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deanwritings · 3 months

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The Guest House - Chapter 11

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 3,508

A/N: Here comes the burn 🔥

Dean’s awoken by the sound of laughter. He quickly sits up, his knuckles rubbing deep into his eyes as night rolls in through the back windows.

He hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep, didn’t even intend to, but the clock above the back console table reads an hour and fourteen minutes since he last chatted with Mary.

With a groan, he pushes himself off the sunken-in couch cushions, rolling out the kink in his neck that formed while he was napping.

He’s still rubbing his eyes as he steps into the kitchen, the lights bright and the aroma of fresh rosemary, sauteed onions and sizzling garlic immediately assaulting him, inviting him to take in a deep breath.

“Well look who woke up.” Mary’s eyes are bright as she teases him from the kitchen island. Y/N is behind her, standing at the sink, Mary’s apron partially obscuring your sweater and pants. You look fresh faced, with some still-damp tendrils of hair framing your face.

Dean then notices the two wine glasses on the island, and a bottle next to it already half drained. Michael Bublé sings quietly from the smart speaker in the corner.

Dean saddles up on one of the island bar stools.

“Looks like I’m missing a party.” He offers the women a lazy grin as he slowly begins to perk up at the thought of dinner and the two happy companions in front of him.

This kitchen was no stranger to joviality; Mary was always beloved by her husband and sons for her home cooking. Though she spent her days at the local hospital, serving twenty-three years as an ICU nurse, Mary always made sure to have a fresh-made meal for her family once her shift was over. There was nothing she loved more than having her boys around the dining room table, hearing about Dean’s basketball practices and Sam’s debate team, while John would grumble about his annoying coworkers. Mary’s family meant the world to her. Marrying John and having Dean and Sam were the best things she ever did with her life, and so much of that life revolved around food when you have two sons over six-feet tall and a father close behind.

Even after John passed, Mary continued to cook. Even after her sons had returned back to their own lives after the funeral. Just being in the kitchen reminded her of all those amazing years together, when John would kiss her on the cheek as she prepared the meal. How, if music was playing, he would steal her away from the stove for a dance when their boys weren’t around to gag at them before she would fight her way out of his arms to make sure the food wouldn’t burn.

The kitchen brought Mary happiness, and it was obvious to everyone who sat in the kitchen with her.

“Just some meal prep.” Mary brushes him off as she turns towards the stove and gives a pan a stir.

Dean takes in another deep breath as the pan crackles.

“What’s for dinner?”

After a deliciously filling pan-roasted chicken and potatoes, plus another two glasses of wine, you and Dean are sitting on the back patio, a fire crackling in the pit between the two of you as you relax back in Adirondacks overlooking the pitch black lake. You’re bundled in your winter coat and hat, while Dean is somehow relaxing in nothing more than his jeans and sweater. Another glass of wine rests in your hands, warming you in ways the fire can’t while Dean opted for a bourbon on the rocks after the red wine he had with dinner.

Mary had excused herself after you and Dean had cleaned up after dinner. It wasn’t late, but Mary was excited about a book she recently started, and decided to say goodnight and head to her room.

“This has to be amazing in the summertime,” you muse as you look towards the quiet water, lights from houses around the shore reflecting on the thin coat of ice that sits atop of the lake. Soft edison bulbs are strung above the patio, providing a soft glow to your surroundings, and you would love to see this in the summer, when the nights are warm and the breeze doesn’t chill you to your bones.

You take a sip of wine.

“It’s pretty nice. I keep telling mom she should get a boat, but she doesn’t want to be bothered with the maintenance of it.” He takes a sip from his own drink. “Nor would she actually know what to do with a boat, so it’s probably for the best.” He chuckles to himself and you smile at the sound.

A silence falls between the two of you, and you wish you had a speaker with some music playing just to break up the quiet.

You decide to let your mind wander, playing back this afternoon, when you padded back downstairs after your shower in some comfy leggings and knit sweater to find Dean asleep on the couch, still sitting up but his head knocked back and mouth open with soft snores filling the living room. You had smiled at the sight, though you didn’t know why, before you had quietly looked for Mary. It wasn’t until you noticed her car gone from the driveway that you realized she wasn’t home. Not wanting to risk turning on the TV and waking Dean, you wandered around the house, taking in all the lake-themed decorations as well as the many pictures scattered throughout the house. A lot of them were from years ago, with a younger-looking Mary – who has aged like a fine wine – and who you assume to be her husband and Dean’s father, John. Two little boys were the subjects of most of the pictures, one with shaggy blonde hair during what seemed like elementary school years, and a lanky, dark-haired, hazel-eyed boy, who must be Sam. The pictures followed them throughout the years; Dean in a basketball jersey, Sam on skis, the brothers looking to be about high school age in tuxes and boutonnieres. It broke your heart as you noticed some pictures from not too long ago, a notable figure missing from the family portraits and the smiles of the remaining three Winchesters not as bright as they used to be.

You take in a deep breath and look through the fire, shadows flickering across Dean’s face as his eyes stare out across the water.

You think back to one particular picture that caught your eye, and it brought back a question you’ve been biting back on for a long time.

It’s none of your business. Sort of. You were metaphorically in the middle of their drama, but it didn’t necessarily mean you were entitled to the details.

It didn’t mean you weren’t any less curious though.

“If you don’t mind me asking. And you don’t have to answer.” Dean’s eyes dance to you. “But what happened between you and Lisa?” You recall a picture of an adult Dean in a tuxedo standing alongside Mary in a flowing, navy gown, a white rose worn proudly on her wrist, matching the one on Dean’s lapel, resting on the mantle. Clearly from a wedding day – Dean’s you assume.

“Aren’t you just full of questions today?” He chuckles as he takes a sip from his tumblr, the ice knocking against the glass as he brings it to his lips. You watch as his Adam’s Apple bobs on his heavy swallow, and you feel your face flush with embarrassment.

You were right the first time. It was none of your business.

“Nevermind, I shouldn’t have asked.” You whoosh out, trying to fix your mistake before it can threaten to ruin the night.

“No,” Dean rests his now empty glass on the wide armrest and leans forward. “It’s okay. Especially since Lisa kinda roped you into our mess.” He scratches as the light layer of scruff over his jaw as his eyes look through the empty night. His shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath before he begins.

“We had a good marriage for years, great even. We were young when we got married. Only twenty-four, but we had started dating when we were nineteen, and she was there for me when my dad died, so it just made sense. Which isn’t why I proposed. I really did love her. And back then she loved me too.” Dean’s eyes flick to the fire and hold its gaze. “The downfall started when she couldn’t get pregnant. All she wanted was a big family, we tried for years, then finally found out that she had some condition – I don’t even remember at this point – that made it hard for her to get pregnant. At first, she got depressed. She never wanted to leave the house, just spent her days either on the couch or in bed. At some point, the depression passed, and then the anger appeared. I tried to be understanding and be there for her as much as I could, but the anger never really went away. We started fighting. A lot. Which we had never really done before, and didn’t really know how to navigate. She got resentful, I got annoyed. We just started growing apart.” Dean takes in a deep breath, his lips setting in a hard line.

“I started working more, just to get away from her and the fighting, then she wanted to get away from me. At some point she found someone, and then I eventually found them. In the guest house, ironically enough.” Dean relaxes back into his chair, though his body is rigid. “That was two years ago now. And we’re still not divorced.” He huffs and picks up the glass, swirling around the ice.

Your eyes haven’t left him. He remains quiet, his story clearly done, and you have no idea what to say.

“I’m sorry you went through all of that.” You settle on. Because truly, what the hell do you say?

He just shrugs. You’re probably not the first to offer your condolences on the death of his marriage.

“You know what really sucks?” He continues without your prompting. You don’t answer, and let him continue. “We could have been divorced ages ago. We just can’t seem to quit this fighting.” He shakes his head as he deeply inhales.

“Almost sounds like you two like the fight.” For the first time since he’s started talking, his eyes flick to you. You offer with a gentle smile as you take a bigger sip of wine this time.

He sighs heavily.

“It’s exhausting.” He quietly admits.

“Then why keep going?”

He shakes his head and looks away, his shoulders dropping.

A moment passes. Then another. Nothing but the crackling of the burning logs filling the dark silence. After another minute, the answer pops into your mind.

“You want to get back together?” You ask softly, and your stomach knots at your words. You expect him to ignore your answer, but he shocks you when he barks out a laugh, his body shaking with the sound before he puts his glass back down on the arm of the chair.

Your body slumps.

What the hell?

“Jesus, no.” He all but wheezes, shaking his head. “There’s no getting back together after what we’ve been through.” His voice drops as the laughter leaves his tone.

You just stare at him, completely and utterly lost, until he looks back at you.

“We’re being assholes, is what it comes down to,” he admits as he drops his gaze. “She wants the house because I have it, and I don’t want to give it to her just because she wants it. And neither of us wants to be the one to surrender.” He clears his throat as he keeps his eyes downcast.

“So you’re just spiting each other?” He looks up at your words, and even across the patio you can see the shame in them.

“Never said I was perfect,” he forces a smirk, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Now I would never accuse you of being that.” You drop your voice as the corners of your own lips quirk up. His eyes crinkle at your words as his grin suddenly matches yours.

And what a gorgeous smile it is. You think as your cheeks warm and suddenly your core clenches. You take in a sharp breath at the response, and you clear your throat and take a long sip of your wine to try and drown out the feeling.

As you place your wine glass back down, you catch Dean’s gaze through the flame, his chiseled jawline sharp, even covered in a layer of managed scruff, and the fire reflecting in his eyes.

You take a deep breath and try to lean back from his gaze, but you're already against the backrest.

Your movement seems to break his stare, and he relaxes back as well.

“How about you?” His voice is casual, but the air around you has changed, an electricity crackling through the cool night in time with the fire.

“What about me?” You pick up your glass for another sip.

“Ever been married?” Now it’s your turn to bark out a laugh.

“Kinda hard to keep a relationship when you’re married to your job. A job that didn’t even give a shit about you.” You sigh and look out to the lake as you think aloud. “But maybe that was always an excuse.”

“An excuse?”

You keep your eyes on the icy water. If Dean can be honest, so can you.

“I haven’t had a serious relationship since college. On paper, we were perfect for each other, but we broke up a couple years after we graduated, and.” Your voice catches on your words and you swallow. “We had a nice relationship, but I never really loved him. Not the way you should. We were more friends than anything and we just fizzled out.” You think back to Justin. You had met at trivia night your junior year, and he was everything you thought you wanted; handsome, driven, had a sense of humor, a good family and group of friends, but somehow it wasn’t enough. “After that, the idea of dating just turned me off. If my dream guy wasn’t enough, how would anyone be? So I just started focusing more on work, and I got my first big promotion after the breakup. And then whenever anyone would ask me about dating, I could use work as an excuse.” You shrug. “I’ve dated here and there since then, but never really found anyone worth taking my attention away from my job.”

“Sounds lonely.” You throw your head back and laugh. You look over to him, his elbows now resting on his knees as he leans towards you from across the patio.

“So does divorce.” He snorts out a laugh and looks down.

“Fair enough.” He starts to lean back but stops himself and looks over to his empty glass with raised eyebrows.

“If we’re going to keep talking about relationships, I’m gonna need a refill.” He stands from his seat and takes his tumbler with him.

“Me too.” You hold your own empty glass up and wiggle it in the air. More wine sounded like a great idea.

With an easy stride, Dean strolls around the firepit and over to your chair. The man is tall when you’re standing next to him, but right now he’s damn now towering over you while you’re seated. Despite the heavy conversation, he looks down at you with an easy smile. And maybe it’s the wine, or it’s just him, but you smile back as your heart thrums wildly in your chest.

He reaches out for your hand slowly, his fingers brushing against yours as they take a secure hold on the stem. His touch is warm against your chilled skin, and his gaze holds yours and you swallow. His chest moves in a controlled rhythm as his fingers wrap around yours. Your lips part, but nothing comes out as you stare up at him, his eyes evergreen in the shadowed glow. He swallows, his Adam’s Apple bobbing with the movement.

“I–”

A log shatters apart and drops heavily into the bottom of the firepit, and you jump as the logs that had been resting on top of it tumble down, sending sparks wildly bursting and flying into the night sky.

“Holy shit,” you breath out, your eyes darting to the flames just as they begin to die down, as you rest your hands against your chest, just now realizing you had let go of the glass.

Dean lets out a quiet laugh and takes a step back from you and the movement causes you to look back up at him, your wine glass securely in his hand.

“More wine it is then.”

You managed to stay out through another glass of wine, until the fire dwindled down to embers, and Dean finished another two drinks. Once the flames had died down, the chill of the night couldn’t be held off, and it was late enough for you to both call it a night.

You quietly sneak your way through the kitchen, a tipsy giddiness keeping a near constant giggle in your throat as you and Dean bump your way around the darkened room, tossing your jacket and hat on the kitchen table, and doing your best to keep quiet as you place your glasses into the sink before heading up the stairs, keeping a tight grip on the railing as you go. Dean is a half step behind you, so close, the few times you sway on the unfamiliar steps, you brush against his warm frame, even though he sat out in nothing but a crewneck sweatshirt all night.

As you reach the top of the stairs, you expect Dean to break off, to head down to his room, but as you lazily wander towards your own door, you look over your shoulder to find him a hands-length behind you. You flex your fingers, wanting to reach back and take his hand in yours, but you keep your hand tucked in tight at your side.

“I know this is my first night here,” you whisper roughly. “But I’m pretty sure your room is that way.” You throw a thumb over your shoulder and he quietly laughs as he leans forward, his chest brushing against your shoulder.

“What type of gentleman would I be if I didn’t walk you to your door?” His breath tickles your ear and your shoulders tense at the proximity as your feet halt. The sudden stop catches Dean off guard and he stumbles into you, one arm catching you around your waist as the other grabs at your hip. His arms tighten, pulling you against his chest. And hips.

And groin.

You swallow.

You can feel Dean’s heartbeat at your back, erratic and wild as yours as you close your eyes and lean into him without a second thought. His hand tightens around your waist, his fingers deliciously digging in as you sway your head against his shoulder.

You close your eyes as you hear him take a deep breath.

Without warning, his lips ghost against your exposed neck, a sliver of warmth playing across your skin and you shiver at the contact.

Finally. Is the only thing that crosses your mind as you push yourself further into him. A growl stirs in his throat, vibrating his chest as you rest against him, and you swallow. Hard.

You trail your hand up your body, stopping only when you find his still attached to your waist. His deep breath wafts over your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

Ever so slowly, he leans over you, his lips locking in on your pulse point, just below your jaw. You sigh out a whimper into the quiet hallway as his lips linger on the sensitive skin, your knees failing you as you let your weight fall against him.

In a heartbeat, his lips are gone, the skin cold without his touch and he takes a step back, his hand around your waist coming to hold your hips at an arm’s length. You spin in his grasp, your head swimming from the wine, his kiss, and the jarring movement.

He stands there with an easy smile on his lips. The same damned lips that were just on you, making you want more. So much more.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” is all he offers before his hands fall away from you and he turns and heads for his room.

You don’t move a single muscle, watching him until he disappears behind his door and it clicks shut.

You shutter out a breath and your shoulders fall. Your fingers come up to your neck, tracing the space where he left his kiss, and a smile grows on your face as you stroke the spot with a gulp.

You were officially in trouble.

Forever Tags

@iprobablyshipit91 @likesiriusly @kittyque @findingfitnessforme @wonderange @captainemwinchester @xtina2191 @smoothdogsgirl @mogaruke @chin-up-love @tsunadesenjuuchiha @lyarr24 @globetrotter28 @krazykelly @roseblue373 @k-slla @stephv213 @kaydallas21 @nerdymuffinbonkcloud @magssteenkamp

#dean x reader #dean winchester #dean imagine #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean x y/n #dean winchester fanfiction #the guest house

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mochinek0 · 9 months

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Daminette December 2023: 28-I'm Not Crying

This was not the day Marinette and Damian had expected. They had gone into town to grab some more paint and ended up in a hostage situation with some of the Penguin's goons. They had their guns pointed at them.

Mari noticed that they didn't seem to understand or have full control over the situation. The guy infront of them seemed jumpy and he kept tapping his finger on the trigger, as if he was expecting something. She noticed a rock hurtling towards the window and shoved Damian. Just as the rock hit the glass, the guy slammed his finger on the trigger and hit Marinette in the thigh.

As the bats burst into the building, Damian had taken off his blazer and began to tear his shirt into shreds. He took no notice of the people of Gotham pointing and gasping at his scarred back. He quickly tied his shirt around Marinette's thigh, hoping to stop the bleeding. When police and medic arrive on the scene, he went with her in the ambulance.

Marinette woke up to a bright white room. As she looked around, she noticed Damian asleep on a chair, holding her hand.

"Are you okay?" Marinette questioned, squeezing his hand.

Damian quickly shot up, "Marinette!"

"Are you okay" she asked again.

"Me!" he shouted, "You were shot!"

Mari could feel her eyes well up with tears.

"I apologize for yelling at you, Habibiti." Damian whispered, "I don't want to see you like that, ever again. You were in pain and you were bleeding and-"

Mari opened her arms out for him. Damian crawled into the hospital bed.

"Please, Habibiti." he whispered again.

Marinette could see how much pain she had caused him. She had made her stoic boyfriend cry.

"I didn't mean to make you cry." she whispered back.

"I am not crying." Damian declared.

Mari smiled, "My mistake. I'm interrupting your brooding with the invisible rain cloud over you."

Damian hugged her tighter and she softly brushed his hair. She cuddled into him as he wrapped his arms around her waist and fell back to sleep.

The Waynes closed the door softly, not wanting to interrupt. They knew Damian could sometimes be hostile when his emotions came out. Bruce just smiled at the closed door.

'She's a good pick, Son.'

"I think we should give them ten minutes." Bruce declared.

"Uh, B." Dick called out.

Bruce turned to his eldest.

"You're gonna have to talk with the nurses. Apparently, Damian made a nurse cry and she threatened to quit." he answered, sheepishly, "They ended up changing her to a different room, for now."

Bruce sighed and began walking back toward the nurses' station.

TAGLIST: @maribat-calendar-events @animeweebgirl@a-star-with-a-human-name@meme991001@vixen-uchiha@abrx2002@alysrose-starchild@fandom-trapped-03@dood-space@moonlightstar64@saltymiraculer@marveldcedits20@09shell-sea09@icerosecrystal@animegirlweeb@insane-fangirl-of-everything@blueblossombliss@nickristus-dreamer@megawhitleycalderonpaganus@missmadwoman@meira-3919@princessdaisysolosyourfaves@blep-23@fangirlingfanatic@darkhinauniverse@ravenr22@im-a-satanic-ritual@ravennm84@bianca-hooks123@a-slytherinish-gryffindor@starling218

#daminette december 2023 #daminette #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #hostage situation #marinette saves damian #marinette shot #marinette in hospital #damian cries #im not crying #bruce wayne #dick grayson #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #mochinek0

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abardnamedreginald · 3 months

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im a wolf-demon-salamander-grey treefrog-katydid-cricket-luna moth-klingon-trad vampire-cat-romulan-harry potter wizard-gnome-drow-orc-wood elf-high elf-werewolf-twilight vampire-chihuahua-android-bard-druid-sorcerer-d&d wizard-lotr wizard-mind flayer-kraken-owlbear-genetically modified human-andes mint-harry potter merperson-h20 mermaid-great white shark-raven named nevermore-amontillado-sewer clown-animatronic-ink person-reality bender-ringwraith-chicken-fairy-telescreen-multibear-manic pixie dream girl-d class-horcrux-dragon-unicorn-pegasus-among us crewmate-among us imposter-game master-sharpie king size marker-dwarf-dragonborn-toothbrush-rock-paper-scissors-lizard-vulcan-politician-god-phone guy-icebreakers ice cubes pineapple-a doctor not a miracle worker-troll-ent-poodle-rabbit-Bear.-orange zombie-purple zombie-green zombie-professor plum-col. mustard-in the library-with a knife-hoola dancer-fish-villager-pelecan-defense against the dark arts professer-mafia boss-peep rabbit-peep chicken-gymnast-hairbrush-philosopher-music freak-school teacher-kidnapper-police lieutenant-farmer-trash can-dumpster out back-turtle-tribble-my little pony-kratt brother-high diver-pearl diver, dive, dive, deeper-chef-fire-earth-water-wind-wasp-bee-hornet-yellowjacket-mud dabber-grasshopper-rattlesnake-armadillo-cowboy-flashlight-starfleet science officer-harlet-elephant-gater-muppet-emo-goth-preppy-teabag-loser-sucker-mouse-rat-a puppet-a pauper-a pirate-a poet-a pawn-and a king-father albert-the pope-a nun-pastor jeff-gambler-metalhead-death rocker-the grim reaper-angel-lighthouse-paw patrol dog-hobbit-starfish-sponge-crab-squid-shrimp-jellyfish-chipmunk-hammerhead shark-nurse shark-humpback whale-blue whale-orca-sexual harrassment panda-south park character-jakoffasaurus-scrabble board-ouija board-pillow-toilet paper-period pad-tampon-baby diaper-elderly diaper-martian-touch tone telephone-starfleet operations-starfleet command-kirk-spock-bones-sulu-chekov-uhura-scotty-yeoman rand-KHAN!!!-mudd-the uss enterprise-the uss reliant-botany bay-v'ger-valeris-saavik-sybok-surak-sarek-the abbreviation 'idk'-sheldon-leonard-penny-howard-raj-amy-bernadette-mary cooper-george sr-george jr-missy cooper-meemaw-tam-dr sturgis-dr linkletter-dr jack bright-dr clef-dr gears-dr kondraki-dr mann-dr iceberg-dr crow-dr rights-dr sherman-scp 049-scp 3008-scp 4231-scp 166-scp 682-scp 2521-scp 590-O5 6-bill cipher-stanley pines-stanford pines-dipper-mabel-wendy-soos-schmebulok-gideon-mcgucket-dipper goes to taco bell-sheriff blubs-deputy durland-tad strange-andy taylor-william afton-michael afton-elizabeth afton-crying child-henry emily-charlotte emily-dave miller-jack kennedy-dee kennedy-peter kennedy-steven stevenson-aragorn-sam-frodo-merry-pippin-boromir-legolas-gimli-gandalf-faramir-denethor-sauron-elrond-thranduil-harry-hermione-ron-voldemort-pettigrew.-moony-padfoot-prongs-snape-edward-bella-alice!!-carlisle-charlie-cthulhu-greg heffley-pennywise-bendy-sammy-norman-jack-alice (susie)-allison-henry stien-joey drew-bruenor battlehammer-raskolnikov-heather-heather-heather-veronica-jd-kurt-ram-martha-kurt cobain-david bowie-freddie mercury-hozier-mitski-lemon demon-jack stauber-tally hall-hamilton-burr-jefferson-madison-washington-phillip-angelica-eliza-peggy-king george iii-king henry viii-ben franklin-catherine of aragon-anne boleyn-jane seymour-anne of cleves-katherine howard-catherine parr-dracula-𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂-evan hansen-conner murphey-john adams-raymond barron-fred randall-jane doe-ocean-noel-mischa-constance-ricky-karnak-vergil-alternate-thatcher davis-ruth-dave-cesar-mark-adam-sarah-jonah-evelyn-gabriel-trump-biden-sunny-basil-kel-aubrey-hero-mari-vanessa (the mean girl that kinda likes u)-tux the linux penguin-perry the platypus hybrid princess...dont fw me

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widowsofchaos · 7 months

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could you please do prompt 168 with carol x fem reader? if you’re comfortable writing that of course:)

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐨𝐭

synopsis: Trying to find peace at your job’s gala, but a familiar haunting shadow finds you once more.

pairing: dark!Carol Danvers x brown!fem!reader

ao3 // modern au // 5k words.

warnings: dubious wlw smut (forced stimulation, vaginal fingering), stockholm syndrome, toxic established relationship, domestic violence, mention of childhood abuse.

a/n: Carol’s outfit reference. title is a reference to the song, Mary by Alex G. requested 168. “Don’t get too close to that one, she’ll singe your fingertips and have you on your knees.” from this dialogue prompt list. dog metaphors, because I must write pain. Channeled my inner amy dunne for Carol. I’m sorry that I’m just finishing this 2 years later, but I hope whoever requested this, I hope you see this! <3

“She became the parent, the lover, the friend you’ve always craved for—- and yet, here you are,”

The truth can sting, just the sharp tip of a knife, flickering at the raw flesh. Poking and prodding till there’s small plots of ichor forming.

“——broken…” Her index finger arched, halting her words, still a vivid memory, “…. but not beyond repair.”

A scoff escapes.

“What is love without hate, I guess.” Unconsciously it spewed from your lips, the vowels felt like acidic vomit. A pregnant silence arose.

That all knowing head tilt, with those observant eyes—- always earned uncomfortable tension within you.

“Love isn’t meant to be confused with hate.”

The cigarette burns slow between your clenched fingers, nursing three fingers deep. Brown liquor swishes against the carved rocks glass, its clear silver grooves twinkles under the gala’s vermilion hues.

Fragments of words compulsively knock against the walls of your brain; as you mull at the gala’s open bar. A scorned woman who just wants peace, and quiet. Lingering stains of hurt that can last a lifetime settles to silence for once in a long time.

Showered an ugly duckling with affections, and built the pillars of security. Growing up in a childhood filled with anxiety and fear of attachments, lingering stains of abuse from the very beings who birthed you into this world.

She cleaned you, bandaged the scars, and assured you that she was the only one who adored you—- persisted that she was the only one who would.

Now, fighting violently in the legal battlefield of divorce, these past weeks have been mentally exhausting —- all whilst handling the burdening responsibilities of your profession.

Your very mind and hands helped craft this sophisticated gallery.

Your boss, Mr. Laufeyson, opened a new exhibit in the National art museum—- Norse history, one of his niche fixations. A man birthed on Norwegian soil, but raised in the monarchal land of England.

An established man who often seeks to explore the rich culture of his ancestors with much sophisticated adoration, and esteem. The Norse exhibit is now the largest section of the institution, with vast collections of rare artifacts protected behind hard stainless glass.

He breathed down your neck for long weeks, you had the task of restoring each piece that had been brought in, nearly breaking your damn back from all the hovering.

A gala bustling with a sea of middle-class folk, and self-proclaimed aristocrats of New York. You sought solace at the open bar, smoking a stogie—- and slipping into the whiskey.

It wasn’t a preferred choice, but it helps give a quick kick to your nerves. Seeking solitude away from pressures to gallant with faux professionalism, and an particular noisy friend, who should be presenting the Norse gods section.

Earlier, she was pestering with a thousand questions flying by the mouth —- if you ever gave thought to rekindling with Carol.

Dissociating into a mindless static, flickering at your clear square nails, as your cigarette burns slowly. At first, the mention of this exhibit with your boss months ago sent you into a frenzy of joy, but now—- it’s a dreadful experience.

All you long for is to start your weekend, to cuddle with your daug—-

“What an incredible scent you have—-”

Oh God, no.

“—- is that Histoires de Parfums, 1969?”

Fuck.

“I haven’t been around that perfume in a long time.”

It’s as if she can smell you a mile away.

A sensual, purring voice whispers near you. A shadowing silhouette eclipses the shimmering ceiling lights from your peripheral vision.

Your lips wrinkle, restraining the foreboding tears of frustration. Tightly nodding, swallowing a sob. Your breathing becomes heavier.

A hum, “It really smells wonderful.” With precision, the shadow sits onto the empty seat beside you.

“Thank you.” A forced smile curls at your mouth.

“With that scent, I’m surprised you’re not being hounded by the men here tonight.” A subtle wordplay, are you looking for anyone tonight?

As if your mind has forgotten all the bad, and reminisces on the good, all the fun, all the beauty that once blossomed.

“It’s not men I'm looking for.” You whisper, snuffing the cigarette into a provided ash-tray. A creamy hand strokes your knuckles, and your skin shivers under your blouse.

A jolt to your groin, and your breath hitches. All she can do is just touch you, and it’s as if you can get on your knees, and forgive her for everything.

“Why?”

You can see that pearly grin, from the corner of your eye, teasing and twisting.

“They’re too easy to hunt?”

You exhale a chuckle, eyes still trained onto the glistening counter.

“They bore me.”

“So—” Her voice lulls as a moan, “—- see anyone worthwhile?” Her fingers curl around your glass, twirling it by the rim. Your lipstick stain faces her direction, and bold as always, she lifts for a sip. Connecting the lip stain to hers, her eyes never leave yours.

It’s not tacky, nor forceful. How she moves is as if it is her nature.

Your eyes gaze over your shoulder, taking a full look. Finally, to drink in the force of nature that is your estranged wife—- Carol.

Her blonde tresses cascade on her shoulders, milky breasts on display. A pristine, black dress, that cuts and splits at the chest hem, polished nails, and clean skin. Her dress halts near her knees.

“Well, I have my eye on a blonde tonight.” You say timidly. Tenderly, your eyes glance fleetingly, a quick trace over Carol’s bodice, nearly losing your composure.

A pregnant pause.

That pretty pink mouth stretches smugly, as if the cat that got the cream. The hooks caught the flesh.

“You like blondes.”

Her tone lingers as an open question, guising the truth.

“Just one in particular.”

Sinking now, the hooks are tugging.

“Really?” Carol leans, her eyes hooded. “Which one?” Pretending to scan her eyes across the ocean of people.

But your eyes remain fixated on her. As if you were a lost puppy, just gazing at its human. Lucidly, influcating between the spaces of yearning, and guilt.

How at ease Carol is, as if nothing was wrong. The charming woman, the woman you thought she was. The woman she wanted you to think she was.

“The one in the black dress.” You say softly, and defeated brown eyes.

Carol’s eyes gaze back at you from the corner of her oculus, downcasting with a mirth, humming a chuckle. “Don’t get too close to that one, she’ll singe your fingertips and have you on your knees.” She shakes her head, an enticing warning.

A dangerous but delicious fruit hanging at your reach. She wants you to take the bait, urging you to—- to get you back in her grasp, and if she does, she won’t let you go.

This game, a cat and mouse play, is all too familiar. Playing as strangers, attracted together by lust, and curiosities—- the type of curiosity to feel the other’s flesh, subtle carnality. Act out, with playful words, pretend to be different people.

It slowly suffocates you, a twang in your chest, a reminder that this isn’t normal.

She isn’t normal.

Carol can be an array of personalities, she can be the doting wife, the whore in bed, the mother—- she can be the bitch with a violent mouth. Different faces for different folk, no one knows her true self, and she’s good at it —- real good.

So, when you tried to seek help from friends, they couldn’t believe it, nor did they want to. You’re not surprised that Carol snuck into the gala—- your co-worker, Maria, who you thought was a true friend —- the matchmaker from hell, let her in, unknowingly allowing the terror onto you.

But, that’s no surprise. Maria has been Carol’s right hand since their days in the Air Force.

None of your friends believe you—- and, it’s hurtful to admit, you’re too scared to speak about all the hurt Carol made you endure over the years.

Barely spoke of the discomfort Carol used against you, and all your shared friends thought you misinterpreted. All saying that Carol is just head-strong, and that you two are perfect together.

Carol feeds the fire with a ‘She’s just going through a tough time.’

Boundaries aren’t respected, everyone trying to push you back together, inviting Carol in social events —- to the point where you didn’t go out anymore, and just drowned in work.

“I like challenges.” Carol softly leans in, her breath fans the bare skin of your shoulder, “All the more fun when I win.” Her voice drops low, to a wispy whisper.

Her body heat engulfs you, and your eyes droop with haziness for a slick second. You can’t—- not again. No matter how intoxicating she can be, how delicious, it’s not worth your peace.

You’re too drunk for this.

“This cat is too tired to entertain.”

“Who said you were the cat?” Carol’s brow arches, halting you in your step. Carol’s infliction hardens, from the corner of your oculus, you can see the clench of her jawline. That pretty mouth morphed into a restrained frown, the same one you see before a punishment.

An offense has been made.

“I didn’t realize the roles were switched.”

The mask slips.

It’s always her way, her rules. Because no matter how clever, how coy the mouse can be, the cat always wins.

“You’re getting brave on me?” Carol asks.

And now the mask has been dropped.

“I think it’s best I leave.” You quickly collect yourself, a bit wobbly from the alcohol. Leaning against the counter to regain your composure, trying to stand upright.

Not this time. You won’t fall for her charm.

Carol sucks her teeth, “You’re seriously going to leave? Aren’t you tired of this childish bullshit?” Crossing her arms against her chest, lips wrinkling into a scowl. Carol talks as if scolding a child.

Your body twists in a haste, “My bullshit?” Your teeth are gritting harshly, hissing. Angry eyes pierce over the hill of your shoulder, fingernails digging into the leather of your purse; if not the leather, her eyes preferrable.

But this is a place of work, no matter how elegant the night is, you will scream if you have to—- just to escape her. You click your tongue, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I mean I’m usually amused by your brattiness,” Carol laughs sarcastically. “But, now it’s gotten too far.” Her fingertips graze your arm, toying with you, soft and playful—— her fingers grasp your arm in a clutch, earning a whine.

Her eyes are hooded, nearly tugging you downwards. A whine bubbles at the pit of your throat, too terrified to even move.

“You have to come back home.” Carol says, a strain to be sweet, but it’s as if a monster tries to be human. “I miss you.” She purrs, but her eyes … are cold, and agitated.

You remain silent, closing your eyes shut, gliding down in your seat. “Carol… have you signed the divorce papers, yet?” Your eyes stay glued to the sticky counter.

Carol chuckles, “You’re going to try to talk business to me, and you can’t even look me in the eye?” Her baby pink polished nails thump against the bar, thump thump thump.

“I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“And neither do I.” She sips her drink, smirking into the cup, “But it seems my wife likes to play games.” So light, so sarcastic, chastising you as if this was a running joke on your end.

“Carol, for fucks sake.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, “You made me go crazy.” You bite on those words, full teeth. Fingers curling into makeshift claws, vowels spilling as acidic vomit.

“Controlled me, like I was your puppet.” Your fingers curl and slither in gesture. “Manipulated me against the world, against our friends.” Your mouth opened again, the words weighing heavy against your mouth, but a hum interrupted.

“Look up at me when you talk.” Carol says, your eyes peer up through your lashes, owlishly. “If you’re going to lie, you might as well make it convincing.” She licks her lips, tasting the remnants of her liquor.

“I —- I—” you can’t find the words to even respond. You stare at her incredulously, she will never admit to it. Even now, she has you questioning your own sanity, if it was even worth fighting against her.

It’s not worth screaming about it. Not anymore.

“I have to go.” Swiftly, you stand up, with a bated breath.

“That’s how you talk to the mother of your child?”

Stiffening, as the hairs that align a cat’s spine, “Don’t you dare!” Your index finger pointing, shouting in a hush. “Stop using Kamala against me—” your voice wavers, throat nearly choking a sob, “You did enough of that in court.” Big brown eyes sheening wet, the last nerve shot.

Trying to maintain a level of calm, eyes fluttering back and forth around, seeing if anyone has witnessed your outburst.

“I don’t even have to do that,” Carol’s open palm gestures to your rigid stance, “she can see perfectly fine how erratic you’ve been.” Carol hisses, making your nose scrunch up.

Kamala adores — idolizes— Carol. So memorized by her strong, willful mother, since she was a waddling baby.

You haven’t dared utter a bad word about Carol in-front of Kamala, fearing to shatter the fragile bubble you curated as a shield for her. You wouldn’t let her witness the court meetings, especially the negotiations of joint custody.

By every fiber of your being, you’ve tried to make this separation as discreet as possible—- but Carol has been a devil, bulldozing those efforts. To make you appear as the bad parent.

You can’t stand her lawyer, Carol hired one who hails from Hell’s Kitchen—- fitting since he’s a thorn upon your rib. Subtlety bringing up your mental health, questioning your abilities as a mother —- no doubt, Carol was chewing his ear off about your past.

All Kamala knows is that her mothers are splitting up, with foreign lawyers, and that she now has to split weekends—- those pained brown eyes, her puffed cheeks, it kills you deeply—- all the guilt weighs on you, it feels as if you’re to blame for all the problems.

“You’ve taken so much from me, Carol.” You lean in, kneeling at her eye level. “My dignity, my peace— shit— even my sanity.” Your body anxiously fidgeting, breath quickening.

“But I will not, let you take my child away from me.” Your fingers dive into your purse, fumbling with irate, snagging the last cash you had—- with the finality of this conversation, slamming the money onto the marble countertop.

You carried Kamala, incubated inside you for nine months, fed her from your breast—- you will not lose her, not over your cold dead body.

“Goodnight, Carol.”

Sharply, you turn on your heel, leaving Carol without turning back. Walking with a gait, faking confidence, but truly at your core, a gnawing sense of uneasiness.

The corridor stretches as a miniature maze, the more you descend out of the gala, the less crowded it is. Turning left and right, trying to find the exit.

The ambiance is of grainy gray, the tinted blurred windows are foggy with the night’s shadows.

The echoes of clicking heels are faint, your mind doesn’t register, as your own feet and mind are stuck on auto-pilot.

“There she goes again,” an agitated voice snags your attention, brows furrowing, “always acting like the little victim.”

Not granted the chance to realize, in a flash, just as quick as you turned your head, rough hands grab you by the curve of your shoulders, throttling you against the chilled wall pavement.

Earning a hiss, and a gasp, stinging pain births and stretches along the muscles of your spine. Quickly, your fingers fruitlessly try to claw at Carol’s, but all it does is make her more enraged.

Carol thrashes you once more against the wall, and another for good measure; airy gasps of pain escapes you, tears beading at your lashes. That militant discipline seeps from her pores, it’s not a stranger to you, the rough edges of her touch is a familiar bruise.

“It may have worked with the rest of the world,” Carol barks in your face, nose to nose, “but it’s not going to work with me.”

Sniffling, your chin wobbles, trying to restrain a sob that burns your throat raw.

Carol hums, that tut of a sympathetic mother, “Look at us.” Her thumbs rubbing your shoulders, pressing on the blooming bruises. “I don’t like it when we fight.

Eerily, she influcates from predator to savior, “You always get erratic, and you know it upsets me.” Leaning in, her pink lips press a kiss on a falling tear.

“Where’s my special girl?” Carol whispers. Fear is beating inside of you, buzzing as tv static. Staring at Carol through your hooded lids, terrified, and confused.

Carol purrs, awaiting for an answer.

“I’m here.” Barely a murmur, you speak softly.

Carol thrives off of her aggression. But it’s not the traditional masculinity that some women possess in their personalities. She feels it’s the only gift her father ever gave her.

“It’s very cute that you try to fight me.” Carol mocks, her knuckles stroke your cheek. Carol hums, her eyes tracing over every facial feature.

“Let me see if she missed me.”

A string of no no no slip from you meekly.

One of Carol’s hands graze over your shoulder, twirling her fingers into your hair—- gripping between her fingers tightly. To then cup the nape of your neck, her thumb pressing slightly over your pulse point.

As she has you pinned by the scruff, her other hand flows down your cavlices, to your clothed breast—- she snags the collar to expose skin.

Groping a handful of your tit, she mutters still so soft, traveling down the path of your navel—- with a quick precision, Carol snatches your groin; more like clawing.

A sharp gasp escapes you, and all she does is laugh.

A quick glance at the end of the hallway, praying that nobody turns the corner. Carol snickers. “Afraid someone will catch us?” You exhale a huff, nose flaring.

“I remember you used to be quite adventurous.”

“That’s when I was young and stupid.”

Her eyes narrow, pinching your vagina in her hand even tighter. With her knee, she wedges her thigh between your shaky legs, spreading you more open.

Slithering her hand through the stitched fabric, her knuckles stroking your sensitive skin. Your breathing becomes heavier, and all she does is smirk.

Moving your panties to the side, Carol’s makes herself home to your body. Ashamed to feel yourself grow wet, and Carol moans.

“It seems she missed me.”

All unbridled frustration hits the hilt, you cry in a stretched whine, thrashing in her hold. In need to escape, you wanted to go home, away from her.

All these weeks of trying to flee from her, do the right thing to gain custody, to live a good life, give your daughter stability —- all of it goes down the drain by her simple touch.

Beating on her arms with fists, slapping and trying to knee her in a weak spot. Carol’s eyes darken—- as if she’s bored of the insolence.

Carol pushes her weight onto you, pinning to the wall. And her fingers don’t cease on her assault.

“I hate you.” You choke on a wail, your head tilting up as a child.

“I’ve saved you.” An expert circular motion of her fingertips, sending a jolt to your bundle of nerves.

“Who else can say that?” Carol leans in, her head tilting, as her lips meet your cheek.

Softly, she kisses you, caressing and grazing against the skin of your cheek.

“I took care of you, and you just want to leave?” Carol’s pink tongue slithers between her lips, licking and nibbling. Boldly, her fingers dove between your folds, playing with your wetness.

“You wanted a savior, baby, I’m it.” The bridge of Carol’s nose traces yours, humming at the wet sensation of your tears. “You were nothing before me—-” another finger plunging inside you, “—- and you will be nothing after me.”

“I — I — would rather be alone.” You say with a stammer, lips wet with tears. Mouth curling into a brave scowl, regaining some bravery, “I’ll be fine.”

Carol’s face leans a little back, tilting her head mockingly. “When I say nothing after me, I mean it—-” Carol’s teeth bare as fangs, “you’ll be buried six feet deep, before I let you go.” Her fingers grip the nape of your neck, tugging you in.

“No one can ever have you.” She whispers.

Your eyes are owlish, you don’t doubt her…. her time in the boot camp was extensive, you felt her trained strength many times—- she loves like a knife. Many bruises healed over the years.

Not brutal beatings, but very handsy.

A glimmer of fear suffocates you, your body keels as a leashed dog.

Her fingers slither against your peach fuzz, slipping between your mound, toying with your wetness. Splitting your velvety folds apart, Carol vulgarly strokes you with her fingers sloppily, staining the hem of your panties.

Carol grinds herself onto your thigh, you can feel a wet spot pooling at her silk panties. Your fingers are digging into her forearms. A rough dance of humping and grinding, both reaching for a high.

Your wet walls can’t help but suck her inside, clenching tight. Fiercely plunging in and out—— it’s been some time. Since the last time, you were touched. It’s bordering on painful, a bit tight.

You did entertain another for a while. A woman you met at a bar. Short dark chestnut hair, a soft posh english accent, a bold yet cheeky mouth. She said her name was G’iah, you never met anyone with such a name.

Despite the attraction, the idea of offering yourself physically was too overwhelming. But, the emotional energy was wonderful. It was a breath of fresh air.

You just couldn’t bring yourself to love another.

Skin screaming for touch, yet your heart is trying to fight back. The flesh only reminisces the good, but all the hurtful memories are chained to your mind.

Carol’s mouth ajar, hovering over the meat of your cheek. Your face scrunches, eyes tight, a whine boils at your throat. She breathes a chuckle. She always finds amusement in your misery.

Carol loves to play God—- the Old Testament God. In the carnal sense, and in spite. Worship her, and only need her, obey every command, but commit a sin—- and she shall see to it, that her pettiness will rule over your life.

Her fingers spread, your slick connects to her fingertips, flickering the gossamer thin threads between her expert fingers, diving into you.

Her teeth grazes your cheek, her warm breath cascading against your mouth. Torn between closing your thighs to stop her, or thrust your hips into her hand.

Carol’s tongue slips out, and kitten licks your parted lips. Her pink tongue licks your canines, inhaling your breath. Sweet scent of liquor coats your tongue, Carol suckles into her mouth, moaning at the taste.

A lewd pop comes from Carol pulling back on your tongue, as her fingers curl harsher. Bordering on pain, the pleasure is electric. Pulsing through you, as her thumb toys with your swollen clit.

Her moans are animalistic, you can feel her pussy splitting, a sensation of silk and waxed bare skin. Her clit is grinding fully onto your thigh. It feels so damn good.

A part of you wants her to cum on you. To use you.

Carol’s face tilts away from yours. Her brown eyes swirl with malice, narrowing for a split moment. A smile stretches.

“Kamala would be so hurt to lose her mommy—” Carol’s words earn a mean eye from you, but all she does is laugh humorlessly. “How could you abandon our child?”

Like a stab to your heart, Carol just twists the edge deeper. Her fingers still deep inside you, clenching in need for her to finish— to get you right at the precipice.

“I would never leave Kamala,” you speak with a strain, a rough slice at your throat. “I love her.” Bordering on pleading, your eyes water-sunk.

“Then why do you make her cry?”

“What?”

“Every night she asks why her mom isn’t home,” Carol leans more of her weight on your belly. Her fingers fucking you harshly, hitting that sweet spot so perfectly. Your juices are now soaking down her hand.

“She cries till she falls asleep. She thinks you hate her.”

Torn between rutting your hips into her palm, grinding and fucking her fingers as if it was one of Carol’s toys —- and the need for space, to free yourself from these clutches.

Salty tears fall to your wrinkling lips, shaking from silent tears.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Carol says, her voice smooth and affectionate. Her lips pouted, “We can be together again.” Her shiny blonde hair kisses her lashes, in the grainy city lights, she looks innocent.

“Don’t you want to be a family again?”

She pushes her fingers further, slowly playing with your clit— and then stops, edging you. She can feel your spongy walls nearly spasming. Carol knows how to play the strings of your flesh.

Damn her.

“I do.” Your voice gurgles in a sob.

You know she’s tricking you… and you enjoy it.

In some deep seeded—- an absolutely fucked —- part of you, relishes in it. Because it’s all you know. But, it’s that glimmer of tenderness, the kisses, and honeyed words that pulls you back in.

Back to mutilate yourself on her knife over and over again. And isn't that what love is? Carol would say, time and time again, after the dust settles from her fits of rage.

Wet squelching floods your ears, echoing throughout the empty hallway. Your hand trails to her waist, gripping her dress, roughly grazing the smooth skin of her waist.

Legs entangled, and Carol’s thrusts are getting faster, sloppy. Her moans are getting high-pitched, away from primal and more girlish.

You cling to her, in this moment, you just need to feel anything. And you know she needed it too.

A burst of euphoria, hanging onto each other, as if both would fall apart. Carol felt it, how you spasmed on her fingers. Clenching so tight, trapping her hand for a moment.

Bated breaths dance against each other, hair flying by the breeze of huffing. Yours are gasps of relief.

In a desperate plea, you reach for a kiss, but Carol pulls away.

“I hope you learned something …” Carol hisses, her fingers stroking between your slippery folds, agitating your over-stimulated clit. The meat of your thigh quivers, tailbone pinching as you try to mesh into the wall, far from her.

Carol takes her fingers out, leaving behind an empty feeling—- like a void. Without blinking, Carol unabashedly suckles on her two fingers, tasting you.

“I hope you make the right decision.” Carol whispers against her tips. Pulling her warm weight off of your bodice, a chill sweeps against the tepid sense of your belly.

Carol hums for a moment with a stony face. She tugs on the collar of your dress, the top of your bosom exposed —- it was a stiff gesture.

Without a word, Carol posed her spine, and walked away, a snide side-eye.

Leaving you behind with an ache between your thighs, love bites across your chest, and fresh bruises. Left behind in the chilled hallway, and in wrinkled attire —- as if you were a used whore.

Your head falls, crying into your chest. Your fingers pulling your dress down, your inner thighs tender. Your fingertips touch the wet spot Carol left behind near your knee.

A pause.

It’s wrong, but you crave her taste. Suckling your fingertips into the cave of your mouth.

You can still smell her fragrance lingering—- and yet, you crave it, hoping it clung to your dress.

Timid footfalls carry you through the high-end residential hallway. Bated breath, and in wrinkled clothes, you lift and loosely drop your luggage in your grip. Pacing back and forth, trying to salvage any scrap of courage to knock.

Your head is bowing down, chin to chest. A stop in-front of the door. The reasoning motivating your surrender blurs—- is it for Kamala only, or is it also that a loyal dog who always forgives?

A silent white flag has been waived.

A lonely dog always comes back.

Dull steps creep closer, syncing with the beat of your heart. One unlock, and another follows. Defeat seeps from your pores, a bone-rattling warning siren echoing in the rush of your ears.

The door knob slowly twists, as if she’s mocking you. But not a second more, the door creaks open. Green eyes blink back with mirth, and a smile.

No words are needed.

Carol hums, stroking your hair, fingers gliding down the terrain of your neck, guiding you inside by the nape of your neck.

Awaiting on the bed is a silk nightie, and skincare, curated by Carol’s choice. Pristine, wrinkled-free silk. Not one flaw in sight.

She knew you would come back. A cocky woman, and yet she’s never wrong. A stir of irate coils in your belly, but it’s snuffed before it can disrupt.

In the dark, you tip-toe down the hall. Elated and relieved, it felt like a century crept by, but it was only a week of separation.

Weekends weren’t enough. You needed to see her everyday.

Brown fingers slowly grasp at the knob, twisting open. The white walls are adorned by the flash of a night light that glows small stars glimmering against the ceiling.

A room of action figures, anime, music posters and a wall dedicated to her drawings. That familiar scent that never really went away, that baby smell that clung to her as an infant.

Kneeling into her bed, curling under the blanket. Legs curling underneath you, knees bent, as you caress Kamala’s scalp, furling her hair behind the shell of her ear. Your brown fingers melt into the onyx shine of her tresses.

Her sleepy cheeks puffed, she looks like a sleeping cherub. Silently, tears cascade against the hill of your nose, staining the pillow sheet.

For months, you’ve tried to conjure ideas on how to run away from this life with Kamala, but all your ideas end up in the possible reality of being arrested with charges of kidnapping, and never seeing your daughter again.

The truth of the matter is -— you will crawl skin bare in the deepest parts of hell just for her. Suffering silently in these marital ruins, for the sake of being able to raise your only child, is what you will do.

You don’t know what you want with Carol —- you don’t have anything else to offer as a wife, besides submitting your entire being as a sacrificial offering.

It’s all she ever wanted. Wholesome love is seen as a defect in Carol’s eyes, a trait taught to her by her father. Control over everything is what brings her peace. And being cared for is what brings you solace.

The only person in the world Carol doesn’t unleash her wrath upon, who she adores entirely, is Kamala. Never once has Carol raised her voice, nor her hand at Kamala.

It’s disturbing, to see Carol be so genuine in her affections.

But, you’re ever so grateful. Despite being a masochist, under all the rubble harboring in your cavity— is a little girl suffocating for tenderness. For anything, just for someone to hold her.

Carol is a peculiar creature, and yet she has driven you to the brink of madness over the last stretched months, because she can’t bear to lose you —-- that has to mean something, right?

But as you lay here, wallowing in the dead silence, staring at Kamala slumbering —-a thought came to you; a lingering fear. Paranoia gnawing at you, chewing away bit by bit.

You wouldn’t want Kamala to suffer like this one day.

#widowsofchaos wrote this #carol danvers x reader #dark Carol Danvers x reader #carol danvers x female reader #dub non con #dark elements #lesbian Carol Danvers

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patscorner · 7 months

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SILVER LININGS PART1

Summary: Amari Hansley and her twin brother, Anthony Hansley's friendship with the Sturniolos is stronger than ever. But what happens when tragedy strikes Mari's household, and causes emotions to rise, as well as feelings for one of her closest friends?

TW: mentions of a hospital, mentions of death, mentions of depression, mentions of panic attacks, and anxiety. Nothing too much, no depictions, just implications. Not bad, it's only the beginning 🙃

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"Anthony, put some pep in your fucking step, Jesus. We're gonna be late." Amari yelled from downstairs. It was already 7, school started in 30 minutes, and it was a 25-minute drive. They were gonna need to stop by the office for a tardy slip.

"Shut the fuck up! I'm moving as fast as I fucking can." Anthony shouted back, as he stuffed his computer into his backpack.

"Why are you guys yelling? Your mom is asleep." Mr. Hansley spoke softly as Anthony ran down the stairs.

"How is she doing today, Dad?" Anthony asked as he bent down and tied his shoes, grumbling as he fucked up the first knot.

Mr. Hansely sighed. "Not too bad. She's doing better."

For some background, Mrs. Hansley has Huntington's disease, which is when nerve cells in the brain start to break down. It's a progressive disease, and while it was slow at first, it escalated quickly. She and her husband told the twins about a year ago, and they were heartbroken. While she could undergo treatment to slow it, it was incurable, especially because they caught it too late.

As if that wasn't enough, their dad seemed to take it the hardest, even while they were all struggling. He felt like he was nothing without his partner in crime, and the thought of her not being there with him scared him so much.

He'd stopped going to work, forcing Anthony and Amari to get jobs so they could take care of the house and food, and he'd get unemployment money to pay for the hospital bills. They were 16.

Over the weeks, Mr. Hansley spent most of his time at the hospital, staying with his wife. He didn't eat unless the twins forced him to. And he didn't shower until he was forced out by the nurses. Their grandfather helped out a little, but not much as he lived two hours away.

Meanwhile, Amari, who was the oldest of the two, drove her and her brother back and forth from the Sturniolos. She thought it'd be better not to let Anthony shut everyone else out. He never failed to shut everyone out during an episode after seeing his mom. He'd lock himself in his room, and he wouldn't eat, drink, or shower. He'd get all in his head, and he'd let his thoughts take over.

It was either that, or he'd take it out on Amari. She was the only other person he could. He was angry. Angry with his dad, for forgetting about his kids, angry with his mom, for leaving, even if it wasn't her fault. He was never angry with Amari. There was just nobody else he could yell at, so it was often misdirected. He knew she tried so hard to be strong for him. Even though they were only 4 minutes apart, he looked up to her. She was his rock, kept him grounded when he needed, often pushing her problems and feelings aside for his.

Amari, on the other hand, was struggling just as much as Anthony. She couldn't count how many times she'd cried herself to sleep because even though she and Anthony were the same age, she was still the big sister. She was the backbone, the one who kept it all together. She'd bottle up everything, then every once in a while, she'd fall apart in her bathroom at 2am.

Amari's schedule was always full. She went to school, then immediately after went to work for eight hours, then spent the rest of her time at the hospital. On her off days, she spent it with Matthew Sturniolo. Her best friend, or one of them. Matt had two brothers, and they were triplets, so they were a package deal.

Chris, the youngest of the three, was Anthony's best friend. He kept Anthony grounded as well, calling him out for the stupid shit he'd do and say to Amari, but he was also one of his biggest supporters.

Amari was closest with Matt and Nick. They'd walked up to her one day in 5th grade, asking her for a pencil in sync, and they've all been friends every since.

Even though she was friends with all of them, she and Matt instantly clicked. They went everywhere together, and they told each other everything. They had so much in common, anxiety, love for nature, their style, their music taste, and their humor. They actually let each other speak, unlike Nick and Chris.

And that's how it was for years. Matt and Amari, Anthony and Chris, and Nick. Even though some were closer than others, they made sure to make sure Nick was never left out. He distanced himself, but that all changed when he came out.

So then things went back to normal, and Matt and Amari were still best friends, 6 years later. So during her panic attacks, she'd call Matt, who talked her through them. Since he related to how scary and uncomfortable they were, it was easy for him to tell her what helped him. Mostly, he could do it through the phone, but sometimes, he'd have to drive to the house and call up Anthony to unlock the front door.

They never had to worry about Mr. Hansley finding out because he spent most of his nights at the hospital with his dying wife.

Since Mrs. Hansley was improving, according to the doctor, she was able to come home for a little bit. "Let's go say goodbye." Amari sighed, reaching for Anthony's hand, helping him up.

"Just... be quiet and quick... please." Mr. Hansley spoke quickly, fiddling with his fingers. All this sickness made him so anxious and quite jumpy.

Amari nodded, leading Anthony to the guest, which is where her mother stayed, because she couldn't really make it up the stairs. Amari slowly opened the door, the smell of the hospital must've came with all the equipment.

There, her mother lay, hooked up to NG tube and a heart rate monitor. She was asleep, and soft snores could be heard leaving her mouth.

Anthony looked down, fighting the instant tears that filled his eyes when he saw his mom. Amari reached for his hand, rubbing his knuckles almost instantly.

"Come on, you can do it." She whispered, leading Anthony to Mrs. Hansley. He complied, slowly following his older sister.

"Hey Mom, we love you. We'll see you after school." Amari spoke softly, not wanting to wake her. Anthony nodded. "Love you, Mom." He voice cracking as tears threatened to fall.

He reached for his mom's hand, rubbing her knuckles gently. She stayed asleep, and he smiled at her peaceful state. At least she wasn't in pain.

"Okay, we gotta go. We're gonna be late." Amari spoke, rubbing Anthony's shoulder.

"We're always late." He grumbled as he walked towards the door.

Amari chuckled as she closed the door behind her. "I know, but come on."

And with that, the twins walked out of the house and began their day. They had most of their classes together, except for one: World History.

Amari had every class with either Matt, Nick, or Chris, so she was always with one of her best friends. There were other people too, but they weren't nearly as close as the Sturniolo and the Hansley's were.

As the day progressed, Amari felt a sudden wave of anxiety come over her, just after lunch. She walked into the World History classroom, trying to pinpoint where the emotion stemmed from.

"Hey bitch, so you remember that guy I was talking too? Yeah, he asked me on a date -" Nick sat down next to Amari, immediately rambling about some guy who wasn't good enough for him.

Amari nodded along, not really listening, just trying to figure out where the daunting fear came from. Her leg bounced as her thoughts raced. She was terrified, and she didn't know why.

She was consumed in her thoughts that she didn't even notice that Matt came in and sat down next to her. She only noticed when he put his hand in her bouncing thigh. Butterflies brushed her thoughts to the side, and her face instantly turned red.

"Hey, Mari, did you hear me?" Matt asked softly. She looked up, finally being pulled from her thoughts.

She looked at Nick, who was staring at her. Suddenly, she felt embarrassed, not hearing a single thing that was going on.

"No, I didn't, sorry. What'd you say?" She said, quickly.

"Are you okay?" Matt asked, his blue eyes trained on her brown ones. Mari nodded, trying to convince herself as well.

"Yeah... yeah, I'm good, sorry. What were you saying, Nick?" She turned to Nick, who smiled, continuing his rant.

She glanced at Matt, who was looking at her with worry, unconvinced at her answer. It was foolish from Amari to think she could lie to him. He knew her better than he knew himself. She was his best friend.

The bell rang, and the class continued as normal, the teacher asking for everyone's homework and then writing notes on the board.

Suddenly, the loud speaker clicked on, and a voice rang through.

"Can Amari and Anthony Hansley please gather your things and report to the office? That's Amari and Anthony Hansley. Please get your things and report to the front office." And with that, the speaker clicked off.

Matt, Nick, and as well as everyone else's eyes turned to Mari, causing her to feel uncomfortable. "What'd you do?" Matt asked, half-jokingly.

She shrugged as she packed her bag, her hands shaking as her anxiety spiked once more. Nick and Matt sent her a 'good luck' look, and she sent them a small smile.

She said her goodbyes before walking to the office, her heart dropping as she saw her grandfather and her brother waiting for her.

"No." Was all she could say, as she followed them out.

______________________________

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chaosverseline · 11 months

Text

Imu sama as monkey d luffy great grandmother

I had a crazy idea

It a mixture of a lot of one piece theories regarding luffy’s family.

First off , Instead of imu sama being luffy’s mom.I am making imu sama as luffy’s great grand “mother”.

Why?

Because here is how it works,

Imu sama is the immortal ruler of the world government (pronouns are them and they. despite this they prefer female fashion),But secretly yearns for freedom , but can’t because of the responsibility of running the government.

Quoting from a Reddit post, “To make it simple: Imu ……..related to ya boi Joy Boi and because she is a a ruler she Needs to act like one in front of everyone….”

Imu sama may not be able to experience “full freedom”. however ,when they did have free time ,they would traveled around the world and go sightseeing in a disguise.

During this they met a young man named……….

……..xebec d rocks.

Yes that rocks.

But during this time ,rocks isn’t a pirate yet.

Or maybe he was just starting out .

What happens between imu and rocks was what started out as a friendship ,Then to lovers and yeah they banged.

Resulting a adorable baby girl ,The princess of Mary geoise. For now, we call her “Yriaf” for simplicity sake.

After Yriaf birth, rocks loves his daughter but still left to continue his pirate career.Which made imu bitter and harbor a grudge against pirates.

Imu and xebec broke up and went on to their separate ways,Imu takes Yriaf with them,But allows xebec to call from den den mushi ,writes letters and sent presents to their daughter ,Using a cipher pol agent (who swore secrecy )to deliver the mail.

Yriaf grew up to be a kind and benevolent woman despite being the princess of Mary geoise. She disliked the attitude of the celestial dragons and slavery. She treats people like her equal and tries her best to free the slaves and help treat/heal/nurse the injure/sick ones until they are healthy to go home or stay with her (she would pay them with wages)if they don’t have a place to stay.Sadly, she was banned from buying more than six slaves per month by imu sama

Imu sama didn’t do this to be cruel,They are worried about Yriaf getting the wrong people’s suspicions. Imu sama honesty didn’t like the whole slavery system ,But the majority of the world nobles wanted this and imu have to go along. otherwise imu will become unpopular and risk getting deposed or worse case scenario,Getting Killed.

As much power imu has,Imu can’t protect Yriaf if all the world nobles voices their disapproval (Kinda like Garp’s situation ).

because of this ,Imu is strict with their daughter.Eventually Yriaf ran off to her father’s ship to get some fresh air from the royalty business. There she met her father’s crew and develop a relationship with one of the crew mates. Rocks is fine with it,after a long shovel talk.

Imu sama,However…… is a total different story.

Imu straight up disapproves.

But there is nothing imu can do, Other than sending cipher pol assassins to watch but not kill the crew mate who caught their sweet daughter’s eyes.

Yraif marries the crew mate,Whose name is Edward Newgate,Yes that Newgate.

Their child would eventually be known as crocodile.

Yes that crocodile.

Then imu noticed changes in rocks as the years goes by,How by each passing year,Xebec getting even more crueler and unhinged, starting to have bloodthirsty ambitions thanks to his devil fruit that messed up his brain, until imu can no longer recognized the man they had used to loved.

For now,Xebec’s sanity is barely keeping together thanks to his paternal love for their daughter .But imu is not taking any chances if one day xebec snaps and cause irreversible harm to his own crew and potentially to imu’s family. Besides,Imu is still mad about xebec choosing career over them and the lack of child support other than toy stuff animals and unhealthy snacks. Yes ,imu can be petty like that.

So imu hires a hit on xebec, saying xebec is a terrorist threat and a crazy manic. Then sends a message to the elders to inform the world government of this dangerous individual.

Battle of god valley happens and imu takes back Yriaf. Gives her a decision to either take crocodile and never met up with Edward again or hand the custody of crocodile to Edward and forbids yriaf from meeting them again, save for one day per 5 years. Imu allows for calling via den den mushi for during the whole time but that’s it .

The princess chose the 2nd option and tearfully waved good bye to her love and child.

Years pass, crocodile left the white beard pirate crew and joins the revolutionary. Also get knocked up by monkey d dragon.

When Imu founds out , they are not pleased , But At least they gotten a great grand child out of it.

His name is ……

Monkey d luffy.

Pure Chaos.

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abarbaricyalp · 2 months

Note

Ooh okay, "listening to someone’s heartbeat" for SamBucky, please 👀

Laughs evilly

It had been a long time since Bucky had prayed a Rosary. He wasn't actually Catholic. The Rogerses were, not the Barneses. He wasn't really anything, to be honest. But the old set of prayers had come back to him unbidden when he'd seen Sam go down with the building. When he'd thrown himself onto the rubble and started to dig by hand, the rocks beneath his fingers had become prayer beads and each one was a Hail Mary that he'd find Sam in one piece and breathing.

It wasn't just that the building had come down. The entire ground beneath it had opened up and swallowed everything on top of it--righteous, glorious heroes included. And Bucky had had to watch it happen from dozens of meters back, too fucking far away to do anything about it.

Each rock-bead and prayer was accompanied by a litany of Sam's name. Bucky had definitely said Sam's name like a prayer before. And a curse. But more often a prayer. He wasn't sure he'd ever meant it as desperately as he did now.

The Hail Marys lost lines until Bucky's own pleas became nothing more than Sam come back to me Sam come back to me Sam come back to me Sam come back to me Sam come back--

He found, unbelievably, the star of Sam's suit first. He'd already scuffed his fingers raw, so he didn't really care about more damage as he began hauling rocks away almost faster than he could move. He kept losing his footing--his kneeling?--as he worked, but there was Sam, coming out of the cave, back into the world of the living. Bucky unshrouded his face, got a hand beneath his neck and lifted him out of the rest of the rubble.

The skidding and sliding down all of the rock Bucky had just displaced was not graceful and he was going to have bruises and gashes up and down his legs, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything except the man in his arms who wasn't reacting to being out in the sunlight again.

"Sam," Bucky prayed again, familiar plea starting up in his heart and head once more. "Sam, it's okay. You're okay. Stay with me, alright? You came back. You came back. You're alright."

Upon flat ground, he laid Sam out and immediately put his ear down to Sam's chest, checked his pulse at his wrist, and then his neck. He could feel it. Knew Sam's heart must be beating, but he couldn't hear it.

"Hey!" he called without lifting his head from Sam's chest. "Hey! I need medical! I need everyone!"

He clung onto Sam's hand between both of his, folded together like that actually made prayer work, and kept praying to Sam to come back.

. . .

Bucky was very good at getting into places he shouldn't be, even when everyone in a hospital was aware he was going to attempt to get into that place. Usually people left him alone when it was Sam. They were supposed to know that he was family and Sam was his and there weren't arguments about this.

But they were far from their usual stomping grounds and Sam had needed immediate stabilization, so this wasn't a team he knew. Instead, he'd had to break the lock on the door and let himself in during the 35 second lull of the nurse going to investigate the vending machine that had not changed once again.

Sam was in a good bed. Of course he was. He was Captain America. They'd cleared half the floor for him, which Sam would hate when he woke up. There were machines doing important things. Bucky knew what they all were, but he was letting himself focus on the panic and dread taking up most of the space in his head right then.

He pushed the door shut again and drew down the privacy screen a little. It would not stop people from seeing him, but that wasn't really his problem at this point.

Beside Sam's bed, he carefully checked his pulse, the bandages around his head and the early casting on, like, everything. He checked through the bag of belongings set aside on a chair. Then he carefully let himself into the bed, because there was enough room, held himself very still and taut so he didn't put any weight on Sam whatsoever, and laid his ear over Sam's chest again.

This time, he heard his heartbeat, sure as a prayer.

. . .

Sam woke up to pain that was very far away, but also persistent and rude. It made the warm weight on his chest that much more concerning. He was pretty sure if the pain was that far away, everything else should be too. His hand, as he tried to raise it to feel out what was on his chest, certainly felt far away. Like his arm was long, long, long and trapped in a black hole.

"What?" he asked, when he gave up on raising his hand. There was supposed to be more to the sentence, but the pain in his throat was much closer than the rest of it. Tears sprung up to his eyes from the impossible sandpaper burn of speaking. The tears then burned the hell out of his eyes, which felt like he'd poured sand directly into them.

This was not ideal.

"I'm listening to your heartbeat," a familiar voice said. And it was like daylight at the end of a tunnel. Sam knew where he was now. Well, not fully, but Bucky was beside him, so could it really be that bad?

Sam nodded. Bandages scruffed along a pillow behind him. He wondered if talking was any better now. "Is it--" he started, but grimaced and tried to jerk away from the fresh onslaught of pain.

The warm weight on his chest was gone, but a straw was against his lips just a few seconds later, so that wasn't so bad. He swallowed cool water down carefully. It tasted like straight tap. He wondered if Bucky would sneak in a filter for him. Still, the relief was pretty instantaneous. They really needed to figure out a better form of intubation.

"Is it still there?" he finished. It still hurt his throat something fierce, but while that was hurting, he figured he'd try to open his eyes instead. A room swam into bleary view, but Bucky wasn't there.

The weight returned to his chest. Sam closed his eyes again.

Without Bucky laying on it now, Sam was able to lift his hand up to Bucky's hair and kind of pet through it. It got exhausting after half a second, so he just left his hand there instead.

"Yeah," Bucky whispered after a while. Sam almost forgot what he'd asked. "It's still there."

And between beats, Sam could hear Bucky whispering thank you thank you thank you.

#sambucky #bucky barnes #sam wilson #i answer things #writing

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fairy-writes · 2 months

Text

PETRICHOR AND LEATHER JACKETS

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): NBC Grimm

Pairing(s): Nick Burkhardt x Reader

Word Count: 0.6k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships, Reader is implied to be shorter than Nick

Notes: This is right after Juliette falls into a coma at the end of season 1

Just something short because I’m slowly burning out again

__________________________________________________________________________

You meet Nick at the hospital.

He had called you late into the night, babbling about magic and Juliette and comas. It was clear he needed someone with a clear head, so you dressed quickly and met him at the hospital.

Detective Nick Burkhardt paced the hallway of the hospital as the team of medical personnel worked to stabilize his girlfriend. He was soaked with rain and smelled of petrichor as you approached him.

He tugged at the ends of his hair and ran his hands through the wet locks, as he always did when he was anxious or frustrated. You gently stopped him from tugging his hair out and drew him into a hug. His leather jacket was just as wet as the rest of him, but his arms were tight, and you could feel his heart thundering in his chest.

“How is she?” You ask, and he shrugs, looking toward her room where a nurse checks her vitals.

“She’s stable. I think. The doctor hasn’t told me much other than he’s not sure what caused the coma without some tests. They’re just keeping her comfortable for now.” He says, emotionless, quiet, not at all like himself. You fit yourself into your friend’s side, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders as if you were his lifeline.

Any random person passing by would’ve thought you were a couple. But you knew that wasn’t the case. He was your best friend. Your rock. And you were his. You helped him adjust to the Grimm world as someone who wasn’t a Grimm nor a wesen but knew of both. In fact, you practically grew up together at the insistence of Aunt Marie.

“This is my fault,” He says bitterly, and you hush him gently. You had known of his desire to tell Juliette of the Grimm world and even encouraged it! You knew of Adalind. You knew practically everything that went on in his head. It was the perk of knowing him for two decades.

“You know that’s a lie. It was that witch’s Adalind’s fault and no one else’s.” You say vehemently, and he stares at you for a moment before hanging his head and chuckling.

“Thanks.” He mumbles, and you grin, reaching up to tangle your hand with his to lead him out to the car.

“You gave your number to the hospital, right? They’ll call you if anything changes. And you need sleep,” You say, putting up your umbrella as the two of you step back into the rain.

The sound of pattering drops on the umbrella helps calm you, and by proxy, it helps calm Nick. His shoulders release their tension until he’s bantering back and forth, just like old times.

The two of you stop when you reach Nick’s beat-up old car.

“Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all. Name it, and I’ll do it.” You say as he stands with his driver’s side door open. He hesitates, and you arch an eyebrow.

“Can… Can I have another hug? Please?” He sounds broken and oh so small. Your heart breaks just as his voice does.

“Oh Nick… You know you never have to ask. You whisper and pull him into a tight embrace, foregoing your umbrella and letting it tumble to the asphalt of the hospital parking lot.

The Grimm returns the affection just as readily. His arms go around your waist just as you pull him down by his shoulders. He buries his face in your hair, and you don’t even care that you’re slowly getting soaked by the still-falling torrent of rain.

You pull away, hands on his shoulders, as you look him in the eye,

“Everything will work out, Nick. I promise.” You say, and he just smiles.

#nick burkhardt x reader #grimm x reader #nbc grimm x reader #grimm nbc #nick burkhardt #grimm #grimm nick #fairy writes

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cowgirlcasanova · 4 months

Text

my favorite pass time is listening to bluegrass/folk music and even some classic rock, pretending that i wrote the songs and imagining that im some doomed by the narrative, runaway, wannabe singer running with the gang.

imagining sitting around the campfire while javier plays guitar, me singing the songs “that i wrote”, reading them from the many scribbled lines i have in a small old beaten up journal. genuinely feeling happy and at peace, having some kind of an audience for the first time even if it’s just them.

begging sadie to play the harmonica on a song, sean’s loud drunken singing when he thinks he knows the chorus after hearing it once-throwing his arm around lenny aggressively swaying him, giving karen an old tambourine, mary beth trying to get someone to dance with her, looking over and seeing even arthur is barely tapping his boot to the beat, charles sitting there in quiet peace while delicately working on his arrows. abigail dancing with young jack, john sitting around absentmindedly patting his knee to the beat, nursing a beer, his sights set only on jack and abigail. the quiet peace that descends over the camp.

- bonus points if the song you’re listening to has any modern references in it and you have to change the lyrics in your head to match up with the era of 1899.

#rdr2 #rdr2 community #red dead redemption 2 #sadie adler #arthur morgan #john marston #charles smith #rdr2 john #rdr2 arthur

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grailfinders · 4 months

Text

Grailfinders #341: Mary Anning

hey y’all! would you like-a talk-a dino? no? too bad, here’s Mary Anning anyway. she’s an arcane trickster rogue to sell literal rocks to people at a profit (and get a cool dog), plus a primeval druid to summon a lightning-spitting plesiosaur. and i thought jurassic park was taking liberties…

check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

next up: shouldn’t he be istanbullos by now?

Ancestry & Background

despite having nautiluses for hair, Mary is still a Human, so she gets +1 Dexterity & Intelligence, as well as proficiency in Nature (old nature sure, but still nature) and the Tough feat for an extra 2 HP per level. she also used to be a sickly child before being nursed to health by a literal bolt of lightning yes that’s a thing that happened so she’s definitely being Rewarded by something. that gives her Insight and Persuasion proficiency, as well as the Skilled background for more proficiency in Mason’s Tools, Athletics, and History.

Ability Scores

your Intelligence should be as high as it can go. we don’t actually need it here, but you were the first person to figure out what an Ichthyosaur is (not a dinosaur) and what coprolites are (not something you want to touch bare-handed). second is Wisdom. half the difficulty of paleontology is finding the damn things. the other half is dodging the rockslides, which is why your Dexterity is also pretty high. this does mean your Charisma is lower than I’d like. you’re a fine saleswoman, but you didn’t get a lot of credit for the work you did. this means your Constitution is middling, and your Strength is as low as it gets. thankfully you can just reanimate the fossils now, so carrying them’s a lot easier.

Class Levels

1. Rogue 1: if we want to find fossils, you need to be damn good with a chisel first. also I’m not making the same mistake I made with Galatea, I’m not going to figure out how to have you wield a hammer in one hand and a chisel in the other officially, sorry. on the plus side, no matter how you use that chisel you can still Sneak Attack with it, adding 1d6 to the damage done as long as you have advantage on the attack or another friend next to them. all fossils are restrained (by rock), so you shouldn’t have any issue getting advantage. you also learn Thieves’ Cant, which is really just Cockney. finally, your Expertise in Nature and History will double your proficiency bonus when you make checks about old animals or natural history. suck it, publications!

also as a rogue you get proficiency in Dexterity and Intelligence saves, as well as Deception, Investigation, Perception, and Sleight of Hand, bc god knows you didn’t have enough skills just yet.

2. Rogue 2: second level rogues get a Cunning Action each turn, letting you dash, disengage, or hide as a bonus action. the early paleontologist gets the bone, as the assuredly real saying goes.

3. Rogue 3: we haven’t picked up all your fossil-hunting gear just yet- we still need some explosives, and a dog. thankfully, we can get both of those from being an Arcane Trickster! now you can cast spells using your Intelligence! okay I guess we actually did need that. anyway, your spell list is pretty restrictive, with only one spell that can be freely picked from the wizard spell list. the rest all have to be enchantment or illusion spells.

but before we talk spells, let’s talk Cantrips! Thunderclap will help remove solid rock, while Mold Earth will dig through loose dirt real fast. you also get Mage Hand which comes with its own Legerdemain, and that’s going to be Tray for this build! just have it do the dog shadow puppet thing to really sell the flavor. the original mage hand lasts a minute and is a floating ghost hand/dog that sticks near you, and you can use your action to move it and have it pick up objects, open doors, grab stuff from containers, or pour out liquids. you know, basic dog tricks. the legerdemain makes your dog a little more special, letting it pickpocket people, pick locks, and turn invisible. those are less doglike, but you can do all of those plus the og stuff as a bonus action now too.

as for your spells, Mage Armor will help you not die, Distort Value will help you sell rocks for enough money to live on, and Illusory Script will help you get out of whatever shitty contract super bunyan tried to force on you.

one last thing- you can use Steady Aim to give yourself advantage as a bonus action, so long as you haven’t moved yet and don’t plan on doing so this turn. the rocks are generally stationary, so it should be fine.

okay, okay, the real last thing- your sneak attack deals 2d6 extra damage now. this is what happens when you can afford the good chisels.

4. Rogue 4: fourth level rogues get their first Ability Score Improvement, so improve that Dexterity while you’re here. yes the rocks don’t move much, but you still have to worry about your AC. in the same “not getting hit” vein, you get Color Spray this level. this one’s just pocket sand. blast it in peoples’ faces and they go blind for a round.

5. Rogue 5: fifth level rogues have an Uncanny Dodge. whenever you’d take damage from an attack, you can use your reaction to take half damage instead. ideally you wouldn’t get hit at all, but it’s not like you can afford platemail. speaking of damage though, your sneak attack deals 3d6 damage now.

6. Rogue 6: sixth level rogues get another round of Expertise, so double down on Perception and Persuasion to find and sell fossils.

7. Rogue 7: seventh level rogues learn Evasion, which means every time you have to make a dexterity save you only take half damage on a failure and no damage on a success. your job consisted of going to rockslide mountain during rockslide season but you didn’t die until breast cancer took you out, there’s clearly something going on there.

also you learn Dragon’s Breath. it’s a secret tool that will help us later. for right now, your sneak attack deals 4d6 damage!

8. Druid 1: at level one, druids also learn Spells, which they use their Wisdom to cast. since we’re mixing spellcasters, you’ll have to check the PHB to figure out how many spell slots you have at any one time.

first, cantrips. Shillelagh lets you turn a club into a magical club that uses your wisdom to hit, so I guess if you really want to use a hammer, now you’ll be slightly better at it. you can also use Druidcraft to figure out the weather for today. I don’t know if rockslides count as “weather” exactly, but it doesn’t hurt to try.

as for your spells, druids can prepare spells from their whole list every day, so I highly recommend checking out whatever suits your fancy. the only spell I think is in-character right now though is Faerie Fire. sadly we can’t make it only work for women, but it’ll make it impossible for anyone hit by it to turn invisible, and attacks against them have advantage.

9. Druid 2: second level druids enter a circle, and the Circle of the Primeval was practically made for you! before we get into that we do need to mention your Wild Shape real fast, though you’re not using it if you’re staying in character- I’ll just say for now you could use it twice per short rest. more importantly, you can use those two per rest charges to summon a Primeval Companion instead! with this, you can summon a medium plesiosaurus that you can order around with your bonus action. it can’t swim just yet, but he’s just getting started! (this is where Dragon’s Breath comes back in, now you can have him shooting lightning right out the gate. or yourself, if you want.)

also, as a Keeper of Old, you can add a d4 to your history checks.

(and I will say now that yes, you could use wild shape charges to summon a Wild Companion if you want Tray to be a real dog, but that would mean he’d have an actual HP bar and I’m just not ready to deal with that.)

10. Druid 3: third level druids learn second level spells! Enhance Ability gives you advantage in one kind of ability check of your choice, while Locate Object can help you locate the nearest fossil. it’s kind of like cheating, but fuck it!

11. Druid 4: fourth level druids get a Wild Shape Improvement, so while plesi can’t swim yet, you can. somehow. also your Dexterity goes up again. also also you can cast Guidance now to give yourself or a friend a d4 to their next skill check, for when you really need to sell this next fossil.

12. Druid 5: fifth level druids learn third level spells! Conjure Animals is your go-to for your noble phantasm, letting you summon a bunch of smaller fossils all at one go, but you can also use Elemental Weapon if you want some electrical attacks for yourself too.

13. Druid 6: now that you’re a proper Prehistoric Conduit, you can cast spells as though they came from your plesiosaur. this means you can cast Dragon’s Breath on him without even having to touch him! given that he’s probably in the thick of battle, that’s most likely for the best. also, if he gets caught up in one of your spells, he gets advantage on his save against its damage and evasion for said spell, regardless of what kind of save it is.

14. Druid 7: seventh level druids get fourth level spells, like… actually there isn’t really any I want. maybe Elemental Bane if you can find a non-spell way to deal lightning damage? otherwise just upcast conjure animals.

15. Druid 8: eighth level druids get another WSI, so now you can fly if you want. also you can use your ASI to start improving your Charisma for better sales pitches.

16. Druid 9: ninth level druids get fifth level spells, and while Plessy doesn’t really talk much he’s probably a lot smarter than most dinosaurs, so I still think Awaken is a good pick for him. this’ll make the animal or plant you use it on sentient permanently, and it will be your friend for up to a month. past that point, how it feels about you is up to it.

17. Druid 10: let’s grab Mending real quick before we go into the level, I imagine your clothes probably get torn up pretty often in this line of work. also you now share a Titanic Bond with your living fossil, making it large enough to ride around on and it can finally swim! as a bonus, once per turn you can try and frighten a creature when you hit it with an attack or spell. everyone’s seen jurassic park by this point, they know not to stand near dinosaurs.

18. Druid 11: as we near the end, you can finally grab sixth level spells like Move Earth. for up to two hours after casting, you can reshape dirt, sand, or clay in a 40’ area that can be moved around, with each change taking ten minutes. also worth noting, this doesn’t work on stone or stone structures, so any rock formations might collapse if you use this too much. Make Sure Nothing You Love Is Under the Rocks.

19. Druid 12: use your last ASI to bump up your Charisma again! with a charisma score like that you could even make a 19th century englishman respect… well, literally anyone who isn’t also a 19th century englishman.

20. Druid 13: for our final level you gain access to seventh level spells, but again there aren’t really any I want. sorry to end it on a sour note, but now you can upcast your animal conjuring and lightning breath, so that’s neat!

Pros & Cons

Pros:

druids have access to some powerful aoe spells, and while we only really use Dragon’s Breath in this build, being able to shoot them out of a large creature means you can make those aoes even bigger, for free, and odds are Plesi’s gonna be just fine on top of all that.

as a rogue, you like having people around you. as a druid, you can make people around you. well, dinosaurs. still, everything goes with sneak attack, so you can pretty much guarantee that extra damage whenever you want.

rogues are always great at skill checks, and you take that to a whole new level. as long as you have anything to sell, your party will never have to worry about their budget. also, while we got a lot of skills for buying and selling, most of them are open-ended enough that they can be used for any skill check you want!

Cons:

it takes a while for this build to reach something I’d call a finished state. while it works fine for most of the game, riding around on a plesiosaurus is kind of the dream, and you can’t do that until level 17.

a lot of your spell list is spent on utility spells, and while they aren’t necessarily bad, it’s hard to think of when you’d really want the ability to dig for two hours over say, a fireball. they don’t even break rock, so good luck getting to actual fossils with Mold Earth.

both druid and rogue are pretty greedy classes- they both want you to focus on them as much as possible. because of this, we get neither a big sneak attack bonus nor druid’s busted capstone ability, which is rough. it’s not the end of the world since you’d probably never see any capstone ability used in regular D&D anyway, but still.

#fgo #fate grand order #D&D 5e #DND #Mary Anning #Rogue #Druid

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wheels-of-despair · 7 months

Text

Always Worth It | Ralph Penbury x You | Series Masterlist

Our Sweet Baby Mary Summary: First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the Penburys with a... well, you know the rest. Words: 1.1k

No book, advice from survivors, or horrifying stories from witnesses can prepare you for the pain of giving birth.

But the second the nurse placed your baby in your arms, you knew she was worth it. She was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. An absolute miracle. You could see all the best parts of yourself and Ralph combined on her tiny little face already. You always thought people were full of it when they claimed a baby looked like its parents immediately. But now? You completely understand.

Ralph had fallen for her quicker than he'd fallen for you. He melted the second he laid eyes on her, and had barely let her out of his sight since he'd been allowed back into the room.

You and Ralph had named her Mary. Not just because the ruse would be a fun story to tell her some day, but because you genuinely loved the character and the book she came from. You hoped your own Mary would grow up to be as caring and adventurous and as in love with nature as the one in The Secret Garden.

You'd had three wonderful days to yourselves to recuperate, but due to popular demand, you'd decided to allow visitors today.

Victoria and her mother hadn't stayed long. Victoria seemed entirely uninterested in your little bundle of joy, and Ralph's mother was still bitter that you'd turned down her offer to invite her spiritual advisor to oversee the birth. They'd each held her briefly, out of obligation more than genuine desire to, and taken off to go shopping. Mary seemed unbothered at being passed back and forth, which is more than you could say for yourself. Seeing her in hands other than yours or Ralph's put you on edge. You wondered if that would ever pass.

The introduction of your parents to Baby Mary was a different story. Mary had taken to your father instantly. Isn't it strange how children are such great judges of character? She cooed as he held her, both completely content to just stare at each other. Until your mother cleared her throat and gestured for him to hand her over.

"Did you ever hear from Mary again? The girl from India?" your mother asks, smoothing a ripple out of the blanket wrapped tightly around the baby in her arms.

You, Ralph, and your father each look in a different direction. You know that if any of you makes eye contact right now, you'll lose it.

As if on cue, little Mary begins to fuss, and your mother purses her lips as if she disapproves of this baby-like behavior. You can feel yourself bristle, and it seems like Ralph does too.

"I'll take her," he says, jumping up from his seat on the bed beside you to rescue her from your mother's clutches. Once Mary is back in her daddy's arms, she quiets, and the smile on Ralph's face makes you forget why you were angry a second ago. He rocks her gently by the window, where the sunlight gives them both an angelic glow.

"Have you hired a nanny yet? I don't know how anyone lives without one," your mother sniffs, nose high as she scans your bedroom for imperfections to store in her vault of superiority.

Ralph shoots you a look. You'd agreed that, unlike your parents, you were going to raise your own children. In fact, you were looking forward to it. You'd hired a kind older woman who'd raised six of her own to provide advice and occasional assistance, but you were both determined to do the bulk of the work yourselves. This was your child, and you intended to raise her. Your own mothers had both relied so heavily on the hired help, you barely knew the women who brought you into this world. That was not going to be the case with Mary Penbury, or any of the little Penburys that came later.

"We hired someone to help out occasionally."

Ralph returns to the bed and carefully places Mary back into your arms. He settles in beside you, wrapping a supportive arm around your back and using his free hand to help hold the baby.

"Occasionally? Not full-time? I daresay you'll change your tune on that rather quickly. Children are quite a burden."

How would she know?

"You know, mother, I'm glad you reminded me of my dear friend Mary from India," you say before you even realize you've opened your mouth. Ralph holds his breath beside you. This seems like the perfect time to break the news. "Because there was no Mary from India."

"Pardon?"

"There was no Mary," you grin wickedly. "There was only Ralph. We met in the park. Every day. Alone. Doing whatever we wanted, with no supervision. Mary was a lie. And quite a good one, it seems."

"What?" she spits, the fury swirling on her face like a terrible storm rolling in. You're familiar with this look. You know what's coming.

"Ah, ah, ah," you stop her with a patronizing wag of your finger. "No yelling around our sweet baby Mary. We mustn't hurt her little ears."

You can see your mother's blood pressure rise. The heat blooms from her neck into her face, until finally, the vein on her forehead begins to bulge and pulse. You stare calmly, waiting for the steam to start pouring from her ears. You're not afraid of her anymore.

"Alright dear, let's let this little family spend some time together," your father suggests, a twinkle in his eye as he reaches for his hat.

Your mother shifts her glare from you to him, but reluctantly leaves her chair when he gives her a hard look.

"Congratulations again to you both. She's beautiful," your father says with a genuine smile, despite knowing the terror he'd have to put up with later. "If you need anything at all, I'm only a telephone call away."

"Thank you, sir," Ralph says, standing up to shake his hand.

When the door is closed and it's just the three of you again, Ralph takes his place beside you on the bed. He wraps his arms around you, cradling both you and your little Mary. You lean into him, smiling down at your tiny angel, and a thought occurs to you.

"Ralphie, my love? I fear I may need you to do something for me."

"You know I'd do anything for you," he says softly, chin resting on your shoulder, eyes on the beautiful little person you'd made together.

"Would you please keep putting babies in me until she's too old and frail to yell?"

Ralph tries to stifle his laugh, but being in such close proximity, he shakes the three of you with his silent giggles. When he finally composes himself, he whispers, "Ready whenever you are, love."

#writings of despair #ralph is worth it #ralph penbury #ralph penbury x you #ralph penbury x reader #ralph timewasters #ralph timewasters x reader

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paladin-of-nerd-fandom65 · 2 months

Note

do you have any mari Grayson hcs

Hmmm….

- Her favorite types of music to listen to are usually a healthy of rock n roll, R&B and Pop all the way from the 80s to about the 2010s. In particular she’s fond of Cyndi Lauper, Taylor Swift, Paramore and TLC

- One thing she inherited from Dick when he was little was this habit of sneaking in either her parents’ or more commonly her baby brother’s bedrooms while they’re still asleep, with a marker pen in hand and start doing some doodles in their feet, just as Dick had done to his mother Mary. This especially goes for Dick and Jake due to how soft soled their feet are, a trait they inherited from Mary.

- Speaking of Jake, as typical of siblings, Mar’i and him tend to annoy one another via name teases, making funny faces at each other or even the occasional small prank including swapping each other’s shampoo. That being said, they will defend each other from enemies tooth and nail to make sure the other is safe, stand by each other’s bedside and nurse each other back to health, and yes cuddle in each other’s arms for comfiness.

- As technically Crown Princess of Tamaran, Mar’i has a lot of authority within the Royal Courts and any edicts she wishes to pass with seriousness is treated as the law of the land. She might’ve used this power once to rule that the People of Tamaran are free to use Earthen slang if they feel comfortable without fear of discrimination.

- Jake and her absolutely are spoiled by their Aunt Kom aka Empress Blackfire and Uncle Ry aka Wildfire any time they drop by for a visit. Only God, not even Batman himself, can count the amount of clothes and jewelry Kom gave her niece ever since she was very little to the present.

#mari grayson #dick grayson #koriand'r #jake grayson #mention #mary grayson #the batman #tamaran #komand'r #Ryand'r #sfw

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topguncortez · 2 years

Text

Day 9: The very noisy night ➢prompt: sleeping in shifts ➢character: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw ➢warnings: traumatic birth, mentions of hemorrhaging, mentions of cardiac arrest, lack of sleep, mentions of alcoholism, mentions of trauma, happy-ish ending (jo told me no more unhappy endings. . . for now) ➢word count: 2.2k

|| masterlist || whumptober || whumptober masterlist || library page ||

Bradley had never realized how fragile life could be until the moment his newborn daughter was placed in his arms. Being able to hold a life in his hands was both the scariest and fantastic thing he had ever done. Years of feeling like no one cared, nothing mattered, that it would be so easy to just slip away from everything, to be reunited with the ones that he lost. He had spent nights crying into his pillow, looking at the bottle of pills on his desk, thinking how easily he could end everything. But then he would never get to this moment in his life.

“Bradley, she’s not crying,”

Those words cut through him like a knife as he looked down at the newborn on his wife’s chest. Her skin was a pale gray, and her body was still, as a nurse tried rubbing her back with a towel. Bradley looked up at the nurse, whose face was crumpled in concern as she tried to get the baby to cry.

“Why isn’t she crying?! What’s going on!?”

“We gotta get her to the NICU,” A doctor said, and quickly took their baby away from them. She let out a primal yell as they took her baby from her, and whisked her away. All Bradley could do was hold his wife as she tried to push herself up from the bed to go with their daughter.

“She’s crashing!” A nurse yelled, and BRadley felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Baby?” Bradley looked down at his wife’s lifeless body against his.

“You need to move,” A nurse said, grabbing Bradley’s arm and pulling him away from his wife. He couldn’t even comprehend what was happening as nurses, techs and doctors ran into the room and pushed him out. His mouth had gone dry as he stared at the closed door.

There was a term in the military called “Hurry up and Wait”, something that most members hated. That’s what it felt like at that very moment as Bradley paced the floor of the waiting room, as he waited for a doctor to come and update him on his family. The last glimpses he had was of his daughter not breathing, and his wife dying in his arms. He took a seat, letting out a sigh, and looking at his hands. They shook with anxiety, as he wiped the tears falling from his eyes. Bradley Bradshaw wasn’t sure if he could go through another loss of losing the two people that meant the most to him.

“Mr. Bradshaw?” Bradley picked his head up as he saw his wife and daughter’s doctor, Doctor Carpenter, in front of him. He stood up and had a smile on his face, but it quickly dropped seeing the expression on her face, “Your wife is in recovery, but she is still in a coma, to help her body recover. Your daughter is currently in the NICU.”

“Can I see them?” Bradley asked, and Doctor Carpenter nodded.

A midwife brought Bradley into a room, where his daughter was at. She was still connected to wires and tubes, and her heartbeat was displayed on a monitor. Bradley had never been so happy to hear that annoying beeping sound in his life. The midwife helped him get dressed in a gown and he put a face mask on. He walked over to the rocking chair in the room, as a nurse gathered the small baby from the incubator.

“Alright, be mindful of the tubes,” She said, and handed the small baby to Bradley, “There you go.”

Bradley nodded, not taking his eyes off the small human in his arms, “Hi there,” He said. The nurse left the room, giving Bradley a moment alone, “You’re a strong kid, Caroline. Ya know. . . you look just like grandma Carole, I think it’s the blue eyes.”

It had been three months since the birth of Caroline Marie Bradshaw, and the first day since Bradley and Y/N could bring her home. The doctors were worried about her sleep apnea, and were waiting until she got a little bit stronger before sending her home with her parents. It sucked, it was one of the worst things ever being discharged and not taking his baby home with them. But Bradley and Y/N spent every single day going and visiting Caroline, and would spend the night. Even members of the Dagger Squad would come and sit with Caroline so they could shower or go eat.

“Breaking the munchkin out of jail?” Bradley said, as he walked out of the hospital with his wife. Y/N smiled and looked down at the baby sleeping in her carseat carrier.

“Yeah,” Y/N said, “I’m ready to be home.”

“I am too,” Bradley said, and kissed her forehead, before opening the door to the backseat. He was thankful for all that time he spent practicing taking the carseat in and out of the base. He got the child secure in the car seat, before helping Y/N in. She was still a bit sore from giving birth, but was slowly getting her strength back up.

Bradley drove about 10 miles under the speed limit, and despite Y/N saying he could go faster, he didn’t. Bradley was terrified of bringing Caroline home. At least at the hospital they had doctors and nurses by their side to help them in case something went wrong, but now they were on their own. Y/N seemed to be adjusting to the role of being a parent a lot better than Bradley was. Bradley carried in Caroline, while Y/N carried in her diaper bag.

“Well, this is home, Caroline,” Bradley whispered as he set the carrier down on the floor. He undid the buckles and pulled her out, fitting her into his strong arms, “I’ll show you around.”

Y/N laughed and set her bag down, before going out to the car to get the rest. She let Bradley show Caroline around the house and the backyard as she unpacked the bags from the hospital. She adjusted some stuff in the nursery, and pulled some stuff into their bedroom. Y/N sighed as she looked at the bassinet that had been sitting empty for three months, and smiled as she realized that it’ll finally have an occupant. The Bradshaws made it through the first day, and ended it with giving Caroline a bath in the kitchen sink. Rooster was tense and Y/N giggled as he apologized for getting water on their daughter. Y/N changed Caroline, and nursed her, they both got some skin to skin contact, before putting Caroline in her bassinet.

“That’s how it should be,” Rooster said softly, looking at his sleeping daughter, “Not empty. I don’t like seeing it empty.”

“I don’t either,” Y/N said, and stood up on her tiptoes to kiss his lips, “Not sure about you, but I am exhausted.”

“Yeah, go to sleep, mama, I’ll stay up for a bit.”

“You need to sleep too Bradley,” Y/N said, “Remember what the nurse said, ‘sleep when baby sleeps’.”

“I know, I know,” Bradley said, “I’ll be right there.”

Y/N nodded and walked over to the bed, pulling the covers back and climbing in. Bradley watched her settle into bed, and looked back at his daughter, who was asleep. Bradley couldn’t sleep, he was too scared to sleep. He was still slightly concerned that this was all a dream. That when he wakes up, this day would all be gone. Bradley sat on the bench at the end of their bed and watched their daughter, waiting for her to cry or to possibly stop breathing.

That pattern went on for the first week. Bradley was only catching cat naps during the day, when Y/N was awake and Caroline was asleep. At night, he’d lay next to Y/N until she dozed off, then he would get up, sit on the bench and watch Caroline sleep, waiting for the moment her breath would catch. Except it never happened, but every noise or movement she made, had Bradley on high alert. Y/N didn’t know what was going on with Bradley. That he was having nightmares about the day Caroline was born. He could still see the terror on Y/N, the nurses, and the doctors face when Caroline wasn’t crying and then when Y/N’s heart stopped beating. The words that the nurse yelled played in his mind on repeat.

Y/N knew she was sleeping too long. Her biological alarm clock had been adjusted to match with Caroline’s feeding schedule, and right now, she had been asleep too long. Y/N moved her hand, patting the empty side of her bed, and finding that the spot was cold. She pushed herself up from the bed, and looked around the room, finding it vacant for both her baby and her husband. Y/N got up, and tied her robe around her body, before rushing down to the nursery. Her mind was racing, the worst possible cases running through her mind. It was every parent's worst fear.

“Caroline, please, I don’t know what you want!” Y/N could hear Bradley’s anguished voice sound from the living room. She ran down the stairs to see Bradley walking around the living room, trying to soothe Caroline’s cries.

“Brad?” Y/N called out softly, “What are you doing?”

“Go back to sleep, I got this,” Bradley said.

“Bradley,” Y/N said again, and took a step closer to him, “Bradley, look at me,” Bradley looked at his wife. His eyes were wide, but also looked tired. He had dark bags under his eyes, and his hair was a mess. He hadn’t shaved in a couple days, and his beard started to grow in, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“For the safety of our child, Bradley, are you okay?” Bradley let out a shaky sigh as he looked down at Caroline. He felt tears brim his eyes as he shook his head no. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Y/N said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Let me take her from you, okay?” Bradley nodded and handed Y/N the baby, “It’s okay Bradley. Thank you for telling me.”

“I would never hurt her,” Bradley sobbed out, “I’m not a monster. I love her.” Y/N shushed him, and got Caroline situated to feed.

“I never said you would,” Y/N said, once Caroline’s cries ceased and she was feeding away, “It’s things happen when parents get tired. I know you read the books and know what could happen. It’s not on purpose, it’s by accident. I know you would never hurt Caroline.”

Bradley nodded, and sat down on the couch, holding his head in his hands, “I feel like such a shitty parent. I put my child in danger cause I can’t get over my stupid nightmares.”

“Bradley, you’re having nightmares?”

Bradley nodded once again, “Ever since she was born. That. . .that moment where I didn’t know if you two were okay, plays in my head constantly.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Y/N said, and put her hand on his thigh, “Rooster, it’s more important than ever that we are talking to each other right now.”

“I didn’t know what to say,” He sniffled, “I am supposed to be this great. . . fearless aviator, facing death like it's nothing, saving the day. But I am so scared I am going to go to sleep and wake up, and everything is just gone.”

Y/N moved off the couch, so she could kneel in front of Bradley, Caroline was still in her arms suckling away. Y/N caressed Bradley’s face with one hand. She had seen this look of fear in his eyes before, it was years ago after the uranium mission. She had to help him move past his nightmares then.

“It’s okay to be scared, Bradley. What happened to the both of us was terrifying. But it's not okay to just bottle it up inside of you. Remember what happened last time?”

Bradley hung his head in shame. Bradley nearly lost everything after the uranium mission. Instead of turning to therapy and talking, he turned to alcohol and anger. He would come home, drunk, night after night and pick a fight about anything and everything. Y/N had called off their engagement, and left him, giving him an ultimatum. Bradley had nearly lost her then, and knew he had to clean up his act.

“Please don’t leave me,” He whispered.

“I’m not, we’re not. But you need to talk to someone, okay? It’s more than just me now,” Y/N looked down at her daughter, and Bradley nodded, “And if it brings you some comfort, we can sleep in shifts. Every. . . 3-4 hours or so.”

“It would,” Bradley nodded, “It would help my nerves. And I promise, first thing Monday, I’ll go talk to the chaplain.” Y/N nodded and leaned in to kiss her husband’s lips, “I love you, so much.”

“I love you, Bradley. We both do.”

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