#nervous subject trauma

[checkazi]

love you nervous subject

I wish I drew more and was more active on here

[expired-rice]

SIMS 2 FANART RAAAAAAAGGGHHHHH

[squintsintwink]

Does anyone else add random sims from other games into their save

[wormworker]

apparently one of my favorite tragic tropes is "guy who is literally just a baby boy has the worst luck ever and barely experiences any joy in his life before being abducted and forced to live in a hole in the ground and to make very evil people a bajillion dollars"

[slocumjoe]

I always thought it was weird that Hancock's drug addiction (or at least dependency) was never addressed.

And honestly I just look to fanon to finish Danse's character arc and I forget that isnt canon

Although why do you say that Cait's backstory was fetishized? And why was Nick Valentine's quest messed up?

YOU FOOL, YOU'VE OPENED A DOOR YOU CANNOT CLOSE

I GUESS IT'S TIME FOR...

THE CAIT BREAKDOWN

(TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR S/A, ADDICTION, AND ABUSE)

Firstly, some ground rules. This is directed at a Certain Kind of Contrarian, the kind of person who thinks characters are free-thinking entities with free will, who seemingly thinks they pop up fully formed out of the ground with no liberties taken by a writer. I need to preface this because these people always show up when discussing these kinds of characters.

We need to look at Cait in a Doyist lens. She is not a real person. Everything she does and went through was decided by her creators. It is a waste of time to justify something by saying well, this happens in real life, people go through this, people do this, because those actions and people are real. Cait is based in reality, but she herself is a puppet being pulled around with other puppets.

It can be viable to consider Cait in a Watsonian lens, but ultimately, we won't get anywhere picking her apart like that. Doing so would be taking her at face value, when Cait has a lot more going on behind the curtains. The Person and the Character Cait is, they're very different. One is a Person, the other is what decides that Person's personality, history, everything. Character comes first. You cannot defend Character by pointing at Person and saying that the Person exists in a world where anything is possible. Character comes first. Yes, Person exists, but Character defines it, and with Cait, we are discussing her Character.

We need to talk about the decisions made about Cait's Character, 'cause oh boy, ol' Beth really made some, didn't they?

FUCK UP 1: BETHESDA DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO HANDLE ADDICTION

Cait's Psycho use starts after killing her parents, and at some point, she becomes addicted. Later, as it starts negatively affecting her, even causing her cough up blood, she no longer views it as worth the high. Why did Cait start using, though?

Well, look at everything she had gone through. We'll get to how poorly her backstory itself is handled, and how lackadaisically Bethesda throws various traumas at her with all the grace and care of a small child throwing rocks at cars on the highway, but for now, we're focusing on the Psycho use.

Cait uses to cope with her trauma, that much is obvious. That's usually why characters and IRL people turn to substances. The issue here is how Bethesda treats both the use, and the...fuck, is it fair to call that fucking chair recovery?

The chair. That Fucking Chair.

I wanted an option to say nope, we're not doing this to you, we're leaving. But...no. The actual solution to Cait's 20+ years of trauma was to lock her in an interrogation chair and have her tortured for a few minutes.

Okay. Let's discuss this.

Cait used Psycho seemingly as a way to both punish herself and never think about the shit she went through. Psycho makes the user aggressive, so it stands to reason, also cruel and capable of using that aggression. Perhaps Psycho influenced her feelings at any moment, allowing her to not care about killing her parents, or about her slavery. Either way, Cait is already being hurt, and it very much is self-harm.

So, the solution, the thing to help Cait, get her on the first step to recovery from both her trauma and her addiction, is to hurt her. Punish her. It very much reads like punishment, you are locked into a chair. She sits there whimpering in pain. Now, this makes sense for Vault Tec and their experiment with this vault.

But...as the end of Cait's arc?

We're getting into some potentially controversial territory, but...it's proven, time and time again, that compassion and sufficient resources are the best, and pretty much the only, way for an addict to recover. It isn't enough to just stop using, get off it. You have to address the circumstances that lead to the addiction. Yes, some people will choose not to stop using, they'll choose to remain addicted and never attempt to get help for their issues. But that doesn't mean the ones who want to shouldn't get the opportunity. And those opportunities need to be compassionate.

A TORTURE CHAIR IS NOT COMPASSIONATE.

It reads as a scare tactic. Don't do drugs, kiddies, or else you'll get so bad, you'll have to be locked into a chair and get tubes and needles attached to you, and be tortured for a few minutes. Jesus H Christ.

You know what makes this even worse? The blatant condemnation and mockery of actual recovery. The AA meeting in the overseer's room, in that vault? Bethesda makes a joke of it! Cait calls it bullshit! Motherfucker, AA meetings are one of, if not the, most effective ways to keep someone off a substance! It gives people a community, an echo chamber reminding them how bad their circumstances were and how much better they are without their substance. AA meetings are crucial for addicts, and Bethesda mocks it, criticizes it as stupid, and then portrays torture as the solution. They do this with their addicted character. You are supposed hear Cait call it stupid, ineffective, a waste of time. That is so fucking irresponsible.

Here's the obvious answer as to how Cait's addiction should have been handled; Cait herself either mentions wanting to come off it, or the Sole Survivor intervenes and suggests she stop using. From there, the Sole Survivor acts as a sponsor, or just a friend keeping an eye on her. Y'know, how substance recovery actually works?

Yes, it's not that easy IRL, and it doesn't have to be in game, she can relapse, even. But whatever happens, you cannot address a trauma-based drug addiction with more trauma being the cure. Holy shit, dude.

FUCK UP 2: BETHESDA STUCK EVERY TRAUMA TAIL ON THIS DONKEY

Cait's backstory is bloated with every kind of trauma, and it reads as very...last minute?

Actually look at it. She was grotesquely abused for 18 years, sold into slavery for a few more years, killed her parents, got a drug addiction, and then basically enslaved in a fighting pit for a few more years as a means of a suicide attempt, and then she gets traumatized when she gets clean because, again, that chair literally tortures her.

Starting at the beginning...why did her parents wait until she was 18 to sell her? Would the slavers not take kids? Did her parents not want her being raped underage, for some reason? Why 18, specifically?

Because Bethesda are cowards, and I mean that. They wanted all the abuse and trauma for Cait they could get, but...child rape? That was a little far for them.

Rule 1 of writing dark shit: If you, at any point, feel like you've gone too far, back the fuck up. Don't start walking left instead of forward. Bethesda wanted her nightmare upbringing, but child rape bothered them. So, they just had her sold at 18, but that's incredibly contrived. Hey, Beth? If it bothered you, you shouldn't have gone near it. Skirting the topic is a cowardly writer's way out. Shit or get off the pot.

Now, you can write a character with this much trauma. You just have to actually handle it.

Cait should be way more unhinged. You should be able to look at her, speak to her once, and figure out oh, this woman has been through hell. Instead, Cait is surprisingly well-adjusted. She's a little rude and doesn't care much for good-guy morality.

Here's where those Contrarians come in, saying "People don't have to act like their trauma!" They don't. But those are real people. Cait was made, and she was made with a normal personality and a horrifically detailed nightmare origin story. It isn't that Cait just powered through and got out okay despite all odds, it's that Bethesda didn't fully think about how her trauma would actually affect her.

If anyone played Silent Hill 2, remember Angela Orosco? She was also incredibly abused and mistreated all her life, and actually, her story is remarkably similar to Cait's in every way. And Angela, she acts like a person who's been traumatized at every single turn. Watching Angela is heartbreaking even if you don't know what she's gone through, because you can tell there was something.

Cait's backstory could be significantly pared down. Again, the dialogue and 4 affinities talk system butcher the character arc, but Cait suffered the most, I think. She tells you about all of her trauma at once, in her second affinity. Second. Other characters talk about their most intense/emotional shit at the final talk, but because Cait's third talk needs to start Benign Intervention, and her final talk needs to be about being clean now, they have to rush through her trauma at the second one.

For Cait, I think it'd be better to pare down the trauma, but it could work to just...move her opening up about it to the final talk. That makes the most sense, her explaining how she got that way.

Also, why was it Cait that got all of this?

No, really, why was Cait selected to be the trauma donkey de jour?

She's one of 3 female companions. Piper and Curie's trauma is both their dads died. Cait's trauma is endless rape, beating, drug addictions, slavery, and fights to the death. She sticks out. It's like the other girls got nothing so Cait got everything.

Cait is compared to Cassidy from New Vegas, but...why? Cassidy got off nice and easy compared to Cait. Everyone gets off easy compared to Cait. It's like she's the heaviest thing in the room, the odd one out because she's gone through significantly more and worse than anyone else. Can you seriously compare Cait to anyone in Fallout 4? MacCready lost his wife, Cait was raped for years on end. Hancock feels guilty for not doing more in his younger years to help people, Cait was constantly beaten and tortured by her parents for her entire life. Nick has some identity issues and body dysmorphia, Cait killed her parents and now is always attempting suicide via bare-knuckle combat for the same people who raped her.

It's like she was meant for a different game. I could easily see her in say, Wasteland 3, or the other Fallouts, which had much darker tones. Everyone else in 4 is lighter to slightly darker shades of grey, and then Cait is pitch black.

I especially find this suspicious, given that Cait is the addict character. No, it's not Hancock, because Hancock's addiction isn't addressed, it's just...seasoning, some texture thrown on top. His addiction doesn't matter, by the game's standards, you're not supposed to care about it. Cait, you are. She's the addict character.

It's like...weirdly implied that it's only incredibly fucked up stuff that makes you an addict. Like, there's a certain bar of trauma you have to have before you start using. First of all, incorrect, grossly so. Secondly, patronizing as shit. Thirdly, if you think like this, you shouldn't be allowed to write anything. Ever. Or vote, for that matter.

FUCK UP 3: THE IRISH SHIT

I will not bring up the accent, beyond that it, specifically, is pretty obnoxious. Katy Townsend, her voice actor, is Scottish, but...the accent is bad enough, I was sure she was American. Listening to this video, you can hear her natural speaking voice, and it's nowhere near Cait's thick, caricature Tough Irish Gal voice.

I have previously described Cait as a 'too many cooks in the kitchen' scenario. On one hand, she's a Trauma Donkey, as described in the last section. On another, she's a haha funny Irish lady love booze and fighting, ain't nothing better than getting pissed and picking a fight, am i right!

I have a theory that Cait was two separate characters that was merged into one. Fallout 4 tries to represent/dickride Massachusetts culture and history, and Massachusetts has double the national Irish population. New York and New Hampshire are more Irish, but Massachusetts is still very Irish. So, Beth made an Irish character, but then, like, Frank down the hall wanted his sadgirl babe, and they got stuck together.

There is no bigger clash than a historical cruel/tragic cartoon caricature and the darkest, most horrific character in a story, and it's the same person in Fallout 4. Again, Cait can be Irish. She cannot be a Tough Irish Gal, while being everything else that she is.

HOW IS THIS FETISHIZED?

I mean...look at it. I should preface that I've been writing for, like, three hours and am Quickly Losing Steam, so this conclusion is not likely to be great

I've also described Cait as getting sprayed down with a pain hose. Just drenched in every kind of suffering imaginable. It's not handled properly, it's not addressed properly, it's just kind of there for you to figure out on your own. Another thing I've called Cait is Whedonesque, for Joss Whedon loves makes strong female characters, making them tiny, not-like-other-girls waifs (Cait is very thin and skinny), and then putting them through trauma, making them cry. He's been accused of making strong women just to see them break.

I don't fully think that last part applies to Cait, but it gets close. Cait is one of three girls. She's the only masculine/androgynous, Piper and Curie are both rather feminine, even if in different flavors. Cait is all tomboy, and she's all trauma and addiction, and misery. She falls into the Whedon trope of "I can kick ass but I need someone to fix me". Cait is, very much, a fixer fantasy. She's broken and desperate and Sole is supposed to be the white knight on a shining horse to save her, fix her. That's why she makes a big deal about how they're the first person to ever be nice to her. It's a fantasy.

And finally, Cait has something in common with the two other ladies; Piper exists to serve a plucky, girl-next-door romance (she's the intended romance, even, the one you're expected to pick), and Curie is a french virgin maid fantasy. Y'know Lusty Argonian Maid? Literally Curie.

And that is at least half of why Cait's Character was made the way it was. It's to appeal to a fixer fantasy. Even if unintentional, that's what Cait's character adds up to. Compare to 500 Days of Summer, if the movie wasn't self-aware.

[leatherforhell]

hello it is no longer Sunday but I am doing one (ONE!) nsft thing. aka I took that quiz for Clara out of curiosity. avert your eyes

disclaimer to say that I’m very asexual and sex repulsed so I am by no means an expert but! this makes sense to me. Clara’s a dom for sure but with the right partner she’d be into subbing. it’s just that subbing would be a very emotional experience for her, I think, and would have more emphasis on catharsis than the actual sex.

[aka-thesheepgirl]

Hi, how have you been?

So I stopped using Tumblr because I was feeling very overwhelmed by personal life and my own dumb brain making all sort of chemicals (none of which were beneficial!), but here I am! WHY?! BECAUSE I'VE BEEN

OBSESSED

With an variety of different interests and hyperfixations that I NEED TO EXPRESS WITHOUT FILTER-

Like seriously, I've been using Instagram ever since because I wanted to make cute art and maybe get a nice portfolio going on but I want to draw CRINGE!! I want to BE CRINGE!!

But that's about it, because I don't want to talk about the time I was out. I mean it was a nice reset from Tumblr but from life?? I NEED REST FROM LIFE RIGHT NOW-

[novlr]

How to Write Betrayal

Betrayal is a powerful plot element that is represented in countless stories. The gravity of betrayal brings a profound depth to character dynamics, plots, and themes alike, making it an indispensable tool for writers to explore emotions, conflicts, and the complexities of human nature. Let’s explore some quick tips on how to write betrayal!

Behaviour

Secretive actions

Dishonesty

Becoming emotionally distant

A sudden change in routine

Pushing people away

Nervous or fidgety movement

Frequent lying or making up stories

Unexpected aggression or irritability

Unjustified mood swings or emotional outbursts

Increasingly defensive

Interactions

Disturbed interpersonal relationships

Frequent misunderstandings or fights

Withholding information

Avoiding personal discussions

Insincerity in conversations

Frequently cancelling or missing plans

A sudden shift in relationship dynamics

Quick to deflect or place blame

Frequent subject changes

Gradual emotional detachment

Body Language

Avoiding direct eye contact

Defensive stance and crossed arms

Covering mouth or touching face

Shuffling or restless movements

Forcing smiles or laughter

Constantly looking around or at the ground

Stiff, tense posture

Heavy breathing or frequent sighing

Avoiding touch or skin contact

Exaggerated gestures

Attitude

A lack of concern or empathy

Increasingly personal and hurtful arguments

Erratic or unpredictable reactions

Self-centeredness

Insincerity

Dismissive or negative attitude

Callous disregard for other's feelings

A negative or pessimistic outlook

Inability to handle criticism

Withdrawal from relationships

Positive Story Outcomes

In the wake of a betrayal, a story can manifest various positive outcomes that add depth to the plot and its characters. Relationships can be strengthened, showing their resilience. Characters may discover newfound self-reliance and learn valuable lessons about trust and forgiveness, leading to an increase in empathy and understanding, personal growth, and the reinforcement of personal values. These experiences can encourage a clearer understanding of personal boundaries, prompt self-reflection, introspection, and the development of healthier coping mechanisms. Ultimately, these positive outcomes can bring about improved communication and honesty, forming the silver lining in the cloud of betrayal.

Negative Story Outcomes

The aftershocks of betrayal can reverberate throughout your story. This might include an irreparable fracture of trust and damage to relationships. Betrayal can trigger psychological trauma, leading to an increase in suspicion and insecurity. Feelings of inadequacy or self-blame may surface, and characters can experience a heightened sense of isolation. The fear of forming new relationships or trusting others can become overwhelming. There may also be an escalation of conflict or violence and the reinforcement of negative behaviours or patterns. Damaged self-esteem or self-worth may be another repercussion, and this can encourage destructive coping mechanisms.

Helpful Synonyms

Treachery

Deception

Double-crossing

Duplicity

Backstabbing

Two-faced

Disloyalty

Unfaithfulness

Infidelity

Falseness

Perfidy

Treason

Fraud

Deceit

Slander

Misrepresentation

Falsification

Chicanery

Double-dealing

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

First Time (18+)

Bayverse!Donatello x reader

A/N: Damn, I think this is my longest one ever. Big time Donnie love!💜

---------------

Donatello is more than a little nervous about the thought of having sex with you, not trusting his own abilities, but with some reassurance and guidance from you, he rises to the occasion.

Warnings: A more angsty build up that I had planned, unprotected sex, Donnie having his first time with you💜

-----------------

To say that Donatello was an amazing boyfriend, wasn’t enough to do him justice. He was fantastic! The sweetest and most genuine guy you had ever met. He was attentive and treated you well. Sure, he might be a mutant turtle that lived in the sewer, yet he was the best boyfriend you had ever had. Whether that spoke of your former poor taste in guys, or just the general low bar for human men you did not know. But you knew for a fact that Donatello was one of the best things that had ever happened in your life.

Donatello would say the exact same thing about you. You were not just the best thing that had ever happened to him, but a dream come true. Before meeting you, he had never actually believed that he would get to experience something so good. Just as he had accepted his fate as a lonely mutant turtle that would spend his days alone in hiding with his brothers, you came along and changed his life for good.

The friendship the two of you shared was just what you needed. You may not fully understand everything Donnie had going on inside his lab, but you listened nonetheless, finally giving a much needed ear to his thoughts and inventions. He in turn provided you with a safe space to go to, whenever your life became a little too much.

During those years of friendship you and Donnie grew close in ways none of you had experienced before. Not even his brothers could read him as well as you did, and you in turn had never thought that anyone would understand you as well as Donnie did. So therefore it was only expected that stronger feelings would blossom.

When you and Donnie started dating, it felt natural. Just like your first kiss. It just came naturally to the two of you. No grad gestures and no confusion. Both you and Donnie knew what it meant, and you were just happy to be with someone that understood you so well.

But if there was one thing that didn’t come as naturally to you and Donnie, it was sex. Actually, it didn’t come naturally to Donnie. You didn’t blame him. The poor guy had lived most of his life, convincing himself that sex would never be something he would get to experience. So when you and Donnie started dating and kissing, and the first thought of sex came up, Donnie started overthinking. You were a human that had had sexual experiences with other humans before, and he was a mutant turtle who had his hand as the closest thing to a former sexual partner.

It didn’t mean that Donatello didn’t want sex, because oh boy, did he want to! He was just nervous. Really nervous. It was almost nerve racking to believe that he could actually have sex, let alone with someone as beautiful as you. And you understood. You really did. You took the time to sit with him and talk it through, making sure he felt heard and comfortable, especially talking about a subject like that. What did he feel? What did he fear? What was he excited about?

Other than the general confusion and trauma that came from accepting your fate of loneliness, you learned that Donatello feared not the action of sex itself, but how he would act. More specifically, he was nervous and overthinking, because he did not know what to do. Where should he put his hands? What was he supposed to say? And the thought that haunted him the most; if he didn’t do good, would you leave him? All very valid fears for a mutant turtle, who did not even dare to dream of being with a human.

You took Donnie’s hands in yours and told him it was okay. He was allowed to be nervous and overthink, and he was allowed to not know what to do. You told him that you loved him, and you wouldn’t leave him if he didn’t make you feel good the first time, nor the time after that. Humans too would be nervous before their first time, and it was very normal not to be satisfied the first time.

And after that conversation, you and Donnie slowly started preparing for your first time together. With Donnie being a totally different species than you, he started preparing you for what you could expect. He told you where his cloaca was located and how it worked, along with other parts of the turtle anatomy you may or may not have known already. You in turn did the same. You told him where humans liked to be touched and answered his questions about human anatomy. And it calmed Donnie down. It calmed him down enough, to the point he dared to ask if he could touch your breast.

The make out session that came from that, was one unlike any you ever had had with Donatello. With his hands groping your breast, you were at a shock of naturally good your sweet tech boyfriend was at this. You had expected him to be more unsure, but you soon learned that when he had the confidence he could do anything. Making you moan against his lips while he played with your nipples, this guy did not know what talent he possessed.

This unlocked a new area of your relationship, that you and Donatello carefully explored. Make out sessions became more common, with hands exploring and building up the courage, going a little further each time, until one night Donnie told you he wanted to try.

“Are you sure?”, you asked. You were sitting in his room, you in his lap with your arms around his neck, still breathing heavily after the heated kiss the two of you had just shared. One of his hands was in the back of your neck, playing with your hair, while the other rested on your ass, squishing you through your pants.

“I’m sure”, Donnie answered, watching you through hooded eyes. The hand on the back of your neck crept to the side of your face, letting Donnie’s thumb glide across the corner of your mouth. “I really want to try”.

You nodded your head, biting your lip with a smile, before letting Donnie close the space between you once more. Your lips dancing together as your tongues slowly found each other, letting a small moan escape you, as you felt the vibrating churr being in Donnie’s chest. You had heard that sound quite a few times now, and each time you loved it more and more.

Your hands moved from Donnie’s neck, and down to the top of his plastron, enjoying the feeling of his vibrating chest through your fingers. You moved your lips to his chin, making your to his neck, feeling the hand on your ass pull you closer. Donnie’s breathing was heavy, his chest moving as he felt you work your lips around his neck.

Donnie’s hands found your waist, dipping under your shirt to feel the warmth of your smooth skin against his rough palms. You took this as a sign, removing your lips from Donnie’s neck to take off your shirt. This made Donnie move his hands to your breast, palming them through your bra as you reached back to unhook it. The breathy curse that left Donnie’s mouth once your bra was off, went straight to your core, making you clench around empty air. And Donnie could smell it. The scent of your arousal was strong, making him slightly dizzy.

Donnie nuzzled his head against your neck, pressing kisses against your skin like you had done to him, enjoying every sound that left your mouth and the feeling of your hands on his shoulders. His hands moved from your breast to your pants, where he tried to undo them, only to grow frustrated at the small buttons in his big fingers.

“Want me to take them off?”, you asked, gliding a hand up his neck.

“Please”, Donnie answered, bringing your hips close to him once more.

Donatello watched, with his head resting on your shoulder, through the valley between your breasts, as you undid your pants. Once you got them past your waits he helped you, sliding them off of your legs before throwing them somewhere in his room, leaving you in nothing but underwear on his lap.

“Shit”, he moaned, his heart raising once more as yet another wave of your arousal hit his nose, stronger than before. He hooked his thumbs into the straps of your underwear, his eyes finding yours to ask for permission. Breathless you nodded, lifting your hips to make it easy for him to pull your damp underwear down your legs.

The sight of you naked on Donnie’s lap was enough to make him moan. Your cheeks were already getting pink, and your pupils were just as blown out as his. The best way Donatello could describe the sight in front of him was; hot. So fucking hot.

He kneeled your hips, biting his lips before he asked; “Can I… Will you show me… Will you let me finger you?”

Once again, Donnie’s words went straight between your legs. The way he looked at you and the way he spoke. Needy and so ready to try. You loved every second of it.

“Of course you can”, you answered him, before bringing him in for another needy kiss. You took one of his hands in yours, guiding it down between your legs, helping one of his fingers glide through your folds, letting him feel the wetness that had built up. Donnie shivered, letting a whimper against your lips. You couldn’t help but chuckle, pulling from his lips, finding his reaction adorable.

“You feel that?”, you asked him, letting his finger glide through once more. Donnie nodded, letting out a small shuttering yes. “That’s all because of you, Donnie”. Your boyfriend cursed once more, his face showing frustration and absolute bliss.

You moved his thumb to your clit, guiding him on how to circle his finger around your small bundle of nerves.

“Like this?”, Donnie asked, watching your facial expression as he worked his fingers on you.

“Yes”, you breathed out, arching your back enjoying the feeling of his thick thumb on you. “Just like that, Donnie”.

Donatello bite his lip, watching your face closely, while remembering the things you had told him about the human body. How humans liked to be touched. How you liked to be touched. And with that thought in mind he wrapped his other arm around your waist, holding you close and still, while his index finger glided through your folds once more, before finding your entrance. He slowly pushed his finger in, sighing in delight at how tight you felt around his finger. You moaned, leaning your head back, happy that Donnie had wrapped his hand around to stabilize you.

“Fuck, Donnie”, you moaned, feeling how his finger went further in.

“Is it good?”, he asked, brows knotting together, biting his lips as he felt the familiar feeling from his cloaca, threatening to let dick drop.

“Yes, Donnie”, you moaned, your legs shaking against his. “Please, move them Donnie. Like this”. You held up your hand, showing your boyfriend how to move his fingers inside you. Donnie nodded, doing just as you showed him, moving his fingers in and out of you while his thumb rolled against your clit. You moaned, dropping your head against Donnie’s shoulder. He moved his fingers faster, feeling you move and shake against him, every moan from your mouth sounding like sweet music in his ears. He continued like this, feeling you tighten around his finger, your climax inching closer and closer until you came around his fingers with a loud moan.

When Donnie removed his fingers from your used cunt, he could not resist the urge to bring them to his mouth, sucking them off in front of you. The look in your eyes and the way you smelled told him everything he needed to know. You enjoyed it. All of it. He brought your lips back to his, your tongues finding each other. You moaned at the slight taste of you in his mouth.

Donnie pulled from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, listening to your heavy breathing, feeling it against his face. “Can I do it?”

“Do what, Donnie?”, you asked, your hands smoothing over his shoulders and biceps.

“Can I fuck you?”

You nodded, too stunned to speak. Once again, you had not expected Donatello to be so straight forward, having thought he would be way more shy.

Donnie took your lips in for another kiss while he slowly laid you down on your back. Once your back was flat against the mattress, he started moving his clothed crotch against you, moaning against your lips as he felt himself getting closer to his drop. You whimpered against his lip, almost begging him to take his pants off. Finally he sat up and undid his pants in full view of you. He pulled his pants off along with his boxers, before climbing back on top of you, feeling your legs close around him the best they could, bringing his cloaca to meet your wet center.

“Can I drop into you?”, Donnie asked, his lips ligering against yours, his hands moving from your hips, up your sides to your shoulder, bringing you closer to him.

“Yes, Donnie”, you moaned, buckling your hips against his, causing him to moan, feeling himself tipping on the edge before finally dropping down in front of your entrance. To his surprise, you were the one to move your hand down between the two of you, taking his cock in your hand moving it to your opening before pushing it in closely.

Donatello moaned, his head falling down beside yours, your cunt hugging him tightly as he sunk further in. You kissed the side of his face, whispering sweet nothing as he sunk in as far as he could. He stayed there for a moment, letting you and himself adjust to the feeling of him inside of you. You were a tight fit for him, but he couldn’t deny it felt good.

“Donnie, please move”, you moaned, moving your hips under him. Donnie wrapped an arm under your shoulder so he could bring you even closer to you, resting his forehead against yours once more as he slowly began to move, moaning and cursing in delight over the feeling.

His thrusts started out slow and soft, until you told him it was okay to go harder and faster, to which Donnie obliged. He cursed, one of his hands grabbing on to the bedding beside your head, enjoying this knew feeling around his cock.

“Fuck”, he breathed into your ear, causing tingles to erupt in your stomach. “It feels good, (Y/N). Fucking good”.

Your hand found his face, stroking his cheek making him look you in the eye. The sigh was enough to make both of you shiver.

“Wanna go faster?”, you asked him. Donnie nodded, his lips slightly agasp. “Go as fast as you want to. Fuck me as fast as you want, Donnie”.

And that was all your boyfriend needed. Every trace of nervousness Donnie had showed you during your first conversation about sex disappeared, leaving behind what you could only describe as a feast for the eyes. Donnie was concentrated, his brows frowning, his pupils wide as his muscles flexed before he let loose against you. You gasped and moaned loud, grabbing onto Donnie’s shoulders as he thrusted faster and harder into you. He was rougher than you had thought he would be, but you found it to be a pleasant surprise.

But then Donnie did something you never saw coming for his first time. He took one of your legs, hooking it over his arm before thrust into you even deeper than before. This new angle caused you to arch your back in ecstasy, as he continuously hit the sweet spot inside of you. It didn’t take long like this, before you felt that familiar feeling in your stomach as you clung closer around Donnie.

“Donnie!”, you moaned out, your pitch higher than he ever had heard it before, making him growl in delight. “Donnie, I’m close!”

Donnie did not answer you. Instead he dipped his head down to your neck, where he started nipping at your skin, his hips working against you like a piston. He wanted you to cum around him, washing away every fear he ever had about not making you feel good. And you knew. You knew your boyfriend, and you knew what he was thinking. And as he started groaning and biting your earlobe, you couldn’t hold back anymore, almost screaming his name as you came for him once more.

Donnie moved both hands down to your hips, holding you still as he started chasing his own high, helping you ride out your own in the meantime. As he moaned louder and louder as he got close, his thrust became more and more erratic. Finally he came, pushing himself all the way into you as he shot out his white ropes, letting out a moan better than porn star you ever heard.

Once down from his high, Donnie pulled out of you, before slumping down next to you, sweaty and out of breath, his dick still out in the open.

He looked at you, his eyes tired yet full of love, making you feel warm in so many ways. “Was it good?”

“Are you crazy?”, you asked, smiling brighter than any stare Donnie had seen. “It was amazing, Donnie!”

Donnie chuckled, wrapping an arm around you to pull you close against his plastron, giving you a kiss before resting his forehead against yours once more, a smirk spreading on his pretty lips. “Does that mean you’re up for another around after a quick nap?”

[shonayee]

Whenever I see men talking about rape incidents analytically and giving it a political angle, I'm always stunned by the audacity. The only reason you can talk about it "logically" is because the chances of this happening to you are slim, or negligible compared to an average woman. Because you know you won't be subjected to the same violence and game of power control. Because unlike women, your mind doesn't draw a parallel to every single time you felt unsafe. Because you don't hear "be safe and aware of your surroundings" from your families every single day.

All the self proclaimed "straightforward" and "blunt" men who call women "too emotional" and "crazy" for reacting as we do, as if reading these cases happening daily in multiple numbers doesn't give you enough trauma. It's frightening.

How am I supposed to trust any guy I come across my workplace, or city? This incident in Kolkata was just one highlighted amongst thousands of cases buried in files, half of them go unreported due to family pressure and public image. The actual numbers are way more horrifying and grotesque.

How am I supposed to trust any man I come across? Because what are the odds?

This 'meet new people, make friends, have fun, create memories' philosophy is irrelevant because women live in constant fear.

This fight or flight mode affects our nervous system.

This affects our emotional intelligence.

This affects our health.

This affects our Lifestyle.

But please, do go on and enlighten me how I'm exaggerating, overreacting and should calm down.

[shouts-into-the-void]

Just read screenshots of the Aaron extra chapter and I have so many thoughts, so here they are:

It's always so funny to me to be reminded of the fact that the animosity between Aaron and Neil is mostly one-sided. Like, Neil finds Aaron frustrating, but all the antagonistic stuff he does to him is ultimately in service of helping him in some way and while he's angry when Aaron provokes him, he otherwise regards him with disinterest and even expresses the desire to see what he's like when he's relaxed and enjoying himself during the party with the Vixens. Meanwhile Aaron just really hates that man.

I really appreciated Nora using this chapter to clear up some of the gripes a lot of the fandom has had with Aaron's character in the past and confirm that Aaron's comments to Nicky have to do with his cousin making graphic and unwanted sexual advances on their teammates, and his accusations towards Neil were from a place of concern for his brother. I also liked that it was pointed out that of course he would have at least some internalized homophobia due to being raised by religious zealots in a conservative area, but is unlearning it due to Nicky.

On a similar note, I'm glad that we were provided the context that Nicky's inappropriate behavior is a defense mechanism to weed out people who might hurt him rather than legitimate advances, because I think the fandom tends to forget that he is also a character with extreme trauma written outside of the "perfect victim" stereotype. His actions aren't okay, but the entire point is that they are the result of what he's had to endure just like every other member of the team

The implication that Andrew specifically signed with the Foxes so Aaron could go to college

Aaron and Andrew have the same nervous habit of picking at loose thread

It causes me physical pain to see Andrew clearly trying to open up to Aaron about his self-harm, but because his way of communicating is less straightforward (he doesn't lie, but he because he stuggles to confront and be open with his emotions, he presents the truth in flowery, vague language) and because the two dont really know or understand each other, Aaron can't fully grasp the implications of what he's saying

On the subject of things that cause me physical pain: baby Aaron telling his mom that he wanted to be a neurosurgeon like the people on TV and her laughing and saying he'd never make anything of himself. Fuck Tilda Minyard, all my homies hate Tilda.

Andrew is so uncomfortable, someone Get Him Out of There.

Going off that and his nervous habits (that Aaron mentions he did often enough to be noticable as a habit premedication), I am highkey wondering if the reason Sober Andrew doesn't talk to anyone outside Neil is because he's just. Socially Awkward.

We get a little bit of insight into Andrew's "misogyny" (I personally think distrusting certain people as a result of extreme personal trauma is a little bit different than just being sexist, in the same way women distrusting men because they're used to being harassed and belittled isn't misandry, but that's up to your personal opinion) and that his distain for Katelyn comes from the fact that he thinks she's stringing Aaron along and will turn out to be awful like his previous girlfriends (there's also a notable implication that Aaron has the same self-destructive tendencies as Andrew, and may be why he went out of his way to get him into college and on the straight-and-narrow) also see that this extends to Bee as well despite their close relationship, with him being so afraid that she'd reject him for being gay that he can't even look at her while talking about Neil, probably made worse by the fact that she's a maternal figure for him, which is where this trauma response originates.

Aaron is the only person on the team who's aware that Andrew hasn't slept with Neil, and the only one to grasp the significance of the fact that they've gotten close to that point already despite Andrew's trauma, outside of Renee

It was overall really interesting to see inside Aaron's head (I actually wouldn't mind a book from his perspective, he has a similar way of thinking to Neil but much more grounded) and to see Andrew through the lense of someone who just views him as Just A Guy

[hiitsm]

All I want is to have some Peace, with You.

You find yourself wrestling with recurring negative flashbacks from your childhood, unsure how to broach the subject with your girlfriend, consumed by fear of her reaction.

All I want is to have some Peace, with You is for 18+ only.

PTSD, Childhood trauma, Smut, Fluff

-

Important note:

This piece is deeply personal to me, drawn from my own journey through PTSD. It's important to note that everyone's experience with PTSD is unique; what I've shared here is just one perspective.

I'm incredibly proud of everyone navigating their own path through this journey, no matter where they are along the way. And want to give a shoutout to those who support their loved ones through it all-it means more than words can say.

Sharing this piece is a vulnerable step for me, so I ask that we all approach it with kindness, no matter our thoughts or opinions.

-

Just before you met your girlfriend, you were exhausted. Your body constantly felt tired, and you couldn't quite figure out why. The doctor advised you to wait and see if things worsened, suggesting you return if they did. Although it didn't worsen, your body remained tense all the time, draining your energy.

To you, life felt monotonous. You woke up, had breakfast, went to work, and often conversed with your parents, where your mother would eventually get upset over something small you did or said. Then you'd have dinner and go to bed.

It was the same routine, week after week. Despite this routine, you couldn't understand why your body constantly felt on edge, always tense and drained of energy.

Then you met your girlfriend. One rare evening, you decided to go to a bar in the center of Barcelona, and she happened to be there. She offered you a drink, and the conversation flowed effortlessly. You couldn't quite grasp how such a beautiful girl would notice you, let alone want to talk with you.

Your body completely relaxed when you talked with her. Every time she chuckled while sharing a childhood story, you felt at ease without realizing it. You were so captivated that you didn't notice how much your body was unwinding, as if to say that everything would be okay, even though you weren't sure what "okay" was anymore. You had become so accustomed to the tension that it felt normal, which is why you didn't recognize the change.

When you went home that night, you couldn't help but feel light. For the first time, life seemed to have more purpose, all because of her. She was intoxicating in the best way possible. The conversation had been wonderful, and she looked so beautiful. You exchanged phone numbers, and just as you were lying in bed, she texted you. That's when you realized she was one of the greatest footballers of all time: Alexia Putellas. But you didn't care about her awards, even though they were quite impressive. You cared about her as a person and were so glad you got to know her without any preconceived notions.

Your first date together came swiftly. Despite not consciously noticing the change in your body when you were with her, whether in person or talking on the phone, one thing was unmistakable: she made you feel cared for and loved, and you reciprocated with the same warmth. You made an effort to support her during her matches, even though the loud environment and crowds weren't really your thing.

After a particularly hard-won victory for her team, Alexia invited you to dinner at her mother's place to meet her and her sister. Nervous as you were, you couldn't say no.

That's when you finally noticed a change in your body, but it wasn't the positive relaxation you felt when you were with your girlfriend; this change was unexpected and negative. One moment, you were holding your girlfriend's hand under the table, laughing at something her kind mother had said, and the next, you accidentally knocked over a glass, causing it to shatter on the ground. Alexia's family reacted warmly and kindly, reassuring you that they had plenty more glasses, but you couldn't hear them over the ringing in your ears and the racing of your heart.

Suddenly, a flashback hit you. A memory of your younger self, maybe around eight years old, dropping a glass and your mother reacting with intense upset, even physical punishment. You had buried that memory deep within, but now it resurfaced with startling clarity. You found yourself in shock, unable to even apologize to Eli before Alexia squeezed your hand under the table, grounding you instinctively. Eli was kind and forgiving, but the tension in your body remained.

Despite Alexia's loving gestures and efforts to ease your discomfort, the tension persisted throughout the dinner.

As days passed, you found yourself struggling with daily tasks more than usual. Simple things like focusing at work or even enjoying a meal became daunting. The tension in your body seemed to escalate, and more flashbacks from your childhood would unexpectedly flood your mind.

You hadn't yet spoken to Alexia about what was happening. In truth, you didn't fully understand it yourself. The memories that resurfaced were fragments of a past you had buried deep, and confronting them felt overwhelming.

One evening, when Alexia came over to your apartment she noticed that you hadn't done the things you normally would have. The dishes were piled up, and the laundry was untouched. She could see that something wasn't right.

You had experienced more vivid flashbacks of your mother physically hurting you in the past, but when Alexia asked if you were okay, you hesitated. Instead of sharing the truth, you told her you were feeling sick. Without a moment's hesitation, Alexia took charge, helping you into bed and preparing homemade soup to comfort you.

As she sat by your side, her concern was palpable. When she gently inquired about your parents, your body tensed involuntarily. You had been avoiding your parents for a while now, a fact she wasn't aware of. Once again, you chose to lie, deflecting her concern with a half-truth.

The next day, as Alexia headed off to training and you had a rare morning off, you found yourself overwhelmed with emotions. But amidst the turmoil, the strongest feeling was guilt. Guilt over lying to your girlfriend. It wasn't about the physical pain you had endured in the past, nor the mental scars left by your parents' admonitions to keep quiet about it. No, what weighed heaviest on your mind was deceiving Alexia.

You spent the morning wrestling with your thoughts, debating whether to confide in her. Would she stay if you told her the truth? You couldn't bear the thought of losing her. The fear of her rejection paralyzed you, yet the burden of keeping these secrets from her felt increasingly heavy.

Throughout the day, memories resurfaced, each one a testament to the walls you had built around your past. But Alexia had breached those walls with her kindness and genuine concern. As you recalled her comforting presence and unwavering support, a flicker of hope emerged. The hope that she might understand, that she might stay.

But it wasn't easy. Every time you tried to open up, the words faltered. You could see the concern in your girlfriend's eyes, her worry for you evident even though she didn't fully understand the source. Her deep love for you acted as a balm, soothing many wounds, but in her absence, the shadows returned.

When she wasn't around, the flashbacks intensified. The memories you had buried resurfaced with a vengeance, overwhelming you with panic attacks. The tight knot in your throat, the trembling in your legs, the waves of nausea, they all surfaced when she wasn't there to anchor you.

It took time for these panic attacks to manifest fully, but now they were a part of your reality. They reminded you of the unresolved pain and fear that lingered beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged and healed.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of frustration and self-blame. Here you were, a grown adult, yet unable to carry on with your day when the flashbacks hit. You questioned yourself relentlessly. Why couldn't you move past the memories of your childhood? There were surely others who had been through worse. Why did these emotions surface now, when you had found happiness with your girlfriend by your side?

These thoughts stirred a mix of emotions within you. Anger, confusion, and a deep-seated sense of inadequacy. You berated yourself for being so emotional, for letting these past experiences affect your present life. In response, you pushed your emotions down once again, burying them beneath a facade of composure.

Whenever you felt overwhelmed by negative emotions, you found solace in kissing your girlfriend. Her kisses had a way of making your mind go pleasantly fuzzy, and you knew they had the same effect on her. It wasn't necessarily the most practical solution, but it worked, if only for a fleeting moment.

You would kiss her softly, savoring the sensation of her lips against yours, a reminder of the love you felt. Every time of day, you couldn't help but tell her how beautiful she looked, still amazed that such a radiant woman had chosen to be with you. Your kisses lingered, slowly exploring each other, shedding any barriers between you.

You would gently undress her, admiring her soft, full form, and your hands found their way to her curves, losing yourself in the pleasure of her touch and the sweet sound of her moans. With tender care, you would lift her, laying her down on the bed, whispering words of love and admiration, reaffirming how much she meant to you.

As you kissed your way down her body, you would marvel at her beauty, taking in the sight of her soft arousal. You circled her clit with gentle pressure, lost together in the waves of pleasure. Making love to her was a slow, deliberate act, a tribute to her kindness and support, unaware of how deeply she touched your heart and healed your soul.

Until one night, your mind was besieged by flashbacks, but you refrained from seeking solace in kisses because you respected her need for rest, always mindful of her boundaries. As you grappled with your thoughts alone, you recognized that continuing this way wasn't sustainable, prompting you to take action.

Sleep had become elusive, and after a particularly taxing day, you pushed yourself to seek help. The journey led to an unexpected diagnosis of PTSD, a revelation that caught you off guard. To you, the symptoms had felt like a part of daily life, a burden you had unknowingly carried for so long.

You lay on your side, your back turned towards your girlfriend, feeling the weight of tension in your body and the ceaseless churn of thoughts in your mind. It was important to you that she got the rest she deserved after a challenging game. Meanwhile, she lay on her back beside you, still wide awake, sensing the emotional distance between you both.

You knew she was overthinking it, and despite your efforts to suppress it, the need to unburden yourself grew stronger. "Amor," you whispered softly into the quiet of the room. Before she could respond, you found yourself blurting out, "I want to tell you something, but I'm afraid you'll leave," your voice catching as tears welled up.

Your girlfriend shifted closer, wrapping her arms around you, her front pressing against your back. "I won't leave," she reassured you, her own heart fluttering with anxiety. Her embrace was a testament to her unwavering support, a gentle reminder that you were not alone in this moment of vulnerability.

You broke down in tears, turning to bury your face in her neck, unable to stop sobbing. "I lied to you, and I'm so sorry, but I didn't know how to tell you," you managed to choke out between sobs. Your girlfriend held you tightly, her hand gently running through your hair in a soothing gesture, trying to comfort you through your tears.

"I've been having these flashbacks from my childhood, and my mother wasn't kind," you finally confessed, the words heavy with pain. Her response was a gentle whisper against your ear, "I'm so sorry to hear that, mi amor," her voice filled with compassion, causing another wave of tears to escape you. "I didn't realize... I had buried it all, but it's all coming back," you hiccuped, the weight of the memories overwhelming.

"It's coming back, and they says it's PTSD," you admitted, feeling vulnerable yet relieved to finally share this burden with her. She continued to hold you close, recognizing the emotions that had been building up over time. Her presence and understanding were a source of comfort as you let yourself cry in her arms.

"Who says that, mi vida?" she asked softly, her voice free of judgment.

"My therapist," you replied, feeling a twinge of embarrassment. Alexia's response was a gentle sigh of relief upon learning that you had been seeking help from a professional.

"Aren't you mad?" you asked cautiously, uncertain of how she might react.

"I don't understand how it's PTSD," you continued, struggling with the concept because you had always associated PTSD with a single traumatic event.

"It's okay, mi amor," Alexia reassured you tenderly, her voice soothing. "This stems from your childhood, from being in a toxic environment for years. I'm so proud of you for taking this step and seeking the help you deserve from a professional. PTSD is just a diagnosis—it won't define who you are, I promise you that."

After Alexia's reassuring words, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders, if only slightly. Her acceptance and understanding were more than you had dared hope for. You turned to face her, eyes filled with gratitude and a hint of disbelief.

"I... I didn't know how you'd react," you admitted quietly, your voice still trembling with vulnerability.

Alexia gently cupped your face in her hands, her touch grounding you in the moment. "Mi amor, I'm here for you. Always," she said earnestly, her eyes reflecting unwavering support.

You leaned into her touch, feeling a rush of relief and gratitude. "Thank you," you whispered, overwhelmed by her unconditional love.

"I want to understand," Alexia continued softly, her thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. "If you're comfortable, tell me more about what you're going through. I'm here to listen."

You hesitated, grappling with the fear of burdening her with your pain. But her patient gaze encouraged you to share. "It's like... these memories keep coming back, and they feel so real," you began haltingly. "I thought I had buried them, but they're here, haunting me."

Alexia nodded thoughtfully, her expression one of deep empathy. "It must be incredibly difficult," she murmured, her fingers gently tracing soothing patterns on your back.

"It is," you admitted, feeling the weight of years of suppressed emotions. "But having you here... it makes a difference. Knowing that I can lean on you."

"You can always lean on me," Alexia affirmed, pulling you into a tender embrace. "We'll face this together, mi amor."

As you rested in her arms, the knot of fear and uncertainty began to loosen. For the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope. A sense that with Alexia by your side, you could navigate the stormy seas of your past and find peace.

The therapy sessions had become a regular part of your life, a deliberate effort to untangle the tightly wound threads of your past. Through EMDR, you revisited memories long buried, each session leaving you emotionally drained yet oddly liberated. But it wasn't just the memories that haunted you; it was the residual effects that surfaced unexpectedly.

One evening, as you strolled through a crowded plaza in Barcelona, a sudden movement caught your eye, triggering an involuntary flinch. Alexia noticed immediately, her concern etched on her face.

"It's okay, mi amor," she murmured softly, drawing you closer as you continued walking. "I'm here."

Grateful for her understanding, you nodded. These moments were unpredictable, flinches at sudden movements, a racing heart at unexpected sounds but Alexia's presence was a steady anchor. She knew about the therapy, about the fragments of your past you were piecing together, and she didn't flinch from your moments of vulnerability.

As you settled into a cozy café, Alexia reached across the table, her fingers intertwining with yours. "You're doing so well," she reassured you, her voice unwavering. "Facing all of this takes incredible strength."

You managed a small smile, feeling the weight of her words and the warmth of her touch. With Alexia, there was no need to explain yourself, she understood without words, offering solace in her silent support.

One evening, as you and Alexia were relaxing together at home, she moved suddenly to hand you a book, and you flinched involuntarily. It shocked you because you knew deep down that Alexia would never hurt you. Tears welled up in your eyes as you whispered, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..."

Alexia's heart broke as she immediately took you in her arms, holding you close. "Shh, mi amor," she whispered softly, her voice laced with understanding and concern. "It's okay, I know you didn't mean it."

"I just... I just want to have some peace with you," you sobbed, your words choked with emotion. Alexia held you tighter, gently rocking you as you released the pent-up sorrow and fear.

As your tears subsided, Alexia continued to hold you close, her touch a soothing balm to your troubled soul. Feeling a surge of gratitude and love for her unwavering support, you gently pulled back to look into her eyes.

"Thank you," you murmured, your voice trembling with emotion. "For understanding, for being here."

Alexia smiled tenderly, brushing a tear from your cheek. "I love you," she whispered, her voice filled with sincerity.

Moved by her words and overwhelmed by the depth of your feelings, you reached up to cup her face in your hands. "I love you too," you replied softly, your heart swelling with love for this extraordinary woman who had changed your life.

In a spontaneous gesture of affection, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to hers, a kiss filled with gratitude, love, and a promise of healing together. Alexia responded eagerly, her arms wrapping around you as she deepened the kiss, both of you melting into each other's embrace.

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! - 5

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Support : Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Bucky scowled, shaking his head. "I still can't accept that," he muttered, his voice tight. Even his gut, a usually reliable compass, told him something was off.

He despised the smell of tobacco. Though he occasionally handled tobacco products for gifts, the smell itself never sat well with him.

"It's all speculation at this point," Javier conceded, holding a placating hand. A glint of something akin to excitement flickered in his eyes. "Wait, I think I have an idea! How about you hold her left hand," he suggested, gesturing towards you, "and shake mine with your right?"

You offered your right hand, a wry smile playing on your lips as you explained, "Left one's still a bit out of commission, thanks to the cast."

Bucky hesitated, his fingers lingering in the air momentarily before cautiously reaching out to clasp yours. His grip was firm yet hesitant, as if unsure of what he might find. However, when it came time to shake Javier's hand, Bucky stopped.

A deep breath escaped his lips, his entire posture tensing slightly. He squeezed his eyes shut, a flicker of worry crossing his face. Was the strange feeling returning?

"Bucky?" Javier's voice cut through the sudden silence.

No response.

"Bucky," you repeated gently, your voice laced with concern.

His eyes snapped open, blinking rapidly as if dispelling a bad dream. Javier was staring intently at his watch, a frown creasing his brow.

You forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Nothing happened," you chirped, hoping to ease the tension around him.

Javier nodded curtly, his brow furrowed. "It's already been three minutes, and you haven't shown any symptoms."

He uncrossed his arms, a silent invitation for you and Bucky to release your handhold. You did so hesitantly, your gaze lingering on Bucky's clenched jaw.

The psychiatrist, leaning back in his chair, steepled his fingers. "Let's scratched the idea of the body odor. The answer, quite simply, is herself."

Your jaw dropped slightly. "Me?" you breathed, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. You couldn't believe what you just heard.

Bucky, however, remained stoic, his eyes fixed on Javier.

Javier continued, his voice low and firm. "There are aspects we can't explain yet, especially with Bucky's case. But when you're with him, his episodes seem to subside when he makes physical contact with another person. Your presence calms him down."

He gestured towards you with an open palm. "You're his tranquilizer."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. You let out another nervous chuckle, a touch more strained this time. But seeing the unwavering conviction in both men's eyes, the truth began to sink in. This wasn't a joke.

Bucky raised a hand to his mouth, his thumb pressed against his pursed lips as he contemplated this revelation. His sky-blue eyes flickered to you, then back to Javier, processing the information at a rapid pace.

Javier leaned forward, his gaze intent. "Does she know about your trauma, Barnes? I believe it's crucial for her to understand the root of this condition."

Bucky clenched his jaw, a vein pulsing angrily in his neck. This was clearly a touchy subject for him. You reached out a placating hand, but quickly pulled it back, sensing his discomfort. "Hey," you said gently, "it's alright, if you don't want to talk about it."

Bucky hesitated, then raised his arms in a gesture of surrender, though his posture remained tense. "No," he forced out, voice rough. "He's right. You deserve to know ." He took a shaky breath, eyes downcast, as if readying himself to jump off a cliff. "When I was twelve..." he began, voice barely a whisper, "...I was kidnapped."

The revelation hit you like a physical blow. You gasped, instinctively reaching out a hand to touch his arm, then flinching back as you remembered his aversion. "Oh my god, Bucky," you breathed, voice thick with concern. "I'm so sorry."

Bucky nodded curtly, shame flickering in his eyes. "I remember parts of it," he continued, voice tight. "Being snatched, darkness... then nothing. How long I was gone, I don't know. My parents said..." his voice hitched, "...they said I was missing for two weeks."

You sat there, speechless, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. There was nothing you could say that could erase that pain.

Finally, Bucky spoke again, his voice dropping to a pained murmur, "Ever since then... I get nervous when anyone touches me. Even my parents. I can't even hug them." The last sentence came out in a defeated sigh, his shoulders slumping forward in a posture of profound sadness.

You felt a lump form in your throat. Witnessing Bucky's vulnerability cracked open a dam of protectiveness within you. Reaching out slowly, you hesitated before gently touching his forearm. This wasn't a hug, just a tentative touch, leaving the decision entirely in his court.

🚗🚗🚗🚗

The silence in the car after the session was deafening. Even the usually comforting purr of the engine seemed amplified by the expensive soundproofing, creating a bubble of hushed tension. Bucky finally broke the suffocating quiet, his voice rough.

"Thanks for trusting me, for not seeing me as some kind of freak." He shifted in his seat, avoiding your gaze for a moment, his jaw clenched tight.

You turned to him, your heart heavy with empathy. "There's no judgment, Bucky. I just... I can't imagine what you went through."

He gave a curt nod, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Life throws curveballs, doesn't it? Just like you."

"Me?" you squeaked, surprised. A blush crept up your cheeks as you remembered the impulsive kiss.

Bucky chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "Yeah, you. I can't help but be curious. Was that kiss... intentional?"

Caught off guard, you stammered, your face burning even brighter. "Well, I... it wasn't exactly planned, okay? I just want to see who this fiancé of hers was. I figured he'd be the same as her."

He barked out a genuine laugh, the sound warming the tense atmosphere. "Really? So, what was your first impression of me, then?"

You met his gaze, a playful glint in your eyes. "Honestly? I thought you were way too good for her. Did she have you under some kind of spell? A voodoo maybe?"

Bucky snorted. "Haha, no spells involved. Truth is, I don't really have time for romance. Just following my parents' wishes, you know?"

You rolled your eyes playfully, bumping him gently with your shoulder. "Bucky, consider this a friendly intervention. We're practically closer now, right? You deserve a better partner than Victoria."

Bucky fell silent, his expression unreadable. After a thoughtful pause, he finally spoke, his voice soft. "I'll think about it."

🍨🍨🍨🍨

Bucky pulled the car to a stop before your grandma's house. As you stepped out, you saw your grandma fast asleep on the couch, the television casting a flickering glow on her peaceful face.

You sighed, a pang of worry tugging at your heart. Needing some air and a distraction, you decided to grab some groceries.

Inside the store, the usual calm hum of elderly shoppers browsing the aisles was punctuated by a sharp echo of clicking heels. It was an unusual sound in this place, where most people favored comfort over fashion.

You stiffened, Genevieve's cloying perfume hitting you a moment before you even saw her. Gritting your teeth, you tightened your grip on the cereal box you were holding.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice laced with icy disdain.

A smirk played on Genevieve's lips, her designer dress swishing around her ankles as she approached. Her usual string of pearls adorned her neck, but they did little to mask the coldness in her eyes. Despite the wealth that clearly surrounded her now, her true nature shone through, untouched by any veneer of success.

"Do you think I actually enjoy grocery shopping?" she drawled, her voice dripping with faux-sweetness. "I came to deliver a warning."

You stuck your pinkie finger in your ear and wiggled it demonstratively in a gesture that spoke volumes about your opinion of her. With a theatrical flourish, you pulled it out and pretended to wipe your hand, clearly saying how much her "warning" mattered.

Genevieve's perfectly painted face contorted in fury. "You never did respect me," she hissed, her voice tight with anger.

"How could I?" you countered, your voice low and dangerous. "You're the one who took my mother from me."

Genevieve recoiled slightly, a flicker of something akin to fear crossing her features briefly. "This again? It wasn't my fault," she insisted, but the defensiveness in her tone betrayed her words.

Your fingers clenched around the cereal box, knuckles turning white. "If I had a time machine," you spat back, your voice dripping with venom, "I'd tell your parents to wear a raincoat the night you were conceived. Your entire existence is a blight on my family."

Genevieve's perfectly manicured hand flew to her pearls, her face contorting into a mask of outrage. "You insolent child!" she shrieked. "Is this how you address your mother?"

You let out a humorless scoff. "Step. You forgot the first words 'step'." you corrected, emphasizing each syllable. "And the word you're looking for is 'respect,' which you seem to have misplaced along with your basic human decency."

Genevieve took a shaky breath, attempting to regain her composure. She smoothed down her designer dress, her eyes glinting with a dangerous glint. "You'll regret this insolence," she hissed, her voice low and menacing. "I wonder what your dear grandmother would think of your behavior."

That was a low blow, and you knew it. It hit your Achilles' heel with a sickening thud. You gritted your teeth, forcing back a surge of anger. "Don't you dare bring her into this," you growled, your voice tight with emotion. "You took my mother from me, and you took Velari away too."

Velari wasn't just a store; it was a legacy. Your grandma, Cassandra, had poured her heart and soul into the tailor shop, a love letter to her craft and a testament to her love for her daughter, Ophelia.

She'd meticulously crafted the most beautiful dresses and outfits for you and your mother, creating a haven of creativity and joy. Because of Genevieve, your grandma couldn't even step near a sewing machine without a pang of grief.

Genevieve feigned concern, her voice dripping with saccharine sympathy. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," she cooed, her words as hollow as her heart. "It breaks my heart to think she has to stay cooped up at home all the time. She deserves the best care, in the most luxurious—"

"Shut up!" you roared, cutting her off mid-sentence. The anger you'd been holding back finally erupted, incinerating any remaining shred of patience. You abandoned your cart and stormed past Genevieve, leaving her sputtering in your wake.

Before you march towards the exit, you see a luxury sedan car parked at the parking lot. It must be that old hag car. Then a glint of metal catches your eye in the sporting goods aisle. A baseball bat and a golden golf club gleamed under the fluorescent lights, and a mischievous glint sparked in your eyes.

Meanwhile, inside the store, Genevieve smugly texted Victoria, relishing the thought of a job well done. "Consider it handled," she typed with a smirk.

Stepping out of the store, she was met with unexpected chaos. A crowd had gathered around the parking lot, their faces a mixture of shock.

Pushing her way through the crowd, Genevieve's blood ran cold. Her pristine luxury sedan was no longer so pristine. A gaping hole marred the driver's side window, a testament to your recent handiwork.

"Oh my God!" she shrieked, her carefully cultivated facade crumbling. Scrambling for her phone, she called Jonathan. "My car! My car! Your daughter ruined it! Send someone to get me now!"

🍨🍨🍨🍨

Genevieve said your grandma's name, and dread filled your stomach. She never talked about grandma! You raced home, heart pounding, throwing the door open with a bang. Inside, empty. Panic choked you. Grandma's forgetful and wouldn't know her way back.

Suddenly, you remembered! The family tracker app! Grandma's smartwatch! But your phone...gone! Did it fall out while you ran? Stuck at the store? Bucky's car? No way to call him.

Frustration bubbled up. You cursed and ran back outside, the storm matching your worry.

Exhaustion gnawed at your already frayed nerves. The playground, usually a symphony of squeals and laughter, felt eerily quiet. You scanned the equipment again, a knot of dread tightening in your stomach.

Cassandra, your grandmother with dementia, had vanished. Where could she have gone? Had she wandered off, scared and confused? The image of her getting hit by a car sent a fresh jolt of panic through you.

Sinking onto a nearby bench, you let your head fall into your hands. The setting sun cast long shadows, painting the approaching dusk in an unsettling orange glow. 6 pm. It had been hours since you'd last seen Cassandra.

"Y/N?"

A voice broke through your spiraling thoughts. You snapped your head up, eyes landing on Bucky. Relief flooded your face, washing away the worry etched onto your features.

"Bucky? What are you...?" Your voice trailed off, a question hanging heavy in the air.

He held out your phone, his brow creased with concern. "I realized you left it in my car. Are you alright? You look…" his voice trailed off, searching your face for answers.

Clutching the phone to your chest as if in prayer, you let out a shaky sigh. "You don't know how grateful I am that you're here." The tightness in your voice spoke volumes of the terror that had gripped you.

Bucky's concern deepened. "Something's wrong, isn't it?"

Taking a deep breath, you blurted out your worries, your voice trembling. "My grandma… she left the house. She has dementia." You paced as you spoke, hoping the movement would ease the knot of fear in your stomach.

Understanding dawned on Bucky's face. "No wonder you sound so stressed. Let me help you find her." Relief washed over you as you realized you weren't facing this alone.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed in your hand. A notification from the "Find My Family" app. You snatched it up, heart pounding. It worked! A wave of elation washed over you as you showed Bucky the screen.

The app indicated your grandmother's location – the ice cream shop down the street. A small smile played on Bucky's lips, mirroring the one slowly spreading across yours.

🍨🍨🍨🍨

A fresh wave of frustration washed over you. Why hadn't you thought of the ice cream shop? Cassandra had mentioned it countless times, a place she and your mother used to frequent before it became so popular. Kicking yourself mentally, you explained the situation to Bucky, your voice laced with a hint of exasperation.

Together, you practically sprinted towards the shop. Relief flooded your system the moment you spotted Cassandra through the window, perched on a stool and happily digging into a bowl of ice cream. A tired smile tugged at the corner of your lips. At least she wasn't scared.

As you entered, Cassandra's eyes lit up. "Ophelia!" she boomed, her voice carrying a hint of childish glee. "What took you so long?"

You let out a sigh of relief, battling with exhaustion. "Just glad you're alright."

The owner, a kind-faced elder with a shock of white hair, approached your table. "Found her wandering outside, a little lost," he explained gently, his voice carrying a knowing warmth. It seemed he understood your grandmother's condition.

"Thank you so much," you stammered, overwhelmed with gratitude. "We owe you a lot."

The owner chuckled, his wrinkles deepening around his eyes. "No worries at all, dear. Just glad I could help."

You reached into your purse and pulled out a generous amount of cash, pressing it into his hand. He might have just saved you from an all-night search. "If it weren't for you, she could have kept walking…" your voice trailed off, the thought sending a fresh shiver down your spine.

Cassandra, oblivious to the drama, swiveled in her seat, her gaze fixed on Bucky. "Ophelia, is he your boyfriend?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"He's a friend," you mumbled.

Bucky's lips curved into a charming smile as he addressed Cassandra. "Nice to meet you, ma'am," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Bucky. For a moment there, I thought you were her sister."

Cassandra let out a delighted giggle, her eyes twinkling. "I really like that," she chirped, taking his hand with a firm grip.

"Alright, let's head home before the rain hits," you said, gently guiding her toward the exit.

Cassandra's brow furrowed slightly. "Ooh, alright," she conceded, a hint of disappointment tinging her voice.

However, as she attempted to stand, her legs wobbled precariously. The long walk had clearly taken its toll. A gasp escaped your lips as you watched her lose her balance.

"Ah!" Cassandra cried out, her voice laced with fear.

"Grandma!" you exclaimed in unison with Bucky. But before you could react, Bucky's reflexes kicked in. He darted forward, his arm instinctively wrapping around Cassandra's waist to steady her.

A grateful smile flickered across Cassandra's face. "Thank you, young man," she murmured, patting his arm with a wrinkled hand.

Relief washed over you as you watched the averted disaster. You hurried to Cassandra's side, offering her your own support.

Bucky was stunned for a second, and cleared his throat, "Uh, wait a moment… I can drive you both home," he offered.

You shot him a look of pure gratitude. The ice cream shop was a fair distance from your house, and with the looming threat of rain, his offer couldn't have come at a better time.

Bucky skillfully navigated the streets, delivering you back home safely. Exhaustion had finally overtaken Cassandra, and she drifted into a peaceful sleep during the ride.

However, carrying her inside seemed like an impossible feat. You looked at her sleeping form, unsure how to proceed. Waking her up seemed the only option, but you hated disturbing her slumber.

Bucky's voice dipped low, a warning rumbling in his chest, "Don't awake her." His brow furrowed as he spoke, his gaze flickering between you and your still-sleeping grandma in the backseat.

You pursed your lips, about to protest with a helpless, "But-" when Bucky surprised you.

He unclipped his seatbelt with a practiced flick, the leather whispering against the metal. His movements were efficient as he pushed open the back door. He crouched beside the car, his strong arms flexing as he braced himself to lift your grandma.

Just as he was about to scoop her up, you gasped, your eyes widening in sudden realization. "Wait…Bucky. You…?" The question trailed off, unfinished, as the enormity of the situation dawned on you.

Bucky straightened abruptly, your grandma cradled securely in his arms. A bewildered frown etched onto his features as he met your wide-eyed stare.

"I don't feel any symptoms," he rumbled, disbelief tingeing his voice. He looked down at your grandma, then back at you, searching for an explanation.

You mirrored his stunned expression. Does that mean your grandma could help Bucky with his disorder as well?

Author Note: Does her grandma have the same effect as our reader???

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Author Note: Hey friends,

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Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

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[squintsintwink]

All my female sims are either trashy fake plastic glam or dirty sewer rat grunge and there’s no in between???

[wormworker]

i'm a gothpunk weirdo so i love 'hawks, but i think realistically if nervous subject even had one, he would be wearing it down, because there's no way the beakers are giving him hair gel/wax/spray, much less that he has the energy to put it up all the time

[queers-gambit]

Dinner At The Homesick Restaurant

( a 303-page novel by Anne Taylor )

prompt: behind closed doors, many families have secret turmoil. you experience your boyfriend's with him one fateful Christmas. or how Carmy finally made the decision to get away.

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader pairing: Carmy x Peach

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

word count: 10.4k+

note: highly recommend the book. also let author write out her stress and trauma please, this was GOING TO get deleted but 10k is a lot of effort so please be kind in what you say.

warnings: spoilers, cursing, toxic family, small hurt and comfort, loving someone despite toxic situations beyond anyone's control, Lord's name in vain, a little of what happens after THAT scene, reader nicknamed Peach.

⚠️ season two, episode six spoilers

"What're you readin', Peach?"

You looked up through the lens of your glasses, smiling at your questioning boyfriend as his bare feet slapped the polished floors of the hotel suite you sought refuge in. You greeted with a soft tease, "Good morning to you, too, sunshine."

"Yeah, yeah. You're right, sorry, hi," he smirked, bending down to kiss your lips in greeting. "Been up long?"

"No, no, just about a chapter or so," you lied, not wanting him to know you've been up for hours out of sheer anxiety. "I made us some coffee, too."

"My perfect girl," he smirked, bending to kiss you again. "Want a refill?"

"I'm okay, thank you." It was quiet for a moment before you heard Carmy fucking around in the kitchen, trying to focus on the novel in your lap, but being most unsuccessful. "Don't forget about tonight," you called in reminder, wondering how to broach the subject before just ripping the Bandaid off.

"What's tonight, again?"

"Carmy."

"I'm kidding," he chuckled, exiting the kitchen to take a seat on the couch at your feet, bringing them onto his lap. "I know, we're gonna go over at, like, 2..."

You nodded absently, seeing the distant look in his eye. "Are you sure it's okay for me to come?" You wondered, nudging him with your foot.

"Hmm?" Carmy looked at you in confusion. "Peach, you've been before, why would it be weird now?"

"I don't know, I wasn't a girlfriend all those times I attended."

"Oh, you're a girlfriend this year? Hmm... To who?"

Your eyes rolled as you pinched him; loving the easy smile on his lips. "Not funny, I'm just trying to be sensitive to all parties," you pouted.

"I know," he allotted, taking a mouthful of coffee before setting his mug down. He started rubbing your feet and ankles, admitting, "I'm a little nervous, I guess..."

"I know."

"It's nice that you'll be there," he nodded, sighing. "They all still give me shit for going away."

"I know, and it's not fair to you," you assured, "you don't deserve that kinda treatment. Say the word, Bear, and we'll skip it."

"Too late now," he wiped his tired eyes. "I need a smoke, Peach."

"I'm gonna hop a shower."

"I'll be in," he smirked, standing with his coffee after gently lifting your feet from his lap. You watched him move for the balcony sans a shirt and frowned when your mind repeated the passage you had just read. Quickly, you opened your book again and read what made your heart so very heavy:

"'You think we're a family,' said Cody, turning back. 'You think we're some jolly, situation-comedy family when we're in particles, torn apart all over the place, and our mother was a witch.'"

The similarities were eery. You saw Carmy light up through the glass door of your rented hotel suite, knowing his family was falling apart and he was powerless to it all; they all were. Carmy, his siblings, any loved ones... You tossed the book on the table, stood, and moved for the balcony.

Carmy leaned on the railing, glancing over shoulder as your arms slithered around his middle. With a kiss to his bare shoulder, you whispered, "I love you, Cream. So much."

He took a long, steadying breath, but replied with full sincerity, "I know, and I love you, too, Peach. So much."

Yeah, that's right, bitches. You were Peaches and Cream. Did it get cuter than that? Didn't think so!

Another kiss to his shoulder and you promised, "I'll be with you the whole time."

"I know."

"You're not alone."

"I know," he sighed. "I just... I know what we're walking into."

"We'll get through it - whatever happens. C'mon, come get a shower with me. It'll save water and shit."

However, you probably used about twice as much because as obvious romp in the glass-stall started. When clean, you both got out, dried off, did your hair, then your make-up; then both getting dressed and ready for one helluva holiday.

On the way, you stopped to pick up flowers for Carmy's mother, Donna, keeping hold of the homemade peach cobbler you had prepared. The whole drive, Carmy kept a possessive hand on your thigh; his nerves showing through as he nervously tapped a rhythm to your flesh. You reminded him to breathe, but he couldn't focus long enough to keep himself regulated.

You tried distracting him with conversation, but nothing stuck for too long. You tried letting a hand thread into his curls, but it didn't soothe him like it usually did.

Arriving, you and Carmy just sat in your car for a long moment. You didn't rush him, you did't speak, you just held his hand with one hand as the other extended to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck; and waited for his move. "All right," he cleared his throat, throwing his cigarette butt out the window before rolling it up and cutting the engine. "You ready?"

"We got this," you assured softly.

"There you are," Carmy smirked, hands catching your waist as you tried to pass through the hall, "thought you ran outa here already."

"We're just warming up," you purred, his chest to your back; your arms crossed to hold onto his engorged biceps. You grinned as your foreheads met for a fleeting moment of peace.

"I'm really happy you're here," he whispered.

"Me, too."

"Love you, Peach."

"Love you, Cream," you sang, making him chuckle a little.

"You know, some of the guys thought you and I finally getting together is all some big cover story."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mhm," he hummed, snuggling into your embrace as you both found a secular moment of seclusion to get in a much-needed recharge. "Say you're actually dating some hunky Italian model dude."

You hissed between your teeth, "So, so close, but he's actually French."

Carmy chuckled, then took a sobering breath and glanced over his shoulder. "Should get back. I found Mikey and Nat - they were on the front stoop, smoking."

"Good," you mused, turning in his embrace. "Gimme a kiss, please, then you can go," you pouted.

He looked up, then at you with mocking confusion, "But there's no mistletoe."

"I wanna kiss."

He snickered at your pouting, fat lip, leaning in to find your lips with his. There was a brief moment outside of time, space, and reality; and it was when you and Carmy kissed. God, was he a good kisser, albeit a bit wet, but still a damn-good kisser; and you relished every moment of it. His taste was like an intoxication. His hands hot. Smell prickled your sinuses delightfully. Body firm, love warm.

"Ewww," Fak gagged when he saw you two, "get a room, nobody wants to see that! Ugh! God!" He shuffled past you.

"Fak," you snipped, watching him pause.

"Sorry, Peach," he sighed, leaning in to peck your cheek. "You look beautiful as ever."

You hummed, patted his cheek, and then took Carmy's hand to enter the kitchen after Fak where Donna worked frantically. "Hi, Mama, Dee!" You greeted cheerfully, Carmy's hand already sweating.

"Oh! Hi, my baby, Peaches! Oh, good, good, good, you made it!" Donna rushed over to kiss your cheeks, hands held out to not get grease or sauce or fish on you. "You look so beautiful!" She gasped, "Oh, honey, you look - wow! Stunning! Just stunning!"

"Oh, you just like flattering me," you teased, feeling Carmy's hand tighten. "Something smells so fucking amazing - oh, this is going to be a dinner for the books, huh?"

"Who's flattering who now?" She laughed.

"It's not flattery when it's completely true," you laid on thick, hoping the compliments bulked up to fluff her ego enough to save the family from an inevitable breakdown later.

"Did you bring your cobbler?" She asked with glee.

"Of course," you beamed, "I couldn't come here without one, that'd just be criminal!" Donna laughed with you, and you thought now was a good time to ask, "Can I help with anything?"

"What? Oh! No, no, no, honey, Peaches, no, no, no, I just want you to get a drink and go talk - go mingle! It's the holidays!"

You looked at Carmy as she went back to cooking, flabbergasted as to what you could say. "I'm gonna stay, you go - sit," He whispered with pinched brows and nodding his head, rubbing your waist. "Go 'head, baby, it's okay."

"I could peel - "

"It's alright, Peach," he chuckled, pecking your lips. "Go." His lips moved to your ear, "I want you good and drunk by tonight so we can have really dirty sex later, huh?"

"Deal," you purred. "But I can sit over there - "

"Peach."

You glanced at Donna, then at Carmy, whispering, "I just want to help."

"I know, Peach. Not right now though, okay?"

"She likes me, though." He nodded in agreement, looking ready to cave. "Stop trying to get outta this, Carmy, and just accept it," you smirked. "I'm gonna get some wine and be back."

He hummed as you kissed him in parting, and when you exited, missed the way Donna smirked at Carmy, "Can't leave a room without a kiss? Didn't think you'd ever be so possessive, Carmy, honey."

"I'm not, she likes it," he eased. "Here, let me get that," he freed her hands, trying not to snap when she picked up her wine immediately after. Carmen got to work doing what his mother barked at him, but then the Faks came in, and you returned, and then Mikey arrived - it all turning into an overcrowded shit-show.

"Where's the cake!?" Donna worried.

"It's defrosting, Ma," Carmen answered.

"Ma, why don't you let him help you?" Mikey sneered. "It's, like, all he fucking does, he'd be great."

"What was that? Was that, like, a shot?" Carmy snapped.

"Baby, don't, c'mon," you tried, reaching for his waist to curl your fingers so he felt your long nails. Not too hard, just enough to assure him you had ahold of him.

But Carmen couldn't let it go, even when his mother tired to diffuse the siblings. He snarled at his older brother, "I'm the guy that does food. You're the guy that what? Y-Y-You, uh, start a hundred different businesses and have zero follow-through."

"Carmy, don't," you tried, but it was lost to the sea of voices all talking at once.

But his brother was antagonizing, his mother deflecting, and he snapped, "This is why - This is why I didn't wanna come home, why I didn't wanna bring Peaches home to you all."

You remained silent when his mother snapped, "Oh, fuck you!"

"What the fuck!? What!?"

"Why the fuck would you say that?" Donna snarled.

"It's fuckin' Christmas," Mikey tacked on. They both over lapped one another, and Carmy felt backed into a corner.

"Not in front of my girl, man, fuck," Carmy had snipped at them.

"Say the fuckin' words!"

Carmy paused, then answered, "I love you, guys."

His mother was pleased and kissed his cheek, going back to cooking as Mikey kissed Carm's head. He looked over at you, mutely taking your outstretched hand to give a squeeze for each count to five; regulate his breathing, and then nodding in assurance he was okay. He went back to doing whatever his mother directed. Before he could slip away, you leaned into his ear, whispering, "I'm gonna step out."

"Good," he nodded, glancing back at his mom - but Donna was distracted. "I'll find you soon," he promised, pecking your lips before you exited the kitchen.

"Hey! Hey, Peach!"

"Hi, Mikey," you smiled, looking up at him when you paused outside the kitchen.

"Listen, uh... I just, uh... Look, I know I put you in a weird position," he sighed, hand to the back of his neck.

"How so?"

"By callin' you... Textin' you..."

"You want to check on Carmy," you sighed, "and you're as good as my real brother, so, I don't mind."

"It feels wrong since, you know, y'all are together now or somethin'."

"Mikey," you eased, "I was your guys' friend first, then I was family, and then I was Carmy's girlfriend. If you need your friend or your sister, I'm here, but if you need Carmy's girlfriend, I'll have to tell him. Get it?"

He chuckled, "I knew you'd understand."

"All too well," you eased.

"He doin' all right...?"

"He will be. He's just," you took a pause to sigh, "really tired and stressed. He works really hard, Mikey... Like really, really hard. Like you wouldn't believe."

"Nah, I know, Peaches, I know."

"Might be nice for him to hear that sometimes."

"That's what I'm fucking talking about!"

You apologized and had to leave Michelle when you heard Carmen's elevated voice, excusing yourself to look around the corner and spot your boyfriend in some heated argument with his brother and his brothers best friend, who they called Cousin, Richie Jerimovich. You were about to step in when you froze, hearing the argument without the guys realizing you were standing there.

"Seriously?" Mikey laughed. "You seriously think you're gonna keep a girl like Peach? Man, we all know this is some bullshit fling, but seeing Claire Bear - Man Alive!"

"That doesn't even make sense!" Carmy snapped.

"Oh, c'moonnnn, Carmy," Richie groaned, "look, I love her, I do, but we all know there ain't no way Peach is, like, girlfriend material. She's still sowing her wild oats, you know, just, fuckin' around and shit!"

"Fuck did you say!?" Carmy snarled, lunging for Richie but being caught by Fak's faster hands. "Huh!? The fuck did you just say!? Callin' my girl a slut? Fuck are you on about - "

"No, I ain't say - "

"Better watch your fucking mouth," Carm growled, "and learn to respect our relationship 'cause neither of us are goin' anywhere. Peach is here to stay - like it or not - and she's here to stay with me!"

"But you had such the crush on Claire - "

"I had a crush on Peach, too!"

"But Claire - "

"Nothing about Claire, Jesus, fuck! I don't need y'all fucking meddling! Peach and i are good, fuck you doin' set me up with some other chick!? I don't want nobody else - I got the girl of my fuckin' dreams, fuck you guys doin' tryna ruin that!?"

"We're just tryna help you, man, talk you up, man! Fuck! Don't gotta sound so ungrateful - "

"You don't need to! You don't need to talk me up to anybody, you fuckin' idiots! I have Peach! I don't need you to talk me up because I'm good, okay? I'm good. I got Peach, I'm committed to her, so don't try to talk me up to anyone for any fucking reason - good intentions or not!"

"Y'all aren't even serious!" Mikey laughed loudly. "C'mon! Peach isn't a relationship kinda girl, ain't no way you're thinkin' y'all are gonna last or be some, like, serious thing. You're just bored! But we're telling you, man, Carmy, you don't gotta be anymore, 'cause Claire Bear is - "

"Not my fucking girl!" Carm snapped, temper loosening. "Fuck off! Ain't got nothing decent to say - then just shut the fuck up!"

They called Steven in and you panicked for a millisecond before evening your stride to look like you just arrived. "Hey," you smiled to the lads, "what's all the yelling about? Jesus Christ, it's like a holiday at my house when Meemaw comes to visit."

"I told you," Carmy's attitude directed at you, making you feel disarmed, "these assholes don't respect our relationship, they were trying to set me up with someone else."

You offered the others a stale look as your hand latched to Carmy's, sounding like a scolding mother, "Real mature, you guys. That's wildly disrespectful and it's hard not to take it personally."

"We don't mean it in a bad way, Peach," Richie sighed, "just that there's other options and neither of you have to settle."

"'Settle'?" Carmy laughed, and you had to readjust your stance to prevent him from charging. "You're forgetting Peach did whatever she could to make us work, she was loyal when none of y'all could bother answering the phone, and she always held me down. And then, when I was finally good, I promised her we could come home. So, you jagoffs owe her your thanks that we're even home this Christmas."

"None needed," you smiled, wanting to start screaming yourself but holding back for the sake of Carmen. "I'm sure their jealousy keeps them warm at night, who am I to take that from them by having them apologize?"

"Don't do that," Mikey groaned. "Get all high and mighty."

"How have I ever? You're the assholes shitting on your brother for having a girlfriend. Just 'cause you've all thought about me when self-pleasuring, doesn't mean take your jealousy out on our relationship."

The argument started up again, sighing as you didn't engage but instead tried to hold your boyfriend back when he bared his teeth at a few comments hurled at you both. You flinched away when Mikey started reaching for Carmy to physically pick at him, inciting his anger; making him snap back to not "fucking touch" him.

"Mikey, please," you tried to stave off, but Richie reached out and lugged a heavy arm around your shoulders. "Richie, for fuck's sake. C'mon, just fuck off. Mikey, don't fucking touch him - c'mon, guys!"

"Awh, you get so defensive for him, it's so cute," Richie laughed, jostling you a little as Mikey and Carmy still snapped and snarled at each other in the way only siblings could.

"'Cause y'all don't know how to fuckin' stop," you pushed Richie off you. But then...

"HEY!"

You flinched when a wooden spoon flew through the air to hit Stevie, who yelped in shock from the sting. "Hey! What the fuck?" He looked up and asked, "Auntie D, did you just throw a spoon at me?"

"Yeah, I did," Donna snarled, hanging in the doorway. "You, Richard, bring her the pop - "

"Deedee - "

"You, Carmen, I need you!"

This triggered another avalanche of voices to overlap one another. You moved towards Carmy as Mikey approached his mother, hearing Richie tell Carmen, "We're not done about this Claire Bear thing."

"Yes, you fucking are," you snapped, pushing Richie a half-step back. "Fuck off, Cousin, you're taking this too far."

"I only meant - "

"We all know what y'all mean, but go fuck yourself! We're happy, now either accept that or fuck off 'cause you're not gonna come between us. Go, goodbye, go, go, go tend to your pregnant wife - go, goodbye, fuck you," he tried to talk over you, sounding amused, "Merry Christmas, I love you and shit, but fuck you, go away."

He backed off as Stevie left the room, allowing you to turn for Carmy as he leaned on the arm of an armchair. His head shook and reached for you, bringing you in closer until his head rested on your stomach and his arms coiled in a vice grip. You frowned and thread your fingers through his hair, hearing his mother starting up another tangent about needing Carmen. With a sigh, he looked up at you, "Thank you."

"Hmm?"

"For just being here," he whispered. "I'm sorry about them."

"They're breaking your balls, baby," you smiled, curling his curls behind his ears. "C'mon, we should go help your mama."

Carmy sighed and stood to his feet, "You don't have to stay."

"But then how will I know you're okay?" You pouted, watching him smile and wrap his arms around your waist.

"I'm sorry about them," he whispered. "They don't - they don't know what the fuck they're talking about."

"It's okay," you matched his tone, ignoring your own burning-hot emotions. "They're just jealous."

He nodded, hearing his mother snarl something else about needing him; making Carmy sigh. His lips found yours in a slow kiss, pausing to lean his forehead on yours, "Really grateful you're here with me, Peach."

"Nowhere else I'd rather be, Cream," you grinned, starting to lead him back towards the kitchen.

"Hang on," he paused you, glancing around to see nobody lingering. "You know I love you, Peach, right?"

"And you know I'm very serious about this relationship, Carmy, right?"

He rested against you, breathing, "I know." Then his lips spread in a grin, "Gonna marry you one day, Peach."

"Good," you teased, but being honest, "because I can't see spending my life with anyone else but you, Cream. I mean, who else has a family this entertaining?"

He laughed as he followed after you.

"Help me, Peach, please, Goddamn it," Donna grunted, trying to lift a heavy, full cast iron pot. "There we go," she mused when you gabbed the other end to put it back on the burner. You didn't comment that it was the same pot she had Carmy move earlier, just doing as she asked.

She only let you in the kitchen because of Carmy.

Speaking of... "Behind, baby," Carmy muttered, a hand ghosting your waist as he moved. Sugar appeared and you only tried to minimize yourself as eight different timers were ringing for any unknown fucking reason.

Donna sent Carmy off to get saltines for a pregnant, nauseous Tiff, leaving you three women. "Oh!" Donna gasped, "You're almost empty! Here, here, Peach, here you go!" She cheered when she saw your nearly-empty wine glass. Sugar sent you a long look, and you knew this was eating her alive to watch her mother like this; but you hoped you were enough of a buffer for them.

A few minutes later, Donna asked if you could go grab another bottle of wine for you two to share. You froze, between a rock and a hard place; knowing you shouldn't but not wanting to upset the host. You had once done the same with your own mother, perhaps being a reason you didn't go home for holidays.

"Yeah, of course, one second, Miss Lady," you told Donna, sending a confused look to Sugar.

When you walked out, you nearly ran straight into Carmy. "Shit," he breathed, "sorry, baby, didn't mean to run into you like."

"It's okay, but where you goin', speed racer?"

"Mikey's gift," he actually grinned, watching you return his excitement after knowing how much thought he put in.

"You know we're doing exchanges later," you laughed lightly, watching him go. Finding the wine rack, you selected a bottle, and returned to the kitchen where Donna and Sugar were bickering. "Here," you smiled, setting the bottle down to uncork it.

"Thank you, honey," Donna purred, accepting your pour. When she turned for the stove again, you winked at Sugar and discreetly tipped the wine bottle over into the sink to drain it until it was about a quarter way full. "Carm? Where the fuck are my saltines?" She yelled.

When he returned, he gave his mother what she needed before approaching you. "Wanna take a break?" He mumbled.

"Dinner doesn't make itself, baby," you teased.

"Hmm," he hummed, pecking your neck, "I'm gonna run Tiff up some crackers."

You continued your work for several long minutes, when suddenly, Donna pulled one of the seven fishes from the oven. She turned, set it on the counter, but stumbled last second to accidentally knock her wine glass over. The shattering made both Sugar and Donna swear. You wanted to help, but Sugar was already on the floor trying to clean, causing Donna to seethe, "It's like I fuckin' have to do everything for everyone." You and Natalie tried to assure her, but she spoke over any reassurance, "No one fucking lifts a finger to help me."

"Look, I'm getting it right now!"

Donna leered over her daughter, making you freeze, "Can you just go upstairs and get Dad's gun out of my drawer," she held her thumb and pointer finger like a gun, muzzle to her temple, "and I think I'm just gonna blow my fuckin' brains out, and then you guys can make dinner - " Sugar tried to speak over her mother but was unsuccessful, "because I don't think anyone would fuckin' miss me!"

Natalie sobbed as she tried to say anything other than "No! You're okay!" When the older woman gabbed her daughter's cheeks in a pinching-hold, you felt like throwing up as the scene - the words - the actions - it was all too familiar to you. They still yelled over one another, but then, Steven entered the kitchen and disturbed them all.

He only got to greet, "Hey, Donna, Mama D - "

Before Donna screeched at him, "Oh, motherfucking asshole!"

"Out, out, out," You ushered, gently directing Stevie to the door; Sugar repeating what you said as Donna still snarled and yelled and insulted and cursed.

"Get the fuck out!"

"I'm so sorry, Stevie," you whispered when you pushed him out the door. "Thank you for offering, but we got it - it's okay."

You sniffled as Sugar collected the trash and promised to take it out; one of the timers ringing. Donna looked lost and confused as Sugar left, the matriarch whispering, "What's that for?"

"Is it the flounder?"

She didn't answer, lost in her mind, yet muttering, "Nobody would fuckin' miss me."

"Mama D?" You called, watching her startle back into reality. "Is that timer for the flounder?"

"Oh! Right! Yes!" She clapped, pointing at you, "And that's why you're my favorite, Peach. Tell you what," she scoffed, shaking her head, "don't you ever have kids. They fuckin' ruin everything, never show gratitude, never bother to help their fucking mother."

"Well, I'm not thinking about kids yet," you chuckled softly, hoping to distract her. "Still got a lot more life to live before that."

"Just don't do it," she spat. "Even with a sweet boy like Carmy, kids just ruin relationships. Marriage ain't no better, either. What - where's the fucking bread?"

"Here," you sighed, showing her the bread basket.

"Hey," Carmy entered the kitchen, looking exhausted, "can I talk to you for a second, Peach?"

"If your Mama doesn't need me," you nodded, not wanting to tell him too much about what you witnessed.

"I need you everyday, honey," she spoke softly, leaning in to peck your cheek, "but it's fine, it's fine - I don't need help. Go with Carmy. Go, go, go, go."

"Holler if you need us," you smiled, "even if it's just for hot gossip."

"My girl," she teased gently with a wink.

"C'mon," Carmy muttered, taking your hand, and leading you out a side door. He glanced around a few times, finally finding a secluded part of the house. When he came to a halt, you did too, and he sighed as his hands took your waist, "Sugar told me to come rescue you. Said something happened with Mom and I should check on you? The hell happened?"

You shrugged, "Just... Sometimes I forget what family feels like. I left mine for a multitude of reasons, maybe I feel like I fit in better with you Berzatto's. Mama D just got frustrated, and it reminded me of my mom. I wasn't scared, but I think I was triggered."

He nodded, "You need a break."

"I'm okay, I promise."

"You're not," he sighed. "You shouldn't be on the frontlines against her. Okay? It's too stressful for anyone and I need you with me. I need you whole. You know? Need you intact for me, and Ma's only gonna rip you to shreds."

You pouted, "I just... I thought if I helped, she'd feel calmer, maybe save you guys from taking her shit. We used to cook all the time together..."

Carmen sighed, reaching for your cheek to caress your jaw, "You really are a sweetheart." Carmy leaned in and claimed a kiss from your lips, making you both sigh in contentment. When he pulled back, Carmy whispered, "I love you, Peach."

"I love you, too, Bear."

"Carmy!"

He whined, deflating on your shoulder at his mother's cry. "Holidays are almost over, baby. Gotta hang on for a bit, I need you intact, too."

You parted ways, Carmy returning to the kitchen as you meandered around the rest of the rooms, peaking into each of them. "Hey!" Someone cheered, making you look up to a separate doorway leading to a sitting room.

"Oh, shit, hey, Pete!"

"Peaches!"

"Just Peach!"

He laughed and accepted your hug, "Merry Christmas! Happy holidays, seasons greetings, warm tidings, and shit."

"You, too," you cooed, glancing at the tin in his hand. "Oh... Y-You brought something?"

Pete blinked as the room snickered. "Yeah? It's... It's tuna casserole."

"And you brought fish... Why?"

"'Cause it's the Feast of Seven Fishes - "

"And by bringing tuna, it'd be eight fishes."

He sighed, "Yep, so I keep being told."

"I mean, good intentions, honey, but wildly misplaced," you winced. "Probably shouldn't let Carmy see..."

And of course, when you said that, your boyfriend came from behind to clap his hands and call, "Hey, family!" He tried to announce dinner but Pete was too happy to cheer loudly and greet your lover. "Woah, woah, woah. What the fuck is that?" Carmy demanded when he saw the aluminum dish tin.

"Don't tell him," Michelle voted.

"What do you mean, 'don't tell him?'" Mikey followed.

"It's nothin', it's nothin', I - "

"Peach," Carmy looked at you, making you freeze, "what is this? What is that? Peach, the hell is that?"

"Um, well," you tried to smile in reassurance, taking his stiff hand, "you know, you're gonna get mad, but Pete's heart was in the right place."

From behind, "Uncle" Lee told Carmy, "It's a tuna casserole."

You saw the way Carmy locked in on Pete, taking a half-step back but not letting go of his hand. "It's seven fishes, Pete," Carmy snapped. It started a new wave of slander. By the end, his hand was clamped around yours in a vice, leading you through the room and telling Pete, "Just don't let her see. Don't let her see!"

"Dinner," you reminded the room, following Carmy as Sugar passed to approach her husband.

"Wanna help me dress the desserts table?"

You nodded in agreement, and together, you and Carmy brought out all kinds of dishes to leave on the table. You were bringing out the peach cobbler you brought when you caught the tail-end of whatever Michelle was telling Carmy. "That's so nice," you interrupted, moving between the two to set down the cobbler, "offering up your place like that, but we have one."

Her head cocked, asking in interest, "You do?"

"My family does," you nodded.

"Well, think about what I said," Michelle told Carmy. "Would love to see you guys in the city," she smirked at you.

"Yeah, all right, sure," he agreed. When she left, you turned on your boyfriend with confusion, but he only sighed, "She was recommending I get away from this family-drama bullshit."

You shrugged, "Not a half-bad idea."

"We'll see..."

"Carmy," you frowned, "we'll do whatever is best and right for us. Okay? Nothing more or less."

"I hear you," he muttered.

"And I just got confirmation that we can use the apartment in Manhattan," you told him. "So, whenever we're ready to go, we can go, okay? We don't have to shack up in a hotel room for much longer."

"I don't mind it," he eased. "I'll make a decision... I'll make a decision by this weekend about New York, okay?" You agreed, him looking over your shoulder before taking your hand. "Dinner's on," he reminded, feeling your hand snake around his waist to rest; letting his arm raise to accommodate you, latch around your shoulders, continuing forward to the dining room.

However, before entering, you pulled Carmy to a halt. "Hey, hey," you smiled, turning him to face you, "I'm really proud of you for coming home. I know it's not easy, but you're so brave for going through this."

"'Brave'?" He scoffed.

"Brave," you agreed, nodding. "People associate it with knights slaying dragons, but in my opinion, it takes far more bravery to stand up to family than it is a stranger. Takes more bravery to confront those that haunt your home than it does to confront a literal dragon. Hmm?"

Carmy reached a hand out to curl a strand of hair behind your ear. "How'd you get so insightful?"

"That bullshit college you, Mikey, and Richie all roasted me about going to them years ago? Yeah, uh-huh, that education paid off."

"Didn't do shit for your grammar, though, did it?"

"Hush," you laughed, pinching his sides to make his squirm.

You and Carmen entered the dining room to see mostly everyone in their seats; slowly making it to your own on the other side of the table. "Here, Peach," Natalie smiled when you sat between her and Carmy; her at the head of the table. "Got you a refill," she set your wine glass in front of you.

"You're a literal angel."

"I have a question," Cicero addressed your half of the table as Carmy got up to check on his mother. "I heard why we call Sugar, Sugar, but where did the nickname 'Peach' come from?"

"Oh," you smiled at him, "Miss Mama Dee taught me to bake and helped me perfect this peach cobbler recipe. I brought it to all my family events, work events, and when I attended, all my school events. Since then, it just stuck as a name."

He hummed and nodded, offer a silent toast with his glass as Carmy returned - looking mildly startled.

You heard Michelle asking if she could start the process to dish up what she wanted to her plate, Carmy assuring her to wait until Donna; she was coming out at any minute. You leaned back in your chair, nuzzling your boyfriend's side; his hand latching around your upper knee to keep you close with you hugging his arm. "All right?" He mumbled, glancing down at you.

"Are you?"

"Mhm."

"What'd your mom say?" You whispered, feeling him stiffen. "Carmen, please..."

"She's upset, stressed; says nobody cares, nobody makes shit beautiful," he whispered frantically.

"Okay," you soothed in his ear, "just breathe, baby, I need you to breathe. Shh," his head was bowed so you pecked his cheek, "she's just stressed from the holidays. We all know how she gets."

He sighed and nodded, caressing the skin of your leg he had been gripping tightly. "Hey, Mikey?" Michelle asked sweetly.

"Yeah?"

"You wanna say grace?"

Mikey gave an awkward sort of chuckle, relenting, "I don't know, cousin. This motherfucker gonna cut me off?"

You blinked and reached for your wine, intrigue peaking. Uncle Lee, who the jab was directed at, cleared his throat and answered, "It depends. Uh, is it a grace we've heard a million times before?"

"Okay, okay," Cicero stepped in.

You offered, "Well, good Christians know the prayers 'cause they're said a million times, right? Huh?"

"Yeah!" There was another round of agreement, desperate to direct the attention away from the two men.

"Does that mean you wanna lead grace, Peach?" Jimmy asked.

"Oh, no, no, I think the honor should go to Stevie."

"Can I please not?" Steve blanched at the thought of public speaking.

His wife, Cousin Michelle, changed the subject by asking about the Feast of Seven Fish. Before you or anyone else could truly answer, Uncle Lee was overpowering everyone to give his explanation; trying to make a joke at the end about a Dutch oven by Baby Jesus' manger that burned him or something. You gasped when Mikey lobbed a fork at him, making a buzzer noise while he did.

"Oh," Carmy realized when you did, stretching his arm out to extend over you like a seatbelt; fork clattering to the floor.

"Did you just throw a fork at me!?"

"I did!" Mikey sang, chuckling to himself. "See, that's the thing, Lee, see, 'cause... Y-You see what you did, right? You remember you already bitched about the Dutch oven. See, you did that before."

"Michael," Cicero tried to diffuse, but Mike was deflecting like usual.

"And you fucking cut Peach off," Mikey snarled. "Trying to prove you're the smartest, right? Wanna answer a question that she'd answer the best? Last I checked, she studied different religions in college, so, why the fuck would you want to answer - instead of Peach - if not to just make a repeated, shitty joke?"

It made Carmy now bark, "Mike, hey, don't bring Peach in this, okay? Please, just - just chill out."

But Lee was just getting started. He was scolding Michael, and in the process, stuttered just a bit, but it was enough of a visible weakness. Mike started mocking Lee for his words and delivery, just angry at the 'uncle' without knowing directly what truly bothered himself. In fact, riding high on his angry adrenaline, Mikey looked over and asked for Fak's fork, but the tattooed family-friend wasn't too willing to hand it over; hoping this would pass and settle.

Mikey just reached for Fak's fork himself, promising he just wanted to borrow it. Yet he launched it in the air to throw at Lee again, the entire table voicing their discomfort and displeasure. Everyone tried to diffuse the tension; desperate to muddle the tension enough so it did not, at the least, escalate.

"Carmy," you worried, holding his protective arm, "we should do something. I can get Mikey out of here - "

"No," he muttered sharply, "you don't need to be so physically close to that kind of behavior."

You felt the air shift when Mikey told Lee he could throw forks if he wanted to because they were in his father's house. The tension brewed and your boyfriend looked more and more uncomfortable; leaning into his side enough to get him to do the same and lean into you while both sat rigidly.

Now Lee lit into Mikey in front of everyone about how he was living with his mother still, borrowing money from her and anyone else who listened to Mikey's "bullshit". Now Cicero was pushing back at Lee, not appreciating the turn of events after being labeled a "sucker" by Lee only moments prior.

However, Mikey stepped back in, assuring Cicero it was "fine" that he wanted to mouth off - and Lee angrily repeated it. But he was far from being over; starting a new tangent, calling Mikey a loser. Then he started to throw the man's drug use in his face, telling Mikey to look through the fog and understand that there'd be consequences if he threw another fork.

It was quiet.

Nobody said a word as they all waited for Mikey's reaction. Carmen appeared on high alert, waiting for someone to make a move in case he had to jump in. Mikey asked Pete for his fork, picking it up, and creating a new tidal wave of voices all begging Michael not to do shit. To put the fork down. To not do a fucking thing. Over all the voices, it was Sugar's that cut above; reminding her brother she loved him, begging him not to do this.

Stevie giggled nervously, apologizing for it - claiming he giggled when uncomfortable. But Mikey encouraged him NOT to apologize, to fucking giggle and, "enjoy this," 'cause, "this is fun!"

You were so fucking nervous for whatever was to come.

Carmy's one arm was extended over you, the other crossed over his own body to hold your hand through the arm of the chair he sat in. Cicero tried to diffuse everything, Carmy's voice snapping support; but nothing was truly registering in Mikey's brain. In fact, he stood, and Lee flinched when he moved as if to throw the fork; guffawing at and mocking the man's reflexes. This only created an opening for Lee to, again, take shots at Mike's drug use; claiming his flinch was a reflex, something someone had when their nerve endings weren't fried - like a junkie's. Naturally, it caused an entirely new fight.

One where, during which, Mike brayed and screeched like an animal; and by the end, it was Lee telling Michael to throw the fucking fork so he had an excuse to rock his shit. At this point, you were ready to scream and support the violent display if just to get this over with. Lee snarled and repeated that Mikey was "nothing", and for a moment, you thought all hell was about to break loose.

Yet you wouldn't ever know. "There she is," Cicero clapped, directing the attention towards Donna as she entered at long last. You looked at Carmy and squeezed his hand, leaning in to quickly peck his lips in reassurance. The table clapped for their drunk host, watching her dance to her seat with a full glass of wine and burning cigarette; asking them all what she missed.

"I missed something," she grinned. "Peaches? What'd I miss?"

"Hmm? Oh, uh," you cleared your throat, "we were just discussing the tradition of the Feast of Seven Fishes."

"Boo," she pouted.

"Actually, Ma, Stevie, uh, Stevie was about to say grace," Mikey deflected.

"Not Peach, who studied religion?" Lee mocked.

"Oh, honey, that would be so cool," Donna nodded at you.

"I think I'd like to hear Stevie's prayer," you smiled, "but if he fucks it up, I'll take over."

Donna giggled before sniffling and composing herself while Michelle reassured her husband enough to encourage him to lead the family prayer. You half-listened, distracted by your boyfriend's body language. His hand still held yours, but now, he was sitting up with the other hand covering his mouth. The table was shockingly quiet as Stevie spoke, everyone listening; liking his impromptu speech about love, family, holidays, and bears.

By the end, everyone was softly complimenting the man; his wife hugging him; Mikey even voicing a compliment. However, you were distracted by Donna's reaction as she sniffled her tears, wiped her face, and took deep, dramatic sighs. Cicero laid his hand on her shoulder in comfort, but Donna picked up her cig and muttered, "It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter."

"Oh, Donna," Michelle cooed.

"It doesn't," she whispered.

As the table took turns trying to assure Donna that everything was gorgeous, you noticed the rigid way Carmy sat. "Baby," you whispered, watching him glance at you before leaning back a bit and wrapping his arm around you in an effort to remain close. However, before anyone could do anything, Sugar was asking those two words that triggered her mother:

"You okay?"

"Oh, my God," a few people muttered softly, Carmy and Mikey looking the most distraught by her words. Your lips pursed in nerves, watching Donna like a ticking time bomb; Carmy's hand sweating, leaving you anxious.

"Oh, Natalie," Donna sneered, "Rose Berzatto, do you know how much I fucking hate when you ask me that?"

"Okay," Sugar whispered, bowing her head, averting her eyes.

"Do you know," Donna enunciated, "how much I fucking hate - "

"Let's go upstairs."

" - that you have to do that!"

"Okay," Sug whispered again.

"D-Do you ask the rest of these people if they're okay?"

"No."

"N - " Donna stuttered, revving up. "Do I not look okay, Natalie?"

"Not really," Michelle answered as if without thought she had verbalized it, shaking her head.

You wanted to step in, you did; you own mother was an unmedicated, raging narcissistic, bipolar maniac with a drinking problem. You knew how to handle people like this... But this wasn't your fight, this wasn't your family; you were a mere guest, there to support your boyfriend in any way you could.

Donna glared at Michelle as Sugar offered to go upstairs again. However, the matriarch snapped, "Oh, fuck you, Michelle."

"Hey, hey, hey, hey," Carmy tried to rein his mother in.

"I didn't mean it like - "

"Do I not look okay? Did I not just bust my ass all day for you motherfuckers!?"

"I didn't mean it like that," Michelle rushed, looking down - like the others.

"This!" Donna stood, both hands gesturing to the table, "Is beautiful! Am I okay!?" She whipped around to glare at her daughter. "Am I okay!?" And then... She glared at you, "Well, let's ask, are you okay, Peach? Huh? Are you okay not having family invite you around for the holidays so you come here to fill a void and overcompensate by inserting yourself where you're not even wanted?"

You froze, brows furrowing. What had you done to deserve this unprovoked attack? You were used to it from your own mother, but that was because you were her child and it was an easy attack. This, however, was someone without blood relation laying into you about some deeper-seeded insecurities. Sure, you missed your family, but they were wildly unpredictable, unsupportive, unwelcoming, judgmental, harsh, and constantly at your throat about things that they had no business having an opinion on in the first place. It was better you stayed away - something Carmy still had to reassure you about, so to hear his mother use it against you stung beyond words.

"Hey, hey, woah," Cicero tried, Mikey voicing his own displeasure, but Carmy's was the most prominent.

"Don't bring Peach into this, Ma, please - "

"Are you motherfuckers okay!?" Donna screeched, silencing them all. "Are you okay, Lee?" She mocked. "You didn't do shit! This is fucking gorgeous!" She glared around the table she had gestured at, then, picked up a plate as she roared, "FUCK!" Then she smashed the plate to the floor, "YOU!"

You didn't flinch when you heard the shatter, instead, reaching a hand up to hold Carmy's cheek and keep him turned from the sight. One of his hands held your elbow, a way he communicated to assure you that he liked your touch.

"Fuck you!" Donna directed at the table again. Then, she muttered and pointed at Sugar, "Fuck you." Donna made her exit, sobbing, "Fuck you, Natalie."

The door slammed and you were left in a tense, ear-ringing silence. Slowly, your hand drifted off Carmy's cheek to just sit in silence, both your hands holding his. Nobody was sure what to say, and frankly, nobody wanted to be the first who broke the silence...

Until Lee exhaled deeply and opened his mouth - like he was some prominent member of the family, "Well, I guess we all knew that was gonna happen. So it's out, and, uh, maybe everybody - everybody can relax, huh?"

Your head shook.

"Yeah, that's, uh... That's the worst I've ever seen her," Michelle noted.

You wanted to snap that the mentally ill deserved kindness and respect like every other person. Perhaps they require a different sort of understanding, but you know what? Humans are humans for many reasons, one being the ability to empathize, and it wouldn't kill them all to try and offer Donna more understanding.

Especially in times of high stress!

However, nobody got to comment because Mikey let his temper flare from Lee's words. He picked up Pete's fork and lobbed it at an unsuspecting Uncle Lee; the metal utensil clattering to the floor, making Lee immediately snap, "You fuckin' piece of shit!"

Mikey rose to meet the challenge, purposefully overturning the poker table used as an extension off the "main" table; sending everything shattering to the floor as the Fak Brothers had to hold either enraged man back. It was a frenzy: Mikey and Lee yelling, Brothers holding them back, Cicero, Michelle, and Steve standing to get away from the fight as Cousin Richie directed pregnant Tiff to go with Uncle Jimmy.

Carmy rose, too, but you shot out of your chair, pleading over the noise, "Don't, please, not you."

He sighed at you, remaining put as you watched the escalated fight wage in the dining room. Richie was caught in the middle, trying to retain space between the feuding men; but it was all so very surreal due to Mikey just literally screaming to make himself feel big, bad, and heard. All of a sudden, in the very next room, there came a distant scream before a fucking car came barreling through the living room wall.

You had flinched into Carmy out of shock, and for a moment, nobody even so much as fucking breathed. Mikey was the first, approaching the car and begging for his mother to open the door; asking her what she had done; to please open the fucking door. Sugar remained seated, rooted in her spor; Carmy only moving like a zombie to get a better look - not believing his eyes. Everyone else was in shock and you just felt something click into place in your heart, mind, and gut.

No, you mother had never driven a car through the house, but you weren't a stranger to dramatic displays.

"Okay, okay," you cleared your throat, slipping past Carmy to moved for Mikey. "Hey, hey, hey, hey," you caught hold of him, pulling him off the vehicle, "you need to step back, okay? I'm gonna get it open, I'll get her to a hospital."

"No cops," Richie snapped.

"No cops," you agreed, "hence why I'll take her."

Mikey only shuffled when you stepped up, picked up a brick from the rubble, and with pristine accuracy and strength, shattered the back, drivers side window. Moving swiftly, you reached around to unlock the driver's door - yelping when Donna literally bit you.

"Fuck's sake, stop biting!" You snapped, unlocking the door and wrenching your arm free as you opened the door at the same time. "Donna, hey, hey, hey," you knelt, "you hurt? Hey, Donna, it's Peach, c'mon, I need you to tell me if you're hurt!"

She only cackled manically as she tried to stave you off.

You steeled yourself and lifted up only to keep at a bend so you could scoop Donna out. She started thrashing and you had to set her down, groaning, letting Mikey step in.

"She needs to get checked out right now," you told him.

"C'mon," Jimmy agreed as he stepped up, "I'll drive."

Mikey nodded in agreement and carried his mother out of the house, allowing you to sit in the car and shut it off. When you stood and looked around, there was still a heavy air of shock. Glancing at the damage behind you, you figured maybe you could back the car out so you could start cleaning.

"Richie, why don't you take Tiff home, I'm sure she's exhausted," you recommended softly.

"Nah, I'll help clean," he told you.

"Sure?"

"Yeah," he sniffled.

"Mind helping me get the car, you know, out of the living room?"

"Tell me what to do, baby girl."

Richie drove as you sat passenger, directing him; the two of you working to get the car in reverse and out of the wall. You got out to direct him the rest of the way, and left the car in the garage. When you got back in, you noticed that Sugar and Carmy were both gone, and you went into what your boyfriend called "Mama Bear Mode."

Tiff was allowed to rest upstairs, Michelle and Stevie left, and the Fak's left to go get you tarps and other equipment from their house since all stores were closed. You went outside and fought the cold to grab a wheelbarrow from the community garden shed about half a block away, and bringing it to the hole. Richie grabbed some snow shovels and dust pans and brooms, and together, you got to work on cleaning. It took the better part of a 3ish hours, things going a little faster when the Faks returned; helping pick up, sweep, and dump the material out of the house. They brought ladders and huge tarps, getting up to the wall to start installing the material to prevent the horrendous draft sure to come in.

Several times, the boys told you to sit - but you couldn't. So, you worked. And when it was done, you let the men to sweep the remains as you noticed the dining room still in disarray. Any layers of clothing you wore were shed, hair pulled off your neck and away from your face; preparing for the longest clean-up job you'd know.

You stored all food, organized the dirty dishes with the ones in the kitchen still, then worked on clearing space. The table was freed and you took advantage to lay out some bath towels, then getting to work. The reason you had organized the dishes was because you could wash all plates and set them in the drying rack; when done, you'd use a separate towel to dry the dishes and stack them on the dining room table.

Same for all saucers, utensils, glasses - water cups, wine glasses, and anything someone used for a stronger liquor.

Your feet ached, back protested, ears rang with the aftermath of the night. Richie took Tiff home, the Faks heading out as well; leaving you alone in the Berzatto house with only Carmy and Sugar.

You still worked so they wouldn't have to later.

Dishes stacked on the table, your fingertips pruned from the water, the sink decently filthy from food-waste. You didn't notice the time had passed until a pair of arms came wrapping around your waist - making you jump from being startled. But the tattoos on the hand was enough to assure you the man's identity; lips finding purchase on the slope of your neck and shoulder.

"You don't have to do this," Carmy whispered.

"I'm almost done," you promised, setting another bowl to the rack. "Where you been?"

"With Sugar. She was pretty upset, so, Pete and I were with her."

You nodded, "Good. She okay now?"

"She's asleep."

"You should be, too."

"You know I don't like sleeping without you," he sighed, and you felt his frown. "I'm... I'm really sorry."

"For what?"

"For us coming this year."

"I'm not," you promised. "It's okay, we'll take it in stride."

"It shouldn't be like this."

"No, it shouldn't. You deserve better, Carmy," you whispered, leaning back into his embrace - his arms tightening. "Heard from Mikey?"

"Yeah, he said the ER was still running a few tests," he sighed. "Might be another hour or more."

You nodded, "Gimme another few minutes and I'll be done."

"No, you won't," he chuckled. "Lemme help."

"Wanna dry?"

"Got me doin' dishes again, huh?" He smirked.

You matched it, "Take you back to the good ol' days?"

Carmy nodded, and for a few minutes, you worked in silence. It went smoother with help: you washing, him drying. When all was washed, you drained the sink with the garbage disposal, washed the basin out, and then started cleaning off the counters, stove, microwave, and any other appliance or surface Donna might've splattered on. Carmy noticed your system of dishes and did his best to match it, then mopping up the floor.

When you were both done, it was well past midnight and your adrenaline was waning. You eyed your boyfriend for a long moment, slowly approaching him after drying your hands; mimicking him from earlier and wrapping your arms around his middle. You felt Carmy give a long sigh, dropping one of his hands to hold yours on his stomach. "I love you," you reminded softly.

Carmy turned slowly, facing you with a soft, ginger expression. Both his hands rose to ghost over your cheeks, whispering, "I'm so fucking in-love with you."

Your smile was easy, "Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Good."

He smirked, placing his forehead to yours. "Things got a little crazy," he whispered, "but I'm really glad you were here with me."

"I promise you, Carmy, I don't want to be anywhere else."

He sighed, pulling away to admire you for a long moment. "Even when Ma attacks you outta nowhere?"

"Even then," you promised softly. "Carmy, you forget, I had a mother very similar. Our relationship won't ever be the same, but the times I was around her, it taught me to walk on eggshells around someone. You're not alone in this and I promise, it doesn't scare me."

"Scares me..."

You nodded, stepping into his embrace, "I know, baby, I know. I'm so sorry. It'll get better, y-you'll find ways to deal with it all. Okay? I'm here with you."

His arms tightened, muttering, "Don't leave me, too."

"Not even if you beat me off with a stick," you teased. "Do you wanna go to bed, Cream?"

"Please," he groaned.

"You go up, I'll be there soon."

"You're not comin' up with me?"

"I think someone should be up when they get home."

Carmy sighed, "Probably..."

"Go to sleep," you encouraged, "I'll be up when they get in. I'll make sure Donna gets to bed, all right?"

"Nah, nah, I'll wait with you. Lemme grab some pillows and shit for us."

You didn't stop him, knowing you couldn't even if you tried. So after doing one last loop around the house, cleaning whatever needed it, you met Carmy in the second sitting room (the one Donna didn't drive into). He had a couple of pillows down and a comforter, changed into a pair of sweatpants and a muscle tank top. "Give me a minute to get changed," you whispered against his lips, hearing him hum in agreement.

You brought an overnight bag in case you were too tired to drive, now grateful for being "over prepared".

When you were matching in loungewear, you crashed on the couch with Carmy under a cushioned blanket. He was laid down the expense of the couch, you nestled between him and the back cushions. "How'd you do it?" He mumbled.

"Hmm?"

"Deal with your ma?"

"Put a lot of distance between us, enforced boundaries even if it made me the bad guy. Started therapy, read a lor of self-help books. All in all, I learned she was abusive in a different way and it affects me and all my relationships."

He sighed, "Think i gotta do the same."

"What's that?"

"Create distance... Think New York's far enough?"

"It'll have to be," you mused, snuggling close as Carmy picked up with phone. He mindlessly scrolled through his social media, you watching; the exhaustion catching up to you both, making you start to doze, but abruptly woke up when the front door burst open.

"I got her," Mikey waved you both off as you tried to yank off the tangle of blanket, assisting his drugged-up mother to her room after kicking the door shut.

When he returned, you and Carmy were sat up in interest. He sighed and tapped a cigarette from the carton, telling you both, "She's okay, minor concussion and shit... Nothing we can't handle, right? I'll be back." He excused himself out the front door.

You spared Carmy a look, frowning when those wide, baby blues locked with yours. "She's okay," you reminded softly, "and I'm here with you." You saw the fear flash in his eyes. "Carmy, you're not like anyone in your family - you're not like anyone I've ever known. You won't end up like them, you're not gonna slip off the deep end 'cause of their curse. It's sink or swim, and fuck's sake, I've got an extra life preserver, okay?"

He smirked, "What would I do without you or your analogies?"

"Get really boring advice," you teased, letting him kiss you. When you pulled back, you whispered, "She won't ruin you. I won't let anything tear you down."

He paused for a long while, nodding, "Think we should go to New York, then."

"I think so, too. You can't linger here, Carmy, or else you're going down with them all and I can't do anything to help. If we stay here, Cream, I'm afraid for what it'll do to us, and if you stay with your family, there's no telling what they'll do or make you feel." You told him softly, "Don't let them step in the way of what you want, Carmy. Don't let them dictate your life anymore than they do. You deserve a life, you deserve to live away from this toxic bullshit - to truly find and establish yourself without their extra dead weight."

He nodded sadly, wiping a hand down his face.

His eyes bulged naturally, and now, you could see clearly the red tinge from repressed tears and the swollen, blotchy skin from him rubbing so frequently.

"Carmy?" You waited until his eyes met yours. "Just because they're your family doesn't mean you're gonna end up like them. You're aware of the stress, turmoil, and abuse that's generated, and with this knowledge comes the ability to break cycles. Baby," you whispered, resting your foreheads together, "you are not the same, you can always choose to do better... To be better... To recognize slippery slopes and pull yourself back. They're your blood, yes, but that doesn't automatically mean you guys are the same now - or that you'll become like them in the future. You're different, Carmy... You're so different, you're going to do amazing things - they'll all see. And one day, I'll tell you, 'Told you so,' but it can all start today, if you want."

"You're right," he agreed, sighing deeply as he pulled away from you. "I do want that - I want us to get away and go live. We'll go..." He nodded in assurance, sniffling before pecking your forehead, "We'll go to New York and get the fuck away from this bullshit. It's not healthy, can't sustain ourselves here."

"For the time being," you corrected, "because never say never when thinking of returning home. But we've still got a lot of life to live before we settle down, right?"

"Right," he whispered, staring at you like you hung the moon and stars. "What would I do without you, Peach?"

"I imagine you'd be bored as hell," you teased, pecking his lips.

When Mikey returned, he found Carmy sprawled out on the couch with his arms tightly caging you to his chest; both looking utterly exhausted from the hectic holiday. He almost felt guilt for the rush to his blood from the drugs he used outside, knowing neither of you would be proud of him, and seeing you both look so at-peace solidified in his mind that he wouldn't burden either of you with his woes. So he vacated the front lobby just as your head lifted in confusion - feeling as if you had been watched and waking up.

However, when your burning-for-sleep eyes didn't see anyone, you settled back against Carmy.

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