to teach Arkanya, and Quel asks if Marília, their mother and teacher, would know how to teach. Moon and Bea confirm yes.

Quel then suggests that everyone look for Marília. Bea explains that she is a very powerful coder who adopted them as family.

To help with the search, Moonkase describes her to the group:

She has long black hair with two white streaks in the front, part of the face hidden by a type of mask. Wears a black blanket, has amber eyes and pointy ears.

Despite not being very affectionate, she always took care of them like children. Moon and Bea still say that, maybe, Malena was Marília's favorite.

During the conversation, Nicklink appears dressed completely differently, darker than before. He quickly leaves the two times he returns to observe the group's conversation.

The conversation is interrupted by a quick and confusing appearance of Bala Laikah, but they realize it was something different. Suddenly night comes and the monster flies around.

Nicklink receives a letter from Jota who apologizes for having kicked him out so abruptly and invites him to the city again, with a fixed salary just like all the specialists. Everyone in town also sees the apology letter.

Moonkase decides to go to the lake with Amora and the two realize that the old statue had returned to the location. They wonder if the water in the lake has finally been clean.

Quel goes to Maethe and the two talk about this apology letter, and Quel says she is outraged by this, because Nicklink threatened them. Maethe says she isn't taking this into consideration, because of what they did before, and Quel tells her to forget about it. The two soon meet Choke and start gossiping about the date.

JVNQ arrives and takes the girls to the District, where Choke finds Guhzera transformed into a frog, she kisses Guhzera and he returns to human form. They stay talking and gossiping for a while.

Later, at Beatriz's house, they are surprised by a meteor shower that creates several craters. The group realizes that the attacks are aimed at Beatriz. Time turns, blue lighting strikes begin to fall on them, and the group moves to the District to protect themselves.

DAY 60 — 30/10/2024

The morning in Valigma starts off lively because of a funny event organized for the day.

Pac and other specialists present talk to Nicklink, who reveals a fraction of his power. They suspect that Nicklink was the perpetrator of the fatal meteor shower occurred yesterday.

Guaxinim and Pac talk "seriously" about Guaxinim wanting to be vice but then changing his mind (In his words: "IF I WERE YOUR VICE WE COULD NOT DATE EACH OTHER!").

The CEVA launches its second project: A Hide and Seek in an arena personalized for each player! The specialists will compete for a grand prize of J$5,000.00.

After a few minutes, the event finally begins!

The first to seek are Pac and Mike, with the Hiding Team winning the round (Milo, Febatista and JVNQ).

The second round starts with Alexey and Amora seeking, with the Hiding Team winning again.

In the third round, JVNQ, Himaru and Pac seek. The Hiding Team wins once again.

In the fourth round the Seeker Team is Malena and Gabepeixe, but again the Hiding Team surprisingly wins.

In the final round, Guhzera and Beatriz are chosen to seek, but once again they lose to the Hiding Team.

The Event ends with a large and devastating explosion in the center of the game, with all players being teleported to Valigma again.

[streetkid-named-desire]

WIP Wednesday!

I tag @wanderingaldecaldo @ghostoffuturespast @lemonlilactea @merge-conflict @baublekute

Modding

Three hair color packs coming up in the following weeks. I also have to fix some shit because the colors don't work with the h1 hat hairs 😰 it's INCREDIBLY fucking tedious. I also need to rename all the files in one of the darker sets so they can be used together and I also need to fix a couple others across the other packs.

If 2.3 breaks CCXL I will of course update my hair colors but jesus christ.

My next modding projects is gonna be finishing the solo 2.0 and flat chest refits of SumiTerra's mods and then I'm gonna try making some axl recolors of vanilla items!

Writing

Editing chapter 15 and thanks to Felix and the months of all the beta reading I know what I need to fix. It's a little rough because the movie plays so perfectly in my head it's hard to see the words if that makes sense.

I've got platonic SilverV brain worms right now so here's an excerpt.

-

There was Johnny, crouched in front of him, staring over his aviators pushed down the bridge of his nose at V.

A million thoughts crashed through his consciousness all at once. Was the Relic killing him again? Why was Johnny here? How did this happen? How did he interact with V in his own interface? Was he dying? He didn't want to die. Just as he'd started to accept it, Johnny had disappeared. But he'd had two years to live, they weren't a good two years, but he was alive. And he met Bea. He didn't want to die. V closed his eyes and focused on his breath, slipping back into the liminal space in his head that allowed him to communicate with Johnny directly.

<Wh—how are you here? And where the fuck have you been?> V opened his eyes and glared at the engram.

<Hell if I know. Where have you been?> Johnny stood up and walked around V's apartment. It was like he had never left. V felt an aching, dull kind of pain thrumming in his chest as his emotions roiled and cascaded. Beneath the cacophony shone a white-hot spear of relief with a single thought sending warmth through every cell of his body: he was made whole.

V sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. <Enjoying life without you.>

Johnny laughed and it echoed in his skull. Goosebumps traveled up his spine, he'd missed that sound. <We both know that's not true. As soon as I popped back in I got all caught up.> Johnny leaned against the window next to V's bed, conjured a cigarette and lit it. <You naughty boy, tsk tsk. You should do hard drugs like a man to cope with your abandonment issues instead of any disease-riddled joytoy hole you can find.>

V rolled his eyes which made his head hurt. <Not you too, I get it enough from…> V trailed off, tears welling up.

Johnny flicked his cigarette into nothingness and walked back over to V, he knelt down and put his hand on V's shoulder. The construct wasn't really there, wasn't actually corporeal, but the Relic controlled his perception to make him think the construct was really there. And it worked. He turned to lean into Johnny who embraced him, quieting a sob to not wake Bea. One best friend gone forever, another returned.

V wouldn't call Johnny his best friend. They were brothers in arms; they shared the deepest parts of themselves with each other, whether they liked it or not.

-

Also

-

"J-Jackie?" Bea slurred.

V opened his eyes, "Oh shit, Bea! You're awake!"

"Whe—where's Jackie?" her voice was dry and scratchy, weak.

Fuck. He didn't know if he should tell her now or wait.

<Tell her now, easier to take the pain at all once.>

V swallowed and turned Bea's face to look at him. She licked her lips and opened her eyes. "I…uh…" V sighed, "J-Jackie is gone, Bea." V's voice cracked.

Bea frowned, "Okay. When will he be back?"

<Oh, Bea,> Johnny said. A metal hand appeared and stroked her hair.

[pyxis-stellae]

My love, undying

Summary: I couldn't get those two out of my head, so I decided to write them meeting again after Beatrice spent nine years in prison as a POW. I listened to "Would you fall in love with me again" while writing and I sobbed. Technically they are COD ocs, not tagged as such for not mentioning canon characters. Ensemble: Beatrice Bowman (by me), Rory Green (by @belikovx)

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊

Beatrice knew she should be happy.

Sitting in the airplane between other POWs being returned home, everyone exhausted but relieved, she only felt empty. 

Nine years was a lot of time. Enough for everyone to think she was dead. And by all means, the woman they knew died. Whatever lived in her body now, wasn't the old Beatrice. 

But it was okay. She endured nine years in hell. She could endure a lonely trip home.

And an empty house.

And having to find out if her family was even still alive.

And... Ah, Rory.

That was what hurt more. She knew her family would wait for her, forever. But Rory? Nine years was a lot of time. Maybe it was for the better. Maybe he found another woman. One he could actually marry. The idea made her want to cry. But she couldn’t be angry at him for that. 

...

As much as she had prepared herself for this, watching everyone happy about being back in US soil, about meeting family members and lovers, made Beatrice want to cry. A few people came to give her a pat on the shoulder, or offer a ride to a hotel, but all she could do was shake her head and hold back tears.

Once everyone was gone, Beatrice sat down on a bench and stayed. She'd go home later. Somehow. 

She buried her face between her hands. She had wished every day for this, to be back, to feel other than cold and hunger and fear, and now she couldn't even process it. Everything felt wrong. Maybe this wasn't her place. Maybe she should've—

"Do you always come around this place, ma'am?"

The sudden voice made her jump. It couldn't be. Beatrice pushed her face deeper into her hands. Her mind was playing games on her, obviously.

He's not here. There's no reason for him to be here. Stop wishing.

Beatrice stifles back a sob as footsteps circle her to stand in front of her, and the ruffling of clothes let her know the person kneeled. Hands, gentle and warm, go to her arms, rubbing gently. Hands she knew too well.

"Come on. Seven years and I don't even get to look at my girl?"

Only then Beatrice peeks between her fingers. Fiery red hair, blue eyes, and the softest smile known to man. Her hands, rough from nine years of forced labor on top of many others as a combat medic, gently reached for his hands. She had to make sure he was real. That he was there.

"Rory." Beatrice finally whispered, squeezing his cheeks. "You came."

Before she could cry, Rory was already wiping her tears, his other hand ever so carefully fixing her hair - gentle to not mess the curls.

"Of course I came. I had to pick you up." He said, smiling at her. It was a small one, clouded by worry - she was so thin, so different, but still his Bea. His love.

"You couldn't possibly have known, oh my gosh, have you been checking every single time they bring soldiers back, are you insane, Rory, you didn't have to-"

Beatrice let her voice die out as Rory shushed her, grasping her hands gently. He kissed her knuckles on both.

"Don't. I love you. I was waiting for you. Every day."

Beatrice pulled her hands back, folding them on her lap, looking away. She couldn't look at him.

"You— Rory, it's been seven years. I changed, hell, you changed-"

"Did you want me not to come?"

Beatrice froze at his words. Rory was always one to leave her speechless. He sat by her side on the bench, gently holding her hand again, his fingers tracing patterns against the dark skin.

"Bea. I'm well aware you changed. I'm well aware a lot happened. I don't care." Rory said softly, intertwining their fingers. "If you want to believe you changed too much, I just have to learn to love the new you."  

Beatrice stared at him, at the man she loved so much, with all her soul, and whose mere idea kept her alive for seven years while trapped in that hell hole. She shook her head, those seven years' worth of emotion coming up all at once, crawling up her chest, ready to burst. 

For seven years, all she could think about was coming home, seeing her family, seeing him, but not once did Beatrice believe she would actually get to do so. Never once she believed she’d see Rory again, hold him again. He didn’t leave her. He waited. 

Rory held her close while she cried. He didn't say anything, but neither did her - they were never one to use words, even more in moments like this. There was no pressure to explain, or to leave. Only when he was sure Beatrice was ready, he gently nudged her towards the car.

"Let's go. You need to rest. I took care of your apartment for you, don't worry."

He made sure to kiss her forehead before opening the door for her, entering the car and finally getting to take his Bea home. And after seven years, they were finally at peace. Their love, undying.

[candyskiez]

Could you please tell us everything about Night in the Woods I am so intrigued to hear all your thoughts about it (<- have never played the game but eh I don't care about any spoilers)

I NEVER TALKED ABOUT THIS? FUCK.

OKAY. OKAY. NIGHT IN THE WOODS.

It's a game about capitalism, first and foremost. Like I mean It Is A Game About Capitalism. Pretty much every main conflict is in some way influenced by it. Specifically about how capitalism affects your mental health and relationships and how it's almost impossible to exist as a mentally ill person under capitalism.

The protagonist, Mae, has severe mental health issues. She hallucinates, she has mood swings, we don't know what she specifically has but it's very Real and the slow build up to showing it was very well done imo. It wasn't a plot twist it was the slow realization that she'd had these issues for so long and gotten zero help for it, and how all these little things had contributed to it. She's always fucking up relationships, she has anger issues, she feels Unlovable and like everyone hates her and sometimes maybe she hates everyone too, it's all a massive fucking mess and she has no idea how to fix it and she feels so goddamn broken. She dropped out of college because the hallucinations and breakdowns got so intense she could hardly leave her room, and when she came back there was so much judgement about dropping out and. It hurts, man! It really hurts! Her parents made her feel like she'd failed them, Bea felt like she just threw away her ticket out of this town, Agnus worried she was a bad influence on Gregg- even though these people were pretty good they're not immune to taking shit out on each other under the stress of working to stay alive. It's so messy and so realistic. It's all about how capitalism only benefits those on top and shreds the mental health of everyone being exploited by it, whether you have a job or not. There is no winning at capitalism. Dan is always looking for jobs and always getting fired. Bea is miserable at her job. Agnus and Gregg are working seven days a week and they're still tight on money.

And Casey couldn't get a job. We don't know why. And we don't know why because a cult killed him for not being Productive. They said nobody would miss him. One of the first things Mae does in the game is miss him. His parents put up posters. The missing poster is one of the first things you see in the game. "Nobody would miss him" because he didn't Contribute. We barely know anything about him, just that he apparently meant the world to so many characters in the game. Gregg was willing to kill a man when he learned Casey was dead. And they thought nobody would miss him because he wasn't Useful. And we will never know Casey's story because a bunch of bigoted assholes decided his life wasn't worth anything.

But the game is also about community. How capitalism tries to kill it and also how community is the only way to survive it and to maybe fix things. The only reason Mae survived is because she had a community. The reason Casey didn't survive is because he didn't have one. It's about how even though Mae cannot keep a job right now, she still has a place in her community because she exists. She still deserves a place in it, no matter how "Difficult" she is. It's about how Mae feels isolated and like the world is just dead and there's nothing left in it for her, but there are so many people who are alive in that community. There are so many people who see her and who like seeing her run by and who care about her. It's about the fact that the people who try to isolate her from her community because of her breakdown as a kid are actually kind of fucked up! And it's about the fact that community is what saves them. Bea runs off and almost gets herself in massive danger, but Mae runs after her. Even after all the messy shit between them, Mae runs after her. Even though Mae has messed shit up with them so many times, her friends love her. And when she says "I need to do this alone" they actively refuse to let her! They refuse to let her pull the main character card and follow her into danger because that's their friend! She tells them this is all her fault and they don't even humor her for a second. Because she is part of their community and nothing is going to change that.

And just. Oh my god the Scene where Mae confronts....whatever the thing in the mine is. Cosmic horror, hallucination, metaphor for her own inner Shit, whatever you wanna call it. She goes on about how she's always had this in her head. She has always felt disconnected from the world. She's always known shit was unfair and there's always been people having insane systems to hurt people and everything has always been like this. And she has always had these issues. She's always been too angry. She's always been volatile. She's always had periods where her brain works against her. And she just screams at what she thinks is a god that she gets it. She will always have these feelings. She will never stop being wired like this. And whether or not that's fair doesn't matter. But she wants it all to matter. And she is GOING to make it matter. She isn't going to die here. She isn't going to let herself die, and she isn't going to sacrifice herself, and she won't let any random Thing she sees control her choices. She is going to LIVE. She wants her death to hurt. She wants to go down fighting, and she will. No matter what this thing is, she does not fucking care. She can't even understand it. Why should she care about something that doesn't care about her? In that scene I mentioned before, "God" told her it didn't care. It had no reason to care. So why should she look for validation from something that had no reason to give it to her? Why should she let something that wasn't even in this world determine her worth and whether or not her life matters? She decides right then and there that her life matters, and that she will make it matter, and she wants to hope again. She wants to be happy again. And she won't take no from something that doesn't even care and didn't have a reason to. And she lives.

I fucking love this game.

[porcelaintoybox23]

BbRob snippets as promised

“Better or worse?”

“Worse.”

The doctor nods before moving the testing machine. Despite the room’s light being dimmed as much as possible, Dick still squints his eyes.

“Your glasses will be ready by next week. We’ll send you an email.”

He nods and fishes out his temporary lenses and flips on the shade attachments. The sun is still out and he can’t drive blind. He’s so tempted to call Alfred, but that would require a ouija board, and this line of humor isn’t funny. Fingers dig into his palms and he’s grateful the glasses hide the tears forming.

Alfred died over a year ago, but it’s only been a few months for him. It was a lovely service, one he couldn’t appreciate because he wasn’t there, Ric was. Dr. Kirk would tell him to work on acceptance, not in the “I’m okay with this” way but in the “You can’t change what happened” way.

He still doesn’t understand the difference. Either way, he’s furious and hurt, and he wants to fall down and scream—

“Mr. Grayson?”

Dick jolts and looks down. The receptionist is eyeing him from a distance, gaze focused on the door handle he’s currently ripping off its screws. Another lovely reminder that he’s no longer fully human.

“Oh. Sorry” He fixes it and hightails it to the car.

God, he’s already so tired and it’s only ten. This appointment was the only thing he had to do today, so he can head home and bury himself under three blankets and a double layer of fuzzy socks. He shivers as the car warms up and checks his phone. Bea messaged while he was inside.

You okay?

Yeah, heading home.

Lmk if you want any food.

***

“Dick?”

“Do I know you?”

“Duh,” he smacks his head. “It’s me Gar, beast boy? I’m just wearing a glamour. Why are you in Colorado?”

“I was looking at an apartment here but it just sold.”

“I don’t mind having a roommate. It’d be like old times.“

***

“Pardon my French *insert the French for your father is a fucking piece of shit.*

“You speak French?”

“I got bored”

***

“Uh, alcohol and antidepressants do not mix.”

***

Gar shifts back to normal and tucks his chin into his shoulder.

“Good morning?” Bea smirks

“I’m realizing that this looks strange.”

***

“Get off.”

“No. I refuse for my grave to read crushed into paste by Dick Grayson’s thighs.”

***

He deepens his voice. “Talon!”

Dick freezes, muscles twitching against the command. He takes a shaky step forward.

“Talon, at ease.”

He finally relaxes to parade rest. “What are your orders?”

I think I’m going to puke.

“Sit down on the couch. Don’t move unless I order you.”

There’s no tension in his stance as he moves. He sits with his hands folded and stares at Gar, waiting for his next command.

Gar gestures Rae to the door.

“Walk out normally. Your magic might freak him out.”

She nods and steps out.

He kneels in front of Dick, making sure to meet his eyes. “Dick?” Nothing.

“Can you tell me five things you can hear?”

“The air conditioner, the dog whimpering, Amalee Vong vacuuming downstairs, a doorbell, and your accelerated heartbeat.”

“Okay. Do you know where we are?”

“Denver, Colorado. Kensington apartment complex, floor 3, room 215.”

Gar nods. The light seems to be returning to his eyes. “Who resides here?”

“You, Garfield Logan, age 23, code name: menagerie.” His hands tremble and Gar holds them.

“And?”

“Richard…John Grayson, commonly known as ‘Dick Grayson’, age 25, codename: Nightwing.”

“And that’s?”

The tremors worsen and Dick pales. “M—me.” He yanks his hands from Gar’s and curls into a shaking ball.

“Dick. Look at me.”

He curls in tighter.

Gar sighs. “Do you want me to leave?”

He shakes his head.

“Would you prefer if I changed?”

“No.”

“I’m moving next you, okay?”

“O—okay.”

Gar leans in gently. Dick’s shiver are probably a mix of adrenaline and cold. “I’m wrapping us in the blanket.” He gets no response and proceeds. He drapes it loose around them.

“Could you talk?”

***

“A burden? What the fuck is wrong with you people? Loving someone isn’t a burden, he isn’t a burden! How—how can you…”

He grabs Dick’s hand. “We’re leaving.”

***

Dick’s smirk is threatening to split his face, but he can’t help it. Gar’s eyes shift between him and the mirror, face becoming grumpier with each pass.

“Who do I look like?”

“A kpop idol.”

“I literally hate you.”

***

“Vegetarian sushi. It’s all the rage in SoCal.”

He gestures with the chopsticks. “C’mon, it’s good I swear.”

***

Dick blinks as the code he’s writing becomes an endless stream of gibberish.

“Gar, what the hell?”

The cat rolls its eyes. “It’s 2 am, go to sleep.”

***

“This is a complete and utter waste of my powers and time.”

Dick flashes his strongest puppy dog eyes. “Please, Rae?”

She sighs. “Gar is taller by 2cm.”

Dick’s jaw drops as Gar cheers. “What do you mean he’s taller?”

“You’re both pretty short. It’s just a few centimeters, who cares?”

“Centimeters broke up the Pines twins!”

Gar gives him the stink eye. “It was a millimeter, Richard.” He looks to Raven. “Fake fans, am I right?”

Rae disappears in a plume of smoke.

“If she keeps doing that, we’ll never get our deposits back.”

***

“My uncle tried to kill me for my inheritance which wasn’t great. “

“It’s hard. I miss my parents but they weren’t always there, y’know? They dragged me all over for their research and it nearly killed me. I like being a vigilante but there are times that I wish I was normal, that I was still human and didn’t have ptsd from experimentation and Armageddon.”

“Which one?”

They both share a humorless smirk.

***

“So…wanna see the Barbie movie?”

Dick blinks. “S—sure?”

“Two tickets, please.”

“I hate that it was good. Why was it good? You’re the detective here. Explain.”

Dick shrugs. “Some things are inexplicable.”

***

“Okay, let’s do this.”

“You look like you’re heading to the chair”.

Gar sneezes. “It’s 32 degrees.”

***

“You’re sick.”

“just a cold.” His voice cracks and bends as he strains to reply. “Go to your thing.”

Dick throws a blanket over his shoulders and heads to the kitchen.

“Already asked for the day off.”

“You did this when we were titans. Pretend you’re fine, hide yourself away and suffer alone. Can’t say I’m any better.”

“Old habits die hard.”

***

Gar rubs his stinging eyes. “Jesus, fuck. I’m sorry.”

Dick feels empty, deflated. The confrontation he’s been dreading went to shit and the only person reacting normally is his friend.

“I just don’t get it. Like—how…ugh I’m making this about me. How are you?”

Honestly, a bit in awe. Few people can withstand Bruce’s glare, much less the full wrath of all the bats, yet Gar did. Stood unflinching, eyes glowing in animalistic rage on his behalf.

“I’ll be fine. I didn’t expect that to go well.”

***

“Where do your clothes go?”

“I don’t know and at this point I’m too afraid to learn”

***

You’re the type of person who makes tea in the microwave

[bitchinbarzal]

Jules broke up with Maisie bc of the distance and Jake has to listen to his own daughter cry because a boy did to her what he did to Morgan

OH MY GODDDDDD 💔💔💔💔

no bc the whole house is going through it - maisie is heartbroken, morgan is trying to help maisie but also semi reliving her and jake's breakup, jake is so upset seeing how maisie is reacting bc that's his baby girl and he can't fix it, but also picturing morgan and how she was when he broke up with her, and then poor mav is collateral damage in all of this trying to keep bea happy while being pissed at her brother for hurting his sister

-linkedin anon

⸻

The house was quiet in a way it never used to be. It wasn’t just soft or slow, it was hollow. As if something had been pulled from its centre, leaving them all orbiting an ache.

She didn’t want to eat.

Didn’t want to talk.

Didn’t want to cry, but still did, every night, into the sleeves of the sweatshirt that didn’t even smell like him anymore.

She kept her phone on do not disturb.

Deleted their texts.

Then cried again because she couldn’t remember the sound of his laugh without it physically hurting.

She hated him.

She missed him.

She hated herself for missing him.

The distance between Jersey and Minnesota wasn’t that far on a map. But when you were sixteen and in love for the first time?

It felt like a thousand miles.

⸻

She hadn’t expected to be right back in it.

To feel it all again.

To hear her daughter sobbing through the door and suddenly remember every second of her own silence, the kind that followed Jake’s goodbye years ago.

You’re doing so well here.

I don’t want you to leave it all behind.

This was the best thing I’ve ever had.

And then it was over.

Now, her daughter lay curled up in bed, as if heartbreak had knocked her out cold, and she couldn’t fix it.

She could only sit outside the door, her forehead pressed against the wall, whispering comforting words like, “I’m here, and I know. You’re not alone.”

Because she knew.

God, she knew.

⸻

He watched her from the kitchen, arms crossed, heart twisting.

She hadn’t smiled in days.

She used to dance around the living room with her headphones on.

Used to force them all to try TikTok trends they had no business attempting.

Used to call him “Daddy” in that teasing tone that meant I’m growing up but you’re still mine.

Now she barely looked at him.

And it wasn’t just that she was hurting.

It was that she was hurting the same way Morgan had, once.

All he could think was, “I did this. I was the first heartbreak in this house.”

And somehow, knowing what to do didn’t make it easier to watch someone else fall apart.

⸻

He didn’t know what to say.

To his sister.

To Bea.

To anyone.

Because he wanted to comfort Maisie, but she wouldn’t even let him in.

And he wanted to scream at Jules, but Jules wasn’t here. He was in Jersey. Probably pretending everything was fine.

And Bea—sweet, soft Bea—was stuck in the middle, asking, “Can I still come visit?” with eyes that said she already knew the answer.

He hated it.

Hated watching his family crack open.

Hated that he was the only one who still had someone to hold, and somehow it made him feel even more alone.

⸻

They sat on the couch one night—four of them, but still so far apart.

No one said much. The TV was on, volume low, playing something no one was watching.

He reached out and took her hand.

She didn’t pull away.

It was something.

A thread in the quiet.

And the other reached for the remote, turning off the static, finally letting the silence be what it was:

Not peace.

Not comfort.

But presence.

They were still here.

Still in it.

Still a family.

Even when it hurt.

[becoming-the-bridgertons]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝑩𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒕 | 𝒗𝒊. 𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒆

pairings. violet ledger x ellie bridgerton

summary. violet struggles as she feels her household slowly being taken over by her in-laws

word count. 11K

warnings. mature content — smut

note. written in RP style by @lifesizehysteria and @shmaptainwrites

Violet was trying to figure out what had happened when she stepped out of Ellie’s home office. She had been in there trying to organize some things for her and clean up the space so that when she eventually went back she wouldn’t have too much of a mess to deal with. 

Beatrice and Callahan had come over to help look after Anthony, but when she went downstairs she saw her mother-in-law mopping the floor and her father-in-law and baby nowhere in sight. 

“Mama, uh, where’s Da?” she asked. “And Anthony?” 

“Anthony’s napping, dear,” she explained. “Cal is just upstairs taking care of Ellie. She said she wasn’t feeling well so he went to her.” 

“I-Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Violet asked.

She knew everything the doctors had said about Ellie because she had been at every appointment. She knew every medication she needed to take and what time, she knew what she was and wasn’t allowed to have. Most of all she deserved to be informed when she wasn’t feeling good. 

This wasn’t the first time she’d been kept out of the loop with her in-laws. She tried to tell herself they weren’t doing it on purpose, but the repetition was beginning to claw at her insides, making her want to scream. 

“You were busy, and we have it under control,” Bea said, an air of nonchalance about her. It was all very simple. They were there to help, and so they were helping. “But now you know.” She flashed Violet a quick smile and continued to mop after squeezing the dirty water out of it.

“Mhmm,” Violet nodded and forced her lips into a smile, deciding to go back upstairs and check on Ellie herself. 

When she opened the door, she saw Callahan fumbling with some of the medications, and her stomach dropped to the floor, her face growing paler by the second. 

“Da, what did you give her?” she asked, the terror barely hidden in her tone.

“Oh, Lettie Lass, there you are.” Callahan offered Violet a warm smile, then went back to squinting at the bottle in front of him, holding it out a little more so the tiny print would focus. “Nothing. I was simply reading, making sure there was nothing she needed soon.” He looked back up at her, studying her face more closely this time. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

“Fine,” she croaked before turning her attention to her wife. “Ellie, what’s the matter?” 

She sat down next to her on the bed, placing the back of her hand against her forehead, letting her racing heart calm down from the near anxiety attack she almost had. Like he said, he hadn’t given her anything, yet.

“Everything hurts,” Ellie said, her voice a whine despite a significant effort to sound casual. “Being in this bed all the time is killing me.” She had been put on a moderate bed rest because her cervix was beginning to dilate too early. She could only stand and walk for short periods of time, stairs only once a day if necessary, and sitting or laying down the rest of the time. But because of the lack of movement, her feet and legs were swollen and tight, her back ached constantly, and she was bored out of her mind. Not to mention the guilt at somehow having to do even less than she was before, not even able to work or help with Anthony.

“Violet, why don’t you go deal with the um-the issue you were having with the—” 

“Washer.” 

“Yeah,” Callahan nodded with a smile. “I can hold down the fort here, it’s okay.” 

“I fixed it already,” Violet said, not turning to look at him, because she didn’t trust the look on her face. “Ellie, my love, maybe you should stand, just for a moment, stretch out your legs. Then, it’s just about time for your afternoon medications, and I can massage your back a bit, hmm?”

“Are you sure, Lettie Lass?” Callahan asked before Ellie could answer, his tone the most sincere it ever was, but Violet struggled to hear past his words. “Bea and I can manage these things, it’s what we’re here for.”

“I think it would be good for me to get up for a few minutes, get my body vertical for a bit. It’ll probably help. But I’m sure Da can help me with that. Get some rest while you can, love,” Ellie said. 

“Is that a good idea? I mean, maybe just to the bathroom and back?” Cal asked. “You’re on bed rest for a reason, kiddo.”

Violet chewed on the inside of her cheek and grumbled, “I do not need rest.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Callahan asked. 

“I don’t need rest!” Violet yelled, stomping her foot on the ground. “I don’t need rest, and I can take care of my fucking wife myself!”

Violet immediately stood up and covered her mouth with her hands, looking at Ellie and Callahan wide-eyed. 

“Oh my God, I-I shouldn’t have said that. I need to-I can’t-”

She tried to run away, out of the room, but Callahan gently put his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to stop her. 

Ellie watched with her mouth hanging open, shock completely taking over her face. She had never heard Violet swear, much less with that word. And if that weren’t enough, the outburst certainly was. Nothing about what she just witnessed was anything she would have ever expected from her sweet, mild mannered, shy wife, and she couldn’t even get up to chase after her. Fortunately, her dad stepped in, grasping her shoulder. Ellie slowly pushed herself up into a seated position while her dad began to speak. 

“Violet, love, please,” he said in his most gentle, caring tone, “clearly you’re upset. Come, talk to me.” He squeezed her shoulder a little tighter, but not so much so that she could not walk away if she chose, and gestured for her to sit back down.

Ellie reached out, touching Violet’s hand to encourage her back to her.

“I don’t want to talk!” she shook her head and turned away from them. “If I talk, I’m going to…No…I can’t…”

She could feel all of the upset, the frustration that had been dwelling under the surface, coming up into her throat, and she knew she couldn’t hold it down any longer, as was demonstrated by her outburst.

Callahan stared at Violet, a mixture of concern and confusion on his face, not quite sure how to proceed.

“Da, can you give us a minute, please?” Ellie asked as she pushed herself up off the bed, and went over to her wife, coming to stand in front of her.

“…Course,” he said and gave Ellie a supportive look as he left the room, closing the door behind him. 

“Vi, my love, what is wrong?” she asked gently, daring to reach out and brush her fingers over Violet’s cheek. Her blue eyes were unreadable. 

“Ellie, I’m so mad,” Violet’s voice trembled, and she stepped away from her wife. “I’m mad at Mama. I’m mad at Da. I’m mad at you.”

She felt tears begin to well in her eyes as she admitted what she had been feeling. She felt sick to her stomach; how could she have just said she was upset with her pregnant wife who had been suffering for the past seven months? But it was true, she had been, because every time Violet had subtly tried to tell her in-laws she could take care of things that she clearly wanted to take care of, Ellie unwittingly sided with her parents. And that hurt Violet. 

She knew she could do it as long as Anthony was kept out of her way, that’s why she needed Beatrice and Callahan. Not to look after Ellie, not to clean the house, not to cook their food. 

Being at home, being a mother and a wife, that was Violet’s job, and her whole family was making her feel like she wasn’t capable of doing it.

“What? Why?” Ellie stood in the middle of the room, confused and trying not to be prematurely hurt. She couldn’t imagine what she had done to make Violet mad, especially not this mad. With both hands under her belly for support, the change in position making her already sore back even more achy and tired, she took a small step toward her wife. “I know you said you don’t want to talk, but I can’t fix it if I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“Y-You…” Violet's voice trembled. “Ellie, you're pushing me away.”

She could feel bile rise up in her throat, and she pushed it down, wrapping her arms around herself. She noticed Ellie was struggling to stand and, for her sake, came closer, holding her for support and encouraging her to sit down on the bed, following her lead and sitting in front of her so she could see her. 

If Ellie hadn’t been confused before, she certainly was now. How on Earth was she pushing her away? She had been more dependent on her than ever before, in ways she had never imagined being. In ways it was hard to be, as someone who had always considered herself to be self sufficient and independent. Ellie could not even do something as simple as showering without making sure Violet knew she was in there and in close enough proximity to assist if she needed it. It was… it was hard. Not because she did not want to or could not rely on Violet, but simply because she did not want to be a burden, and it had been seven long months of feeling like exactly that. 

Ellie’s lips drew to one side as she nursed a little bit of hurt at the accusation, but she did her best not to let it into her voice. “What do you mean? How have I been pushing you away? I don’t feel like I have ever needed you more than I do now.” 

Violet looked down at the floor before running her hands across her face, fighting back tears. 

“Whenever your parents are here, all of you just push me out.” She couldn’t bear to look at Ellie as she spoke. “I-I want to take care of things. I want to cook, and clean, and look after you, b-but I-I’m not fast enough. They just come in and do things, and they don’t tell me that you’re not feeling well, and then you don’t even want me to be the one looking after you. I just…”

Violet’s shoulders shook a little, and she quickly wiped away her tears. 

“Ellie, this is my job, and you’re all making me feel like I can’t do it.”

The first thing Ellie did, before she even had time to truly process everything Violet told her, was reach out and take her hands. She may have been mad at her, her feelings may have been hurt, but Ellie needed her to know she was there, right there in that moment with her. 

“I…” she began and then stopped for a moment, realizing a defense was on her tongue when that was not what Violet needed. She needed to be heard. “I am so sorry, Violet.” Ellie spoke with a deep sincerity. She truly could not think of a single time when she would have wanted her parents to care for her over Violet. But if that is how she had made Violet feel, it didn’t really matter what Ellie had actually wanted.

“I never meant to make you feel that way. You are incredible. You have been doing so very much for months, and the less I can do, the more gets added to your plate. The only thing I have ever wanted was to keep from burdening you with more and more as I could do less. My love, I think you are capable of anything, but that does not mean I want you to have to carry everything.”

Violet looked at Ellie with watery eyes. She brushed her thumbs over her wife’s knuckles, chewed on her bottom lip, and took in a shaky breath. 

“You are not a burden, Elinah,” she asserted. “I made a commitment to you, and it gives me joy to fulfill that, even if it means I am tired and achy. I would never wish this kind of pregnancy on you again, but I need you to know I would do it over and over again if I had to.”

Violet swallowed thickly, her voice beginning to betray her. 

“You always take care of me, I just thought…maybe this time I could do what you’ve always done for me.”

“Dottie, there is not a day that goes by that you do not care for me in one way or another. And I don’t mean since I’ve been pregnant, I mean since forever. Beyond the cooking and cleaning you do every day, which is not insignificant and absolutely counts, by the way,” she added a little sternly because it appalled her that somehow Violet didn’t think so, “you have been by my side for every single high and low… since we were kids.” 

Ellie scooted closer to her wife, reaching out to brush away the hairs that had escaped her bun in all of the work she had been doing, then let her hand come to rest over her cheek. 

“My love, if you want my parents to back off, I will tell them to do so, without hesitation. But please do not discredit everything you do for me. You care for my heart and nurture my soul every second of every day, and no one but you can do that. No one takes care of me more than you do.”

Violet pressed her lips together and nodded, taking in what Ellie was saying and really making an effort to truly listen to her, to believe that all those little things she would do that she thought were insignificant actually made a big difference. 

“I…I don’t need them to back off, I still need their help, I just need them to talk to me,” Violet whispered. “When things happen to you, or Anthony, or if they want to maybe lend an extra hand, I just want them to ask so that I can tell them what will actually be helpful for me and still make me feel like I am doing something…you know?”

“If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do.” Ellie leaned over her belly to kiss Violet’s forehead. “I’m sorry that we made you feel that way, I really am. I promise none of us meant to. I think it’s just easy for my parents to fall into those roles, y’know? And in trying to care for me, they were also trying to take care of you. But you’re right. This is our house, not theirs, and they overstepped. I’ll talk to them, or we can do it together. Whatever you want.”

Violet nodded her head again, getting on her knees and leaning into Ellie, resting her forehead against her stomach and pressing a kiss to it, hoping it would show her gratitude. 

“I know,” Violet mumbled. “I just snapped. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, love.” Ellie rubbed her hand up and down Violet’s back, hoping to soothe her while feeling her love. “Next time, can you tell me before you reach a breaking point? So we can problem solve? Together?”

“Mhmm,” Violet murmured while kissing her stomach again. “God, I need to say sorry to Da. I feel so bad. I swore at him.”

She grimaced, not yet lifting her head from where it was against Ellie’s stomach. 

“Please don’t hold it against me, my sweet baby,” she mumbled to her unborn child. 

Ellie let out a little chuckle. “I promise, he’s heard much worse. But I’m sure he’ll appreciate it, and hearing about how you’re feeling.”

With her hand under Violet’s chin, she guided her up so their faces were level, so she could kiss her. It was soft and full of the love she felt, an attempt to communicate, beyond a doubt, her gratitude.

“Before we talk to him, though, could you do something for me?”

Violet beamed, coming closer to Ellie, eager to help. 

“Of course. Anything.”

“Can you rub my legs? They’re so tight, and I think some blood flow will help.” There were lots of things she was willing to have her parents do, but this was not one of them. And she had been needing it for a few hours now. 

Leaning half against the pillows so she was lounging but not quite laying down, she stretched her legs out in front of her, wiggling her toes that looked like little sausages attached to even bigger sausages, the pattern continuing all the way up her legs. 

Violet stood up and sat next to Ellie, first beginning where her shorts ended, massaging gently down her thighs, trying to stimulate the blood flow so that they would be less sore. 

“Is this helping, my darling? Is there anything else I can do?”

“God, that feels amazing.” Ellie tilted her head back, eyes closing as she hummed in appreciation. As Violet moved further down her legs, she settled down a little lower, letting both the pressure in her muscles and the touch of Violet’s hands soothe her. Nothing made her feel better than feeling loved by and connected with her wife, and she hadn’t realized just how much she needed this. “Nothing right now,” she finally answered. “But maybe after my parents leave and Anthony is down, you can do it again with lotion? I’d really appreciate that.”

Violet bit her bottom lip. The thought of sharing a quiet moment with just her wife, amongst all the chaos that had been this pregnancy, was enough to fill her heart with something warm and soft, clamping down on any anger she had been feeling. 

“It would be my pleasure,” she assured her. 

Ellie looked at Violet, her eyelids low and her smile lazy but genuine. Maybe she hadn’t expressed her gratitude enough. It was so hard to see or feel anything beyond the stress and pain of her body. She couldn’t even enjoy growing this life she had wanted so badly because just existing took every ounce of energy. But she wanted Violet to know she saw her effort, felt her love, and appreciated all of her care. It was the only thing getting her through. 

Reaching her hands down, she drew Violet up to her until she was laying next to her, pressed firmly into her side. Tipping her chin higher, Ellie kissed her in a way that she hoped would give even a little bit back that Violet had given her, that would show her how fully she captured her heart. 

“Thank you. For everything. Every chore, every round of meds, every cup of tea. Thank you for making this pregnancy as bearable as it could be.”

Violet wrapped her arm over Ellie, her hand gently rubbing her stomach in slow and gentle circles. She nuzzled her face into Ellie’s shoulder and sighed. 

“I would do it a hundred times over for you, and for our little prince,” she tapped Ellie’s stomach lightly. “I know you think it’s a girl, but being this demanding? I think he’s a boy.”

Ellie laughed, her belly tightening around the baby as it bounced in time. She rubbed her hand over it as she smiled at Violet. 

“Well, no matter the sex, I know they’re a menace,” she said, patting her stomach. “Isn’t that right? Mama’s little menace.” She appreciated the moments she felt well enough to joke and be silly. It helped her feel a little bit more like herself, which she felt she had lost a little bit with this pregnancy.

She turned to kiss Violet’s head, squeezing her a little tighter around the shoulders. “We should probably talk to my parents soon, yeah? How do you feel? I can talk to them alone, if you want.”

While the offer was tempting, Violet knew it was best if she was there and took a lead on the conversation, even if she didn’t quite want to. She still felt bad for yelling at Callahan and how cold she had been to both her in-laws in the past little while. She only hoped she could get over her embarrassment enough to have the conversation. 

“No, I should do it,” Violet said. “Maybe you can call them though, I don’t think I can do it alone.”

The smile on Ellie’s face was one of pride. She knew it would be hard for Violet not only to apologize but to confront Bea and Cal with her concerns. It was not in her nature to speak her mind, and even less so to rock the boat. But Ellie trusted the love her parents had for both of them to guide them to understanding. She would expect nothing less of them.

“I still have my one trip up and down the stairs today. Why don’t we just go down and talk to them? I could stand to get out of this room for a little while, anyway.”

“Sure.” Violet nodded and stood up first, coming to help Ellie, supporting her back as they walked across and out of the room before heading down the stairs slowly, one step at a time. 

When they got down there, Beatrice and Callahan were sitting in the living room, drinking some tea and speaking quietly, but went silent when they saw Violet and Ellie enter the room. 

Violet felt herself begin to clam up and after sitting Ellie down, she looked over to her for a bit of support with starting things off.

“Mama, Da,” Ellie started, speaking with a slow and calm calculation. “We have something we need to talk about, and I’m asking you both to be open and receptive to something that might feel like criticism but is not meant to be.”

Her parents looked at each other, then back to Violet and Ellie, concern on both of their faces. 

“Sure, Ellie Belly,” her dad said, a tentative smile directed more at Violet than Ellie. Bea remained quiet, but her face appeared receptive.

Ellie took a subtle, steadying breath as she looked at her wife, her hand firmly clasped around Violet’s. 

“Violet and I are so appreciative of how willingly you’ve jumped in to help. Neither of us expected all of these complications and it means the world to both of us to have your help and support.” Ellie straightened her back a little, refusing to appear cowed by nerves or discomfort in any way. “But after talking with Violet, I think your willingness to jump in may have led you to overstepping a little bit.”

Violet looked over at Ellie and, with another show of support in her eyes, she felt as well as she could to speak about the matter. 

“I uh…I really do appreciate your help, both of you. It’s just, sometimes I feel like I try to do things that I would like to do, but I’m getting pushed away from doing it or not in the loop when things happen, especially with Ellie. I understand that she’s your daughter, but it worries me not to know. It doesn’t mean I have to be taking care of it all the time, but I’d like to determine what I can and can’t do.” 

Violet paused and took a deep breath. 

“I think we just need to be on the same page, because right now, I don’t…I don’t feel like we are.”

Callahan was the first to speak, his tone gentle, laced with concern and curiosity, much as it had been earlier upstairs. 

“Lettie, love, I am sorry that you’ve been made to feel pushed out or left out. I assure you, that was not our intention. We have only ever wanted to make things as easy as possible for you. For both of you.”

Violet nodded her head. 

“I-I know…and I’m sorry for snapping earlier,” she could feel her cheeks go red with embarrassment, struggling to make eye contact with her father-in-law. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a warm, genuine smile. 

Bea cleared her throat and all eyes turned to her as she began to speak for the first time since Violet and Ellie had come downstairs. 

“Thank you for telling us how you feel, Violet. Though, I do wish you had told us sooner. If we have not done what we needed to make you feel comfortable coming to us when something we are doing in your home is upsetting you, that is our failure.” She had an air of seriousness around her that Ellie recognized immediately. She was not offended; that Ellie knew. But she was upset at what she likely perceived as a lack of trust on Violet’s part. And Ellie knew she would make it her mission to ensure that trust was shored up, because her mum was a woman who took her relationships very seriously. 

Bea continued, looking between the two of them, her tone inviting honesty,“Please, tell us how we can support you in the ways that you need. What do you need from us, and what do you need us not to do?”

Violet nodded her head as Bea spoke, pursing her lips and fidgeting a little with her hands. Eventually, she finally found the courage to look up at her in-laws again. 

“Mama, I just need you guys to talk to me,” Violet said honestly. “If you want to make dinner, tell me you want to make dinner. If Ellie is feeling unwell, let me know; there might be something that I know from her appointments that can help. I-I think if you talk to me, then we can consult and if something doesn’t seem like a good idea or doesn’t need to be done, then we can-we can avoid it.”

“Just let Violet lead, Mama. I know you guys have spent so long heading your own household, just try to remember that this one is ours.” Ellie took Violet’s hand in hers, lacing their fingers together and squeezing it gently. She was so proud of her for speaking up and for being honest. It wasn’t lost on her how hard that could be. 

Callahan put his arm around his wife’s shoulders, pulling her in against him for a moment and kissing her temple. 

“I think we can do that,” he said, smiling at the two of them. 

Violet pressed her lips into a smile and leaned in closer to Ellie. As uncomfortable as the conversation had been for her, she knew it was better that it had happened. 

“Thank you, Da, Mama. I-I really appreciate you both, especially right now.” Violet placed a hand over Ellie’s stomach, trying to feel their son or daughter knowing that, despite all these changes and difficulties, once they were born, things would work out. She had to hope they would. 

“We’re happy to,” Cal said. “Maybe a little too happy,” he laughed and winked at them. 

Ellie put her head down on Violet’s shoulder, her back starting to complain. 

“We are very sorry for stepping on your toes, Violet, and I hope you know that you are doing a great job.”

Violet smiled gingerly and wrapped her other arm around Ellie’s back, beginning to massage away the soreness in her tailbone carefully with her fingers.

“It’s okay. I just-what I hoped was that you both know I am trying really hard to take care of her. I know she’s your Ellie Belly, so I hope you think she’s in good hands.”

“There was never a doubt in our minds,” Bea assured her. 

“Mine, either,” Ellie murmured. Her eyes were half closed as she focused on the feeling of Violet’s fingers on her back, finding all the sore spots. 

“Well, what would you like now? We can stay and help, or we can get out of your hair. You tell us,” Cal said. 

Violet thought back to Ellie’s earlier request and how she had finished practically everything on her list for the day. There were a few more things she would need to do, but they could wait for a few days and were in no way urgent. 

“I think I’ve done everything I need to get done today,” she said. “Maybe you guys can come back Friday, and Mama, you and I can make dinner together.”

Beatrice smiled and immediately agreed to Violet’s suggestion. Violet grinned and turned to press a kiss to Ellie’s temple, whispering a quiet promise of a massage coming her way. 

Everyone stood, Ellie with Violet’s assistance, and said their goodbyes. Her parents tried to tell her not to walk them to the door, but she insisted she needed the walk. After hugs and kisses, Violet closed the door, and when she turned back towards her, Ellie immediately pulled her into her arms. 

She held her close for a few moments before pushing the wisps of hair away from her face, tilting her chin up towards her, and kissing her deeply. She loved Violet so much, and she felt such a strong pull towards her, suddenly desperate to make sure she knew just how much she meant to her. It wasn’t often that she felt good enough these days to give back much at all for everything Violet was doing, but she did now. 

“Come upstairs with me?”

Violet nodded her head, not thinking too much of it on account of Ellie’s condition. She wrapped an arm around her wife, supporting her as they made their trip upstairs. Once they were in the bedroom, Violet immediately slipped away to grab the lotion from the bathroom so that she could massage Ellie’s legs again like she had promised. 

While Violet went to the bathroom, Ellie made her way to the bed. Lowering herself as gracefully as she could, she then settled back against the pillows, formulating a plan. 

“Anthony’s been sleeping very well lately,” Violet chuckled, sitting down next to Ellie. “I suspect we’ll have plenty of time to take care of you here, my love.”

She patted Ellie’s leg lightly before putting some of the lotion on her hand, getting ready to begin.

“I hope so.” Ellie bent the leg Violet patted, placing her foot flat on the mattress so she had better access. She let Violet start, already appreciating the way her hands felt on her skin, how the lotion helped it feel a little less tight. 

“That feels so good.” Her eyes stayed on Violet as she continued, letting the sensation of her hands traveling her legs awaken a part of her that had been dormant for months. 

Violet hummed, content with her work, still careful using her fingers and palm, travelling down her thigh, past her knee, down to her calves. 

She knew how sore everything could be just from being pregnant, but practically being on bed rest on top of that must have made it so much worse. 

“I’m glad it feels good,” Violet said, focusing on her hands and their movements. “Least I can do for my Linah Bina.”

Ellie let out a little chuckle that rumbled low down in her chest. God, she loved this woman so much. A little more every day, even though every night she swore she couldn’t love her more if she tried. 

By the time Violet had made her way down Ellie’s other leg, her whole body hummed, somehow more relaxed and more wound up than should have been possible at the same time. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, lips a little pouty and her eyelids heavy. 

“Vi,” she said, drawing her wife’s eyes up to her. “C’mere, my love.”

Violet looked at Ellie curiously, but obeyed her wife’s request, coming closer before letting a hand rest against her cheek, brushing her thumb across it in smooth, gentle motions. 

“What is it, Ellie?” Violet asked. “Something’s going on, isn’t it? Are you still in pain?”

“I’m fine,” Ellie said, avoiding the actual question because there wasn’t a time she wasn’t in pain anymore. But that was relative, and it was true that she was fine. Something had shifted. She felt a lightness she hadn’t in a long time, and she wanted to take advantage of that. Especially now, when she realized she’d been trying to help Violet in a way that wasn’t helpful. This whole time she had offered her parents’ help as a way to lighten her load, but it was clear that was not what she needed. So, Ellie thought that perhaps giving to her was the best way she could return all the ways Ellie had been taken care of. 

“You’ve taken just good care of me. I’d like the chance to return the favor.” Leaning back against the pillows, Ellie pulled her wife’s hand from her cheek and pressed a kiss to her palm. Then another on her wrist, and another just above that. She continued up until she reached the inside of her elbow where she brushed her lips lightly over what was a surprisingly sensitive spot.

Violet chewed on the inside of her cheek, her breath faltering. She felt a certain sort of desire begin to make itself known again in the pit of her stomach, something that had come up definitely more than a few times throughout the past months, but Violet had always pushed it down, knowing Ellie was in no state for anything of the sort, even if she might want to. But now, Ellie was the one initiating something, and Violet didn’t know what to do. 

“Ellie,” she whispered. “You’re…Is this a good idea?”

It would be wrong for Violet to say she didn’t want it. She always wanted it. Yet, she did not need her wife feeling any sort of obligation to do something she was not in the physical state to do.

Ellie should have expected as much. She wouldn’t be Violet if she didn’t worry. Though, to be fair, if the tables were turned, Ellie knew she would worry, too. She looked at her wife, a smile on her lips. 

“You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to do anything that’s going to be unsafe. Just because I can’t have sex, doesn’t mean you can’t. And there is nothing I’d like more right now than to make you feel as good as you make me feel every day.”

She let her hand travel up Violet’s arm and down to her chest, her fingernails gently scraping over her freckled skin. 

“But only if you want to,” she added so that Violet didn’t feel obligated. That was certainly not what she wanted. 

“Christ, is that even a question?” Violet breathed out heavily, looking at Ellie with blown pupils at the prospect of what was to come. 

Her mouth almost began to water at the thought, swirling in her mind, all the little things she had been missing, aching for. And every time she had felt bad about it, especially when Ellie’s condition was such that, consistently, she was really not having a good time, but she couldn’t stop herself. Ellie just had that kind of effect on her, and seeing her belly growing and swollen with their child, it brought something up in Violet she didn’t think she’d ever felt before. In her eyes, Ellie could not get more perfect, and every day it drove her closer and closer to insanity. 

A devilish grin curled Ellie’s lips at Violet’s eagerness. It was good to know that through all of this, some things would never change.

“Now, where was I?” she asked as she took hold of Violet’s hand again. She repeated the same path as before, this time letting her kisses become more open mouthed, allowing her tongue to graze across Violet’s pale skin until she reached her inner elbow again. She swept her tongue across it, back and forth a few times while her breath washed over her skin, relishing in the sounds it elicited, enjoying the way it made desire swirl in her own stomach. Of all the things she missed, this was, by far, one of the ones she missed the most. 

Violet swallowed hard and inched closer to Ellie, her legs already rubbing back and forth together in an attempt for some sort of relief. 

“Ellie, please,” she whined. “It’s been seven months, are you really going to make me wait longer?”

“Christ, Vi.” Ellie couldn’t help but laugh. Violet had always been quick to warm up, but this had to be a new record. Not that she could blame her. Even when Violet was pregnant, even when Anthony was a newborn, they had never gone anywhere near this long. 

“I suppose not,” she said as she turned onto her side to face her. Her hand pushed up under her hair to grip her neck, pulling her down to her. After a pulsing moment where their faces were just far enough apart that they could feel each other’s breath through their parted lips but could not reach, Ellie’s lips took Violet’s in a searing kiss, her tongue pushing into her mouth. At the same time, she slid her hand down the side of her body until she reached her thigh, her fingertips pressing into the soft flesh under the edge of her shorts as she pulled Violet’s leg over her hip. 

Violet was careful about how much weight she was putting on Ellie, but also made it very clear with how her body pushed into hers, what it was she was ready for. 

She melted into the kiss, allowing Ellie to overtake her, to feel the curves of her body pressed against her. Her breasts, her stomach, her hips. She whined a little, clearly desperate for more. 

Ever since Violet had found out what sex could be like, how it made her feel, how it connected her to Ellie, she couldn’t get enough. And going seven months without it had been a test of her will. 

“God, I needed this, El,” she murmured into her mouth. “Thank you.”

“Save your gratitude until I’m done,” Ellie said as her hand pushed further up under her shorts until she could feel the edge of her underwear. Her fingers edged underneath, fingernails gripping into the skin of her backside, adding pressure so Violet was flush against her. 

“Take your shirt off,” she said. Doing it herself would have been difficult and awkward, and she wasn’t about to ruin the mood that way. When Violet moved to do as she was told, Ellie put her hand on her hand and looked up into her eyes with a pointed gaze. “Actually, take all your clothes off,” she commanded. 

Violet shuddered and nodded her head, first removing her shirt like she had initially moved to do. Next, she unclasped her bra and tossed on the ground next to the bed. She then moved apart from Ellie so that she could push herself up on her knees, fitting her fingers between the waistband of her shorts, pulling them down before taking them off one leg at a time with a kind of balance that seemed almost expert. Her underwear was last, quickly and easily discarded along with her other clothes before she pulled herself back, close to Ellie, kissing her lips firmly.

“You know…” she whispered, letting her lips trail down Ellie’s neck. “I never let you really have your way with me and…Anthony’s stopped nursing.”

Ellie let out a slight groan at the combination of Violet’s mouth on her neck and the reminder of her promise from what felt like a different lifetime. It was almost unfair, that now she could have what she wanted but couldn’t really have what she needed. 

This isn’t about you, she reminded herself and returned her thoughts to her wife who was right there, gorgeous and naked and desperate for her. That would be more than enough for her at that moment. She would make sure of it. 

“That’s because I was too busy being violently ill to take advantage of the opportunity. But since the opportunity has presented itself now…” she urged Violet to sit back by pushing gently on her shoulder. She then turned back onto her back, scooting backward so she was sitting up. 

“C’mere,” Ellie patted her thighs, inviting Violet to straddle them. Despite how big her stomach felt, she hadn’t truly popped yet, the baby still settled back by her spine which was, in large part, the source of a lot of her discomfort. Fortunately, it meant that when she was seated, Violet could still get reasonably close without worrying about putting too much pressure on her belly. 

Violet was quick to listen, thankful that Ellie was also wearing shorts, granting her the ability to feel her wife’s skin against her own. She wrapped her arms around Ellie’s neck, her chest leaning suggestively forward. 

“You’re sure this isn’t too much, Ellie?” she asked, feeling a small hint of doubt creeping in, despite the pulsing strength of her desire.

“It’s fine, my love. I’ll tell you if anything changes.”

Her hands slid along Violet’s thighs and up further, her fingers bumping along the ridges of her ribs until she reached the heavy weight of her breasts. She took them in her hands, pressing them up slightly so they were as enclosed in her hands as it was possible for them to be, spilling over the stops of her fingertips. At the same time, she kissed along her freckled collarbone, then down further along her chest, letting her tongue trace wet lines along her freckles until she met her fingers.

Sliding one hand down to her waist, she encouraged Violet to arch her back slightly, allowing her better access as she pressed kisses around the supple flesh. Oh, how she had missed them. With her heart rate picking up and beating quite hard somewhere other than her chest, she slid her tongue against Violet’s nipple, feeling it harden in response. 

She took her time, truly enjoying herself and getting her fill after almost two full years. Her fingers and mouth worked in tandem, pinching and teasing, rolling and sucking for as long as Violet would allow.

“Mmm Ellie.” Violet’s breath hitched in her throat, her stomach growing tight at her wife’s continued ministrations. This was a particular sensation she had missed, she would allow it to play out until her need for something more was unbearable. “Keep going,” she panted. 

Her hips moved in response, but Violet wasn’t ready to give in to it just yet, still relishing Ellie’s mouth and hands against her chest. 

What Violet wanted, Violet got, as much and as often as Ellie could give it. She continued to worship Violet’s breasts, wholeheartedly and with great enthusiasm. But when Violet’s hips began to push down on Ellie’s lap even harder, rocking back and forth as her body searched for relief, Ellie took her breasts in both her hands again, flicking her thumbs over her nipples as she pressed kisses to the space between them, her mouth moving lower until she could not reach anymore. 

“Sit up, my love,” she told her, encouraging her up onto her knees as she scooted herself lower until Violet straddled her chest instead of her lap. Ellie was still inclined enough to be comfortable, but low enough to reach where she needed. After trailing them down her body, her hands settled on Violet’s hips so she could keep some level of control as things progressed, and let her mouth trail its way down from her navel, over the lower portion of her belly, and finally down over her dark curls that were absolutely dripping. It wasn’t quite dinner time yet, but she still planned on eating well.  

“Ellie, are you sure?” Violet asked, practically shaking from her positioning over her wife. She reached over her, gripping onto the headboard for support. She bit her lower lip so hard she began to taste something metallic in her mouth, forcing her to release it, looking down at Ellie, a few tendrils of hair that had escaped from her bun framing her needy expression. 

At this point Violet wasn’t sure why she was asking Ellie if she was sure, she had told her already if anything became too much she would let her know. Perhaps she wasn’t sure if she could handle it. It had been a long time, and while she was dripping wet and ready for her wife, there was a bit of nervousness that came with it. 

Ellie looked at Violet from beneath the curves and slopes of her body. It was a tantalizing view, one that would only get better as Violet lost control and gave into her pleasure, but something made her hesitate. 

“I’m very sure,” she said, leaving no room for doubt. “Are you?”

“I-” Violet paused, her breathing becoming more laboured. “No,” she admitted. “I’m not.” 

She didn’t know how the words had left her mouth, so contrary to what her body was physically telling her, but she supposed it was the truth.

Ellie blinked, a record scratch in her head, feeling both surprised and confused. However, it was only a second before she recovered. 

“That’s alright. Do you want to stop or… just change positions? What, uh, what are you not sure of?”

Violet swallowed thickly. She looked away from Ellie for a moment before making eye contact again, reaching down and holding her face carefully in one hand. 

“It’s not that…it’s not that I don’t want you,” she attempted to explain. “Clearly, I do otherwise I wouldn’t be…well…” she voice trailed off as she blushed. 

She pressed her lips together before taking the bottom one between her teeth again, gently this time. She couldn’t quite pinpoint what was wrong. Why did she not feel sure? 

 Ellie wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but whatever it was, she trusted them to work it out together. 

“Why don’t you come back down where you were and we can just sit with each other for a few minutes, hmm?” 

Violet nodded and lifted her leg from over Ellie so that she was next to her instead. Feeling the cool air of the room begin to nip at her skin, she crawled under the covers and came closer to her wife, resting her head against her shoulder, still feeling the need and want to be close to her. 

She basked in her warmth, in her gentle touch and caress as she wrapped an arm around Violet’s shoulder, tracing mindless lines against it.

Ellie just held her wife for a few minutes, not letting her mind wander too far into possible problems or the solutions that came with them. Instead, focusing on being there, on taking care of her, which was exactly what she had set out to do in the first place. She still intended on doing so, even if it looked different than what she had planned. And maybe Violet just needed a few minutes. Either way, Ellie would be right up there with her. 

When she felt enough time had passed, she turned and kissed the top of Violet’s head, then let her lips rest in that spot before speaking.

“It’s been a pretty long time and a lot has changed since we last had sex.” She left it open ended, an invitation to ponder rather than a request for an answer.

Violet nodded her head, still not sure if she had the right words to speak yet. 

After a few more moments of silence, she turned so she was fully pressed against Ellie’s side, her nose nuzzling against her wife’s shoulder. 

“I don’t really know why, but I feel a little nervous,” she admitted. “Maybe it’s just because it’s been a while, or because you’re pregnant and I’m worried about you, I just want to make sure I don’t…dive in headfirst like I usually do. Even though I want to, so badly, it’s very confusing,” she sighed and pouted.

“Says the woman who was whining about waiting within ten seconds of us starting,” Ellie laughed, hoping the teasing would help lighten whatever mood Violet had found herself in. Squeezing Violet in a little tighter, she shifted her own position slightly, her back starting to protest being in the same one so long. “Since you said you do want it, we can slow down, if you want. Though we run the risk of naptime ending. Or, we can do it right here where maybe it won’t feel as risky to you?” Ellie knew she would have been fine positioned how they had been before. But if it didn’t make Violet feel safe, it defeated the purpose anyway, so it wasn’t worth bothering. Even though Ellie had been really looking forward to it.

“Exactly my point!” Violet laughed along with Ellie’s first comment, happy they could at least find some joy in the situation. She took a deep breath and lifted her hand so that she could brush some of Ellie’s now frizzy and unkempt curls away from her face. 

She clicked her tongue on the top of her mouth, as if in thought, before taking Ellie’s hand in hers and placing it first on her side, leading her further down. 

“Maybe we just do it like this?” Violet suggested, her voice dropping lower as she leaned in towards Ellie’s face, her lips ghosting her wife’s. “I missed having you inside me, anyways.”

“Fuck.” The word slipped out as a whisper before Ellie could bite it back. At the same time, a shudder crawled down her spine. With just one line, Violet managed to restart her brain, losing her every ounce of wit or eloquence she had ever had. Shifting even further onto her side, Ellie smiled at her wife who was simultaneously radiant and fucking fit.

“You’re a wildcard, Violet Ledger,” she said, letting her hand continue its path lower, ghosting over Violet’s hip and stomach toward the apex of her legs. When she reached it, she danced her fingers lower, edging in between Violet’s thighs and urging them apart at the same time as she kissed her again, that way she could drink in every desperate, needy sound she made. As it turned out, Ellie was as thirsty as she was hungry.

Violet opened her thighs wider, allowing Ellie as much access as she needed. When she felt her fingers slide between her folds, she gasped, throwing her head back and arching further into Ellie’s arms. 

“O-Oh,” she shuddered, pressing her lips together. 

Ellie slipped her fingers through Violet’s slick heat, teasing and playing, just for a few moments, just to have a little fun and make sure she was ready this time. 

When she was sure, she pushed her fingers into her, as deep as she could until her palm pressed flat against her, adding another layer of sensation. 

“Is this what you wanted? Hmm?”

Violet was not able to speak any longer, only sounds escaping her mouth. 

“Ah-Ahhh.”

She thought she felt her eyes rolling to the back of her head, her hips bucking into Ellie’s hand, forcing her even deeper. 

As she moved her fingers inside her, pulling out almost all the way and then pushing them back in, settling into a steady rhythm, Ellie watched the pleasure roll across Violet’s face. The way her mouth hung open, her eyelids twitching, eyebrows drawing further and further down as she came closer. God, it was magnificent to witness. Getting to see firsthand the ways that she could paint ecstasy on Violet’s face was absolutely intoxicating. 

“You’re close, aren’t you, my love? Be good for me and wait, just a little longer. I’m not done watching.”

“I-I’m trying,” Violet panted.

She gripped onto Ellie, concentrating hard so that she could hold out just a little bit longer for her love, her wife. She’d give her the sun, moon, and stars if that's what she wanted.

“E-Ellie…” she closed her eyes for a moment, hoping she could get the words out. “W-When I finish…don’t stop.”

Ellie felt her own core tighten in response, all of a sudden needing to bite her lip to keep herself under control. For several more strokes, she continued until she could tell Violet couldn’t hold back any longer. 

“You’ve been so good, so patient. Go ahead, my darling.” 

When Violet finally allowed herself that release, she moaned loudly, her hips still rocking into Ellie’s hand, continuing even when it felt like too much. 

“El…El…El-Elinah, good God!” she cried out.

Ellie watched Violet crash over that edge and felt it all the way through her whole body. Every little muscle twitch, every ragged breath, every broken word scorched through Ellie like a wildfire, burning her up in the most delectable way. 

As requested, she didn’t stop, instead pulling Violet closer against her with the hand around her shoulders, kissing her neck and shoulder while her fingers continued, her palm grinding against the pulse beating in response to her first release. 

“Again, my love. I know you want it again. I know you can do it, you’ve been so good for me already,” she whispered against her ear. 

Violet nodded her head vigorously. She bit her lip, concentrating, even as it became so overwhelming she could hardly bear it, she knew she was close again. 

“Fuck me,” Violet moaned loudly into the pillow, her mouth hung wide open.

Ellie let out a full blown moan. If that word had surprised her when it came out of her mouth earlier, now it nearly broke her. Christ that was the hottest thing she had ever heard. 

“That’s right, love, just like that.” As she spoke, she curled her fingers forward and kept her pace and depth steady so nothing could distract her away from her second fall. 

Despite her trembling legs and the way her whole body thrummed with incessant pleasure, Violet continued to match Ellie’s pace with her hips until finally, for a second time, she felt everything crash down on her, a choked moan the only sound capable of leaving her mouth while her muscles twitched against Ellie’s fingers. 

Ellie held Violet’s trembling body, letting her come down for a minute before pulling out and wrapping her arm around her waist to get her even closer. She pressed kisses to her temple, her forehead, her nose, her cheeks. Any part of her within reach, so utterly taken by her. It felt good to have been able to pleasure her this way after so many months of needing more and more from her, of feeling incapable of taking care of her as she was used to doing. This was something Violet needed, she knew, and yet had not complained about missing it a single time. So, Ellie was thrilled to be able to give her this without needing or expecting any sort of reciprocation, and since she wasn’t allowed to anyway, Violet couldn’t insist. 

Violet was still breathing heavily when Ellie pulled her into her. She allowed her whole body to go limp, still hazy from the pleasure, satisfied in a way she needed to be so desperately. 

“Ellie, you uh…hmm I haven’t been this relaxed in…” she shook her head lazily and laughed, a languid smile coming across her face. She was certainly blissed out.

Ellie laughed, too, more than pleased with herself. 

“Good. Then I’ve done my job right.” She ran her hand along Violet’s spine, her lips resting against the hair at the top of her head, feeling her breathing slowly return to a more regulated state. The silence between them was peaceful and familiar, and Ellie let it stretch on for a while, basking in the reconnection she hadn’t even realized they had needed. 

It was Anthony’s voice floating down the hall, clearly up but unbothered after his nap, that pulled her out of it. She wasn’t quite ready to let the moment go, however, so she let her hand traipse down Violet’s arm to her hand and brought it to her lips. 

“I know I already said it, but it bears repeating. Thank you for everything you have taken on for me and for our family. You are the most amazing woman I have ever known.”

“I’d do it for a lifetime,” Violet murmured, kissing the underside of Ellie’s neck. 

Like her wife, she also elected to ignore the fact that Anthony was now awake, seeing that if he was bothered or something was wrong, he would have called out for them. There definitely were some perks to having him grow out of the very cute newborn stage, it gave both them and him some more autonomy. 

She closed her eyes for a few minutes, simply focusing on Ellie’s hand against her, the feeling of being so close to her wife in a way that felt tangible, that she had missed so much. 

Eventually, they were pulled out of their small slice of paradise when Anthony began singing some made up song, informing them that he wanted to be retrieved. 

“Mummy, Mummy come! Mummy, Anty pay! Anty no lala. No lala!”

Violet couldn’t help but laugh at his little song, sitting and listening to it for a few more moments before reluctantly pulling away from Ellie, finding a robe and wrapping it around herself so that she could go and pick up her son. 

As Violet pulled on her robe, Ellie pushed herself up with more effort than she cared for it to take, until she was on her feet.

“Bring him here?” she asked before heading into the washroom to wash her hands. She wanted the chance to see him before she would inevitably need to rest again. Since she had already used up her allotted trip on the stairs for the day, she would have to settle for having him visit her rather than playing together downstairs. 

“Of course. I bet you he’ll ask to see Mama anyways,” Violet smiled, slipping out of the room to retrieve Anthony. 

When she opened the door, he grinned gleefully, toddling over to hug her legs then be picked up. 

“Mummy, where Mama?” he asked, putting his head on her shoulder. “Beebee here?”

Violet chuckled and kissed his hair. 

“No dearest, Baby isn’t here yet,” she explained. “And Mama’s in the other room. Let’s go see her, huh?”

Anthony seemed a little exasperated that his sibling had not yet made an appearance, but didn’t make it too known aside from a grumble. 

When Violet came back into the room, Ellie was settled on the bed and Anthony quickly pushed himself out of her arms so that he could go to her. 

“Mama!”

“Hello, my flower!” Ellie leaned over and lifted Anthony up onto the bed, avoiding eye contact with her wife as she did so because she was not supposed to do that, but she couldn’t help it. She was too impatient to wait for Violet to come over and assist him. 

“Mama, beebee!” He leaned down and kissed her belly, hugging it, his little hands patting either side while he smiled so big his eyes squeezed closed. 

Ellie tousled his brown curls, beaming down at him. 

“Baby is trying to wave to you, can you see?” She showed him the spot where a lump moved back and forth on her stomach. 

“Hi, beebee!” He waved as enthusiastically as he would at a stranger at the shop, the sight making Ellie’s heart squeeze with joy in her chest. She hoped he would be this loving and happy once the baby was here, taking away his mums’ attention. 

“Ellie,” Violet came over to her side and lightly chastised her for lifting Anthony, but left it simply at that before watching her wife and son continue to interact. 

“Mummy, Anty eat?” He looked over at Violet, by this point understanding that she was the parent who’d been mostly feeding him and doing the various things that he needed. 

“Let me go make you and Mama a snack then, my love. Does that sound good?”

Anthony nodded his head. 

“What would you like, Anthony?” 

He bobbed his head as he was thinking, gently rubbing Ellie’s stomach as he did so. 

“Apple and chee.”

“Okay,” Violet chuckled and kissed his forehead. “Mummy will be right back with a plate of apples and cheese. Ellie, do you want anything else? Tea maybe?”

“Apples, cheese, and tea actually sound perfect. Thank you, my love.” She blew Violet a kiss before she left the room.

While Violet was downstairs, Ellie took the opportunity to play with Anthony as best she could. They played peek-a-boo, which still made him laugh so hard he would get hiccups. She tried and failed to teach him pattycake, and when he started to get restless up on the bed, she had him show her how fast he could run from the bed to the wall and back again, over and over, giggling every time she cheered for him. 

Violet quickly went to go prepare the snacks and tea, and as she came back upstairs, she could hear the cheering coming from the room, and she smiled widely just before she entered. 

Anthony’s eyes went wide seeing the large plate of fruit and cheese, quickly jumping back up on the bed as Violet placed the tray in front of Ellie, taking her tea off of it and placing it on the nightstand instead so that Anthony didn’t accidentally spill it. 

“Mummy, yummy,” Anthony grinned, and bounced up and down. 

“Here, baby,” Ellie said, handing Anthony an apple slice. 

“Here, beebee,” he said, taking his apple slice and bonking it against Ellie’s belly. 

Ellie laughed, entirely enamored as she rubbed his back. “Oh, no, Mama meant you.” She took the apple from his hand and held it out to him again. “Apple for Anthony.”

“For Anty!” 

“That’s right! Mmm!” She took a bite of her own apple slice, encouraging him to do the same. Once he was happily chomping away, she turned to Violet, a tired but joyful smile on her face. “C’mon, Vi. Sit. Eat something. Lord knows you’ve worked up an appetite,”

“I’m gonna…”  she said, her voice trailing off as she pointed to her robe then the closet. “I’ll come join you after.”

Violet grabbed some clothes and went to change in the washroom, coming back out now dressed in flannel pyjama pants and one of Ellie’s favourite sleep shirts that currently did not fit her, but conveniently did fit Violet. 

When she scooted into bed with her wife and son, Anthony crawled over to her and nestled himself in her lap, using her neck as support to pull himself up so that he could kiss her smack on the lips. 

Violet chuckled and scrunched up her nose, using the opportunity of his close proximity to attack his face with many kisses. 

“Mummy loves Anthony so much,” she smiled. “Thank you for the kisses, dearest.”

Anthony simply grinned and launched himself forward into Violet’s arms, giving her a big squeeze.

Ellie could feel the fatigue of her exertions, which had been pitifully minimal she couldn’t help but think, so she let herself settle into the pillows, her cup of tea resting in her hands atop her belly, watching the two people she loved most in the whole world. A little whisper in her mind reminded her she should have been thinking about three people, but that just didn’t feel like a reality to her, so she pushed the thought aside. She would think about it later. Right now, she just wanted to enjoy Violet and Anthony being so adorable it almost made her sick. Or perhaps that was just her usual nausea, she thought as she took another sip of tea, trying to wash it down. 

After Violet and Anthony had settled down, Violet suggested that maybe they could watch a movie together. They had gotten a small TV from Ellie’s parents to put in the room while she was on bed rest so she could at least watch some movies to entertain herself. 

Anthony seemed to think it was a grand idea, and Violet let Ellie know they could order in whatever she wanted so they could have a cozy night together as a family. 

They had managed to convince Anthony to watch something other than The Lion King. Unfortunately, The Land Before Time—the draw of dinosaurs the only thing that could convince him—was not a good movie for a pregnant woman who had spent seven months being miserable to grow a baby. She was an emotional mess by the time Violet got up to order food, and she took the opportunity to pull Anthony in against her, which drew his attention to her.

He turned onto his knees, plopping himself against her chest. “Mama sad?” He touched the tears on her cheeks. 

“Yeah, Mama is a little sad. But I’m okay, promise.” She kissed his forehead, and then he grabbed her face, squishing her cheeks while pushing his forehead rather firmly into hers, making her laugh a wet laugh and wrap her arms around him. 

When Violet came back into the room, she snuggled closer to Ellie, pressing a kiss to her temple before asking,

“Are you okay, love?” 

She wanted to make sure there wasn’t something else aside from their impending second round of motherhood and hormones that were causing her to feel this emotional. 

“I’m fine.” She scrubbed away the tear streaks still on her face with the heels of her hands. “This movie is sad even when you’re not raging with pregnancy hormones. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea.”

“Okay,” Violet nodded, “And you’re right, I’ve been trying hard not to break down this whole time, good Lord.”

Once she settled back in next to Ellie, she let herself close her eyes for a few moments, simply existing with her family that she could not be more grateful for.

[ninthfeather]

the battle lives inside of me

Fandom: DC Comics/Batman Summary: Jason has a fibro flare. (also on AO3)

A/N: Title from "Brave" by Gio Navas, which is an FMA fansong but fits really well for this particular fic. Thank you to FabHawk for beta-reading!

Btw, one of the OCs uses she/they pronouns and Jason alternates, so I promise those aren't typos. Warning for some internalized ableism from the POV character.

Jason woke up to scorching pain across his back and had a brief moment of panic. He was in a warehouse, his nose was clogged with blood, there was a digital countdown clock burned into the inside of his eyelids and beeping filling his ears--

And then he shifted, slightly, and smelled that new detergent he used to wash his bedsheets the day before last. He was in his safehouse at the edge of the Bowery, the one that Oracle actually knew about, and he wasn’t a terrified fifteen-year-old anymore, he was the fuckin’ Red Hood. And the Joker was in Arkham, for however long that lasted this time.

The pain was mostly in his back and shoulders, but he can feel it radiating into his neck and arms. It wasn’t the normal backache he got from spending too long hunched over case files or not quite bracing right when he shot. This was the bad stuff, the kind of pain that used to knock him out for days back when he was still with the League.

Talia used to threaten him into getting up, but eventually it stopped working. She actually stabbed him a few times before she figured out that it wasn’t a lack of motivation on his part. Jason could deal with injuries, could push through being tortured, but this was sudden, without warning, and completely unabating. None of the medicines the League had touched it--even the hard stuff, which he hated taking anyway, only made him loopy enough not to care, without actually diminishing the pain at all. Heat, cold, soft beds, hard beds, nothing completely wiped it out. He’d thought it was a souvenir from the Joker, that the Pit hadn’t fixed everything--but Talia insisted that wasn’t how the Pit worked.

It wasn’t until years later, until after he got his head on straight and sketched out something resembling a truce with the Bats, that he actually got any answers. He’d forced himself to go to Leslie when it got bad, and she’d immediately started peppering him with questions. She kept about a pint of his blood for testing after writing two pages of notes on him, and then she went radio silent for a month. 

When she’d called back, she’d been almost frustratingly gentle as she explained how sometimes people who had difficult childhoods stored that hurt in their bodies, and only found it again once they grew up. How she had no idea whether a magic pond would bother fixing the way Jason’s body had reacted to spending most of his early childhood stressed out. And that they didn’t really know how to make his body stop hurting, just how to make the pain a little less severe.

Jason had meds, now, ones that actually worked, and a plan for how to navigate this crap. The meds wouldn’t kick in right away, but that’s why he had lieutenants, and for that matter, why he hadn’t kicked the Bats to the curb. 

He started with the basics, firing off a quick text to Dawson and Ali about covering his patrol routes.

As he expected, Ali called less than a minute after he pressed send. “Remember how you had Juanita reorganize the safehouse?”

“If you want to know where she put the backup gear, call them,” Jason said.

“She hates me,” Ali whined.

“She hates that you leave your empty tupperware in the fridge,” Jason corrected. “Stop doing that, and they’ll warm up to you.”

Ali groaned. 

“Listen, and you can spread this around for me--I don’t want to hear about anything less urgent than an Arkham breakout today,” Jason said. “If no one on site knows how to handle something, call Jess. If she doesn’t know, just let it sit ‘til tomorrow. And if someone wants to talk to me directly, I’m unavailable. Got it?”

“You got the flu from Bea, didn’t you?”

“If you call again you’re going to voicemail,” Jason said. 

He hung up, texted Mareenah about checking in with the working girls on her way home from her legal job, then dialed Jess.

“Hey, Jess speaking, may I ask who’s calling?” she started.

“Jess, you’re in charge today,” he said.

“Red, do not do this to me, Juanita is five seconds away from wringing Ali’s neck--”

“I pay you more than the rest of those disasters for precisely this reason,” Jason said. 

Jess sighed. “Fine. But I can’t actually go in.”

“This is the day you have office hours, right?” Jason said. 

“Those freshmen's questions won’t answer themselves,” Jess said.

Jason felt for her, he really did. If there was any job more thankless than being a Gotham vigilante, it was being a Gotham University adjunct professor.

“I just need you to be on call in case anything happens,” he said. “Dawson and Ali have patrols, Mareenah’s checking in with the girls, and Juanita should be stopping by the safehouse anyway, so all I really need is someone for them to ask annoying questions.”

“And that someone can’t be you today?”

“And that someone absolutely cannot be me today,” Jason affirmed. “I’ll check in within 24 hours, but for now proceed as if I’m out of the country.”

“Can’t this happen a little farther from midterms, just once?” Jess asked.

Jason wished he had that much control over what was happening.

“‘Fraid not,” he told her. “But Jess? Thanks.”

“Welcome as always, Red,” Jess said, but he could tell her heart wasn’t quite in it.

“That’s all, talk to you later,” he said.

He hung up halfway through Jess’s unenthusiastic “Bye.”

It sucked, having to rely on people like this. 

Jason liked to be relied on, to be the one helping other people. He liked taking care of people because it was what his Mom and then Bruce had raised him to do, and because being able to see proof that people were better off with him than without him helped with the particular screws he had loose in his brain.

But relying on others? That was less than fun. Being indebted to someone, even someone who would never dream of collecting, felt like running out from behind cover and waiting to see what direction the sniper bullet would come from.

He tried to ride out the discomfort, the way his therapist said to do, but he could still feel it in the tight grip he had on his phone and the harsh tone of the text he sent to Oracle’s burner phone.

Taking myself off the roster for 24hrs. Hand over everything you have on Gerald Winters to RR; the case is his now.

She messaged back immediately, What’s wrong?

Something came up on my end, he replied.

Are you sick?

Sure , Jason said, which wasn’t even technically a lie.

You need anything? I can have one of the kids or N do a grocery run.

I’m good.

She sent him that “press X to Doubt” meme, which was frankly rude.

I can take a picture of my medicine cabinet and my fridge, if you need proof.

Ok, ok, I’m backing off. But text if you need anything. 

Jason sent K, and then closed the thread.

Probably, he was still going to end up with at least one of Bruce’s hangers-on trying to bring him soup, but hopefully by the time they coordinated it, he’d be mobile enough to pretend he had a twenty-four hour bug.

In the meantime, he levered himself up enough to turn on the TV, and clicked on the first Austen adaptation that showed up on Netflix. He didn’t recognize it, which meant it was probably going to be hilariously bad, but getting upset about awful movie adaptations was also distracting, and he needed a distraction.

He settled in to watch and waited for the meds to kick in.