#my Berena

[lilolilyr]

Serena leans against her, and Bernie smiles when Serena's head drops against her shoulder. Slowly, Bernie reaches for the remote and turns the volume of the telly down a bit before leaning back and watching the rest of the show while Serena sleeps.

for @squishmittenficfan

[grimdarknokia]

once again enjoy some berena bullshit on this fine evening

[seahorsepencils]

"Please don't draw a car." berena tapestry #1

(collab with @ktlsyrtis)

[starfleetwitch]

[defo-not-sfw]

Special thank you to @ktlsyrtis for the inspiration and to a very productive zoom documentary on bee keeping

[pers-books]

Hush, hush, whisper who dares, Pers is writing fanfic*, if anyone cares.

(*A younger!Berena AU. They're in their early thirties, Adrienne and Marjorie are still alive, Jason's still at school, Serena never had Ellie, and Bernie's never had children, but is divorcing Marcus.)

[lovehorsesandprettygirls]

In Berena's second kiss, is it Jemma who does the cute little whimpering or is it Catherine? 😍

[jocelynknights]

It isn’t a man... It’s Bernie. 

[silv-paru]

I need to know how long Bernie and Alex were together.

I NEED TO KNOW

At least several months of course, but if it's several YEARS, oh boy, just think about it.

She was in a happy bubble for years, got blown up by an IED and came back to her real life real quick. Messy divorce, messy career change, messy coming out, and yet it's almost as if it's not that big of a deal, because she meets Serena, with whom she is instantly ridiculously smitten

The fact she got over Alex pretty quickly despite being ready to risk it all for her, and yet not being able to get Serena out of her head (and vice versa) for the 2 months she spent in Kiev...

Well, she said it herself I guess

[ktlsyrtis]

Berena Advent 2023

Day 8 - Lingerie

The silky ribbon comes loose with barely a tug and falls to the floor, the lid follows soon after. Nestled in the bed of tissue is some of the most beautiful lingerie Serena has ever seen.

Gossamer thin lace the color of rosé is held together by satin so luminous it can only be silk, woven through with filaments of golden thread that make it practically shimmer in the fairy lights from the tree. Carefully she pulls the garment free, taking in how sheer it is, how small.

Very small.

Keeping the disappointment from her face, she smiles at Bernie. The very last thing Serena wants is to make her think she's done anything wrong.

"Darling, it's gorgeous! Thank you." She leans in to press a quick peck to Bernie's lovely mouth. "I'm a little worried about the fit though. Did you keep the receipt?"

Bernie's pleased smile turns wicked, one of her hands sliding up to the nape of Serena's neck, stopping her from moving too far. This time she initiates the kiss - longer, deeper, and filled with promise.

"I said it was your gift," she says in that low voice that makes Serena squirm, punctuating the words with another soft kiss. "I didn't say that you'd be wearing it."

[akaanonymouth]

“This is the third meal you’ve missed this week, are you okay?”  For the trauma prompt thingy please.

PTSD Mogadishu

Bernie’s recovering; she’s started talking more, they spend time together just sitting and walking, and watching tv, reading, and Serena cooks all the meals. But then Serena realises that Bernie’s made excuses for dinner three times, since she’s been off the hospital regulated meal replacement shakes.

She makes a lot of excuses at first, twists a fork around her plate, sometimes, when she does sit down, which is never for long once she lifts one to her mouth. 

Eventually, Serena broaches the subject, when they’re sat on the sofa, Serena having foregone her planned paella and chucked ice cream and bananas in a blender, tried not to watch as Bernie devoured it. 

“Sometimes I don’t think about it, because I’m hungry,” Bernie says, and Serena starts. It’s been an hour since Serena wordlessly handed her a milkshake, sat next to her on the sofa and put some mindless background noise on the television. Bernie studies it avidly, as though her Spanish has ever been good enough to follow the dramatics of a telenovela. “But then, when I’m not hungry, I think about it, and it sets it all off again. There’s no rhyme or reason,” Bernie shrugs, setting her empty cup onto the coffee table, still studiously avoiding Serena’s eyes. Serena watches as her fingers start to rub at the skin on her wrists, and it takes all of her will not to close the gap between them and engulf her in her arms. “It’s the texture, I think,” Bernie continues. “Not being hungry, everything aching and the effort it took to move any part of my face when stale bread was forced into my mouth by warm fingers,” Bernie swallows convulsively. “They were smoke stained, dirt stained, rough…large…” she swallows again, her fingers working harder at her wrists. “Being hungry, but only having rice. Dry, don’t even know if it had been cooked, or whether it was just left out. Crunchy. Makes your tongue feel funny when your mouth is already dry and you’re trying to swallow. Hard and dry and it rattles around your mouth that’s already hard and dry, and it’s like teeth, loose broken teeth rattling around your mouth, there’s no water, and the whole feels of it makes my tongue go numb, my brain itch-” Serena notices Bernie’s shift between first and second person, present and past tense, doesn’t quite know if she should intervene yet; it’s the most Bernie’s talked about any of it since they addressed her ribs and facial bruises, and that had rendered her mute for another three days. “And I have to swallow, I have to make myself swallow, got quicker at it, better at it, otherwise they…” she shudders. “I make myself, because if I have no strength when I need it, then I’ll never get out when I get the chance, never get to see Serena again-” 

Bernie’s breathing is quickening, she’s started rocking, so Serena leans forward and gently touches one of her hands. “Bernie,” she says, gently, and Bernie starts violently, wide eyes swinging wildly to Serena. Serena keeps eye contact, stroking her wrist gently, until Bernie visibly relaxes, the initial terror leaving her eyes.

“It was always for you, S’rena. Getting out,” she stares intently at Serena for seconds in which Serena hopes understanding and love shines through, before her eyes drop, buried under her fringe as she shrugs and smiles almost scathingly, her gaze now unable to settle. Her fingers scratch at Serena’s, instead of her own wrist. “It’s the textures. The warmth, the sounds in my head, being hungry, not being hungry… I don’t…It’s just…” she huffs, breathes deeply. “Just an awkward bastard I suppose.” She shrugs self-deprecatingly, but Serena refuses to let it go as a flippant conversation. 

“Bernie, no, you-”

Bernie pulls her hands away, grabbing at and running them through her hair and over her face. “I can’t even eat a meal with you, Serena!” she cries, voice breaking. “I don’t want your pity, I just want to be able to eat a plate of food with my partner without feeling sick and falling apart!” 

Bernie falls apart. 

Like grains of dry rice on a fork, Serena tries to hold her together. 

When Bernie wakes, mouth and eyes dry and everything else aching, she’s momentarily frozen. Blinking and breathing her way through the fear induced nausea to rationality, the events of the previous evening come back to her. She curls in on herself, ready to block out everything once again, until her eyes land on the bedside table, and a large glass of juice sat on it. 

Eventually, she makes her way to the kitchen, blinking in the almost midday sun streaming through the windows and open patio doors. Serena watches her approach, doesn’t move, doesn't even uncross a leg or close the book on her knee, waits until Bernie sits gingerly on the chair opposite her by the table laden with bowls of chopped fruit and some soft, milky looking things Bernie can’t even name. 

Serena pushes a mug of coffee towards her. “We’re in Spain,” she says, softly. “But even if we weren’t, wherever we are, you never have to eat dry food ever again.” 

Bernie takes a small piece of melon, pushes it between her lips, marvels at the way it melts in her mouth. She lifts her head to the sun, eyes closed. “You just have to keep talking to me,” Serena whispers. Bernie opens her eyes, finally meets Serena’s from under her fringe. Serena reaches her hand across the table. “But it’s alright,” she says, corners of her eyes crinkling as she smiles and Bernie tickles her wrist. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

[lilolilyr]

Leap of Faith - an alternate Berena meeting

Summary: Bernie is trying to come to terms with her sexuality, and decides to go to the monthly gay club night, where Serena is a frequent visitor...

2k words, rated T, no archive warnings apply.

Read on Ao3 • all Berena fic by me • mobile

[grimdarknokia]

it’s them !

[seahorsepencils]

"Hey there. Why don't you be history, and I'll be Rudolph?" — Bad Pick-Up Lines with Drunk Serena Campbell: Christmas Edition (1/?)

With help from @akaanonymouth, @ktlsyrtis, and @starfleetwitch.

[starfleetwitch]

Friday night activities

A Script. A drawing. A glass of wine. Milk with cookies.

One of these drinks belongs with one of these screens and it's not the one you think it should be.

[squishmittenficfan]

Bernie and Serena go for a little walk at the end of a boring conference.