#i have hardly moved! also my legs hurt so much from achiness for no reason!!! woooo!!!

[awkwarddystopianwarlord]

*Cough, Cough* I'm Sick

Living alone and getting sick is a stupid combination. I got sick on Christmas, which was a Monday, and it took me out for like five days. I had chills, dizziness, lightheadedness, was feverish and sneezed mucus-y sneezes every five minutes. It sucked. I couldn’t do anything because I was too wobbly to move much. I was like a drunk, three legged baby deer for days. It started off with sneezing in the morning which I wrote off as allergies since I often sneeze in the mornings. The sneezing kept going though and it was getting more and more snotty throughout the day which was kind of concerning but also I was at my friend’s house for crimmus and they have a giant fluffy dog. I’m not usually allergic to beasties but this dog is particularly fluffy so I decided that was valid. I really got worried however, when my throat started hurting towards the evening and that only ever happens when I get sick. It was quite sore and raw feeling. After I got home, I chugged some tea to soothe it and hoped I was overreacting. The next day, alas, I was slammed with all the symptoms in one go and woke up feeling horrendous. 

I did my best to stay hydrated and take my medicinal beverages, but I had to be the one to make them and it was incredibly difficult to do when I could barely move. My dishes piled up, my laundry that I hang dry was still hanging up, my place needed vacuuming and garbage taken out. I had an order to pick up at a shop and money to deposit at the bank. My mailbox was horribly neglected and my plants were thirsty. All I could do was loaf on my couch and somewhat eat from the massive amount of holiday leftovers my friend’s family gave me. Mind you, that was hella convenient and such a treat that I didn’t have to cook anything myself. 

You really get antsy though, not being able to move or be productive. It was such a relief to be able to somewhat function again. That is until the Monday that just happened. After one week of getting the last of my mucus out of my system and my wobbliness under control I…got…sick…AGAIN. ON MONDAY!

It started off the exact same way. In the morning I had one symptom. My throat was kind of clogged with mucus and I had to occasionally sound like a cat coughing up a hairball as I tried hawking it out. This wasn’t too frequent of a thing though so I wrote it off as me still recovering from my cold and this was the last remaining sick. But, come late afternoon, I couldn’t really move my neck because it was so stiff. The phlegm in my throat was getting more problematic and my legs for some reason were incredibly achy. By evening, I couldn’t move my neck at all, my entire body hurt, and my throat was infuriated. So the last four days, I’ve been at war against phlegm goblins that live in, what feels like the middle of, my throat. They’ve become more sentient as time has gone by. I can’t choke one up unless it wants me to. I’ll feel what I can only describe as a goblin dislodging from its throat latch. Only after that can I try to cough it up, except it’s still difficult as shit because it doesn’t really move with a cough. I have to also essentially retch and do a weird throaty cough to get this fucking guy out. And since the phlegm goblin is so thick, it blocks my airway and I can’t breathe while doing this which is stressful as fuck. I didn’t get the sneezing fits this time but my gawds this has been almost unbearable. I could hardly swallow, so I could hardly consume fluids or foods. Trying to sleep was a nightmare since I couldn’t move my neck without severe pain. I even had a mug by my bed to spit in through the night whenever my throat would get so clogged up that I couldn’t breathe well. 

Yesterday was the first day I was able to move my neck and it was glorious to crack that thing every half hour or so. Today was the first day where I didn’t feel immediately dizzy after standing, but that only lasted a short while. I finally folded my laundry from Sunday and did my dishes for the first time since Saturday. I even took out my recycling and felt the outside air for the first time this week. What is so frustrating though is that all of this took so long to do. I had no one else to help out with my dishes or laundry. I lucked out again with food and had enough leftovers from Saturday to sustain me but what if I didn’t? I did not have any strength to move beyond my wee bachelor suite. It took me hours to get out of bed some days or I would sleep in so long that it would be dark by the time I woke up. Wandering around downtown in an unstable haze whilst sick because I had nothing but my friend’s alcohol in my kitchen is a shit idea. Having to make the teas and NeoCitran and jello powder in boiling water and hot milk with honey by myself is wretched when I’m stuck to my bed with my own sweat. I would only get up to stumble to the bathroom until my snarling stomach forced me to get up and get food. I so desperately wanted to wave my hand and gently demand someone else to get my needs. Unfortunately, I was the only one here, and therefore the only one to help. 

It’s been an irritating time for sure. I’ve lost an entire paycheque’s worth of income for missing two weeks of work. And I’m paranoid about Mondays now. I’m so confused about this cursed fiasco because I’ve never gotten sick like this twice in a row. None of my friends got sick, save for one who shared a beverage with me on crimmus, but this clearly wasn’t airborne with them. Yet I caught it somehow and I only work Wednesday to Friday and I hardly go anywhere the other four days. So did I catch something on Friday and it just took a couple days to seize control of my immune system and then strike on Monday both times? I can justify getting sick the first time more since the mall was absolutely insane leading up to the holidays, but the second time it was incredibly quiet. I don’t know, this was just a shitty time and my rent increases next month so that’ll be cool to pay with the money I didn’t make.

[piplupod]

guess who got nothing done todayyyyy because they were in one of the worst major depressive episodes of their life that lasted all day and did not rly eat and also couldnt trust themself w a kitchen knife so they couldnt even cut anything up to eat and now theyre struggling to get food still for dinnerrrr

yay its meeeeeeeee 🎉✨

[awhitehead17]

Universal Signs

Chapter 18 / Previous Chapter 

A/N:  WARNINGS this chapter contains descriptions of torture, injuries and violence. It's not overly graphic but is more so than previous chapters. The descriptions are scattered throughout the chapter, especially at the start so please be aware!

Also on AO3

Enjoy! :D

Every time the leather rope connects with his skin a gut-wrenching scream escapes past his lips. The pain it leaves behind sets his body on fire, making every muscle recoil in tension, it becomes increasingly difficult to breathe, it’s practically impossible to focus on anything else other than the stinging sensation blossoming across his back.

This has been happening for quite some time now. He has no idea for how long but he just wants it to be over. No matter how much he pleads for it to stop, it never does.

Everything hurts. He’s been in pain before, has endured so much in the past, but none of that compares to what he’s experiencing now. There’s a very brief moment in between each strike that gives him a chance to suck in a shaky breath, however it’s shorted lived because the rope collides with his skin seconds later, making him cry out again.

A very distant part of his brain is thankful that the worst of the pain is centred across his back and shoulders because then at least it wasn’t somewhere like his face. In spite of those thoughts, they do nothing to help ease anything that’s actually happening in that moment.

The rope strikes again causing a new level of pain to blossom. He could feel the rawness of his skin, he could feel how wetness drips down his back, causing the wounds to sting more than what they already were. Whether that wetness was sweat or blood, Tim has no idea.

There’s several long moments and Tim just waits for the next strike to occur. When it doesn’t happen he refuses to let himself relax. The last time he relaxed his muscles when there had been an irregular pause between the strikes Tim had foolishly thought his torture was over, he was certainly proven wrong because the moment Tim let his muscles relax the strikes started back up and were relentless.

Even with his pain addled brain, Tim wasn’t falling for the same thing twice. The moment drags on but nothing happens. Tim could hear his raspy breaths as he struggles to get oxygen back into his body, he could feel the way his muscles were trembling with exhaustion. Much to his displeasure there wasn’t a lot he could do about it except accept it.

The next touch on his skin didn’t come from the leather rope like he had been expecting but rather from who had been torturing him the entire time. A hand roughly grabs his chin and yanks his head up. Tim’s barely able to open his eyes, his vision is blurred and the bright lights make his head pound but somehow he makes out the figure in front of him to be Ra’s Al Ghul.

“Well Timothy, it looks like this session is being cut short much to my displeasure. It is fairly fascinating to hear what kinds of sounds you make. There is some urgent business that I need to take care of. We’ll continue this soon.”

With no more words Ra’s drops his face and moves away from Tim. It’s only when he disappears from his sight that Tim finally lets himself relax, well as much as he could considering how much agony his muscles are currently in.

He becomes alert and automatically clenches his abused muscles when he detects another presence nearby. They don’t touch him, which Tim is thankful for, though he soon changes his mind when he’s suddenly colliding with the ground. He’s knocked breathless as he lands on his stomach and whimpers when pain shoots through his body, making every nerve feel like it’s on fire.

It takes a moment but he works out that the unknown presence had cut him down from where he had been hanging from the ceiling. The rope is still wrapped around his wrists, with his fingers clenching it as if it’s a lifeline and he feels his legs being manhandled around. They must be unlocking the chains that had strapped down his ankles.

There's more movement behind him and Tim finds it difficult to focus on it. He presses his head into the floor, clenching his eyes shut as the pain pulses throughout his body, it’s very distracting and makes it hard to focus on his surroundings.

The next thing he becomes aware of is the wind being knocked out of him for a second time. Tim lands against something solid but hardly has the energy left in him to work out what happened. The best he could do is simply lie on the ground helplessly as he tries to find the energy within himself in order to do something.

After taking a few deep breaths he lifts his head up off the ground and groggily looks around. It takes a lot longer than it should have but he eventually recognises the room as the cell that he’s been  recently staying in. He’s on the floor in the middle of it, in god knows what condition.

Once he worked out his location, Tim drops his head back down and lets his mind drift. He doesn’t have the energy to do much else and the headache raging through his skull makes it difficult to focus on anything. His body feels like it’s made of lead, he probably wouldn’t be able to move a limb no matter how hard he tries.

Tim’s roused from his pitiful sleep as a sharp stinging sensation spreads across his back. He lets out a hiss and tries to jerk away from it. He doesn’t want more pain. What are they doing to him now? Haven’t they done enough?

A heavy weight settles across his shoulders which keeps him in place along with a voice snapping at him sharply. “Don’t move.”

Tim stops moving, only letting out a whimper in protest. He turns his head enough to see who it is and finds the female from before who has previously patched up his wounds after Ra’s previous torture sessions.

“Wha – what are you doing?” He asks openly wincing as he does so, his throat feels raw and dry. When was the last time he had something to drink?

“You know what they say about humans? That humans are a high maintenance species.” She says conversationally, though she clearly wasn’t expecting a response from him because she continues to talk. “You really are proving those sayings correct. You’re so weak and fragile. You have no special abilities, you get wounded easily, you have to rest and sleep so often, be fed and hydrated so your bodies don’t give out.”

Tim feels something cold be put on his back and he flinches at the touch and then hisses when it suddenly starts stinging again. He lifts his hand to try and smack her away from him but she simply grabs his arm and forces down to the ground.

“Stop it. It’s an agent that’ll help with the healing. Your wounds cover majority of your back, some of the slashes have split your skin and are bleeding. I had to clean your back first before applying this, it’ll help close the wounds quicker.”

While he understands the reason behind the stinging, it doesn’t mean he has to like it. He grits his teeth and clenches his fists as he bares it. At least, he reasons with himself, she isn’t making it any worse

“He fucking whipped me.” Tim mumbles into the ground. He’s still lying on the floor while she continues treating his back.

“You’re fortunate that’s all you got. Being whipped like that is in fact a mild punishment, especially from the Demon’s Head.”

Tim frowns, he wants to question on how it could be any worse but stops himself from doing so. He doesn’t think he wants to know the answer.

They fall silent and Tim goes back to assessing his body. The healing cream must already be working because while his body still feels like it’s made of lead and his head is still pounding, the stinging has now dulled down leaving behind only achiness.

His back and shoulders, the main source of the pain, had been abused by a whip. His wrists and ankles were sore from where they had been tightly restrained by ropes and chains. His face is bruised and swollen from where he had been roughed up before the whipping. Then there’s his chest which feels tight, his lungs having overworked during the torture to help Tim breathe through it.

An overall summary would be is that he feels like shit.

He realises that he’s starting to get cold now too. He’s lying on the floor practically naked except for a pair of boxers which covers his modesty. He had been stripped down just before getting restrained and hung up for the whipping. Of course whipping bare skin had more of an effect than whipping fabric.

“That’s all I can do for you for now. You’re lucky he’s even letting you be treated.” She says behind him, getting his attention.

Tim snorts. “He doesn’t want his pet to too damaged then.” He sighs and looks over his shoulders as much as he could. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

She stares at him for a moment and Tim can’t work out what she’s thinking through her unreadable expression. After a moment, she shakes her head and stands up. “I’ll grab you some new clothing, do not move around too much. I will not re-cover your wounds if you dislodge any of the bandages while I’m gone.”

She starts heading for the door but it’s then that Tim remembers something. “Hey, wait,” she turns around at his call, “what’s your name? You’ve treated me a few times and I don’t know what you’re called.”

She knocks on the cell’s door. “It’s Pru.” When the door opens up she slides out like she had never been there at all. The door slams shut and once again Tim is left alone in the silence of his cell.

While on his own Tim doesn’t do much. He shifts around carefully on the ground until he’s somewhat more comfortable. He did try sitting up at one point but the strain the position had put on his back had proved to be too much so Tim settled for staying in a horizontal position finding it the least painful.

Gradually the pain recedes from his body and Tim believes that’s the healing cream’s doing. That or he just become numb to everything. It reminds him of the time when the others had used the same thing after he had been attacked by one of those Galavent monkey things. Jesus that feels like it was such long time ago.

With that in mind, and with nothing else to occupy himself, Tim’s reoccurring thoughts make an appearance. How long has it been since he’s been in space? How long has it been since he was taken away from his brothers?

He wishes he knew but not once has he been able to keep track of any sort of time since being away from Earth. Has it been years? Months? Days? He’s terrified to find out. Tim doesn’t feel any older but that means very little. Will he ever get back to Earth and if he does return will things still be the same?

He just wants this nightmare to be over.

Tim contemplates in his thoughts for a long time, he may have also drifted off to sleep but he doesn’t know for certain. How ever long it has been, Tim’s never-ending train of thoughts finally come to an end when the door to his cell cranks open. He watches it with interest, wondering who may enter through the gap, whether that be Pru or Ra’s. It really wasn’t in question which one he hopes it would be.

To his delight it’s Pru who steps into his cell, however in the most unexpected way. With her back to him, Pru’s dragging something that appears to be heavy into the cell. Tim watches with disbelief as she settles it half in and half out of the door, almost like using it as a door stop. When she steps away Tim finds that it’s body. A dead body. Which is heavily bleeding from the neck and is now leaving a large size puddle of blood on the floor.

Instant panic washes over Tim, had he been wrong this entire time? Will she just straight up kill him? Why go through all the trouble of treating him only to off him in the end anyway?

As Pru steps towards him Tim couldn’t help but flinch. He has no idea what she’s up to, how can he even trust her?

Not noticing his reaction Pru continues forward and crouches down in front of him. It doesn’t escape Tim’s notices that her dark uniform is painted with splatters of blood, and now that she’s close enough he gets a hint of a rustic iron smell.

“We need to go.” She tells him with no room for questions. “Get changed and we need to leave, now.”

She dumps a bag on the floor and throws out different bits of fabric at him. Tim lets out a sigh of relief and marginally relaxes. At least she wasn’t going to kill him. Now that’s out the way, her words come to the front of his mind and the pressing way she said them.

“What’s going on?” Tim asks as he starts to push himself up into a sitting position. His body protests at the action but Tim forces himself through it, whatever is happening it’s big and he needs to not be any weaker than what he already is.

Apparently he’s taking too long to get his ass in gear because Pru huffs in annoyance and reaches forward to grab him by the under arms and jerks him upright, taking no care whatsoever. Tim lets out a hiss but it goes ignored.

Clearly deciding that he was no longer capable of getting himself ready Pru grabs one of the fabric pieces she threw at him and yanks it over his head and his arms through the holes. His legs get a similar experience as she forcibly dresses him in some sweatpants.

“Now that’s done, we have to go.” She urges him.

Tim watches in bafflement as she makes her way to the door, avoiding the dead body as she goes and leaves the cell.

“Tim!”

“Okay, okay,” Tim mutters to himself feeling like a child. Using the wall as a guide Tim gets himself up to his feet and begins to take unsteady steps towards the door. From where his body is still weak and recovering, his legs almost buckle underneath him but he keeps going.

He cautiously steps over the body holding the door open and into the corridor outside of his cell. As he leaves he’s greeted with another two lifeless bodies sprawled out on the floor, each with their throats slit and blood pooling underneath them. The sight and smell makes Tim want to gag. It’s not his first time seeing dead bodies but it doesn’t make it any easier.

Slightly ahead of him, Pru stands surveying the surroundings completely unperturbed by the scene. Tim staggers down the corridor towards her, precisely avoiding the blood as he goes because he’s currently bare foot and really doesn’t want it touching his skin.

Once he reaches her he has to stop and take a deep breath. “Wait there.” Pru orders him as she wonders back down the corridor. Tim wasn’t going anywhere, he’s already knackered and he hasn’t even gone that far yet. He watches as she moves the body that’s acting as a door stop out of the way so the door could finally shut. Once that’s done she comes back over to him.

“Did you kill them?” He asks breathlessly. She shoots him a look which Tim deciphers as ‘are you fucking stupid? Unimpressed, Tim huffs, “You can’t just go around killing people!”

“Things die all the time. If I hadn’t of killed them they would report back to the Demon’s Head. If they’re dead they can’t talk. Simple. If anyone comes across them then they would think it was a challenge gone wrong. It really isn’t unusual to come across a dead body onboard. Now come on.”

With that disturbing thought, Tim stumbles along behind Pru as they make their way through the corridors of the ship. While Tim found it odd, he was grateful that they don’t come across anyone as they travel.

After many twists and turns Tim’s feeling even more tired than before and his body is more than ready to give out. He heaves in a deep breath and slumps against the wall. “What’s going on Pru?”

“We’re almost there.” The assassin replies without answering his question.

With great effort Tim pushes himself and continues to stumble along, using the wall for his balance. They come up to another corner and Pru waits at the edge. She holds out a finger to him and Tim gets the message, he’s more than happy to wait and catch his breath.

She darts around the corner and Tim listens as a shout could be heard followed by a loud gasp then a thud. It didn’t take much brain power to work out that Pru just killed someone. Tim couldn’t believe this is his life now, something that’s so inhumane becoming normal.

“Tim.”

Tim’s broken out of his thought at the sound of his name, figuring it’s safe to do so, he makes his way around the corner and isn’t surprised to see Pru standing over a dead body. As he walks towards her she opens up a door in front of her and waits for Tim to get there before ushering him inside. He’s too busy trying to avoid the blood to really pay attention to what he’s walking into.

“Rao, Tim. What happened to you?”

Forgetting about the blood and the dead bodies, Tim’s head snaps up at the sound of that voice. He stares in disbelief when he finds a group of mostly familiar people in front of him. He blinks again, wondering if he really had lost his mind back in the cell and that he’s now hallucinating all of this up.

“Kon?” He questions quietly. His eyes gaze over the familiar figure before moving to the others other’s. “Cassie? Bart? What are you… how are you… what?”

He looks back at Pru to find her guarding the door, keeping it open slightly with her foot but otherwise not moving.

Kon steps forwards, his eyes raking up and down Tim’s body obviously taking in his beaten form. He stops when he’s in front of Tim, looking at him with a mixture of concern and uncertainty.

Tim couldn’t believe it. How are they here? Why are they here? He’s happy to see them of course but there are so many emotions and thoughts running through his mind that he really couldn’t comprehend them all.

Last time he saw them, Kon had been dying from being stabbed and Bart had been unconscious. Ra’s made it clear that this team weren’t supposed to live but yet here they were. And they’ve come all this way, risking themselves even further for him. Tim’s stunned by their commitment, he really couldn’t believe it.

Unable to help himself, Tim lunges forward and wraps his arms around Kon’s shoulders in a hug. He’s so grateful that he’s alive. Kon seems surprised by the action and even stumbles against the additional weight but he gets his footing. After a moment he hugs Tim back, but it’s that action that has Tim hissing and arching away.

“Tim!”

Tim steps back and offers a weak smile, trying to get past the pain throbbing throughout his body. “Just a little sore Kon. It’s not exactly been a pleasant stay here.”

He turns towards Bart and Cassie to also greet them in a similar manner but Pru’s voice cutting through the room stops him from doing so.

“Yeah that’s great and all, but the happy reunion is going to have to wait. You need to get going now if you want any chance of getting off this ship alive.”

Right of course, despite his friends sudden appearance, they’re still aboard a ship full of assassins. Without waiting Pru leaves the room and is immediately followed by the two figures that Tim doesn’t recognise.

Bart grins at him, offering him a salute before reaching up to the collar of the uniform he’s wearing. Tim watches mystified by the way his face changes as it shifts to become someone else. He doesn’t recognise Bart at all, he now looks like another assassin on the ship.

Bart leaves the cell next and Tim slowly follows after him. His body is still sore but he thinks with the knowledge that his friends are there with him and how there’s a possible chance he could get away from this ship, he can push himself through the pain. Cassie and Kon follow behind him.

Pru leads the group down various of corridors. A quick chat amongst themselves informs them all that there’s a ship waiting for them, which Bart and the unknown’s arrived on, in the docking bay of the spaceship. It’s located at the far back, away from the more populated areas of the location. The assassin nods her head and tells them she can guide them all that way using the less populated corridors, therefore narrowing down the chance of being discovered.

Tim knows that they’ll be found at some point. It’s inevitable and it’s simply a matter of when. Hopefully they’ll safely be on the ship by the time that happens.

It nearly happens straight away. After turning around a corner, they bump into a cluster of assassins standing around doing who knows what when they aren’t busy killing things. Thankfully they seemed to be too shocked to even consider doing anything before Pru was there mowing them down with a sword.

Tim, even though he doesn’t agree with it, is used to this. If the others have opinions on the matter, they don’t voice them.

As they continue onwards, Tim could feel the adrenaline starting to wear off. His body was aching again and the wounds on his back are beginning to throb. He would really love to collapse down onto a bed in that moment and pass out. Just to leave everything behind and enter the land of the unconscious.

He knows he can’t do that, however. There’s too much at stake and he needs to keep pushing himself forwards. Tim knows he can endure a lot but how much is too much? When he accidently stumbles hands were there to catch him and keep him upright. He sends a worried looking Kon the best reassuring smile he could muster up, though he doesn’t think it achieves a lot because Kon only becomes looking more concerned.

They eventually make it to the back of the docking bay. They’re grateful to find that this section of the bay is practically empty and according to Pru, since there isn’t any operations currently running, less bodies are needed on the bay meaning it’s emptier than usual.

When one of the unknown’s point to a black spaceship parked off to the side, stating that’s the one, they all immediately head towards it. As they get closer to it, Tim feels a spark of hope flicker inside of him. This is what he’s been waiting for, something he’s wished for since the moment he had been captured again; an opportunity to get off this ship and away from Ra’s.

Unfortunately the spark is short lived and dies when two figures appear in front of the ship. Both of them wearing black League of Assassins uniforms without any masks over their heads. From what Tim could see, they were both male, one taller and broader than the other, one had short dark hair while the other had wild blonde hair.

For some strange reason there’s something familiar about them but Tim couldn’t place what it is. He doesn’t recognise them and knows he hasn’t met them before but there’s something about them. It wasn’t until shocked gasps coming from three of their group that it all clicks.

He was looking at twin versions of Kon and Bart.

Tim whips his gaze from the pair in front of him to the pair standing at his side. Bart and Kon had shocked expressions plastered on their faces as they stare at the other two. A whispered “oh no” from Cassie has him feeling like he’s missing something.

“Kon, Bart, do you know them?” Tim questions eventually.

Kon swallows thickly, his eyes flicking towards Tim then at the others again. “Something like that.”

Tim doesn’t get the chance to question him further because another voice cuts him off.

“Well this is certainly unexpected but certainly not unwelcomed.” Kon’s look alike says with a smirk.

“I would say it’s nice to see you again but it really isn’t.” Bart’s twin sarcastically comments afterwards. “Kon-el, Bartholomew, you have something that belongs to the Demon’s Head and he wants it back. So hand over the human and we’ll take it easy on you.”

Tim tenses up, unsure of what’s about to transpire. He glances at Kon to find the Kryptonian now looking furious and determined. Next to him Bart is wearing the same expression.

“Match, Thad, it’s been a long time.” Kon says in a strained voice.

“Hand over the human Kon-el. I won’t ask again.”

Bart speaks up before Kon could reply. “That’s not happening, Tim is coming with us.”

The pair in front of them share a sinister smile and drop down into defensive positions. “We were hoping you’d say that.”

Beside him, Kon, Cassie and Bart all get into fighting positions. With his fists raised Kon stares at them defiantly. “Don’t get so full of yourselves, you couldn’t beat us last time and this time will be no different.”

“Well, we’ll just see about that won’t we?”

[phobiadeficient]

Fem!speeding bullet?

(diner voice) order of speeding bullet, double the fem

-

As soon as Sniper was in the comfort and privacy of her own home, she immediately moved to start unbuttoning her shirt.

She shucked off her hat and shades for as long as it took her to pull off her button-up and the undershirt beneath, and grunted with effort as she pulled at the sweaty binder underneath.

A knock at the door of the camper. She turned her head up towards it. “Half-naked,” she said, deadpan, loud enough to be heard from the other side.

“Aw fuck yeah,” Scout replied, immediately pushing through the door, and Sniper snorted, rolling her eyes.

“You can lock that behind you,” Sniper said, getting back to work pulling the binder off over her head, breathing a sigh of relief when it was finally off, rolling her shoulders and taking a deep breath or two. “Bugger, that thing aches after a while.”

“Why do you even wear that?” Scout asked, fishing through Sniper’s stash of soda and apparently finding something the liked, popping the tab on it. “If it bugs you so much?”

“Kickback is already a bastard without having to worry about these getting in the way,” she said, gesturing at her own chest. “And they’re a problem when I use my bow, too. And with running and the like. And I’ll probably have back problems by the time I hit forty. You’re lucky, you know that? Just a sturdy bra gets the job done well enough for you.”

“Pros and cons,” Scout shrugged, sitting and sipping her soda. “No back problems, but a whole lot of shitty names in middle and high school. And dudes hardly ever looked my way. Most guys don’t like a girl with a flatter chest than them, feel?”

“Well, shame for them that I’m not interested in guys,” Sniper said, finishing off with rolling her shoulders out and moving to grab a drink for herself, putting back on her shades and hat for comfort’s sake almost as an afterthought.

“Shame for them, lucky for me, huh?” Scout asked, shooting her a grin.

“Damn right,” Sniper agreed, clinking their cans together.

They talked briefly about battle that day, about missed kills, about nice saves. But Scout kept pausing in conversation as Sniper rolled her shoulders, shifting uncomfortably.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asked suddenly, stopping a story dead in its tracks.

“Just moved around a lot more than usual today. Chest and ribs are killing me,” Sniper explained, shifted, grimaced, stood. “Think I’ll just take some medication over it, see if that helps—“

“Nah, nah, hold on,” Scout said, stopping her with a hand on her arm, a grin. “Let me help.”

And Sniper was intrigued enough by that phrase that she went along with it.

Scout instructed her to lie on her front, which took some some creative pillow placement to prevent her chest hurting even worse, but she managed it. Then Scout’s weight was resting on her, just below her waist, and Scout was pressing thumbs into her back.

She made a soft noise, adjusting her arms to lie bent just above her head. Scout took that as permission enough to start in, pressing and massaging at the sore muscles of her back with ease that suggested it was something she’d done at some point a few times previously. Sniper allowed herself to relax, her breaths evening out and deepening, drowsiness creeping into frame slowly but surely as Scout made her way down her back and up again, once, twice, three times.

“Babe, you’ve gotta get some better posture or somethin’, you’re crazy tense,” Scout chirped, drawing her out of a doze, making her tilt her head a bit.

“Can’t help it, it comes with the territory, snipers get bad backs, love,” she informed her, voice slow and calm.

“Maybe,” Scout shrugged. She finished making her way back up Sniper’s back, and then shifted her weight to one side, no longer resting it on Sniper so heavily. “Roll over.”

Sniper hummed in complaint, but sighed, moving the pillows out from under her and putting them up near the headboard again, then rolling over to face Scout, movements relaxed.

Scout’s palms put pressure against her ribcage for a moment, pushing on exhale and releasing on inhale, before flashing Sniper a grin and ghosting her hands up to grip lightly at Sniper’s breasts.

Snioer couldn’t help but groan, eyes squeezing shut, the sensation just on the edge of too much but also so terribly too little. “Bloody—“ she started, but it cut off with another noise as Scout squeezed for a second, releasing a heavy breath, looking up with hazy eyes.

Scout’s hands moved in steady motions against her, always easing off when the pressure became too much on sore flesh, and it actually helped Sniper a lot with the achiness, even if it did give her a different problem altogether.

She felt her limit approaching fast, and snagged fingers in Scout’s belt loops, pulling hard to align their hips and making her squeak in surprise. “Don’t you go starting something you can’t finish, love,” she warned, breathless.

“I never do,” Scout replied in a snap, eyes glittering, grinning down at her in a way that was entirely too self-satisfied.

Sniper flipped the younger woman beneath her for the audacity, starting to nip at her collarbones and neck, wanting to unravel her right back. She tugged at the hem of Scout’s shirt meaningfully, and she quickly stripped it off, Sniper leaning back to start fumbling off her and Scout’s belts, letting them both clink to the floor off to one side of the bed.

She had to lean forward to help Scout with her bra, the other having difficulty getting her arms around behind her when she was lying down. But then it was off, and Sniper flashed a grin at her before leaning in to kiss Scout hard, arching their bodies together and swallowing her gasp as their chests made contact.

She pulled back, took a moment to file away Scout’s bashful blush in her mind for later. Then she tugged on Scout’s pants with a raised eyebrow, and received an enthusiastic nod, and then they were apart again as they finished stripping, Scout clumsy in how borderline frantic she was, Sniper efficiently as she kept her hands slow and steady.

Sniper took a moment to indulge herself in sucking a mark against Scout’s collarbone before she started shifting their position, dragging one of Scout’s legs up to rest high on her hip and shifting her own knee up the bed in parallel. She sat against Scout’s thigh for a moment, looking over her expression. She didn’t see any hesitation, but she asked the question anyways. “This alright?” she asked, voice hushed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Scout agreed, shifting what little she could. “C’mon. Don’t be a tease.”

Sniper grinned, leaning forward, grinding her hips down even as she kept herself down against Scout’s thigh rather than meeting Scout in the middle. “Oh, sweet’eart, when on earth have I ever been a tease?” she chided, smirking.

Scout’s expression fell into a pout. She reached a hand down as if to move them along, but Snioer caught it, pressed it up against the bed near Scout’s head.

“None of that,” she tsk’d. “You’ve had your fun, and now I want mine.”

Scout was flushed up to her ears, and her chest was moving quick. Sniper finally decided to take pity, and shifted them up and together, groaning and clenching her teeth at the first heated moment of contact.

It took a minute or so to find just the right angle. She found it for Scout before she found it for herself, and couldn’t help but smile at the way she gasped, head rolling back, throat bared.

“There’s a love, what a beauty,” Sniper praised, just to make her hips roll, and when they did she found the angle she’d been looking for, further commentary cut off with a sharp inhale.

She moved slowly for two reasons—firstly that she liked to draw things out for her own pleasure and for Scout’s frustration, secondly because so fresh out of her binder, even with that lovely massage earlier, it hurt to have her breasts swinging too vigorously. There was a price to pay for being on top, admittedly, but too much pain would just ruin the mood they had going.

But then suddenly Scout was untangling her free hand from the bedsheets and letting it rise between them, cupping at her own breast for a moment—and wasn’t that a lovely sight?—before giving Sniper the same treatment.

Sniper’s breath hitched, hips bucking out of rhythm for a moment, and Scout smirked up at her, even as her own eyelashes fluttered for a moment. “You like that, babe?” she taunted. “Or do you want me to stop?”

“Stop and I’ll fuckin’ end you, love, girlfriend or not,” Sniper managed, ramping her pace up just barely, and Scout was gasping again, squeezing reflexively, and Sniper bucked her hips, and the feedback loop continued.

Scout was done first, of course she was. But she was at least game to hang in there until Sniper was done as well, at which point she released all points of contact to fall back against the bed, sighing in contentment for a moment then pausing for exactly five more seconds before she was getting up and starting to clean up.

Meanwhile, Sniper needed a little while longer to lay there on her side and collect herself, not being a living battery and all. And she groaned as she finally pushed herself into a sitting position, making up her mind to wipe herself down.

But before she could move to stand, Scout returned, pushing her to lie on her back again with one hand and spreading Sniper’s legs apart, starting to clean her up with a cool, wet cloth.

And god, she didn’t often let Scout do this sort of thing, pampering her and all. But it did feel nice when she did.

“Still achy?” Scout asked with a wince when Sniper did finally sit up.

“Yeah,” she nodded, rolled her shoulder. “But it’ll fade. The, er, massage helped a lot. I’m all sorts of relaxed now.”

“Real thorough massage,” Scout joked, trailing a fingernail down Sniper’s inner thigh and watching her jerk.

“Sensitive,” she warned, pitch a bit higher than usual for a moment, and Scout stopped, laughing. “But thanks, love. I appreciate it.”

“Hey, just think of it as me paying you back for all the soda I drink,” she joked.

Sniper wrapped an arm up around her shoulders, pulling her into a gentle kiss. When she pulled back, she looked Scout’s face over for a moment. “Or maybe because we’re in love and sometimes that means doing nice things for each other?” she suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Scout flushed, smiling sheepishly. “I mean, yeah, that too. But I’m not gonna say it, because I’m not a sap.”

“Not a sap?” Sniper repeated, tilting her head. “Then where on earth did all this stickiness come from—?”

She was cut off by Scout shoving a pillow into her face, and she laughed so hard that it made her ribs start aching again for a completely different reason than before, but it was worth it. It was always worth it.

[chuffyfan87]

An Offer I Can't Refuse. Part 9a

Cowritten with @fairheads.

-x-

Duffy grunted and harumphed as she attempted to roll over in bed so she could get out. She could hear Peter throwing a tantrum downstairs whilst Charlie was trying to make him breakfast.

Charlie rolled his eyes hearing her footsteps on the stairs. “It’s okay, I can handle this, go back to bed!” He shouted from the kitchen.

"I'm up now, let me help." Duffy replied as she waddled into the kitchen.

“Duffy, you should be resting!! You heard what the doctor said...” Charlie was agitated.

"I am resting!" She retorted.

“Hardly!? I wish you’d trust me.”

"I do trust you but I also know what a little monkey Peter can be!" She replied, moving to pick Peter up from his highchair as he was still screaming.

“Duffy!?” Charlie turned exasperated.

"What?" She asked as Peter immediately settled in her arms.

Charlie lifted his arms into the air. “You’re being impossible.”

"I am calming down my son, how is that being impossible?" She asked as she shifted Peter onto her hip so she could reach for the kettle.

“The doctor said bed rest and no lifting in order to keep you and the baby safe but you seem to be just completely ignoring that.”

"He said no lifting anything heavy." Duffy retorted.

“I’d say Peter is fairly heavy these days.” He snapped back.

"Don't listen to him Peter!" She pulled a face at Charlie whilst covering the toddler's ears.

Charlie huffed, turning around, he tried to ignore her and continued to prepare some breakfast.

Peter started to wriggle in his mum's arms, reaching out for his highchair.

"Oh so you want to eat now do you?" She teased him.

Charlie couldn’t even raise a smile, he was so worried about her and the baby.

Placing Peter back in the highchair Duffy stooped to feed the toddler who had been behaving in a very regressive mood since his mum had been forced to start her maternity leave.

Upon watching her bend and attempt to get something off the floor, Charlie had had it. He banged the plate on the side and left the room.

"Don't worry, he'll stop sulking eventually." Duffy told Peter.

Charlie found a spot on the back step, he was struggling.

A little while later Peter came running past him, covered in breakfast and giggling as his mum attempted to chase him down with a wipe to clean his face.

"Peter!" She grumbled.

At first, Charlie didn’t attempt to move to help.

Peter was too busy looking back at the grown ups and laughing that he didn't see the stone on the grass til he fell over, letting out a scream as he hit the ground.

Duffy tried to get to him, but Charlie made it there first, scooping him into his arms.

The toddler continued to scream for a few more seconds before snuggling his face into Charlie's chest.

"Is he ok? Is he bleeding?" Duffy asked, panicked, as she struggled to get down onto the ground beside them.

Charlie was still trying to ascertain where the little boy was hurt, but it was hard for him to see with Peter snuggling into him. “There’s blood coming from somewhere, I just can’t see where, he’ll be okay...” Charlie tried to reassure her, as she tried to manoeuvre herself next to him with difficulty.

Eventually Charlie managed to prise Peter's face out of his shirt and see that the little boy had a slightly bleeding nose.

Charlie reached into his pocket and squeezed Peter’s nose with a tissue.

Peter wriggled against the tissue, waving his hands and shouting.

“Hey little man, I just need to help stop it bleeding.” Charlie tried.

Duffy attempted to help hold Peter still.

Peter was kicking and punching his arms and legs, Charlie was worried that he’d catch Duffy.

"The more you fight the longer this'll take." She warned the toddler.

Peter was getting more and more distressed. “Want me to stop?” Charlie asked Duffy.

"Has the bleeding slowed?"

Charlie shook his head.

"Give it another minute."

Peter was still fighting Charlie, he’d been kicked in the chest a few times which hurt near his scar, but it was Duffy he was mostly worried about.

Eventually after another minute or two the bleeding slowed.

Peter had finally grown tired and floppy in Charlie’s arms. He stood up, with the toddler resting over his shoulder.

"We can settle him on the sofa so we can keep an eye on him." Duffy suggested as she struggled to stand back up.

Charlie could see she was finding it difficult to get back up so he crouched back down to help.

After they both nearly toppled over twice they eventually got to their feet again.

Charlie carried Peter in and settled him on the sofa with his teddy bear and a blanket. He seemed fine now, just tired from all of the fighting. Charlie sat down on the other sofa.

Duffy let out a groan as she sat down next to Peter.

Charlie looked at her with concern.

"I'm fine!" She retorted, rolling her eyes.

Charlie didn’t respond, he just rubbed his head.

"Urgh!" Duffy grumbled, her tone laced with annoyance, a few minutes later.

“Talk to me,” He suggested.

"I peed half an hour ago, I can't need to go again already!" She harumphed as she attempted to push herself up from the sofa.

Charlie watched her mission to get up and signed to himself. He felt for her, being this pregnant certainly had its drawbacks but he wished she’d listen to the doctors about getting some more rest.

She finally made it up and glared at him before making her way out of the room, her hand pressed against her lower back.

After she’d gone, he looked to the ceiling and exhaled fiercely. He then moved to sit next to Peter, who seemed to be napping contentedly.

After half an hour had passed without her returning Charlie began to get concerned.

He decided to go and see where she’d got to.

Arriving upstairs he found her fast asleep on the bed.

Finally, he thought to himself. He went and sat next to her on the bed.

Both Duffy and Peter ended up dozing for around an hour.

In the meantime, Charlie had tidied and done some laundry.

By the time Duffy returned downstairs Charlie and Peter were cuddled up on the sofa watching cartoons.

Charlie looked up as she entered the room, he smiled at her, moved himself and Peter up and patted the space next to him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep." She grimaced as she sat down.

Charlie put his arm around her, “I’m sorry for earlier.”

"Its ok. I'm sorry too." She rested her head on his shoulder.

He kissed the top of her head. “How are you feeling?”

"Tired of being achy and fat." She frowned.

“You’re not fat, you’re beautiful and you’re carrying our baby. Where does it ache?”

"Everywhere!" She complained. "Back, hips, ankles, shoulders..." She sighed.

“I’m sorry,” He sighed, he felt awful that he was partly the reason she felt so sore.

"These next four weeks are going to drag so slowly!"

“I know. I’m sorry for being so vile this morning, I just worry so much that something’s going to happen to you and the baby and I figured if I could just do everything and you just rest then maybe nothing bad would happen...” He stumbled over his words.

"Oh Charlie..! Nothing bad is going to happen."

“But how do you know? The doctor seemed fairly worried...”

"Call it a hunch." She shrugged, a slightly mischievous glint in her eye.

“A hunch?” He raised his eyebrows and gently kissed her.

"Mother's intuition?" She giggled.

“I really hope you’re right!” He smiled. Duffy shifted, unable to get comfortable. “Want me to sit behind you, then you can stretch out?”

"I'm not sure there's room to do that." She sighed.

“Sure there is, this little man wants to get down anyway,” Charlie lifted Peter onto the carpet with his toys. He helped her move along and then sat behind her, legs parted so she could lie back on his chest, her legs stretched out along the sofa. “There we go,” he said, placing his hands on her bump.

She tilted her head to rest her cheek against Charlie's chest, watching Peter play, her hands resting on top of Charlie's.

“This way, you have to rest,” Charlie teased.

"Oh so that's your game is it?" She giggled.

“Nope, in reality, I just wanted to have a cuddle with you,” He smiled.

"You soppy git!" She laughed.

“It’s not just going to be us and Peter soon is it? All change...” He pondered.

"I'm sure we'll adapt quickly."

“I hope so...” He whispered.

"Look how quickly Peter has adapted to you living here..." Duffy smiled.

“I just hope we, I, have enough love to give them and us, that’s all.”

"You will. I know you will."

He squeezed her hands, just as the baby kicked. “She’s kicking a lot today!” He commented.

"Don't I know it!" She chuckled.

“Hey missy," He poked her bump gently, "You be nice to your mummy!” He jokingly reprimanded.

"You're going to be such a soft touch!" Duffy teased, giggling.

“For sure, a little lady, with your looks and stubbornness, I’m sure!” He laughed.

"My stubbornness?" She pouted.

“Yes, you are the most feisty, determined, stubborn woman I know, but that’s why I love you,” He grinned.

"Is that so?" She grinned. "You never know, she could end up taking after her daddy and be a blue eyed blonde."

Charlie laughed, “‘Maybe but in my head, she’s exactly like you.”

"You can barely cope with me nevermind two of us!" She teased.

He laughed and tickled her, “That’s very true!!”

"You'll just have to hope that Peter sides with you when it all kicks off!" She chuckled.

“Oh yeah, Peter’s totally on my side...” Charlie laughed again.

"Only coz you let him have sweets!" She teased.

“True but we all know, that when push comes to shove, mummy wins!”

"Its only taken you how many years to realise that?"

“Oh I’ve always known it really...”

"So you just like to wind me up..?"

“Not wind you up, but I must admit you get me a bit hot under the collar when you’re mad with me, don’t know why it is!?” He laughed.

"So it's a sex thing?" She giggled as she rolled her eyes.

“Not intentionally...” He smirked.

"But it's a perk nonetheless?"

“Most definitely!” He kissed her cheek.

"I'd noticed!" She giggled, wriggling her bottom back against him.

“Had you?” He whispered, putting his fingers on her hips and helping her back.

"You get a certain look in your eyes..."

“Am I that obvious?” He giggled.

"Only to someone who knows you as well as I do..." She turned slightly to snuggle against his chest.

[emilyjunk]

baby

lobstersweettarts asked:  Can you do one about Beca going into labor with baby from chapter 15 please? It would be cute with her feeling huge and achy and sick, trying not to panic and trying to breathe thru contractions as they get ready for the hospital, while Emily goes around, being as stoic as she can for her sake, helping her to feel better rubbing her back and squeezing her hips, but also so excited. That would be cute

read on AO3 or below

Emily’s prepared for this. She’s read all the books, talked to all the right people, blogged on all the right blogs.

“Fuck fuck fuckity fuck!!”

She guesses nothing really prepares you for having a baby, though. And she’s not the one even giving birth!

“Okay, Beca, baby, just… just breathe, honey okay?”

Beca glares at her in the way only pregnant-Beca has ever glared at her, but Emily’s like, totally used to it by now. It’s been about six months since the glares started and she never really even thought they were scary, she just found them cute.

It’s a little scary now, though.

“Okay, right, yeah, you’re doing that. Mhmm.”

Beca groans, both her hands splayed against her lower back as she paces the hospital room. “This has been happening for hours. When will it be over?”

Emily’s a bit at a loss here. Beca won’t sit still long enough for Emily to do any of the things she prepared for, like giving Beca a hot compress or feeding her ice chips or those massages they learned in the LGBT-parent birthing classes they attended.

She pouts at her wife.

“Do you want me to get the midwife?”

Beca moans, looking at Emily pleadingly. “I want those drugs.”

Emily hesitates. “You wanted to try without the drugs, sweetheart, remember? And she said you were at the 6 centimeter mark last time she checked, that means we might be too close to birth for our backup drug plan.”

Beca groans again as another contraction comes on. “Motherfuckerrrrrrrrrrrr.”

Emily hurries to her side, her hands hovering helplessly around Beca’s same-size-as-Beca stomach.

“Oh my God,” Beca gasps as it ends. “Birth fucking blows.”

Emily likes to think she’s been a champ through everything. Beca is the best thing in her life, and having a baby with Beca was like, her number one wish in this whole world, so when Beca got pregnant, Emily had been determined to be the perfect partner and give Beca everything she needed.

She’d gone to the store at 2am for Beca’s sauerkraut craving. She’d rubbed Beca’s feet endlessly. She’d accompanied Beca to every doctor’s appointment, stopped drinking coffee so Beca wasn’t left out. She’d befriended all the hospital nurses and the midwife by baking them cookies so they’d be extra good to her inevitable-monster-of-a-wife when the time finally came.

(Beca had teased her about that one, joking that the nurses were going to fall in love with Emily despite her clearly pregnant wife.)

She’d been stoic through the morning sickness, calm and collected through the cravings. She’d been the supportive voice of reason whenever Beca questioned her own ability as a mom, when her emotions got the best of her and she doubted everything about herself she’d ever known for certain.

Emily was meant to play this role, to fill the slot of the perfect-pregnancy-partner.

That’s all going out the window now. As tears fill Beca’s eyes, her wife sweaty and red and in clear pain, Emily’s on the verge of a panic attack.

She’s helpless to do anything and seeing Beca hurting with such an intensity terrifies her.

She’s trying not to cry, to keep it together for Beca’s sake, but it’s so freaking hard. It takes only one more contraction with Beca contorting in pain for Emily to break.

“I’m gonna get the midwife babe, okay? I’ll be right back, I swear.”

She practically sprints out the door, intent on finding the midwife, and runs right into the woman in the hallway.

“Oh. Emily.” The midwife - Molly - smiles at her. “How’s it going in there? How’s Beca?”

“Horrible,” Emily gasps. “She wants the drugs.”

Molly looks at her knowingly, like she gets this all the time. “Emily, we discussed this, remember? You guys wanted to try it without first. We have the Demerol on hand and as a backup we have --”

“I know what we decided,” Emily interrupts. “But she’s hurting.”

“Of course.” Molly rubs her arm reassuringly. It’s just not reassuring, like, at all. “Most women who decide against the drugs start asking for them once labor begins. That’s why we decide beforehand, when the mother is in a better frame of mind.”

Emily nods. “Right, yeah I know that. But I think Beca knows now what she wants. Like she knows, okay? She knows. She knows.”

Molly gives her a placating smile. “Okay, well let’s check on her and see, okay?”

She leads Emily back into the room where Beca’s looking like the opposite of million bucks, her arms wrapped around herself tightly. Emily barely stops herself from bursting into tears.

“Hey, Beca,” Molly says. Beca just grunts,. “How you doing? I’m gonna measure you, alright?”

Molly does her thing between Beca’s legs and Emily grabs Beca’s hand (honestly more for herself than for Beca, but she’ll probably never admit that because she was supposed to be good at this, not the emotional wreck she’s currently trying to repress).

Beca squeezes her tightly when another contraction comes through, intense and violent. Emily’s fingers might have fallen off but she can’t feel them anymore so she doesn’t know either way. A sob wrenches through Beca and Emily trembles.

Stay calm, Emily. Your job is to stay calm.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu --” Beca gasps, trying to curl into herself. There are tears on her cheeks and her eyes are clenched shut.

“Um,” Emily squeaks. “See, let’s do the drugs. She wants them. Can’t you give her something?”

Molly’s shaking her head, moving to the nurse call button. “No, Emily, we --”

“Listen, I know what we planned. But I think that ship has sailed here.”

Beca’s crying harder now -- yeah, her wife, the strong, brave, stoic Beca Mitchell, is openly sobbing in front of random people -- and Emily’s about had it.

Stay calm, Emily. Stay calm!!!!!!

“Emily,” Molly says seriously. “Okay, it’s too late for that. Beca’s --”

“CAN WE PLEASE JUST GET MY WIFE THE FUCKING DRUGS?”

Everyone freezes, even the distraught Beca, staring at her. Emily’s never been anything but polite to these people, has probably hardly been anything but polite to her wife of five years, but she’s losing it here. She can’t take this.

She squares up, waiting for Molly to rip her a new one, but Molly just laughs. “That’s the spirit, Emily. But as I was saying, it’s go-time. We’re at ten centimeters. That means it’s time to push.”

Emily stares. “P-push?”

“The baby’s coming.” Molly grins as the other nurse comes in, handing her some latex gloves. “Hear that, Beca? Time to push.” Molly gives Emily a meaningful look and Emily jumps into action.

“Oh. Right. Yeah.” She leans toward Beca, her heart aching, fear and excitement and mostly fear did she say fear buzzing through her. “The baby’s coming.”

“Is it a baby or a --” Beca gasps, her face contorting “-- or a fucking bowling ball?”

Emily hears some kind of hysterical laughter that doesn’t sound like her own coming from her mouth. “I’ll make sure to check.” She brings Beca’s hand to her lips. “You got this okay, I know it’s horrible, but you can say fuck as many times as you want even if it’s in front of the baby. This totally is an exception, you get a giant free pass, okay? I love you. I love this baby already. Do you think it’s a boy or a girl. I can’t wait to find out. I don’t care either way. It could even not be one of those things and I’m still not gonna mind. It could be a robot and I won’t mind. It’s our baby, wow you made it like, inside you. Isn’t that crazy, Bec?”

She thinks Beca laughs but she’s totally pushing and it doesn’t seem like a laugh as much as a scream. “Rambl...ing.”

“Yeah. Yeah I’m so good at rambling. It’s really distracting, isn’t it? You can totally barely feel the pain right?”

“N - no.”

Beca pants desperately. Molly and the nurse are saying something, to each other, to Beca, Emily has no freaking clue. She’s just trying to get them both through this experience without either of them fainting.

“Squeeze my hand if it hurts. I don’t even care if my fingers fall off. Who needs fingers when you have a baby?”

Beca’s ignoring her, but that’s okay. She’s squeezing tighter. Emily couldn’t move from her side if she wanted to.

They somehow manage to make it through, Beca pushing and screaming and crying, and Emily trying not to scream or cry. One second Molly’s yelling “keep going almost there you’re doing great Beca!” and the next second, the shrill cry of a newborn infant pierces the room.

“Baby!” Molly yells triumphantly, holding up a raisin thing in her arms.

Beca finally releases Emily’s hand, slumping against the bed. Emily’s staring at the raisin thing. “Baby,” she murmurs, dumbfounded.

“He’s a boy!” Molly beams. Then she’s sweeping him away to do her midwife stuff. Emily leans over, putting her hands on Beca’s cheeks.

“Bec?” Beca grunts, exhausted. Emily wipes away the tears and smiles. “Bec, we have a boy.”

Beca smiles, her hand tiredly reaching up to grab Emily’s face. “Yeah.”

“You’re so amazing, I’m so in awe of you.” Emily finally does cry. She made it through but she can’t make it any longer. The tears come pouring out. “I love you so much, you’re so awesome.”

Beca snorts.

“MY WIFE IS AWESOME!” Emily screams, kind of at the midwife, kind of at nobody in particular. “She’s a fucking superhero.”

“She is,” Molly agrees, finally appearing back in front of them. Their boy is cleaner and - and - and perfect. He’s perfect.

“Oh.” Emily says, her tears renewing with an unmatched fervor. Molly places him in her arms and Emily stares.

He’s pinched and wrinkly and crying, but he has Beca’s eyes, a beautiful, vibrant blue.

Emily’s never loved something - someone - so much in her life.

She looks back at Beca in awe. Her wife made this person. He’s theirs. They have a family.

She gently lowers him down to Beca’s chest, watching Beca meet him for the first time. Beca’s eyes go wide, exhaustion forgotten. Her face is open in amazed wonder, staring at their tiny son. Emily’s breath catchers in her throat.

She thinks she falls in love all over again.

“Hi,” Beca whispers, her voice raspy and thick. She looks back at Emily. “He’s so small.”

Emily nods, overwhelmed into silence. They stare at their boy together, holding hands and watching his tiny chest move up and down, his baby fingers reaching for nothing.

“I love you,” Emily repeats for the hundredth time that night (she thinks it’s still night. She kind of lost track). She presses a kiss to Beca’s palm. “I just really love you.”

Beca’s smile is tired but true. “I love you, too. He’s pretty dope, isn’t he?”

Emily chuckles. “He’s the dopest.” She squeezes Beca’s hand, vibrating with happiness. “Let’s have another.”

Beca glares daggers at her. “Too soon, Emily. Too soon.”

“Well we can adopt this time?”

Beca grunts, her eyes shutting. “Wake me when he’s ten.”

Emily swats at Beca’s shoulder playfully, but Beca’s already dozing. She lifts their son off her lap and holds him close to her chest.

“Hi,” she coos at him, careful not to wake Beca. “You probably already know this, but you have the bravest, most awesome mom in the whole world. You’re gonna be so loved, baby.”

He doesn’t even have a name yet, but he already occupies every bit of space in Emily’s heart.

Nothing could have prepared her for this, but staring down at her sleeping wife and newborn son, she thinks that’s okay. They have each other and that’s all she needs.