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mr-robot-x · 5 months

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All The Things We Don't Say

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Female Reader

Summary: An anthology of your life with Tommy, from friends to strangers to lovers, and all the little moments in between.

Warnings: 18+, implied DV, substance abuse, childhood trauma, ptsd, overprotective tommy, swearing, brief smut, longfic oneshot, feminist themes (motherhood & being a wife in the 1920s).

ao3 link

Smash!

“Pick it up!”

Your daddy was a drunk. You remembered the fact since you could walk. He stayed home while the working men left for the factories, then disappeared in the late hours of the morning until his eventual return when the slam of the front door woke the household up. Mother used to hold you at night as she curled up in your bed. She was sick a lot. Always sniffing into the back of your neck when you were asleep. Sometimes the sleeve of your nightgown would get soaked while she muffled her hiccups.

She looked sad, too. In the morning, she kept the curtains drawn and stayed away from the outside world. She told you it was to keep nosey Mrs. Gretel away from her family affairs. But Mrs. Gretel had left Birmingham two months prior.

By seven years old, you were the 'man' of the house. You had gone to sleep one night, and when you awoke, your mother had vaporized into the air like a rabbit in a hat.

“She left because of you,” your father slurred at you.

You hated him.

She left behind her long-sleeve dresses, scarves, and wicker hats that covered nearly every inch of her skin. They were far too big for you then, but when your father came home at the end of the week with a stack of cash, you ran to your mother’s closet, which had remained untouched until then, to find only cobwebs. Gone. Every single one of her dresses. You looked out at the moon in those early hours of the morning and swore to it that when you were bigger, you would get him back so much worse.

And so you were left to clean up his smashed glass bottles and scrub the alcohol out of the gritty carpet. Your little hands struggled to pluck the glass from the floorboards. In a year’s time, they were covered in little scars.

On your tenth birthday, you decided you were grown enough to take matters into your own hands. When he was passed out on the floor from whatever he managed to fill his pipe with, you grabbed the small bottles he hid under a loose floorboard and poured them into the gutter at the back of your house.

You turned to run back to the door when the contents of the bottle were empty, but a ball almost tripped you over. You gripped your tattered skirt before you could lose your footing and snapped your head around with a fierce pout.

“That’s my ball,” pointed a young Thomas Shelby.

You put your small hands on your smaller hips. “You kicked it my way on purpose!”

You weren’t entirely sure, but you suspected it.

“Maybe I thought you were pretty,” he grinned.

You noticed his two front teeth were missing.

“Ewwww! I would never go out with you!” You squawked.

At ten years old, you knew better than that.

Seemingly unaffected by your distaste, he continued. “Do you live there?” He nodded to the house whose roof was falling apart.

“What’s it to you?” You frowned stubbornly, not wanting to admit that, yes, that was your house.

“The curtains are always drawn,” he answered, walking over to pick up his ball from your feet. He was the same height as you were at the time. “My brother Arthur said it’s haunted. He saw a ghost in the window once. He said it was a woman and that she starved to death.”

Your nose scrunched up. "Well, he’s a phony!”

You ran inside said house and slammed the door shut.

He kissed you down by the docks that winter. It was your first kiss, and a clumsy one at that, so you didn’t remember much of it.

By thirteen, you had given in and sold the rest of your mother’s belongings to support yourself. You hated yourself for it, and that nagging voice inside your head told you that you were no better than your father. Oh, and your father? Your father lost vision in his left eye from a bar fight. Too bad it wasn’t both.

Sometime later, a boy two years older than you saw your wandering hand in someone’s bag at the fair and threatened to teach you some manners ‘the hard way’. You bit anxiously on your nails and pleaded with him because he was bigger than most boys his age, when Tommy’s brother Arthur (who you’d seen hanging around the Garrison) came passing by and threatened to ‘toss him about’. The other boy, not all believing in Arthur’s temper, rushed forward, and the two ended up rolling in the dirt, but by then you were gone with a stolen pocket watch in your fist. Nearly two legs and an arm deep in poverty, some quick cash, or a hero complex? You’d take the penny.

At fourteen, a lady knocked on your door. It was a lady of the night who had come to inform your father that he had fathered a son with her. You were glad it was a boy. A girl wouldn’t have stood a chance in the slums of Birmingham. Life was hard, but Birmingham was harder. Your father had refused to listen to the young woman and shooed her off. You never saw her teary-eyed face again.

At fifteen, your father attempted to wash his hands of you by marrying you off to the highest bidder. There was no real auction, but just about anyone who suggested a handsome sum of money did the trick.

“His name is William,” you exhaled, kicking your legs over the edge of the dock.

Tommy laughed. “You won’t marry him.”

“What choice do I have, Tom?”

Your finances were getting tight, and the gloomy pressure to take up working at night like many young ladies was beginning to loom closer and closer. You hated being a woman. Boys would never have to worry about selling themselves to survive.

“I’ll put a gypsy curse on him,” he decided, squinting his eyes from the bright reflection dancing across the water.

You hit his shoulder.

“No, you won't, because then you’ll be cursing me.”

The severity of your situation began to dawn on Tommy. No amount of pestering Polly for change to spare would relieve you of your burden any longer.

“That’s it, then?” He gulped, shifting his glassy eyes to the harbor.

You sighed and followed his gaze.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad. I’ll never have to see dad again, and William promised to take care of me.”

Tommy scoffed.

You frowned at him. “What?”

He shook his head.

“What! Tom—”

“Don’t marry him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, here we go, why?”

“You know why.”

You were engaged to William on the eve of your seventeenth birthday. He was a very proper man and never dared to go any further than hooking an arm around yours on formal occasions. You were never attracted to his thin mustache nor the thick lenses he wore. In fact, he was incredibly awkward at social occasions, always checking his pocket watch and avoiding eye contact with whichever circle he stood in.

Tommy began to fade out of your life around that time. Margaret—a lady who had taken you on to help with the sewing of her family’s tailoring business—told you that Tommy was spotted arm in arm with another girl that week. You expected to feel jealous, but you felt nothing. You knew love would never be your right. Love was for the more fortunate.

You spent that year learning how to be a wife. Surprisingly, it wasn’t too different from what you did as a child—cooking and cleaning up like you did when your father came home, that is. It was comforting to have a routine in place. It meant finality—no one walking in and out of your life as they pleased, and certainly no more growling stomachs. Perhaps being a wife was a skill your mother never learned. You were grateful for William’s mother, who seemed to be more than enthusiastic to show you the reigns.

After a year-long engagement, you caught your fiancé, William, locked in a compromising position with another man.

“Oh,” was all you got out before leaving his house.

You lacked the special ingredient that marriages needed: love.

You sat down at the fountain across the street. William and his lover’s silhouette were visible behind the blinds he had drawn on the second floor, which peered over the sidewalk. You watched their shadows fluster their feathers around the room like headless geese, and for a moment your head surfaced above water and laughter frothed out between your sealed lips. Perhaps Birmingham made you a little mad.

You didn’t go through with the marriage. You suspected William was relieved.

That week, your father left. You never knew whether he left on his own accord or just never made it home one night. Either way, you never really cared to find out.

With nothing left to lose, you knocked on the Shelby family’s door at Watery Lane. Finn appeared around the other side of the door a moment later.

“Is Tommy home?”

Finn nodded, spinning on his heel to alert his brother. When Tommy did appear, his shoulders were tensed. Disheveled hair never looked so stylish on him. When you saw his suspenders (which were hastily thrown on), you wanted to ask who he expected to be at the door that he planned to answer dressed in such fashion but then thought better of it. He peered down at you, then checked over his shoulder before ushering you inside and up to his bedroom.

“It’s… smaller than I thought,” you landed on, taking in his room.

After all these years, you had never stepped foot into the Shelby home. You weren’t the type of person to come door-knocking.

You turned around to face Tommy after hearing him click the lock on his door.

“Are you hurt?" were the first words he had spoken to you in a year.

“No.” You pressed your lips together, eyeing everything from the bed to the view out the window.

Silence followed closely after.

“Then why are you here?” Tommy sighed.

Your vision began to blur then. “I don’t know,” you said honestly, trying to stop your bottom lip from trembling.

Desperately, you pushed your hair back and straightened up, attempting to hold yourself together. You must have looked like a puppet being held together by a string, given how poor you looked.

Tommy’s boots pad across the wooden floor. “You love me?”

Did that word truly exist? How could you answer if you never knew what it meant to love?

You don’t meet his eyes. He licked his lips, pushing your head up to meet his with his thumb. His eyebrows rose expectantly.

“I don’t know what to do, Tom,” you breathed, avoiding his question. “I’m all alone now. No William, no father…”

His lips parted, and you watched with fascination as the cogs turned in his head. “Yes… that is a problem." His breath fanned over your face.

You gagged, a reaction you yourself had not expected, before rushing to his door, only to remember that, yes, he had locked it, before turning to the nearest silver bucket in the corner to empty your guts.

The first thing you heard when you caught your breath was, “are you pregnant?”

No, but when you stand so close to me and I can smell the cigarettes you smoke and your freshly washed skin, I can imagine a future where we are married, and I see your face growing more disappointed as we age together because you married a woman who never knew how to be a mother to your children nor a wife who knew to tend to you with affection by your bedside when you’re ill.

“No,” you choked, spitting out the vile taste in your mouth. “We never did anything.”

You wanted him to know that. You wanted him to think that you never let William touch you because you never loved him, not because William wasn’t interested in girls.

A moment later, Tommy sat beside you on the floor and quietly combed your hair away from your wobbling lips.

“So, if you’re not pregnant and you don’t love me, why are you here?”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. How were you supposed to answer that? After letting your guts loose in his room, you thought he would surely have booted you out the door.

A knock came on the door: “Tommy?”

“A minute, Finn!” Tommy growled at the door, refusing to back away from your trembling frame.

You were so hungry. Margaret had to cut back your hours ever since her husband fell ill. She spent more time by his bedside than keeping the store open, which meant you were making less than usual. The imminent closing of the store hung over your head like a taunting crow, gouging your insides like you were Prometheus. Birmingham your chains, a woman your fate, and the bird your punishment for thinking you deserved more.

“I should go.” You shivered at the draft inching towards your skin from the open window.

Tommy’s intense gaze stuttered, falling to your lap, where you picked at the dead skin around your nails. He cleared his throat, fishing out the key from his pocket. Although it was dull and muted from the years, it gleaned brightly in your eyes as if it were the reward you came for. Flushed, you grabbed it out of his hands without sparing a glance. Electricity sparked in those precious seconds, igniting a deadly fire in your belly.

“You’re cold." Tommy flinched at your touch.

You retreated as soon as the key slid into the hole and unlocked with a click. In your haste, you left the most valuable thing you owned there in his room.

Your heart.

The months went by, and summer arrived. The stories your mother told you left you expecting a bright gleam of air that would wash over the streets and paint each tree and every patch of grass a frighteningly bright green that would even encourage grumpy Mrs. Gretel to come out to preen her stubborn roses that would just not grow. Birmingham left less to be desired. The summer days never came, and that persisting bitter bog thickened, albeit with slightly less rain. There were gray clouds, smoke from the factories, and a shivering north westerly, which pushed said clouds at breakneck speed as if they had somewhere to be. You looked to the sky one day and said a prayer for blue breezes and sweltering sun, but the sky was empty.

Sometime later, men marched the streets armed with guns in their ‘dashing’ uniforms. A war, they said, a great one. Queues lined the street for the post offices and grocers. Rain rivaled the bustle of the city. What did it feel like to love someone so much as to stand in the pouring rain next to the gutter? You wanted that kind of love. Not the love you could only give yourself because even you didn’t want your own love.

One of the soldiers decorated in medals stood on a crate at the port, yelling something supposedly inspiring that captured the attention of many young men. The words honorable and patriotic were tossed in there like a delectable salad, enticing them in the way farmers held a carrot to a pig’s snout.

You pitied their mothers. Their daughters were married off, and then their sons were swooning over the idea of dying. Birmingham was filthy, rotting, and disgusting. You needed to leave.

You kissed Margaret goodbye on the cheek one Tuesday morning. Ever since your pockets turned out empty, you had been working as a bedside nurse for her ill-stricken husband. They were good to you, and they were probably the only people you could consider family.

She patted your cheek and said, "you're doing good to serve this country.”

You hadn’t had the heart to tell her you were leaving because the city was marring your flesh, so you slipped her the sugarcoated lie of wanting to join the war effort so that you might help others who were bedridden, just like her husband.

At the train station, you stood with your suitcases held tightly in both arms. You had to set one down to hold onto your hat as a train full of men waving their caps out the window pulled into the station. Some children weaved between the crowd, wagging a newspaper above their heads, hoping to make a quick penny. To your side, women wept for their brothers, husbands, and lovers.

“Who are you wishing off?” asked an elderly woman who was clutching her cane.

“Oh, I’m not. I’m boarding the next train.”

She laughed, and you wondered how old your mother would be now. Would she have grown wrinkles and settled into a deeper laugh like this woman?

“My dear, you have a bright imagination if you think they will let a woman on any of these trains.”

A sudden anger filled your blood. “Why not?”

“These men are heading straight for London, where they will be shipped away to France to fight,” the woman explained as if it were any other day.

“I’ll catch the next train then.”

She shook her head, and her frail hand curled tighter around her cane. “They’ve stopped the trains so they can transport soldiers to London.”

You frowned. “Then how will I leave Birmingham?”

You’ll never forget her dismissive laughter.

“My dear, you won’t.”

Men boarded the train, clapping each other on the back with a wink and a laugh. When a line of men on the platform thinned, the train whistled, and you looked over just in time to see Polly, Ada, and little Finn standing with their hands crossed over their hearts as they waved to the train.

No. It wasn’t possible.

But it was because you caught the gleam of the razors sewn into their peaky caps. Tommy, Arthur, and John all stood aboard the train, sticking their heads out and waving to Polly and Ada with a grin that wrung your stomach like a wet cloth.

Those countless daydreams you spun, the intricate webs you wove, began breaking down to thin fibers. In one pathway, you stayed there in his room and told him the truth you always denied yourself. You loved him. In another, you stood next to Polly, close to tears, as you begged him to come home safely. There was a resounding click in that moment as your breath stuttered. You had been the person who wiped away those futures, thinking it was nothing but an annoying spiderweb. Oh, how wrong you were!

“Tommy!” You left your suitcases behind and stepped around the old woman as you ducked under hugs and tearful goodbyes.

“Tommy!” You cried again with the gusto of someone who certainly shouldn’t be as concerned as they were considering you left him in his room that day.

Thankfully, his eyes eventually found yours as you pushed through the last line of people. You stood there and stomached all your regrets head-on. It was funny how, up until that moment, you managed to squash every seed of doubt. Why was it that you only realized what you had when it was slipping out of reach?

He never called your name back. He just stared at you blankly as the train pulled away, unlike you, who clung to the image of his frame even as the train disappeared from sight and the crowd began to disperse. You stood there unblinking, hoping to soak up the last of him before you forgot the intensity of his eyes or the humming rumble of his voice. Because the idea of something you held dearly becoming a memory meant that it could as easily be forgotten, and that terrified you. Your eyes were watering now, against your best wishes.

You overheard Polly ushering Finn and Ada off. Finn rushed home without protest, but Ada stopped in her tracks when she saw you hunched over your knees in tears. She smiled weakly before chasing Finn home. It was then that Polly’s shadow approached your huddled frame. She didn’t say anything, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if she expected you to stand and apologize for being such a mess. That’s when a penny clattered to the ground beside you. She squeezed your shoulder once before disappearing.

You kissed that penny as if Tommy would feel the power of it across the country, then ran back to Margaret’s, having forgotten your suitcases.

“Oh…” She exclaimed, slapping her tea towel on the counter when you walked into the kitchen. “You missed your train?”

Dread made your stomach tender and your breath short.

“I’m enrolling in the Red Cross.”

Throughout the war, you thought of Tommy every day until your stomach lurched. Would it have worked if you had stayed? Would you both have grown old together instead of subjecting yourself to the spray of dirt when a bomb went off nearby?

A day ago, your supply rations never came. It wasn’t like hunger was anything new, but when your mind was too focused on surviving the perilous weather, it was hard to save other lives. You made work with what little supplies you had left. The morphine went stint within hours of its arrival, and the cries of pained soldiers filled the medical tent all night. You did what you could, wiped sweat from their foreheads, and wrote letters to their mothers and lovers with what supplies you could scavenge. Some were written on cardboard from shell packaging, others on torn pages from the bibles they kept over their hearts. Pens were useless—the ink ran in the rain—so you scribbled everything down in pencil.

Before you left for France, you were warned of the bullets. No one ever warned you about the shrapnel, nor the bombs or grenades. They shattered soldiers’ bones beyond repair and left bodies unrecognizable. There wasn’t much you could do when most of their flesh was missing.

Keeping faith became an impossible task. Supplies were depleted, and nurses were dejected. Sally, who had been writing home for news of her brother, recently had her letters returned with the black stamp. Death—return to sender. She spent only an hour sitting on a trunk, letting her tears fall, before she got back to work. Grief privileged those with time, something no one could afford in these conditions.

Then it came—the day Arthur Shelby was carried in on a stretcher. You were making your rounds around the beds when a truckload of yelling men pooled through the entrance of the tent.

“Nurse!” They all yelled, some limping, others setting down stretchers of men on the dirt between the filled beds.

You and two other nurses dropped everything and ran over to attend to the wounded. They were all covered head to toe in dirt, groaning and clutching limbs that were twisted the wrong way. One in particular coughed and huffed while he fought against hands, which were fruitlessly pushing him back down on the stretcher.

“Let me go!” He yelled, wrestling against an older nurse.

“It’s alright, Mary. I’ll handle this one,” you patted her shoulder as you swapped places.

You dunked a washcloth into a bucket of water to wipe away the dirt in his eyes. “Calm down; you're safe here,” you said, starting your usual script of reassurances.

When the striking blue eyes squinted up at you, your blood ran cold. You froze before taking his head in both your hands, despite his protests. “Arthur? Arthur, it’s me!”

He loosened his grip on your wrist. “Huh?”

“It’s me! Where’s Tommy and John?”

He spat blood and gritted his teeth. “Fucking hell, where’s the whiskey?”

You laughed despite the smell of blood encompassing the tent. You quickly fetched the alcohol you had been using to clean wounds and pressed it to his lips. You weren’t sure if it was whiskey or not, but you reasoned he was in too much pain to be able to tell. He drank it with a groan of pleasure. You didn’t try to snatch the bottle away as he emptied it down his palette; you just sat and grinned at the way he suckled it like a newborn baby while you cleaned away his cuts.

“I’ve never been happier to see you, Arthur.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, his lips still wrapped around the bottle.

You tried to stay by his side for as long as you could before the second wave of patients came tumbling through the flaps of the tent. One of them lost their grip on the stretcher, and the patient went sliding into the dirt headfirst.

“Fuck!” They all swore, abandoning the stretcher to drag the limp man further into the makeshift hospital.

You rushed to help when a hand gripped the back of your neck. You yelped in pain as your hair got caught in a fingernail when they turned you to face them.

And there he was: Tommy Shelby, covered in a thick layer of dirt, heaving for air.

“Nurse! Nurse!” Voices cried for you, but between the ringing in your ears and the wrath in Tommy’s blue eyes, you were frozen in place.

“The fuck are you doing here, eh?” He yelled over the anguished men.

You suddenly felt stupid standing there in your Red Cross uniform.

“I was looking for you, I—”

His dirty hands cupped your cheeks—something you were painfully aware of from the uncomfortable itch from the mud on your flushed skin—and pulled your forehead to his.

“You think this is some fantasy?” He squinted. “You think there’s any fucking moonlight to kiss under here, eh?” He spat.

His eyes held that haunted look you had seen on many soldiers that passed through the medical tent. Your eyes watered. Perhaps it was from the humidity and dirt being kicked up as nurses and patients scuffled around, not because you could hardly recognize the man in front of you. The blood smeared above his eyebrow worried you, so you reasoned that he was mad because it had been leaking into his eyes. Dutifully, you reached to wipe it with the back of your hand. He grabbed your wrist harshly, bringing it down to your side. He was in shock; you scolded yourself.

“Where’s John and Arthur?” Tommy swallowed, flexing his hands.

You led him to Arthur, who had been left in his corner while the nurses attended to more serious cases. It hurt watching the brothers reunite after their ordeal, so you left them alone no matter how much you feared them being discharged before your return. After all, everything you ever wanted sat in that corner, but it would be selfish to coddle Tommy all to yourself. Still, you couldn’t help sparing a glance when you walked up and down the tent, attending to patients.

Later that night, he came to you under the candlelight of your tent. He cleared his throat upon entry. You were lying face-up on your cot when he cleared his throat and peeled back the entrance to enter. The candlelight painted the mountain peaks of his face in a dull amber and the valleys in a frightening shadow. You sat up, pulling the thick cover over your shift.

Tommy kneeled next to you, resting on the heels of his boots. He licked his chapped lips and itched his nose. “You don’t belong here.”

Your grip on the cover loosened. “Huh?”

Nothing prepared you for when he swung his brooding stare towards you. He exhaled loudly before running a hand over his face.

“You should have stayed in Birmingham.” He said it like a warning.

“And done what?”

Vulnerability never looked good on Tommy. His head hung and his fingers itched at the back of his head—a tick you used to love; now you weren’t so sure. Because your Tommy was never afraid, but this man in front of you was alarmingly tense despite the clear efforts to mask it.

What have they done to you, Tom?

Under the dim light of your tent, you barely recognized him. A stranger’s eyes were blown wide in a frightening state of shock, something most soldiers mirrored. War washed out the sweet blue pair you knew, refitting them for a steely weapon. You hated seeing him like this, so still, so unsteady, cocooned into the corner as if afraid to take up space.

You feared you looked no better. Having worked till the point of exhaustion, you usually found yourself awakening against a wooden crate or trunk to the cries of patients who demanded your attention despite your body not having the strength to stand. Today you had been lucky and found yourself crawling distance to your private tent when your knees started wobbling and your head lulling.

The wooden reinforcing of your private tent fought in vain to shelter your bodies from the elements; it still flapped and whipped about, sometimes rocking your cot. Yet Tommy remained still like those life-size stone statues you’d find outside an important building, brooding at the dirt and locked in an internal battle. You shifted to the edge of your makeshift bed and leaned close enough that you saw how the top buttons of his dirtied uniform were missing and most of his clothes were torn.

His arm, which was breaking out in goosebumps, lay heavily across his knee so that he could rest his forehead there limply. He looked in a bad enough condition that you feared the possibility of him succumbing to the wasteland threatening him outside your tent. You wrapped your arms around the scruff of his hair and pulled his face into your stomach, where he could hide from the terrible world. On instinct, his arms wound around your waist, and you felt his warm exhale against your skin through the thin fabric of your slip.

His tin water bottle clanged against the satchel he wore, which made you wonder if he had any time to rest at all if he still had all his equipment tied to his uniform.

“I didn’t…” His voice was muffled by your slip. He cleared his throat again, shaking his head.

When he dropped the thought, you spoke up. “Have you eaten?”

He slapped your thigh haphazardly. “No, do you have a cigarette?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead gently pushing him away so you could kneel beneath your bed and fish a cigarette from your satchel. You pinched one from its tin case, then thought better of it and tossed it on Tommy’s lap. Gratefully, he collected one from the case and lit it with a nearby candle. You watched his chest rise and fall as he took an especially deep drag. His eyes shut as the nicotine rushed to his head.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he muttered under his breath.

“How are you here, Tommy? One of the night nurses should’ve been on watch.”

“Oh,” smoke puffed out of his mouth, and he raised his eyebrows, “there is.”

“Then how—”

“I had to see you.”

The butterflies in your stomach dove. The blue in his eyes appeared translucent as they hazed over like a ghost. His shoulders were slumped dejectedly, and he had a hand pushing through his greasy, unwashed hair to relieve his neck from the weight of his thoughts.

He pointed to you then, with the cigarette nursed between his fingers. “I need to know why you changed your mind.”

“About what, Thomas?”

His voice slurred and slipped into a deeper register from the lack of sleep. "Why you came back. Why you came to France.” Tommy shook his head lazily. “You expect me to believe you had a sudden change of heart? What? You a patriot now?” An amused exhale curled out while he took another drag. “Well I don’t believe it.”

You began shivering despite the way your body flushed.

“How’s Arthur?” You tried to avert the conversation.

“Bloody drunk off his ass.”

“And you?”

Tommy held your stare and swallowed dryly. “Trying.”

“You can go join him if you wish.”

He looked at the entrance of your tent as if he were weighing his options, then shook his head and took another drag before clearing his throat. “It’s different now.”

Naïvely, you sank to the ground beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be.”

He sighed.

“I wish that were true.”

The next time you saw Tommy, you were working a shift at the hospital. After the war, you received a medal for your efforts, which easily got you a job in Birmingham. You pleaded with them to send you to any other hospital—London, Manchester, Liverpool—you didn’t care. Anywhere but Birmingham.

“You should be honored to work for me!” Exclaimed the head nurse at Birmingham Hospital, who didn’t seem too pleased with your distaste for the city.

You thought the job would be the final nail in the coffin, but you surprisingly got along well with the head nurse once you had put your animosity aside. So much so, she offered to lease you a room upstairs from hers.

Then came that dreaded night where you were finishing the filing of some documents when a patient was being rushed in. Your ears perked up, and you looked through the blinds of the office to see a man being rushed by. Something small and round had fallen off the stretcher while the nurses paid no attention, pushing him around the corner and down towards the operating theater. Curious, you exited the office.

And there on the ground was one of those peaky caps Tommy and his brothers used to wear. You knew this because you picked it up and nearly cut yourself on the blade that was sewn into the seam. You spent the next hour gnawing on your nails. Your imagination sparked ideas about the beaten man who was lying in an operating room two doors down in surgery. Was it Tommy? Arthur? John? The shadows under your eyes darkened at the thought. No, it was probably some other Peaky Blinder. The Shelby brothers were too careful. Still, you knocked over your coffee in a mad dash to the bathroom, where you heaved up your dinner.

You volunteered to stay until the morning, but the head nurse on duty for the night refused and sent you home. You didn’t sleep at all that night.

The next morning, you arrived early and made a beeline for the emergency ward. You grabbed the admission form and scanned the patient list. There were only two emergency patients who were listed under the final hour of your shift, a woman and a man, which made it easier to narrow it down to the man who was admitted at quarter to midnight in ward four, room seven.

When you peaked through the crack in the door, you knew you had been worried for a reason. Tommy lay under the covers, battered and bruised, with a swollen eye and a nasty scar where he had reportedly received surgery for trauma to the head.

You slipped inside quietly and closed the door. Tommy’s eyes were closed, and his mouth hung open, stealing miniscule amounts of air into his lungs. He looked as good as a ghost.

“Tommy…” You clutched his peaky cap (which you meant to return) between your fingers.

He didn’t move an inch, so you set the cap down by his bedside table, carefully watching the rise and fall of his chest.

What have they done to you, Tom?

On the second week, he woke up while you were cleaning the windowsill. He coughed, and you whipped around in shock.

“Nurse?” He asked hoarsely, blinking away the blinding light.

You rushed to his side, tears bursting like the fountain you passed on your way to work.

“Don’t move,” you urged when he tried to sit up.

“I have to get to London,” he slurred, only half awake.

You weren’t upset that he didn’t recognize you. You weren’t upset that he didn’t recognize you.

“Tommy… it’s me.”

He shrugged your hand off his shoulder with a hiss. “Fucking hell.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“Please don’t move; I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” You couldn’t hide the way your voice broke.

He looked up at you, then, through bloodshot blue eyes. You wished you knew what was going through his head. Happy or sad?

“Am I dead?”

“No,” you smiled weakly as a tear fell.

“Can I have a smoke then?”

“I don’t know how to love, Tommy!”

“Yeah? Yeah? That’s bullshit! Why do you keep coming back then?” He pinched your chin, glaring furiously into your eyes. “Eh?”

He stood so close that he blocked the light from the chandelier, which mournfully hung from the ceiling. You shivered in his shadow.

“I shouldn’t have come tonight.”

“But you did!” He accused, pointing in your face.

“It was a mista—”

“You fucking did!”

“Tommy!”

“I’ve had it! If you want to leave, then fucking leave; otherwise, don’t stand there all righteous waving empty threats over my head because I know you won’t leave.” He shook his head with a wild look in his eye. “No… You won’t leave. You won’t leave because you love me. You keep coming back,” he pointed matter-of-factly.

Tommy’s eyebrows danced between being terribly furrowed and alarmingly raised during his passionate monologue. It was rare for him to emit so much emotion these days. The war changed men, and Tommy was no exception. A chilling stillness framed his presence, which even you weren’t excused from. No more laughter, no more dreams of working with horses, because he was above all that now, wasn’t he? It was ambition that ground his teeth together and hollowed his eyes. Still, you couldn’t forget that the anger came from vulnerability, because it took a lot for someone to get under Thomas Shelby’s skin.

You moved to grab your purse, to make good on his word, but he halted your movement by grabbing your shoulders, roughly at first, before loosening his grip. You softened at his frantic demeanor. He was scared—oh, so afraid of you walking out that door again. But how could you ever explain it to him? You were never born for love. You would never know how to love him properly the way wives were supposed to because what you felt for Tommy was sickeningly deep. So much so that the mere impression of him sealed off your ribcage and ruined any chance of your heart beating for any other soul, so much so that you carried the weight of him in your bones because you could never shake him off.

When you looked back at life, all you saw was the absence of love. You used to imagine yourself growing up and falling in love with a handsome stranger, then getting married in a proper white dress to go live in your proper house. But when you looked in the mirror, you saw a ghost. The pathway of your life was laid out before your eyes once, and what you saw didn’t match the reflection. The man you were supposed to marry couldn’t even look at you, even if you cleaned and cleaned and cleaned until your fingerprints turned white and pasty.

Because what it all came down to was simple. You never got to become the person you envisioned. Instead, you were cursed to live as a blank slate and be consistently reminded of what you were supposed to be and of who you were: no one.

Tommy exhaled in a quick huff, pressing his forehead to yours so that he saw you clearer, without all the tension and bullshit in the way.

“Here it comes, Tommy.” You took a shaky breath. “I love you, but I could never be the perfect wife to you, and I would be a terrible mother.”

There, in all its ugly colors and shades, you hung yourself with the truth.

He shook his head as if he too couldn’t believe your words.

“Fuck’s sake! Forget about all that." His eyes watered out of frustration, but he was still puffing in anger. “I need you. You. Not some whore.”

You bit your lip to muffle the god-forsaken cry ready to erupt from the volcanoes you suddenly found roaring in your stomach. An earthquake overtook your hands the more you fought the inevitable eruption. You grabbed both his hands to stop yours from shaking.

“I have to be cursed; there’s no other way!”

“No!”

“My life slips through my fingers like grains of sand—”

“You’re not cursed!”

“And I can’t stop it, Tommy!”

“You’re not fucking cursed, and I’ll tell you why." Tommy cut you off. He leaned in, licking his lips, which had turned dry from all the shouting, and squeezed your hands. “Because my ancestors charmed dogs with their magic, they didn’t scare little girls with curses,” he paused. “But you… You waved a hand over my head, and now I’m no better than a dog.”

He closed the space between you, pressing his forehead against yours, and stroked both your cheeks, wiping at your tears. You held him there in a meek attempt at reciprocation.

You wished the world were ending so then you could grab Tommy’s hand and say, ‘I’m ready, Tom. The world is ending, so let’s kiss and love each other under the flames without any fear because the world is ending.’

But you were never good at expressing yourself with words, so you sealed it with a kiss, hoping he could taste the unspoken words on your lips the same way you tasted the tears. He responded in earnest, gripping you roughly by the scruff of your neck to seal the promise laden between your lips; no more running.

It was just your luck that you would bump into your ex-fiancé, William, while visiting a bar in London with Ada. You were buzzing from the warmth of three sweet liquors and whatever else Ada insisted you try, and everything was starting to seem a little funny by the time he approached you.

He engaged in pleasantries, swishing his wine around the glass and sniffing it occasionally, like many pompous older men tended to do. There was only so much smiling you could afford before you caught your reflection in the freshly wiped bar and realized how poorly your acting skills were. Ada was no help, muttering something about finding a phonebooth and then slipping into the belated and boozed crowd. It was then that the supposed nectar in your glass began to taste like the cleaning products—that nose-scrunching stench. Thankfully, William was too involved in some tangent to notice you muffle a gag into your palm.

The dazzling hum in your ears muffled out all his words. In your drunken state, William appeared to be more confident than what you remembered, but you were unable to decipher whether it was from a change of heart or if he was trying to fall back in your good graces. Otherwise, you were blinded by the roaring bustle of the bar and the delicious swell of music that seemed to reverberate across your being.

Growing a little bored with William’s story, your attention wandered over his shoulder, still being sure to nod every now and then as if you were deeply pondering his words. Not far away from his side, a man seemed to linger—a man who was careful not to reach your eye. You must have laughed a little harder than usual because William turned sharply to the man at his side, gave him a quick once-over, then returned his attention to you, but by then it was too late, and you knew exactly what William’s relationship was with this man and where William’s confidence had come from.

“You’ll make a fine wife and a finer mother someday,” William quickly added.

You cursed the witch inside you, who laughed from her stomach and used his shoulder to steady herself. Once upon a time, that was all you longed to hear, but now, with a half-spilt martini in hand, you couldn’t care less. Both of you had found happiness despite your unconventional circumstances, and there was no more to it. You could close that chapter without any loose threads.

A little drunk, you thanked him, disappeared, and never thought of him again.

“I can’t do it, Ada,” you stressed, beginning to feel uncomfortable with the baby in your arms.

Motherhood came rumbling into your life like a rusty engine spitting out oil. ‘Instinctual’, the mothers down the lane from Arrow House had said, ‘it’s like your body has been preparing for it your whole life.’ How awful, you thought, and by the time one of them finished speaking about their experience with their first, your nose was so scrunched in disgust that you would need an iron to flatten out the wrinkles. It wasn’t until now that you longed to be in their shoes, because nothing came naturally to you.

“He’ll latch eventually; he’s just a little fussy,” Ada reassured.

“Is it supposed to hurt?”

“It’s perfectly normal.”

Then, after an hour of rubbing your sons back on the verge of tears, he finally began feeding from you. Ada soothed your back the whole time and cooed softly to calm both you and your unruly boy. Sometimes she brought Karl. He would obediently sit on her lap, playing with his wooden horse, while your little Charles fussed.

One time in the early morning, when you were up attempting to feed Charles, Tommy rushed in alert with disheveled hair and sunken eyes.

“Sorry,” you mouthed, deflated your hardworking husband had been disturbed from his sleep.

He ran his hands over his face and sighed. You mistook his action for frustration and desperately tried to hush your baby. Tommy moved over to the rocking chair where you sat, trying to feed little Charles in your arms.

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispered into the crook of your neck. “How is he?”

You flushed under the moonlight, suddenly embarrassed that your husband had caught you in this vulnerable position with the top of your slip peeled down. Your exposed skin hissed when he pressed a kiss against your pulse.

“I don’t think he likes me very much.”

Tommy inhaled sharply against your neck before resting his chin on your shoulder to peer down at Charles. Charles had settled since Tommy walked into the room, acutely aware of his father as his little hands made a grabbing motion for him. Diligently, Tommy relieved your arms of Charles and cradled him close to his chest. Within minutes, the little baby was gurgling happily and blinking in a way that suggested sleep was on the horizon after all.

Your husband didn’t dare make any sudden noise as he gently set Charles in his cradle. Once he was surely asleep, Tommy guided you up from the rocking chair and into your shared bedroom.

“See?” you hissed, still maintaining a soft voice, “he only wants you.”

Tommy wouldn’t hear any of it, pulling you into his arms as he sat on the edge of the mattress. Your slip was still pooled around your hips, so he took the opportunity to plant a kiss above your breasts, where your heart was.

“He loves you,” he drawled in that husky voice of his. “I know he does because I do.”

Your head ached, but you couldn’t help the way your body reacted to his words and touch. Tommy’s wandering hands teased the silk fabric that clung to your hips as you felt his nose trail down to your breast, where he kissed one of your aching nipples delicately. Suddenly hot, you hummed in delight, the back of his shorn scalp pleasant beneath your nails. A grunt, bathed in that musk of his devours your senses. Inhaling sharply, he took the bud between his full lips, sucking, licking, and nibbling gently while his hands explored further down. Your head lulled back from the pleasure, gasping and withering under his skilled tongue.

The next thing you knew, Tommy was tugging the rest of your silk slip off and reminding you of just how much he loved you.

“Charles! Come here!” Tommy called.

Your little boy loved to play in the backyard of Arrow House. Much like his father, Charles adored horses. Big ones, small ones, black ones, white ones—but most of all, he favored his Shetland pony. Tommy had brought it for Charles before he could even walk. He said something about it being important for his son to be raised around horses from a young age. And while you didn’t necessarily disagree, it still stressed you out to hold your baby so close to such a large, muscular animal. You knew the Arabian breeds spooked easily, so you steered clear of them and were able to keep Tommy and Charles happy.

But now he had grown up so fast and was able to run around on his own two legs, climb trees, and bruise his knees on the way down. The sun beat lovingly on the apples of his cheeks as he dirtied his trousers, kneeling by the fence to feed his Shetland (affectionately named Biscuit) hand-picked grass through the gaps.

“Charles! We’re leaving!” You called when he ignored his father.

Stubbornly, Charles spun around to pout his lip and cross his arms. He glared at you as threateningly as a five-year-old could. You bit your lip to hide your smile because he really did look like a little Tommy with those big blue eyes. It would only be a matter of time before he perfected his father’s stare. With a sigh, you shifted your daughter into Tommy’s arms before approaching Charles, who was picking angrily at the grass.

You reached a hand out toward him, "let's go.”

“No!”

“All right,” you said decisively, spinning around, “Ruby will have all the fun then.”

“No!” cried your little boy.

You stuck a hand up in surrender and started walking back to Tommy. “No, it’s all right.”

“No, no no no!” Came his protest, chasing behind you as the gravel crunched beneath his boots.

You paid no attention to him, keeping your eyes trained ahead, silently relieved that your ploy worked. Tommy watched on in amusement while Ruby suckled on her thumb, curiously watching her brother storm closer.

“You hear that, Ruby? We’re going to spoil you,” a short smile played on Tommy’s face as he adjusted her so that she sat comfortably on his hip.

“And me!” Charles added and gave his best pout.

“No, Charles, you said you didn’t want to go,” you reminded him, raising your eyebrows.

“I do! I do!”

“Hmm,” you thought aloud, and held a finger to your chin while looking to the sky in exaggerated contemplation. “Very well, but only if you get in daddy’s car right this instant.”

He climbed into the backseat of the Bentley without further fuss.

When all the bags were neatly packed in the back for the day’s festivities, Tommy came around your side to sit Ruby on your lap. Quickly, he leaned in to kiss you and pinch your cheek, which swelled into a glowing grin.

He smiled back and whispered low enough for only you to hear, “got him wrapped around your finger, eh?”

You laughed. “Him and a few other Shelby’s I know of.”

The thundering sound of music could be heard from outside the theater on the corner of Old Pauls. Inside, patrons mused between champagne, dancing, and making a display of their wealth by bidding on little trinkets. It was one of the many charity galas Tommy had to attend because of his new move into politics. Usually, you enjoyed dressing for those sorts of things, but tonight you simply weren’t feeling up to it. Maybe it was the drape of your dress not sitting right or the new leather shoes that still needed breaking in.

Your shimmering smile faded into the crowd as you snuck through the back door in your satin bordeaux dress. Old Pauls sat perched above the cemetery it was named after. Conveniently across the street from the buzz of the theater, it was airily quiet and stuck out from the rest of industrial Birmingham. Your heels clacked across the pavement as you wandered up and down the garden, glimpsing at stone angels and silver plaques. All you had to light your path were the streetlights and the moon.

Your diamond wedding ring twinkled under the stars as you stopped to trace a name. It was the same as your mother's, but with a different last name. Still, you always wondered what happened to her. Had she gotten married to another man and taken his name? You expected to shiver at the idea, but you found that thinking of her no longer unnerved you. She packed up the title of mother when she left you all alone in that cramped house.

Light spilled out onto the pavement across the street when the entrance to the theater swung open. A few men flew down the steps and split off in different directions. Thinking it odd, you remained crouched until they disappeared around their respective corners. That’s when you saw Tommy exit through the same doors, throwing a cigarette and wiping at his brow while he looked up and down the street. Quickly, you stood and waved your arm to get his attention. When he noticed, he stormed down the steps and stalked across the street and through the gates of Old Pauls over to you.

“I needed some air,” you spoke up before he could get a word in.

His eyes wildly flickered back and forth from yours in a frenzy. Under the moonlight, they looked almost translucent, and, save for a ghost of blue, his pupils were wide.

“Why the bloody hell are you out here, eh?” He demanded, gently shaking your head between his hands for emphasis while his eyebrows rose expectantly.

“It’s quieter.”

When he tilted his head to the sky and exhaled, your stomach dropped at the sight of blood. Your ears, which had been tuning out the music, flinched when a shrill cry from a woman rang out the theater doors. The music was gone, now replaced with screams as all the patrons rushed out, tripping over each other like it were a race. You turned back to Tommy, now as worried as the others.

“What the hell happened? Are you hurt?” You urged, gripping his white collar, now red, to inspect where the blood was coming from.

“Not mine,” he cleared his throat, grabbing the hand on his collar to tug you down the street.

The frame of your world stretched a little wider, like light pouring in through open shutters. Car doors slammed, and drivers honked at the agitated crowd who ran this way and that across the road.

“Where’s the fucking ambulance?” Shouted a man who took no care to avoid bumping into you.

You stumbled back, your hand slipping from Tommy’s on impact. Rage flickered across his features briefly, having noticed the man push through you, but he reconnected your hands and continued walking fast. When he reached the Bentley, he urged you inside, holding your hand the whole way until you were seated in the passenger seat.

“What the hell happened, Tommy?” You repeated as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“Someone got shot.”

Your eyes widened. “Are Polly and—”

“They’re fine.”

You sank back into your seat as the engine roared to life. Peaky Blinder’s followed the frenzied crowd, moving together like a pack of wolves onto the streets. They only parted to let Tommy’s Bentley through. Out the window, people were fighting and throwing fists as they all tried to escape the mayhem.

“Why aren’t they letting people through?” You asked after witnessing a Peaky Blinder block the road and refuse to let a car pass.

“Doesn’t matter.”

He never told you anything when it came to business. And although you suspected this was much more than the doing of the Shelby brothers, Tommy’s face never betrayed him. Simply put, if he didn’t want you to know, you wouldn’t.

“Would anyone want to follow us?”

“No.” He exhaled deeply, cleared his throat, and then reached to give your thigh a squeeze.

You knew it was a lie when his eyebrows rose. He only did that when he was worried. Your tongue remained pressed to the back of your teeth the entire ride home.

The howl of the wind whistled down into the valley of the gypsy camp Tommy had brought you and the children to.

“Pack your things,” he had said one night after storming through the front door of Arrow House, “we’re going on a trip.”

Charles and Ruby cheered, but you suspected something sinister beneath his intentions.

So, there you were, picking at the grass by your feet while you perched on the bottom step of the gypsy wagon Tommy parked beneath a tree for shade. He kept quiet for most of the ride, absorbed in leading the horse around loose gravel and stones, or rather, he led you to believe he was lost in concentration. Because, when it came down to it, you knew Tommy better than to assume nothing was wrong.

The past week, he had been acting different, jumpy even. He ran into the nursery during the early hours of the morning on edge, as if expecting something to be amiss. You tried interrogating him, but he brushed it off, insisting things were fine. Fine—you began detesting that word. Fine this, fine that, but if things were really fine, then why was he on edge?

Then came the bloodshot eyes and the slamming of his desk drawer when you entered the office. Only this time he couldn’t deny the unmistakable jingle of a bullet, which rattled in the wooden compartment like some sort of airy death chime.

A black hand. One for each Shelby. And since you were now one too, that meant neither you nor the children were subjected to any special treatment. A week, he said, a week for his family to clear up the business while he stayed here watching over you like a shepherd to his flock.

And watched he did, standing next to where you sat, he found peace observing Charles and Ruby as they chased each other around the overgrown field. There he remained for an hour or so, frighteningly still, the only motion being his sharp jaw chewing on a mint leaf, somewhat reminiscent of the soldier in your tent all those years ago. Next to him, tied to the tree, the black steed filled the silence with snorts and grazed favorably on the loose roots and grass patches.

“Ruby was crying this morning. She’s scared, Tom." You sighed.

Tommy hadn’t been there when you woke up that morning in the caravan. He returned shortly after, ominous as ever, just as Ruby had begun to settle.

He tossed the stalk of his mint leaf into the grass and offered you his hand. You looked up at him in question for a moment, slightly suspicious of his intentions. Nevertheless, you slid your hand into his, and he stood you up, sat down on the higher step, and pulled you between his legs to sit on the lower step. He hugged you from behind as he slouched to rest his head on your shoulder, then exhaled deeply.

“We will be home soon,” he whispered in your ear, brushing your knuckles tenderly.

“For how long? Until we get another bullet in the post?”

Tommy’s throbbing forehead found solace in the warmth of your neck.

“You’ve never been one to run,” you continued, “what’s bothering you? We took a vow that we would share everything.”

He nuzzled his nose deeper into your pulse.

Frustrated, you tried to get up, but he held you firmly against his chest.

“Italians.”

“Italians?”

“Italians sent the black hands.”

You waited in silence for more information, but more did not come.

“Speak to me, Thomas.”

“I don’t want you any more involved than you are.”

“They’ve sent death knocking on our door; how more involved could I be?”

Tommy moved methodically, licking his lips and clearing his throat. He squinted his eyes up at the glaring sun.

“It’s nothing you should be concerned about. I’ll keep us safe.”

“Nothing I should be concerned over, Thomas? Just how many people are we at war with?”

He didn’t answer, so you turned your head away from him. Charles and Ruby had since settled by a patch of flowers. Charles was crouched over, helping his sister gather all the yellow flowers for her yellow dress.

The tension broke the surface then.

“Why are you still fighting, Tom? Is this,” you nod to your children and breathe in the fresh air, “not enough?”

You pictured Arrow House and its lavish garden, one to compete with all the wealthy families down the lane. You thought of Arthur, John, Polly, Ada, and all his family that lived to see his success. Everything, from the thoroughbreds in the stable to the fancy cars. The money itself was a testimony to his drive. What more could the gangster of Birmingham want when he already had everything?

You had gone and worked yourself up now because the world seemed blurrier than before.

Tommy, still on his guard, guided your chin to your shoulder so he could kiss the tears away. “It is enough.”

“Then make it enough. You’re respectable now, so stop the fighting.” Your voice broke at the end.

He hung his forehead on your shoulder. Like a flower sheltered away from the sun, Tommy wilted when he was away from his business. Usually, you were a strong enough light to keep him going, but whatever business he had gotten himself into was poisoning him, and ever the addicted flower, he kept running out to the fields, continuing to drink in the sunlight until it was too much and turned his leaves brow. Because business was what occupied his mind day and night, he was unable to turn the cogs of the engine off and let the air out of the tires.

A hand brushes your hair away to kiss the spot beneath your ear, airing out the destructive thoughts.

God, you loved him anyway. An overpowering feeling that ruled over calculating minds like Tommy’s and faint hearts like yours. You were no better than him—both addicted to a little sunlight.

The framed photographs on the wall shook as your third-eldest slammed the door to her room closed.

“I hate you!” She cried from the other side.

Your husband, Tommy, sighed to the ceiling, then stalked past you to his study, no longer interested in anything your daughter had to say. They had been at it for the last ten minutes arguing over some boy she was seeing, and your ears were just about ringing having witnessed it from the sidelines. You were left there in the hallway, an unwilling participant in the unspoken feud between father and daughter, and you understood that whoever you went to console would take it that you were siding with them, even though you just wanted to keep your family together.

Going to your daughter was the instinctive answer, but you knew she needed time to cool off. Tommy was the only reasonable choice.

You knocked on the door to his office before letting yourself in.

“Come to lick my wounds, eh?” He mused while smoking a cigarette.

Your lips wormed into a thin line. “This needs to stop, Tom.”

“Yeah,” he said, tapping the ash into his tray, “it will fucking stop.” He points with his cigarette, “I’ll make it fucking stop.”

You sighed. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

The chair screeched as he stood. “I’m her father, and if I say she can’t see that boy, she can’t. It’s only a childish fling; she’ll get over it.”

He poured a whiskey and downed it by the time you walked around his desk so that you were face-to-face with him.

“They’re in love, Tommy.”

“Yeah?” He scoffed. “Well, that can be undone.”

You held his glare, a challenge lighting in your own. “So easily, you think?”

He paused mid-drag, catching onto the underlying meaning in your words. “No,” he said, setting the cigarette down in the ash tray and grabbing your shoulders. “Don’t act like that.”

“Act like what?”

“Like you’re threatening our love over some fucking boy that’s charmed our daughter. They’re too young.”

“He’s sweet.”

“Oh, sweet and nice, I’m sure. But he’ll have no place in this house.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because I fucking said so!” He spat.

“Don’t yell at me.”

“Or what? You’ll leave me?” He huffed in amusement. “You won't; you love me too much.”

“You’re so certain?”

He paused for a moment and stared at you as if he couldn’t believe what you had said.

“Yeah, because we still fuck like two people who love each other, eh? And you’ve not told me no before, so if the day comes and your body no longer wants mine, then I’ll be worried. But until then, don’t test me with empty threats." His face hardened.

He knew you like the back of his hand. All bark, no bite. You loved him inexplicably, even after all these years, gray hairs and all. His face, body, and soul nourished you until you were satiated and full. And even if his eyebrows furrowed at times, you were willing to bet that it was for aesthetic, a shapely shadow gathered over the years from being the stoic leader the Peaky Blinders and Shelby family needed. How could you fault him for it?

Because, at the end of the day, you were a team. Even if he played the role of an overprotective father a bit too convincingly, he only ever wanted what was good for your daughter. Everything he worked for, ultimately, was for his family. A family man. And that came with its virtues and vices because, despite what Tommy thought, he wasn’t perfect; no one was.

Shrinking under his hands, you breathed a sigh and appeased him. “End this feud, Tom. Find peace with her. I don’t care what you do, but by the end of it, I expect to be able to sit down at the dinner table without having to beg my husband and daughter to look up from their plates.” You stroked his hands, which held your shoulders, and finally blinked up at him.

A haze of softness swept across his glare and melted the glaciers to a thin sheen of blue. The seams of exhaustion frayed one by one through his muscles. He nodded, licked his lips, and leaned down for a kiss of absolution. Not entirely prepared to surrender, you tilted your head so that he found the corner of your mouth instead.

“It will be done, love.” He brushed the apples of your cheeks tenderly. “And by tonight,” his voice lowered, “I promise you’ll forget all about it.”

Only then did you accept his kiss, eager to put the grievance to rest. Tommy, on the other hand, had other plans and stepped forward so that you were pinned between his desk and hips. He quickly began to gather your skirts above your waist, but you pulled away just as fast at the hiss of air against your exposed skin. An unsolicited gasp escaped his mouth when your knee brushed him there, and you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, looking deep into his eyes.

“Promise me you won’t break her heart. She might not be old enough now, but I don’t want you to put her off love forever,” you caressed his jaw.

“No,” he agreed, breathier than usual, flexing the hands that were still caught up in the fabric of your skirt.

“And our Daisy may never say it, but I know she loves you dearly. So please, Tom, be gentle with her. I don’t want her to grow up despising you. Tell her you love her, kiss her forehead, hug her.”

He deflated, and you watched him swallow his pride. Cogs turned against the sweltering lust, threatening to deplete the clever thoughts in that powerful head of his in favor of your careful touch. Please, please, please, you begged without uttering a word; agree with me on this, Tom.

Tommy leaned back down to rest his forehead on yours; his face gave nothing away. You were sure he had found something to say, which would make you feel like a fool for asking. However, when you embraced those faint subtleties of emotion flickering across his face like candlelight, so miniscule you might blink and miss it, you found nothing of the sort to suggest any hostile nature. Because Tommy loved you.

“I will.”

A/N: Tried doing a long one shot, what does everyone think? Yay or nay? Comment to be added to the tag list!

Taglist: @maliceofwonderland , @fairytale07 , @goblinjnr , @ilovepeoplesdads , @multidimensionalslut

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mr-robot-x · 5 months

Text

chapter ten | somehow, i just want you more

masterlist | ↢ previous chapter | next chapter ↣ |

pairing(s): carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: in the aftermath of the baby shower you and carmen enjoy some much needed alone time, though the atmosphere of the night changes as secrets once hidden finally come to light.

wc: 9.6k

please remember you are responsible for your own media consumption. if any of the warnings trigger you DO NOT READ!

A small wince escaped your lips as Claire’s fingers gently prodded the back of your head. You were sure the spot she examined would be sore for a while. You passed the concussion screening she’d given you minutes ago, and now you were just waiting for the impromptu check-up to be over. The quiet voices of Nat, Tina, and Tiff kept your attention though you couldn’t hear what they were saying clearly, it was an easy distraction from the racing of your mind.

You were doing your best to piece together the sequence of events that happened in your living room moments prior. From Hayden’s sudden unwarranted attitude to Carmen’s surprise physical prowess, the latter part of that situation was the hardest to wrap your head around, and you still weren’t even sure if you believed it. Carmy busting your lip with his big ass head and knocking you on your ass, sure that was the Carmy you were used to, not the one who engaged in what looked like a bar fight.

“All good, no serious injuries.” Your eyes flashed up to Claire’s who stopped in front of you with a small smile gracing her lips. “Your lip doesn’t need stitches so I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” You sent her a smile in return, a nod of thanks following not too far behind.

“Thank you, Claire. I really appreciate your help.” You took her hand in your own trying to translate just how grateful you felt. You also couldn’t deny the guilt you were feeling because of Hayden’s implication that your feelings for Carmy appeared desperate to everyone. “I uh..I also wanted to apologize if I made you uncomfortable earlier,” you watched the woman’s brows furrow, her confusion making you feel even more awkward. Your voice dropped an octave as you tried to keep the conversation private, “I just don’t want you to think anything is going on between Carmy and me. I understand how I came across when explaining the quilt-,”

“Like you’re in love with him.” Your eyes widened, every set of eyes in the room turned to the woman who was perusing the selection of books on your nightstand. Sydney at least had the decency to look sheepish as she became the center of attention, she cleared her throat a forced chuckle leaving her lips at the awkward atmosphere hanging in the room. “I didn’t think it was a secret.” Her voice trailed off eyes darting between you and Claire before awkwardly nodding her head and pretending to be interested in the book at the top of your pile.

There was no point in trying to whisper when all ears in the room were eagerly awaiting a response. The three women occupying the foot of your bed found themselves unashamedly tuned into the conversation between you and Claire, and no matter how believable Sydney was at fake reading you could see her eyes glance in your direction every other second.

“Are you?” Your eyes found Claire’s once more, you knew exactly what she was asking but maybe playing dumb would put off the truth. “In love with him, I mean?” Claire gave your hand a slight squeeze hoping the gesture came across as encouraging.

This moment was peculiar. For all the time you’d spent pining after Carmen Berzatto you never had to admit your feelings for him to anyone else, they usually just clocked them. The only time you said those three words aloud was when he’d left you in his apartment last year. You took a moment to gather your thoughts trying to figure out what your best option in this situation was. You knew you loved him, but you also knew Carmy and Claire had history between them. And at this point in life all you wanted was Carmen’s happiness even if it wasn’t with you, and what kind of friend would you be if you took that from him; after already having taken so much.

“I don’t-,”

For the second time in one day, you’d been cut off in your room. If the shared disappointed sighs from Syd, Tina, and Tiff didn’t shut you up then Natalie’s pregnancy hormones sure would.

“Oh my god! Do you and my idiot brother share one brain cell? Is that what it is?” You opened your mouth in shock, not even a thought in your mind about a response. “Shut the hell up, Baby!” Your hands raised in defense, eyes searching for help from any of the other women occupying the room with you, suddenly all of them finally had enough of being in your business.

“I am pregnant, my feet are starting to swell, and my baby shower was just ruined by some…some maniac who’s strung up on you! And I am so goddamn tired!” It was silent as the audience present watched Natalie take a calming breath, whatever she needed to get off her chest seemed to weigh heavy on her for a while now. She took a few more deep breaths before turning in Claire’s direction, a tight smile on her face.

“Yes Claire, Baby is in love with Carmy, and I’m sorry you’re a great girl and we all love you, but sadly my brother doesn’t…at least not in the way you want him to.”

You broke Natalie Berzatto. Sweet, kind, patient, very pregnant Natalie Berzatto who just let your childhood friend down in the most passive-aggressive way you’d ever seen from her in a long time. You snuck a glance in Claire’s direction watching as she looked just as shocked as you, whether from Nat’s outburst or her words, you weren’t quite sure.

The room was silent as nobody jumped at the chance to reply after Natalie’s monologue. Loud voices from the group of men could be heard through your door as they had their conversations. You cleared your throat hoping to ease any tension lingering in the room before turning to face Claire head-on.

“I think what Nat is trying to say is-”

“If another lie comes out of your mouth Baby I might actually choke you!” The voices in your living room tapered off as Nat finished her sentence. Natalie’s eyes pierced into yours, it was a complete 180 from the earlier emotions she showcased. You held her stare too scared to look away from the evil eye she gave you.

The stare-down was interrupted between the two of you as a soft knock was heard on your bedroom door, you gave whoever it was immediate permission to enter hoping the intrusion would quell Natalie’s ire aimed solely at you.

Instant relief washed over the room as Pete stepped through the door with a signature smile on his face. “Nat, sweetie let’s get you home yeah?” The women in the room watched as the tension immediately left Nat’s body, her taut shoulders deflated as one loving look from her husband calmed her down. She nodded her head letting out a breath of air and joining her husband’s side. Pete sent everyone a small smile before gently guiding her out of the bedroom, the exit of the expecting couple an unsaid queue for everyone to begin venturing to the living room and saying their goodbyes.

You followed behind Tina, Syd, Tiff, and Claire before closing your bedroom door and turning to continue after them but stopping yourself before crashing into Claire who stopped just outside your door.

The two of you shared tense smiles, both of your minds straying back to the interrupted conversation from moments ago. “Look, Baby,” Claire cleared her throat, eyes drifting away from yours before finding them again. “There is nothing remotely romantic going on between Carmy and I. Your apology was unwarranted.”

You opened your mouth to counter Claire’s words, pausing as she held her hand up to stop you.

“Please, let me finish,” a small laugh left her lips at your expression. “I can’t lie I am a bit bummed about the whole situation, but if I’m being honest with you, I only took my chance because you two weren’t together.”

Your eyes widened at the admission, not sure how to reply, watching as Claire continued. “I know, not very girl code of me,” the sentence got a small laugh out of you. “But I saw the way he looked at you earlier, it's the same way he looked at you on prom night, and if I’m being honest with myself, it's the same way he’s always looked at you. I just assumed things didn’t work out between the two of you.”

Everything Claire said sounded like things you’d heard a dozen times before. Eye witness accounts of everyone knowing your feelings for Carmy and his feelings for you. “What do you mean you assumed things didn’t work out between us.”

Claire let out an incredulous laugh, “Well you moved after senior year, and when the whole phone number debacle happened you told me Carmy outgrew you.” You nodded understanding how things appeared from Claire’s perspective.

“Listen, Claire, whatever feelings I have for Carmy don’t matter, we’re not together. I mean if you like him then I think you should go for it…not that you need my permission.”

An exhausted sigh escaped Claire, “I think I understand Nat’s outburst a bit more now.” She gave you a small smile before pulling you into a hug, your arms easily wrapped around her despite how awkward this moment felt for you. “I’m not saying we should force Carmen to pick, but at some point, you have to understand that whatever high school crush he had on me is nothing compared to the how I’m sure he feels about you.” She gently released you, hands landing on your shoulders so she was holding you at arm's length. “I did have a crush on him in high school, and I have been giving him signs, but Baby, he is not interested…like at all.” Small laughter bubbled between the two of you at just how oblivious Carmy was. “I think the nostalgia of it all got to me, Carmy and I are better off friends. But if you don’t get with him I just might.” Claire’s voice rang in a sing-song tune.

You scoffed brushing her arms off your shoulders, the two of you sharing a laugh at the situation. The conversation went a lot better than you thought it would as you and Claire made your way to the rest of the group. You spotted Carmy along with everyone else gathered around Natalie and Pete, the group conversing about whatever held their attention.

Before you could join the rest of the group, Richie quickly removed himself from the conversation, throwing his arm around your shoulder and moving over to your kitchen. The two of you stood a bit away from the group, just close enough for you to hear Fak’s animated retelling of the earlier events.

You watched for a moment as Fak’s hands moved frantically with the fast words he was spewing, gaining a quiet laugh from you. Richie’s hand squeezing your shoulder to gain your attention, you sent a small smile his way mentally preparing yourself for the imminent scolding he would give you.

Richie quickly pulled you into a hug cradling your head against his chest but pulling away as he heard the quiet wince you let out from the pressure of his hand on your head. He held you at arm's length surveying your face to make sure there weren’t any injuries he didn’t notice beforehand.

“Baby a-,” Your sigh of exhaustion, cut the older man off.

“I know Richie, you were right about Hayden okay, and if I listened to you we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Richie’s eyes narrowed the longer he listened to you.

The annoyance was clear on his face, he felt blatant urge to start an argument with you rising within him, but the quiet breaths and counting showed you he was trying to avoid that. “Baby,” his voice was serious as his eyes re-opened. “Are you okay?” The question gave you pause any previous thoughts were now silent as you let Richie’s concern sink into you.

You felt your bottom lip begin to unconsciously tremble as you thought of the events that led to today. The baby shower you put your whole heart into planning finally got the chance of being celebrated and was ruined just as quickly. But none of that compared to the emotions brought on by all the baby shower preparations, all the emotions you allowed yourself to feel once upon a time and then boxed up as soon as possible.

Richie pulled you back into his arms much more gently than the last, his hand coming up to softly massage your neck. “Just say the word Baby and I’ll get all these lizards outta here.”

The words gained a watery chuckle from you as you wrapped your arms around his waist, basking in the comfort of a brother’s hug. “I got the guys to help me clean the kitchen, and don’t worry I made sure the leftovers were put in Tupperware and not random fuckin’ pans in your fridge.” That sentence drew a full laugh from you this time around, the two of you parting with matching smiles on your faces.

“And I tossed that nasty ass beer out,” you opened your mouth to explain as Richie continued. “Hush, I know it wasn’t yours. But Baby, whatever you had goin' on with that loser is bad news, and I know, I know, you work for the guy but I swear to God he better stay a hundred fuckin’ feet away from you.”

You began to thank him for the tasks he’d taken on, “Hey we’re getting you one of those fancy-ass doorbells installed too, don’t need that piece of shit poppin’ up on you unannounced. Matter of fact you wanna get a restrainin’ order? I mean you know me Baby I ain’t no cop caller but,” he bent down closer to you to whisper. “I might know a guy who could ya know,” Richie began using his hands as a way to explain what he was talking about though the explanation was lost on you.

Richie let out an annoyed groan that you weren’t piecing together his little game of charades, “Jeezus Babes, I can ya know plant a lil somethin’ somethin’ on him.” The words caused an incredulous gasp to escape you, laughter quickly following after.

The man raised his hands in defense, not finding anything remotely wrong with the solution he offered. “Gosh, you sound like Cortez. Don’t worry Richie, I’ll handle it.” You gave him a reassuring nod letting him know you’d figure things out the legal way.

He gave you one final look before the two of you finally joined the larger group, most of whom appeared ready to take their leave. Fak seemed to be at the end of his rundown as he noticed the two of you approach, “Baby! You totally just missed my super awesome reenactment, want me to start over, I’ll even give you the unabridged version.” You smiled at Fak’s enthusiasm, the man’s charisma never letting you down.

You let out a small sigh as you and Richie took your places, “I’m sure your demonstration was lovely Fak, but I think we’ve all had enough fun for one day.” You hope the smile you gave the group covered your exhaustion well Fak’s pout doing little to raise your spirits.

Goodbyes ensued soon after, you found yourself in hug after hug, everyone giving kind words about the shower and thanking you for the invite a sense of confusion racing through you as Tina settled for a small smile when you offered her a hug. The group of you moved out to the porch as everyone went their separate ways to their cars. Richie stopped beside you one last time planting a small peck on your temple before pulling you into one last hug. “You gonna be good alone? I can stay if you need me to.”

While you appreciated Richie’s efforts you kind of just wanted to spend the rest of the day snuggled up in bed and forget about the outside world for the time being. You gave a slight shake of your head, letting him know you’d be alright. He gave his own nod before placing one last kiss on your forehead and heading to his car.

You stood in the doorway watching everyone get into their respective vehicles seeing them off safely. Your eyebrows furrowed as you watched Claire get into Fak’s car before they moved to see Carmy’s car still parked perfectly from when they arrived.

“Excuse me,” you jumped at the voice behind you not realizing that one guest hadn’t followed the rest of you outside. You quickly shuffled out of the way watching as Carmy came to stand in front of you, “Sorry I uh…forgot my jacket and didn’t wanna take your peas.”

“Can’t have you stealing my frozen peas can I?” You smiled unsure where the conversation would go from there, “How’s the eye, Rocky?” Your eyes found the bruise blooming along his cheekbone, a sense of guilt filling you because of it.

He let out a small chuckle knuckle unconsciously gracing the new coloring painting his face, “You know I think it could be worse.” You chuckled, crossing your arms over your chest, both of you standing in the silence that descended.

You cleared your throat, “I’m sorry about your eye Carmy, but considering you busted my lip and almost gave me a concussion I think we might be even.” Your smile was all Camry needed to realize you were only joking with him.

Carmy sent you a small shy smile back, hand raising to scratch the back of his neck in a gesture you would know blind. “You know, I think being able to open my restaurant might make us more even.” The shy smile was still on his face as his eyes searched yours to gauge your reaction.

It dawned on you what Carmen was talking about, your mind racing back to the last FaceTime where you promised you’d finally give him the trademark documents. You felt your smile drop as you realized you’d been so scatterbrained you hadn’t even set aside time to look for the damn thing. “Shit Carm, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even look for them.”

Carmen’s smile fell as he watched the exhaustion and disappointment wash over you, he felt like a complete asshole for even bringing it up considering everything that transpired in the past couple of hours. He felt himself panicking for causing you any stress words on the tip of his tongue to placate you. He closed his mouth as your eyes found him again.

“You busy right now?” You couldn’t help but smile at how confused the man in front of you looked. “Carmen, you want your trademark or not?” He hesitantly nodded his head, the confusion still obvious on his features as you chuckled.

Without giving him a second to think you reached for his hand pulling him behind you as you reentered your house, “Let’s find those documents then Chef.” Carmy chuckled at the honorific pulling you to a stop so he could close and lock the door behind him.

Neither of you said a word as you led him behind you to your bedroom, and neither of you moved to release the other's hand the whole way there.

Two old friends sat on the floor of a bedroom, backs pressed into the bed situated behind them. Enough space between them to maneuver around when necessary, but not enough space to stop the periodic knee brushing against the outside of a thigh. Old photos are scattered carelessly around them as they reminisce on memories of childhood, and the one soul no longer with them. A box once collecting dust in the back of the closet finally saw the light of day after being shoved there unceremoniously when moving in.

“Look at your hair Carmen!” You thrust the photo you found out to him, you weren’t even sure how the photo ended up in your collection but you knew immediately you’d be making a copy for Richie to have. Carmy’s fingers brushed yours as he reached out to take the photo from you, his neck flushing a deep red as embarrassment set in.

It was a picture of him from high school taken sometime before he started growing his hair out. He stood awkwardly in front of the counter at The Beef, his hair styled in the signature side swoop he would force it into. If his hairstyle didn’t give away the age of this photograph then the skinny jeans he was sporting surely did.

“You really owned the whole teenage angst thing.” You bumped your shoulder with his sending him a cheesy smile while doing so. A surprised laugh escaped you as he shoved you with enough force to send your body in the complete opposite direction, laughter spilling out of you.

Although flustered, Carmy was ready with his own ammo whipping out a photo of you from one of the many times Richie and Mikey pulled their horrible pranks on you. “Tell me, Baby, how long did it take for your eyebrow to grow back?” Carmy chuckled as you let out an annoyed groan, covering your face with your hands before sitting up again and snatching the photo out of his hands.

He glanced over your shoulder at the picture now in your hand, a prominent frown on your face while Mikey and Richie held you in place between them to get the picture. Carmy glanced at the side of your face as you released a small sigh, “I cried so hard after this.” Your voice came out in a breathy whisper, turning slightly to find Carmy’s eye before the both of you focused back on the picture in hand.

You couldn’t remember why the two older men thought shaving your eyebrow off was the prank of the century. But you remember how confidence-crushing it was especially considering it was the summer before Freshman year of high school, how self-conscious it made you feel. A small smile rose to your lips the more you thought back on that time.

“I remember when Nat came to visit that weekend and she taught me how to draw it on.” A chuckle escaped you at the memory, of Natalie scolding both Mikey and Richie like toddlers. “And I remember you would help me because I never made it realistic enough.”

Carmy’s eyes remained glued to the side of your face, cheeks warming at the memories. He remembered just how upset you were by the whole situation going so far as taking a vow of silence against the two men. He remembered watching as Sug showed you step by step how to create a faux eyebrow while the missing hairs grew back. Carmen remembered the way you cried the first day of freshman year when you couldn’t make the strokes as realistic as Sugar did, so he stepped in to help, wanting you to have a good first day.

It was quiet as the two of you reminisced in your own ways about the ups and downs of growing up together. A melancholy air filled the room, the two of you held a plethora of memories that involved each other though sadly the more recent memories the two of you made in adulthood could only be recounted to the other as stories they would have the chance to experience in real-time.

“At least it grew back.” The words left your lips in a sad sigh as you set the picture aside to continue the search for the documents, perusing through all the junk shoved into the box. You weren’t sure how most of these things ended up in Mikey’s box, probably in the rapid packing done by the movers when it was decided you’d be returning to Chicago permanently.

“Oh…wow.” Carmy’s voice drew your attention to the three strips of Photo Booth pictures in his hands.

The first strip was unassuming; the only faces in it he recognized were that of you and Luca, a group of people he didn’t know surrounding the two of you. The group of you were goofing off, making funny faces and using the props that were presumably set out for that specific event. A different pose in each photo was snapped by the Photo Booth.

The second strip was of you and Luca alone, the pictures innocent enough friendly hugs and smiles being shared in the frames. He found himself smiling at the thought of you getting along with someone he considered a good friend at one point in his life.

It was the third and final strip that caused Carmy’s surprised reaction. You were positioned in front of Luca, the man's arms wrapped around your waist, head settled on your shoulder. The next picture box had slight differences, like Luca’s nose pressed into the side of your neck presumably drinking in the scent of you. Third in the lineup had the most differences. Your neck was craned to look up at Luca, the tall man looking down on your lips hovering an inch above yours. A look on your face Carmen was lucky enough to experience himself before.

Carmy was forcing his eyes not to look at the last picture in the strip, he didn’t need to see what he knew was already there but his curiosity won out. There plain as day in front of him stood you and Luca frozen in time, lips locked in what looked to be a heated kiss.

Carmen’s hand reached for the photo strip with your and Luca’s intimate moment, eyes latched onto the two of you kissing. He surprised himself with the lack of jealousy he felt while looking at it. All he felt was curiosity, how much happened in both of your lives that you never got to tell each other because of his choice to ghost you.

“So you kiss all the chefs you profile?” You rolled your eyes at Carmy’s poor attempt at a joke, you could tell there was more he wanted to know, but you also knew he wasn’t the type to just outright ask the question

“Nope.” You said laying the mostly empty box on its side so you could give your knees a break. “Never got to kiss Mikey.”

A surprised chuckle left the man’s lips, “Guess that’s too bad.”

“Guess so.” You sighed, setting the stack of papers in your hand down before glancing up at Carmy. “You can ask your question, Carm, I won’t bite your head off.”

He nodded, taking a moment to register the right words to say, his hand holding the picture raised, “Why didn’t things work out with you and Luca?”

You tilted your head to the side, eyes flitting to the photo before finding Carmen’s once more, “Who said they didn’t?”

Carmen opened his mouth before closing it as you kept talking. “Imagine my surprise when we’re making out on his couch drunk at like 2 am and I open my eyes to see the ghost of my ex-best friend staring back at me while this man tongues me down.” Carmy winced at the graphic details you were so willing to share with him. His confused gaze implored you to continue.

“Luca had this stupid picture of you and him both in your dorky chef whites hanging on his fucking wall.” You laughed as realization dawned on Carmy’s face. “In my defense, I had no clue the two of you even knew each other.”

Carmen let out a small chuckle as he thought about how awkward that must have been for you. The fact you didn’t piece together that they once worked with each other seemed like an oversight since that information was publicly available. “I dunno, it kinda seems like shitty journalism work on your part.”

The second you realized what Carmy was implying you were ready to defend yourself, but as you looked up you saw that small half smile gracing his lips, a gesture he’d often give you to signify he was joking while the two of you grew up.

You let out a sarcastic laugh as a quiet one left Carmy, “I know you don’t think I was checkin’ for you after you ghosted me for 8 years.” You watched as Carmy winced, a part of you feeling bad for constantly bringing it up, but it's not like the missing time between the two of you was any secret. You let out a quiet sigh before reaching out to squeeze his bicep, “It was a joke Carm promise.” He nodded along with your words knowing you hadn’t brought the truth up out of malicious intent.

Carmen’s eyes found yours before sending you a small smile, “I uh…I’m glad we’re doing this. The whole friendship thing.” His hand hesitantly reached up to grab yours that was still resting on his bicep before delicately grasping onto it. And he was, the time the two of you spent looking for the trademark documents was the most normal things between the two of you felt in a while. There was no pressure to admit his feelings to you, or pretend they didn’t exist, no pressure to make a life-changing decision about the restaurant. Just two old friends making up for lost time.

A smile found its way to your lips as you looked at Carmen, after such a chaotic day it was nice to spend this time with him reminiscing on old times and all the shenanigans Mikey got himself into. It was nice to have his presence by your side as you dug through a box full of memories you swore you’d never look at again, having Carmen by your side gave you the courage to do so. If the two of you hadn't reconnected who knows if this box would’ve ever been reopened?

Carmen’s fingers began to trace yours unconsciously, eyes darting around your face to take in every minute change he hadn’t been there to witness. After confiding in him about your overdose, he wasn’t sure anything between the two of you would ever feel the same if he could look at you and not feel disappointed that two of the people he loved most in this life struggled so silently yet so loudly and he was too lost in his own world to realize.

The weight of Carmy’s gaze quickly became uncomfortable. You weren’t sure what he was thinking about, or what he was focusing on but it felt as though his piercing gaze fished for your each and every flaw. Picking you apart a thousand times over just for the man in front of you to realize that he’d made the right decision all those years ago by cutting you out of his life.

You cleared your throat and carefully slipped your hand out of his hold, the movement caused his once-focused eyes to rapidly blink. “Think I’m feeling hot chocolate, want any?” It wasn’t a lie but you were also searching for any excuse to escape his study of you.

It was Carmy’s turn to clear his throat as he moved his eyes from yours to the box in the middle of your floor. He gave you a slight nod forcing a smile to his lips to ease whatever tension sprouted up between the two of you.

A relieved sigh left your lips at the chance to escape Carmy’s presence for a few moments. “Uh…feel free to keep looking through the box.” You sent him a small smile before carefully standing up and maneuvering your way around the mess the two of you made.

Carmen stared down at the photo album in his hands, a small smirk decorating his lips at the stickers and doodles the two of you decorated it with. He remembered gifting it to you when you were just starting to get into photography, doing extra chores around the house to save up and buy it for your birthday. If he flipped through the album he could point out when each picture was taken and recount every memory of the two of you in there.

He couldn’t help the wide smile threatening to spread across his face as he began standing up to show you what he found. A small curse escaped his lips as he tried maneuvering around the mess the two of you made, a few more expletives following as papers began to spill from the album. He bent down to pick them up, eyes quickly glancing across the pages to get them back in the correct order.

Carmy stopped as his eyes traced over some of the words, confusion marring his features as he tried to understand what they were about without seeing the full picture. He would know your handwriting anywhere, the dates on the pages telling him these were only from about a year ago, April to be exact. Carmy found his eyes looking to the door before he began reading the first page.

𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝘽𝙖𝙗𝙮 𝙓,

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩’𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙚, 𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙞𝙘 𝙞𝙣 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙞𝙛 𝙞𝙩’𝙡𝙡 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚 𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙙. 𝙄 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙖 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮 𝙩𝙞𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝘽𝙖𝙗𝙮 𝙓 𝙖𝙨 𝙖𝙣 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙞𝙧𝙘𝙪𝙢𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙢𝙨 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜. 𝙄’𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙚𝙭𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙉𝙖𝙩’𝙨 𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙖. 𝙄 𝙜𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙬𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨, 𝙨𝙤 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙄 𝙖𝙢 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙩 𝙖 𝙩𝙧𝙮.

𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙨 𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙡𝙮. 𝙄 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙖 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙗𝙤𝙭 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙩 𝙨𝙤 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙄 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙣’𝙩 𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙮𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙤𝙣𝙚. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙙𝙮 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝. 𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙖 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙥 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙖 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙 𝙄 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙥 𝙗𝙮 𝙞𝙛 𝙄 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠. 𝙄 𝙩𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙖 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙. 𝙄𝙩 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙩 𝙝𝙪𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙖 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙩𝙝 𝙄’𝙙 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙗𝙮 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙚.

𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙖, 𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪. 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙖 𝙗𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙚 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

Carmy’s confusion was at an all time high, the words meaning nothing to him as he finished reading the letter, your voice from the kitchen caught his attention as you answered your ringing phone. He knew whatever you were writing about was none of his business but his curiosity won out as he continued onto the second page of what he now knew to be a series of letters.

𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝘽𝙖𝙗𝙮 𝙓,

𝙄’𝙢 𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙄 𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧, 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙖𝙘𝙘𝙚𝙥𝙩. 𝘼𝙩 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨𝙣’𝙩 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙄 𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙖 𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙨𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙤 𝙖𝙡𝙗𝙪𝙢 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙄 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙚. 𝙍𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙉𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙪𝙥 𝙤𝙣 𝙢𝙚, 𝙏𝙞𝙛𝙛 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙋𝙚𝙩𝙚’𝙨 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄’𝙢 𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙛𝙪𝙡. 𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙄 𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙧 𝙍𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙚’𝙨 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙨 𝙞𝙛 𝙄’𝙢 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙪𝙥 𝙩𝙤 𝙞𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙖 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

𝙄 𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙉𝙖𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙚’𝙨 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙮, 𝙬𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙪𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙬𝙚 𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙠𝙚, 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙄 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬. 𝙄 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙖𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙙, 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙄 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙣’𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙄 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙙, 𝙄 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙢. 𝙄 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝘿𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙤𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙣, 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨𝙣’𝙩 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙚𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙄’𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙮, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙬𝙚 𝙙𝙤 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙈𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙮. 𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙨 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙝𝙚’𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙪𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙩 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙨 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙄’𝙢 𝙜𝙡𝙖𝙙 𝙄 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙥 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙣 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮.

Carmen's mind raced as he frantically moved on to the next letter, his thoughts working overtime to piece everything together.

𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙓,

𝙄 𝙬𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙥 𝙢𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨. 𝙒𝙚𝙡𝙡, 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙜𝙤 𝙞𝙣, 𝙨𝙤 𝙄 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙖 𝙗𝙞𝙩. 𝙄𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙩, 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙚𝙬 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙄 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙘𝙝 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙫𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙣’𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨. 𝙄 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙖𝙥𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄’𝙢 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙖𝙙𝙢𝙞𝙩, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙄’𝙢 𝙜𝙡𝙖𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙚𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙚𝙧.

𝙄 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙩 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙪𝙨𝙪𝙖𝙡, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙄’𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩’𝙨 𝙖 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙧 𝙗𝙖𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜. 𝘽𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙄 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙞𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙞𝙢. 𝙄 𝙤𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙧 𝙫𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙖, 𝙤𝙧 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙗𝙚 𝙖 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙖𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙜𝙖𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙗𝙤𝙩𝙝 𝙤𝙛 𝙪𝙨? 𝙄 𝙩𝙧𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙧. 𝘽𝙪𝙩 𝙄 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪’𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙗𝙞𝙜 𝙗𝙡𝙪𝙚 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙚𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙨, 𝙄 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙄 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙣’𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙬𝙤 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙞𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙚.

𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙪𝙥 𝙘𝙧𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙣𝙤𝙩, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩’𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙄 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥. 𝙄 𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙝𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙮 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙨, 𝙄’𝙫𝙚 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙡, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙄 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙄’𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙮𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙩𝙤 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙞𝙩. 𝙄 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝘾𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙜𝙤 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙝𝙞𝙢; 𝘾𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙮, 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙩 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙄 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚. 𝙄 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙈𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙉𝙖𝙩, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙍𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙋𝙚𝙩𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙚, 𝙄 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙮𝙤𝙪…𝙄 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙤 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚.

𝙄’𝙫𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝙄’𝙡𝙡 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙉𝙖𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙤 𝙖𝙥𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙞𝙯𝙚. 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙄’𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙨𝙠 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝘾𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙣’𝙨 𝙣𝙪𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧, 𝙄 𝙩𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙗𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙛𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙚. 𝙄 𝙡𝙚𝙛𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙢𝙮 𝙣𝙪𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙨𝙣’𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡. 𝘽𝙪𝙩 𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙖𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙚𝙭𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙.

Carmen’s hand shot up to wipe across his mouth, eyes re-tracing the words of the letter over and over again. Methodically re-reading each sentence not wanting to assume anything from what he read but knowing the proof was right in front of him in black and white. He could feel his palms begin to sweat as he shuffled to the next page hoping it would clear the doubts running through his mind.

The last page in his hand was dated two weeks after the previous, the writing was illegible the realization dawned on him that you were probably inebriated while trying to write this. Carmen felt sick to his stomach, his vision began blurring and he wasn’t sure if it was from unshed tears or the anxiety he could feel creeping up on him.

“How are you feeling?” You stopped stirring the oat milk in the saucepan to stare down at Nat’s face on your phone. You wanted to check in on her after the eventful day she experienced.

“I really bad about my outburst…and for hurting Claire’s feelings in the way I did. But I do appreciate your throwing Pete and me a shower, I wish it ended on a better note though.” You let out a small laugh at Nat’s words nodding along with how right she was. “What are you going to do about work?”

A sigh left your lips as you began periodically stirring the milk, “I’m not sure, if I do leave, I think I’m going to have to buy out my contract but,” you stopped removing the saucepan from the burner. “Where I go from there who knows?” You shrugged maneuvering to grab two mugs before beginning to fill them up.

“That second mug wouldn’t happen to be for my brother who I saw re-entering your house would it?” Your eyes flashed to Nat’s figure on your screen a Tupperware bowl of dessert from the party resting on her baby bump.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you quickly turned away to hide the smile spreading across your face, knowing Natalie caught you red-handed.

Natalie’s laugh rang through your phone as you finished pouring the two mugs of hot cocoa. You turned to place the mugs on your island before grabbing your phone to continue your conversation with. The slight smirk on her face told you she knew her theory was correct. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” Her whisper had you quickly returning your phone to its previous position to block whatever she saw.

You turned smile immediately dropping from your face as you took in Carmen's distraught demeanor, his wide eyes red-rimmed and face flushed. “Carmy?” The soft tone of your voice cut through Carmy’s rapid breathing, you could hear Nat’s worried voice pouring through your phone.

Carmy’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he ran his free hand roughly over it. You could feel your heart rate increasing the thought of something being seriously wrong with the man in your kitchen sending your thoughts in a frenzy.

“Carm, hey wha-,” Your words were swiftly cut off.

“You were pregnant.” The quiet words left his mouth so matter of factly you couldn’t help but stand there frozen for a minute, the only thing pulling you out of your stupor was Nat’s shocked gasp and Carmy’s quick footsteps as he approached you.

No words escaped you as Carmy reached you, his wide baby blues searching your eyes for an answer he already knew, you watched his eyes glaze over the longer you stayed silent his calloused hands cupped your face, thumbs tracing across the apples of your cheeks, as he waited for you to tell him he’d gotten it all wrong.

“I’m sorry Carmen,” all you could get out was a broken whisper. The hurt in his eyes felt as though it was manifesting in you physically. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.” Your voice was muffled as he pulled you into a hug, one of his hands slipping to the back of your head to cradle it in his neck, neither of you thinking about the tender spot on the back of your head.

Natalie watched from the view your phone offered her, her own heartbreaking as she watched Carmy hug you like he was trying to mold the two of you into one. Never had she seen her brother as distraught as he appeared right now, Natalie could feel her own tears sprouting to the surface ending the call to give the two of you much-needed privacy.

The tone of a FaceTime call ending played through the kitchen, you could feel intense shaking from the body intricately connected to yours, the movement caused your eyes to water. Carmy’s chest heaved uncontrollably against you, his face now hidden in your neck as you allowed him to bask in all the emotions he deserved to feel a year ago.

Your hands gently stroked through Carmy’s hair, your quiet humming following the movements. Carmy’s head lay heavy in your lap, his red and puffy eyes focused solely on the ceiling of your kitchen, the cold linoleum on his back helping to ground him in this moment with you. If asked, he wouldn’t be able to explain how the two of you ended up like this, on the floor of your kitchen his body between your legs and head resting safely against you, one of his arms wrapped around your leg like at any minute you’d disappear, with your deft fingers and soft hums helping to calm him.

No words were exchanged between the two of you after Carmy confronted you, his pained sobs the only thing to echo off your kitchen walls as you held him and gave him the safety to bask in his feelings. You were content to stay here like this for as long as Carmen needed doing your best to hold back any emotions you were feeling to allow Carmen his own moment to deal with the harrowing truth he just learned, your eyes not daring to stray to the papers tightly clutched against Carmy’s chest.

The shrill sound of your phone ringing blared through the mostly silent kitchen, the noise caused you to jump a frown rising to your face as Carmen stayed impossibly still, his body here with you but his conscious miles away. Your phone was on the counter where you left it, whoever was calling could leave a message although you were sure it was just Nat who should’ve been asleep but was probably up worried about the two of you.

A small sigh escaped you as the ringing finally stopped your heart slowing down from the fright the loud noise gave you. You looked down at Carmen’s still figure, you could tell he wasn’t sleeping by the way his hand would clench and unclench against the letters pressed to his chest. You felt your heartache at the desolate being he’d become because of your incompetence.

“Carm?” Your voice was quiet as you tried to get the man’s attention not wanting to give him any more time to linger in silence with his thoughts. His name hung in the air, with no indication that he even heard it as he lay there unmoving. “Carmen?” The noun left your lips a bit firmer punctuated by a careful hand placed on his shoulder.

You felt his body jerk under your hand, immediately snatching it away to not overstep any boundaries. You sucked in a sharp breath as Carmen faced you, the absolute devastation you could read on his face caused a deep raw aching in your chest. The place where your heart resided felt empty, instead, it felt as though it was a deep never-ending chasm.

Carmen eyed you waiting for the reason you asked for his attention. Eyes darting down to your lips to watch as that horribly stupid false smile that was becoming all too common lined your lips. “Let’s get you taken care of, yeah?” Carmy blinked at you slowly, he could hear your voice but his brain wasn’t doing the mental work to understand what you were saying, he watched the concern swim through your eyes the longer he sat there silently.

His eyes moved to watch as your lip began to tremble before pulling it between your teeth. Carmy frowned as your teeth grazed the split in your lip, his thumb eagerly raising to release your lip, “Stop that.” The words were quiet but stern as his calloused finger tugged at your lip, carefully dabbing the few drops of blood that sprouted up. He flinched as your hand raised to brush across the bruising of his cheekbone, and your hand immediately fell back into your lap.

“You’re welcome to stay the night if you’re comfortable, I don’t think you should drive tonight.” Carmy nodded in understanding rising from his spot of the floor. His concerned eyes landed on the two forgotten mugs on your counter the irony was not lost on him that this seemed to happen every time he stepped foot in your house; a gesture gone unappreciated as he learned about who you were today.

His eyes looked for you, surprised to see you still situated on the floor. “Why are you down there?” His voice was hoarse, the sound of it grating on his ears. The question got a surprised laugh out of you as you looked up at the man standing above you, now definitely wasn’t the time for laughing but you were sure if you didn’t laugh you would begin crying any minute.

You stood up dusting yourself off before gesturing to your room, “Go ahead and shower, I need to clean up here.” You watched as Carmy gave you one last lingering look before taking his leave. A shaky breath escaped you as he watched him walk away, you weren’t sure what you were expecting Carmen’s reaction to be when he found out the secret you’d been keeping all this time.

The idea of Carmy finding out the truth through a series of letters you wrote made you hate yourself, to think about the confusion he must’ve felt reading through them alone. You’d honestly forgotten they existed, a part of you blocking out almost everything that you experienced in the last year. Grabbing the mugs you poured the cold liquid down the sink before reaching for the saucepan. The emotions you held back as you comforted Carmy came through full force in that moment, uncontrolled tears slid down your face as you did your best to cry as silently as you could. It didn’t feel fair for you to cry at this moment, it was your choices that ultimately created it.

Footsteps approaching from behind caused you to quickly wipe the tears off your face doing your best to appear fine. “I…can’t figure out your shower.” The sound of Carmen’s raw voice made you want to cry even more, your head rapidly nodding as you gave yourself another minute to recover before turning in Carmy’s direction, a small smile on your face as you avoided his eyes.

Stepping into your room you were surprised to find the mess you left neatly organized and pushed to the side of the room next to the box it belonged in. The unwarranted gesture from Carmy made you want to cry even harder, but you’d get Carm situated first. You cleared your throat, the presence behind you not unnoticed as you turned to your en suite, you quickly started the shower making sure the temperature was just right before maneuvering around the bathroom to grab a towel and wash rag for Carmen.

“You can leave your clothes outside the door, I’ll wash them for you,” You turned to see Carmen standing in the doorway, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d ever seen him look this distraught. He gave you an unfocused nod stepping into the bathroom hands still clutching onto the sheets of paper. Your hand came up to point at them, “I can take those for you.” Your voice was a whisper scared that drawing any attention back to them would spook Carmy again.

Carmen looked down at the letters hands loosening as he realized just how crumpled up they’d gotten. He nodded reluctantly, handing the pages off to you trying to calm down the shaking of his hands now that he was without them. He watched as you made your way to leave, hand shooting out to stop you, the thought of being far from you caused his head to hurt.

You stopped turning to face him surprise painting your features, “Carm?” The sound of your voice brought his eyes to yours, the man unsure of what he should say to you.

“Stay…please?” You shook your head not wanting him to have to be around you any longer knowing that he’d look at your face and see everything you’d taken from him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Carm.” The exhaustion was clear in your voice as your eyes filled with more tears waiting to spill.

Carmy’s jaw clenched slight irritation coursing through him at your stubbornness, “Baby,” he gave himself a minute to breathe. “I need you.” Carmy’s eyes searched yours, his broken voice the catalyst for your tears that began falling. You began to shake your head back and forth, doubt coursing through you at his words, “Please.” The plea shot right through you Carmy’s own eyes spilling over with tears as he hoped you would agree.

The two of you stood facing each other, it wasn’t clear what Carmy meant when he said he needed you until his hands reached for your shirt, taking his time to undress you before it was your turn to undress him, the two of you standing bare in front of each other with nothing to hide. Any shame that may’ve been there once upon a time was long gone. Your hands reached up to unclasp the chain around his neck stopping short as he shook his head, a sign for you to leave it on.

Carmy gripped the shower door holding it open for you to walk inside quickly following after you. The two of you were in a similar position to this a year ago except that experience was intimate in a different way. You let Carmy’s arms wrap around you as the water from the shower head soaked your body’s in hot water, your arms wrapping around his neck.

You stood wrapped in each other for what felt like an eternity, the spray of water easily disguising the tears both of you shed. You placed a gentle kiss on the top of Carmy’s head before grabbing the shampoo stored in your shower, the man rose to his full height as you began washing his hair, your nails gently raking along his scalp to help him relax. Carmy watched you put his needs before your own, quiet tears streaming down his face at how easy it was for you to cater to him. A small sigh escaped him as he let his head drop to your collarbone allowing himself to bask in the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, his lips tenderly pressing into your collarbone as you rinsed his hair and lathered it in conditioner.

He brought his head up stopping you before you could begin washing his body. His eyes easily spotted the cloth he was sure was yours before wetting it and pouring your lavender soap onto it, he stopped as his eyes found yours wanting nothing more than to hold you for the rest of the night. “Let me take care of you.” His heart clenched at the quiet sob you let out before watching as your head nodded vigorously.

Carmen’s lips twitched up into a sad smile, hand moving to begin washing the day off of you. You allowed the man in front of you to run the cloth up and down your body, his gentle touch causing you to cry even harder. A part of you was sure this wasn’t reality, that he’d come to his senses and leave as soon as he got the chance. You watched him and the delicate way he handled you, careful not to pass too roughly over the scars that decorated your arm. His hands fell to your hips to turn you around so he could wash your back taking his time whenever he found a mark he’d never had the time to pay much attention to. A quiet sigh escaped you as his lips pressed into the ‘B’ inked behind your ear, your body taking the moment to relax into him as he rubbed calming circles into your hip bones.

Neither of you said a word as he finished washing your body. You watched on in silence as he got to his knees, forehead pressing into the soft flesh of your stomach, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold himself there, your arms wrapping around his head allowing him to experience this hurt in whatever way made the most sense to him.

The two of you stayed locked in that embrace, your fingers sporadically combing through his curls. The pressure of his chapped lips pressing frantic kisses onto your stomach was the straw that finally broke you. Your body joined Carmen’s on the floor of the shower as you held onto each other sharing in the pain that one reckless decision between the two of you led to.

In your bare most pure forms you and Carmen Berzatto cried for a life with each other the two of you would never get to experience.

a/n: well the angst is back…my inbox is always open if anyone ever needs to talk after reading a chapter. i have a short interlude planned around baby and carmy actually talking this whole situation out, so expect another sad update. again i ask that you give baby’s reaction grace i think it’s important to note that the pregnancy was unplanned and it is completely normal to feel resentment towards it especially considering the timing of it all. baby’s feelings will be explored in depth in the next update. i hope you are all doing well, thank you for continuing this tumultuous journey with me 🤍🫶🏽

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mr-robot-x · 5 months

Text

chapter 9 | don’t say baby! [part 2]

masterlist | ↢ previous chapter | next chapter ↣

pairing(s): carmen berzatto x fem!reader | fem!reader x male!oc

summary: the guest of honor finally arrive and the baby shower takes a turn no one could’ve prepared for.

wc: 7k

The dried watermarks on the mirror made your face look dirty. You’d been locked in your en-suite for the past five minutes, seeing Carmen arrive with Claire threw you for a loop, and now with Hayden’s unwelcome intimate gestures you just needed to take a beat for yourself.

Your eyes fell on your phone, the device lighting up with a text from Pete coming through most likely letting you know they were on their way. You let out a small sigh of relief, the sooner the two guests of honor arrived the sooner this party would be over.

Sending one last glance at your reflection in the mirror, you deemed you were suitable enough to return to the living room. Exiting the bathroom you stopped by your closet to retrieve your gifts for the soon-to-be parents before finally leaving your safe space.

The door to your bedroom hadn’t been open for longer than a second when the sound of raised voices reached your ears, your neck tensing with the already built-up stress that this day was bringing you. Stopping at the gift table you carefully set yours down before taking in the jovial atmosphere of your living room, thankful that the loud voices were just Richie and Fak bickering like usual.

You were surprised as you spotted Tiff engulfed in a conversation with Sydney, not realizing just how long you’d been hiding away. It was nice to see everyone in a setting like this, no stress, no drama, just everyone coming together to celebrate Natalie and Pete. You maneuvered around the living room sending small smiles everyone’s way as you checked to make sure everything was exactly how you’d wanted it, before stopping in front of where most everyone was hanging out.

“Excuse me,” you waited as conversations slowly began to die out and the attention was on you. “Okay, Pete texted me a few minutes ago that they were on their way. This is a surprise party so I don’t know, don't hide or anything but like be excited.” You shrugged your shoulders, a small laugh escaping you at your horrible explanation. “That being said please act like you have some fucking manners,” your eyes shot to Richie and Fak before quickly glancing between Carmen and Hayden. You weren’t privy to the conversation they shared in the kitchen but you could tell from Carmy’s tense demeanor and Hayden’s confident touches that the two were having some stupid dick-measuring contest.

“Baby I’ll be on my best behavior just for you and Nat!” Fak’s overzealous attitude drew a real laugh out of you as you nodded your head at him.

Richie opened his mouth to mock Fak but before he could the sound of a car locking could be heard from outside. You felt your eyes widen, suddenly everything was becoming more real, you felt a sense of excitement mixed with trepidation shoot through you. Everyone glanced back at you waiting for instructions as you stood there like a deer in headlights, “Uh turn out the fucking lights I don’t know. Just be quiet.” You hadn’t given anyone a chance to follow your instructions before you ran to the light switch quickly flicking the main lights off.

You moved around the house grabbing the bag of confetti poppers and quickly passing them out. You weren’t sure where this burst of excitement was coming from, but you couldn’t help but feel giddy at all your hard work finally beginning to pay off.

The group of you stood crowded around the foyer confetti cannons at the ready as the voices outside could be heard as they got closer and closer to entering.

“Psst, Baby! Uhh, how do these things work?” You felt Fak tug gently at the sleeve of your cardigan causing you to spin around and provide a mock demonstration.

Richie let out an annoyed huff, “What are you fucking five?” Your eyes found Richie glaring at him to stop his teasing knowing the two of them could blow up at any minute.

“Richie, your aura is just so ugly. I can’t help that Baby likes me more than you.” Fak nudged Richie in the ribs poking his tongue out at him

Richie scoffed whacking Fak in the head with his cannon, “Baby and I are literally in an exclusive club together. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You were speechless as the two grown men began bickering back and forth like two children after you’d explicitly told them to be on their best behavior.

“Can you two just shut the fuck up.” Your head turned to Carmy who’d appeared out of thin air beside you, gesturing his cannon between the two men, irritation clear in his eyes.

His demand went ignored as Richie and Fak’s whispers began to rise in volume, other members of your group whispering their two cents at them. Your eyes widened as the two of them began beating on each other with the confetti cannons, at a loss for words on how to deal with them.

“Hey! Be careful you’re gonna set them o-,” it was too late the gold and silver confetti shot out of the two cannons raining on your group in premature sparkles. “Off.”

Fak had the decency to look apologetic as Richie just pointed fingers at the other man absolving himself of any blame. Fak began trying to placate you, not that you had any more words for the two of them.

“Baby listen wait, I can fix this,” you watched in confusion as he opened his jacket pulling out two colorful cannons you had purposely bypassed purchasing for this party.

“Oh for the love of God,” The group erupted into chaos as Richie tried to wrestle the colored powdered cannons off of Fak. Some shouted at Richie to leave Fak alone while others tried to convince Fak not to use his backup cannons.

The sound of quiet laughing to the side of you caused you to turn your head, a small horribly hidden smile on Carmen’s face. “Do you think this is funny Berzatto?” You whacked his arm with your confetti cannon gaining his attention. “Well they’re your subordinates do…something.” You gestured to the two wrestling men watching as Carmy raised his hands in defense trying to hide his small chuckles.

Carmy began handing you his confetti cannon to break up the pair, his hand stilled as his canon suddenly shot off, sending a ball of pressurized confetti straight to your face. He froze as he looked at you pieces of gold and silver decorating your hair and face, hands flying in front of himself as you raised your canon to aim at his face, “Shit! Baby wai-.”

Carmen was gifted a mouthful of confetti before he could finish his sentence, your quiet giggles drawing his attention once more. The two of you locked eyes, your giggles dying down but neither of you lost the wide smiles painting either of your faces. The pleas from the rest of the group to get Fak and Richie to stop became silent as you and Carmy lost yourselves in each other's magnetic smiles.

The moment was broken by the loud popping sound, everyone finally falling silent as the tubes Richie and Fak were fighting over finally gave way. The blast of powder hitting the side of your face and body was so shocking you stumbled a bit.

Hands reached out to steady you before quickly leaving, “Yo guys what the fuck!” Carmy’s voice felt like it was ringing in your ears from how loud the explosion was. Luckily for everyone behind Richie and Fak, they were out of the blast radius so only specks of blue and pink powder decorated their clothes and skin. Unluckily for you and Carmy who were standing in front of Richie and Fak, the four of you looked as though a box of crayons threw up on you.

You felt hands gently grab your face, doing your best to reorient yourself to your surroundings. “Hey look at me,” your head turned in the direction you thought Carmy’s voice was coming from before he gently turned your head in the right direction. “Fucking idiots.” He mumbled as his hand gently moved to your eye, fingers hanging in the air as he paused. “Stay still for me while I clean your eye yeah?”

You gave a slight nod before standing as still as you could, your good eye watching as Carmy hooked the sleeve of his knit sweater over his hand before lifting it to gently wipe the excess powder from your eye.

A small flinch on your part had him cursing under his breath as he did his best to not accidentally poke your eye out. “Almost done okay?” His words were so quiet as you watched his focused eyes and steady hand move around your face. His quiet “Good girl,” sent shivers down your spine as he stopped his ministrations.

Carmy stood in front of you, hands still delicately holding your face in place as he watched you rapidly blink your eyes to clear any leftover debris he couldn’t quite get. “All good?” You allowed his question to hang in the air as you raised your hand to rub at your eye, Carmen’s hand shooting out to stop you, “Don’t you’ll irritate it more.” You searched his eyes, nodding unconsciously as the two of you once again got trapped in the other's gaze.

You took in the rest of his appearance a small smile curling your lips, the movement so infectious Carmy couldn’t help but allow his lips to ghost a smile, “What?” His question caused your smile to widen the longer you looked at him.

“You look like Grimace.” You battled to hold in your laugh before allowing it to be set free.

“Fuck off.” Carmen laughed along with you, free hand reaching out to shove your shoulder.

Neither of you paid attention to the bickering going on behind you, Richie trying to justify what happened as Fak blamed the whole thing on Richie, everyone else a bit miffed at the colorful powder now decorating their clothes.

The first thing to draw everyone’s attention was the sudden light cascading through your house, the group too loud to have heard the set of keys turning in the door or the opening and closing of it.

You turned at the sound of a throat-clearing eyes wide as you looked between Natalie and Pete. The two of them looked just as confused as you were sure they felt.

“Surprise?” You sent them an awkward smile, a discombobulated chorus of “surprises” following after your own.

You watched as Nat looked between your whole group before turning to look at Pete who let out a nervous laugh before gesturing Nat more into the house. As the couple walked further in she began taking notice of the intricate decorations before her eyes landed on the blocks spelling out ‘BABY’, her hands instantly covering her mouth as her eyes shot to you.

“Baby,” you could already hear the watery undertone to Nat’s voice. “You didn’t?” The question didn’t necessitate an answer, but you found yourself nodding anyway, a small smile already beginning to grow wider.

The first tear slowly traced down Natalie’s face before her lips began quivering and her cheeks glistened with the onslaught of tears streaming down her face. You couldn’t help but allow your tears to begin falling, hardly aware that they’d built up until now.

You felt Carmen squeeze your hand, your fingers somehow finding themselves intertwined with his after he stopped you from rubbing at your eye. His hold on your hand reluctantly loosened as you moved forward to wrap Natalie up in a hug.

She welcomed you with open arms, neither of you saying a word as she cried into your shoulder and you hers, with the way the two of you were sobbing uncontrollably and gripping onto each other for dear life, it was clear that this gesture meant a lot to the both of you. But to three other people in the room, they knew the emotions were for more than just the baby shower.

You looked up as Pete joined the hug, eyes red with slowly falling tears as he wrapped himself around Natalie, offering her the comfort he was sure she needed, the embrace causing her sobs to rise in volume. You weren’t sure when Richie and Tiff had joined the impromptu group hug but you could tell Richie was holding back tears of his own when he leaned to place a gentle kiss atop your head and the sounds of his quiet sniffles could be heard.

The atmosphere of your living room took on a confused air, as those not involved in the emotional hug awkwardly looked between each other, so they weren’t caught intruding on such an intimate moment more than they already were.

Carmy stood off to the side trying to piece together what could make the five of you so emotional. Considering who was involved in the hug he could tell whatever it entailed was a familial matter, and he knew it was something serious if Richie willingly joined a hug that Pete was a part of. He couldn’t help but feel like the odd one out as he stood there trying to deduce what he’d missed in his time away from everyone.

As he ran through different scenarios in his mind, his eyes caught yours as the hug was finally coming to an end. He watched as your lips curved into that false forced smile you saved for times when you weren’t only trying to convince yourself, but everyone else as well that you were okay.

Your small group dispersed as Nat calmed herself down enough to greet everyone else who had come to celebrate her pregnancy. Carmy felt himself straighten up as you approached him, tear streaks cutting through the mix of blue and pink powder.

“I…I might have something for you to change into.” Your voice came out quiet, the sadness in it almost had Carmy moving to wrap his arms around you. He thought better of it though not wanting to overstep any boundaries. He gave a nod, eyes watching as you moved around him, leaving him standing there to follow behind you.

Carmen stood awkwardly in the center of your room as you rummaged around in your closet for something for him to change into. He felt his eyes flitting restlessly around the room, trying to take in all the things that made up this safe space for you. It was odd for him to be standing in such a personal space of yours, the two of you were mending your friendship but he felt out of place standing in your bedroom.

“Here you go.” Carmy looked between you and the green crew neck you held out to him. “You can change in the bathroom, I’ll wash the dirty sweater. There’s uh washcloths in the pantry so you can, you know, clean your face.” You sent Carmen a small smile pushing your hand out a bit more urging him to take the article of clothing from your hand.

Carmy gave you a small smile before retreating into the en-suite, finding the washcloths exactly where you told him they’d be. Gathering the rag and placing the crewneck on the counter he looked at his appearance for a moment, a chuckle leaving him as he thought about how idiotic Richie and Fak were for the whole situation. He turned on the tap, letting the water warm up a bit before dipping the washcloth under the running water and beginning to clean the colorful powder off of his face.

Upon finishing he wrung out the excess water before turning to drop it in the hamper in one corner of the bathroom. His hands moved to undress himself of the now-soiled crewneck he’d initially worn. His eyes landed on the green crewneck you’d offered to him, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that this was his from your time spent in New York. He felt his cheeks warm at the thought of you keeping it all this time after all the bullshit he’d put you through, a small part of him buzzing as he thought about you having a piece of him in the same way he had a piece of you. Carmy quickly shuffled the crewneck over his head, fiddling with it until it set on his torso right, his hand moving up to adjust his chain, tucking the small pendant into his shirt for safekeeping. The soft mixture of lavender and vanilla invaded his senses as he allowed the fabric to hug his body.

He exited the bathroom soiled jumper in his hand, eyes widening as he spotted your now clean figure standing in front of your vanity cleaning any residual powder from your face. It was silly of him to feel so surprised to see you there, it was your bedroom after all. He caught your eye through the mirror you sat in front of, and a shy smile sent your way as your eyes moved across his green-clad chest.

“I uh, thank you for the change of clothes.” He nodded in your direction as a sign of appreciation before he began taking steps to leave the room.

“Wait!” He stopped in his tracks turning quicker than he even realized. “You uh missed a spot.” You sent him a small smile as he watched you take a step in his direction, a tissue in your hand as you raised it to his hairline gently wiping the leftover color off of him.

Carmy watched you in silence, the whole exchange taking less than a minute as you dropped your hand to your side. Confusion marred his features as he watched your eyes take on a glistening sheen, he watched as your eyes darted across his features, a chuckle escaping your lips as you quickly swept a hand across your eyes to dispel the tears.

“Carmy,” his eyes widened as you cut yourself off sniffing. “I…I’m just really glad you’re here.” Carmy let out a sigh of relief, sure that he’d done something wrong to cause your emotional state.

He let out a small laugh, reaching up to mess with his hair, “No, yeah…me too.” He nodded along, the two of you sharing a quiet laugh. “I, uh, also wanted to thank you for uh all your help.”

Carmy smiled as your laugh rang through his ears, “I’m serious,” he let out a small chuckle before continuing. “Do you know how mortified I would’ve been to give Sugar a breast pump?” The two of you fell into a fit of laughter, both of your thoughts most likely straying to the last FaceTime the two of you shared Carmy ringing you up for advice on the best gift to give Natalie and Pete.

“I mean it's technically a practical gift.” Carmy rolled his eyes at the teasing tone in your voice, softly shoulder-checking you as the two of you began exiting your bedroom. “Richie would’ve never let you live it down though.” Carmy smiled as you leaned into him a bit, the two of you dropping your soiled pieces of clothing in the laundry room before continuing down the hallway.

A comfortable silence grew between the two of you, Carmy watched you from the corner of his eye, his whole body feeling warm and full by just being in your presence. The comfort of being next to you is so different from what he was used to he found himself wanting to open up. “You know…I would’ve bet fucking money on Mikey being the first one of us to have a kid.” He let out a small chuckle as the two of you stopped just before entering the living room.

You turned, giving him a small smile, nodding along the more you thought about it, “Gosh, people used to throw themselves at him.” Carmy nodded along to your words, both of you taking a minute to just reminisce on the memories that came with knowing Mikey.

“I used to think I could never do it,” he paused, hand raising to scratch the back of his head in the way he usually did, your confusion urging him to continue his train of thought. “I think…growing up with my family it kind of put me off of having my own you know?” His wide eyes came up to connect with yours.

It was instant the way your posture changed. Carmy watched as the relaxed stance you’d taken on became full of tension, your shoulders drawing taut as you stood a little straighter. His eyebrows furrowed trying to find where things had gone off track.

He watched as you opened your mouth to speak, head turning as you avoided eye contact with him. It was like he could see the thoughts racing in your head as you prepared yourself for whatever words you were about to speak.

The tension in your body was clear, and although Carmy wasn’t sure as to why you became more closed off as each minute passed, he knew he wanted to do whatever he could to remedy it. His hand reached out fingers grazing yours as your eyes shot back to his. “Baby I uh didn’t mean anything by it. I-“

“No, it's uh…it’s understandable.” Your quiet voice interrupted him.

Carmy nodded, eyes trying to reconnect with yours as you focused on something over his shoulder. His fingers began unconsciously intertwining with yours, his mouth opening once more to apologize for overstepping his boundaries.

“Excuse me.” It was a whispered plea but Carmy was so focused on your being he would’ve heard it even if he wasn’t right next to you.

He allowed you to remove your fingers from his, watching silently as you continued your trek to the living room joining the rest of the party. Carmen didn’t mean to upset you and if he had any more common sense when it came to you he probably would’ve kept the thought to himself.

Carmen stayed in his position in the hallway for a moment longer, watching as you easily slipped into the façade of happiness he noticed the moment you’d greeted him upon his arrival. There was a 10-year gap of time missing between the two of you, but he could still read you like the back of his hand. You weren’t the same girl he crushed on in high school and that much was expected given all that you’d been through, but he also wasn’t the oblivious kid he used to be either.

“Is this custom-made?” Laughs went around the living room as Natalie held up the onesie in question with Italian beef sandwiches dotted around it.

Richie held up his hands, a smug smile gracing his lips, shoulders going up in a nonchalant shrug, “I’ve got a t-shirt guy.” He sent a small wink your way as your quiet laugh reached his ears as you thought about the t-shirts he mentioned this morning.

“I kinda like it.” Pete’s admission drew a shocked look from Nat as she returned Richie’s git’s from the bag they came from. “Well thank you, Richie, at least the gifts are practical,” Nat mumbled the last part hoping Richie would be too distracted to catch it.

The gift opening continued with Natalie and Pete thanking everyone for the thoughtful gifts. You watched on from your spot on the armchair of your couch, your heart feeling happy at the genuine love that you could feel around the room.

Natalie’s sharp gasp broke through your haze of thoughts, your eyes finding hers as they spread open a quilt between her and Pete’s hands. “What’s that?” The sound of Syd’s whisper traveled around the group, the only person willing to voice everyone else’s question.

Tina turned to look at her with a sad smile on her face, “A quilt, Baby’s mom used to make them.” It was obvious Syd had more questions as she carefully looked in your direction confused about the sentimental value of it.

“Well, show us the designs.” Richie’s leg bounced up and down in anticipation, the man hounded you while you were making the quilt curious to know what you’d chosen to represent him.

You laughed at his impatience as Pete stood up reversing the quilt to show everyone else, Nat found your eyes, doing her best to hold back the tears filling her eyes. “Will you explain it to us?”

A small nod was the only answer you gave as your eyes darted around the specific designs for every family member. You cleared your throat, readying yourself from the emotions you knew this would bring forth.

“So um…my mom had this tradition of making a quilt every time someone was expecting,” the context felt necessary considering only a few people knew the lore behind quilt giving in your family. “Each square has a different pattern to represent different family members.” You and Nat locked eyes; her quivering smile encouraged you to continue.

A small laugh left you as you started with the first square, “The tuna represents Pete.” The aforementioned man’s boisterous laugh rang through the living room, as his eyes met yours. “And his love for Tuna Casserole.” You felt yourself settling more into your explanation as you watched the realization sink into the faces of those who were there to witness Pete with his infamous Tuna Casserole at Christmas all those years ago.

Your eyes moved on to Natalie’s square a small sigh leaving you. “If anyone deserves to be a mother its Nat,” you had to pause before continuing the explanation of her design watching as her eyes consistently overflowed with tears. “I don’t know it just felt right to give Natalie Mother Nature, she is such a kind and caring person and she always, always put everyone’s needs above her own and its fucking infuriating.” Quiet laughs went around the room at your heartfelt words. “But I love you Natalie you’re my sister, and I’m so thankful that you continue to love me through all my bullshit.”

“The jesters are for Richie. For his constant need to ensure everyone laughs no matter what the situation is. Considering the family this baby is being born into their definitely going to need an uncle like you.” You smiled at Richie hoping he understood just how genuine your words were.

You paused as you finally made your way to Carmy’s designated design eyes unconsciously finding his as you began your explanation. “Carmen is the most creative person I know,” You felt Hayden bristle from his spot behind you, the man moving closer into your space and resting an unwanted hand upon your waist. You cleared your throat, eyes stuck to Carmy, “The palette and paintbrushes are for Carm.”

A pink blush rose to Carmy’s cheeks the longer he listened to you, your eyes never once leaving him through the whole explanation. “In and out of the kitchen, and I know how much being a chef means to you…but I feel like sometimes you forget bits and pieces of yourself in the chaos of the kitchen, and…I don’t know when I think about you I’m just always drawn to the way your mind sees the world.”

Everyone within the group shared a feeling that they were intruding on a private moment. Natalie and Pete with their shared smile at the way you spoke of Carmy, Tiff whispering in Richie’s ear trying to piece together what the piercing stare you and Carmy were sharing meant. Fak whose face made it seem as though his brain was malfunctioning as he slowly put the pieces together. Sydney and Marcus both with wide grins and slow nods as they finally began to understand the depth of the relationship between you and the chef. Ebra, who just like Tiff was confused as he implored answers from Tina who broke her vow of silence toward the man just to explain everything.

And then there was Claire and Hayden.

The blue-green-eyed brunette swiveled her eyes between you and Carmy watching the way he watched you. The chef’s eyes were wide, not in confusion but in what seemed like admiration. He was tuned into your every word, drinking each in like it was the nectar of the Gods. Her eyes moved to you, your eyes just as admiring as Carmy's, a small smile growing on your face the longer you kept talking. What finally gave her the proof she needed was the way you spoke, not to the group no, but directly to Carmen like everyone else in the room was a non-factor and Carmy was the only one deserving of hearing such saccharine words. Claire felt her breath catch, not in jealousy but rather realization her mind quickly thinking back to the night of prom, when she watched Carmen watch you, the same look from all those years ago the one he wore now. It would be a lie for Claire to pretend the realization didn’t sting a bit, but she wasn’t an idiot, her not so subtle advances had been going over Carmy’s head the last couple of times they’d hung out. And she’d caught him one too many times admiring the picture of the two of you in his wallet for it to be a coincidence. An understanding smile graced her lips the longer she listened to your words.

Hayden on the other hand was anything but understanding his jaw clenching every minute you spent eye fucking Carmy in front of all your guests. The hand he put on your waist to distract you doing nothing even when he tried caressing the bit of skin peeking under your cardigan. It was like he was losing you before he even finally got you, he was under the assumption that Carmy was no longer a choice in your mind, but when you proposed the article about his restaurant and even last night when he read your rough draft he realized just how wrong he was. Hayden bristled, fingers digging into your waist a bit the longer you droned on about fucking loser Carmen Berzatto.

“And I think more people deserve to know that side of you.” Your monologue finally ended with eyes full of love as you gazed at Carmy. You would’ve felt ashamed of how obvious you were being with your feelings but after screaming that you were in love with him in the decrepit restaurant, there was no point in lying to yourself and him.

The clearing of a throat behind you and a hand painfully squeezing your waist drew you out of your tunnel vision stare on Carmy, the rest of your living room coming back into focus as you remembered that you were not alone with Carmen. You felt a bit embarrassed that everyone was privy to words meant just for Carmen but there was nothing you could do now and the knowing smiles you were receiving proved that.

“Ahem, the two bears…it’s Koda and Kenai from the kid's movie. They’re for Mikey.” You finally ended your explanation, eyes avoiding the last square that you had zero urge to explain, your heart feeling a bit sad after looking at Mikey’s designated embroidery after finishing it so long ago.

“I think it’s beautiful Baby,” Claire gave you a warm smile before her head swiveled back to the embroidered quilt everyone was admiring. “But who’s the last panel for?” You could see the genuine question in the woman’s eyes as she looked back at you with an encouraging smile on her face as she waited for your explanation.

You gave her a forced smile, eyes moving to the blue flowers surrounded by small bear paw prints. You could see Richie shift uncomfortably out of the corner of your eye, as Nat and Pete’s smiles slowly fell. Tiff stood up a quiet excuse to fold the quilt leaving her lips. Tiff’s gesture didn’t go unappreciated as you gave her a small nod in thanks.

“It was just leftover fabric from a piece I never got to finish.” You sent your old friend a small smile as she nodded in understanding.

You excused yourself for your spot on the couch, the excuse that it was time for some baby shower games quickly leaving your tongue. You could hear small conversations start up as you moved around your house to gather the few games you’d put together. Annoyance began pouring through you as you felt a hand glide along your waist before you were being pulled into someone’s side.

“I’m not sure what gave you the impression I was okay with you touching me so intimately, but could you give it a rest Hayden?” You felt his hand retract as he moved to stand in front of you, hands raising in apology before he began helping you gather the game materials.

He let out a small chuckle leaning into your space a bit, “You just gonna pretend we didn’t kiss last night?” The urge to roll your eyes was immediate, you weren’t sure what changed with Hayden after college but he wasn’t the sweet and kind boy you used to know. And the more you spent time with him since returning to Chicago, the clearer that was becoming.

“Firstly, you're my boss, I don’t have the energy to deal with the hurdles of being intimate with a coworker.” You turned your face up to him, hands now full with the games you’d prepared. “Second you were drunk off your ass last night Hayden. You kissed me.”

Hayden scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest, your words upsetting him. “I know when to stop drinking sweetheart,” the words lit a fuse within you at what they implied. “Don’t tell me your still hung up on that fucking loser out there on your couch.”

It was like you didn’t even know the person standing in front of you. Your eyes searched his face for any sign that he was acting out for any other reason than jealousy.

“That loser on my couch is my friend Hayden, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk about him like that.” The man watched you, eyes narrowing to slits as he took in your words, a look of disgust coming over his face.

“It’s pathetic don’t you think? The way you defend a guy who knows you're not worth committing to.” He let the materials in his hand drop loudly on the table situated between the two of you, you didn’t need to be a genius to realize the loud noise drew the attention of those in the living room waiting for you two.

You opened your mouth to respond the blood pumping in your ears at how irate you were beginning to feel. “Everyone can see how desperate you are. The way you look at him talk about him like he’s some fucking God. But he doesn’t want you Baby and you’re too stupid to realize it.”

The way your heart was thudding in your chest you were sure it was going to escape its confines within your body. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The words were quiet but full of venom as you held eye contact with him, your glare daring him to say another word.

A laugh escaped Hayden as he looked down on you, his eyes burning holes into you like if he stared hard enough he’d discover all your secrets. “I can’t believe I pined after you all these years, ruined my marriage because I couldn’t get over the idea of you.”

It was your turn to drop the games in your hands, eyes narrowing as you leaned into his space as much as the table separating you two allowed. “No Hayden, you ruined your marriage because you’re a fucking cunt.” The house was so quiet your words traveled to the nosey group sitting in your living room, Richie’s quiet ‘Oh shit,’ falling on deaf ears as you continued your heated gaze with the man in front of you.

You watched as Hayden’s brow furrowed even more your words causing the rise you were hoping for. His head dropped as he laughed before his hand shot out to grab your chin between his fingers roughly pulling your face closer to his. Richie was up and out of his seat before anyone could stop him. knowing you could handle yourself, but wanting to be prepared just in case.

“Next time you try and fucking kill yourself, make sure you’re successful.” You stood there shocked watching as his smirk widened before he roughly shoved your face away from him, the feet quickly padding across your floor lost on you as you tried to digest the words you’d just been told.

It wasn’t a second later that you saw a fist flying past your face, squarely cracking into Hayden’s nose. There was no time for you to move out of the way before Hayden reacted with his fist connecting with the person who hit him, the force of his hit sending them tumbling into you. You could taste the blood on your tongue as their head slammed into your mouth. It felt like slow motion as you fell to the ground head slamming against hardwood, the perpetrator of the fight landing roughly atop you.

All hell broke loose after that second punch. From your position on the ground, you could see legs moving with a quickness to your side of the house, the body on top of you groaning as they began to sit up, elbow accidentally pressing into your ribs causing you to gasp.

“Shit, sorry.” You groaned, shoving the rest of their weight off of you so you could finally sit up. Your eyes widen as you take in the scene before you.

Richie held Hayden in a headlock, Fak standing around them, hands at the ready to throw a punch if needed. Marcus and Ebra guided Richie to the door carefully to avoid any decorations while Pete kindly held it open waiting to remove the unruly guest.

You felt hands grasping your shoulders, Natalie, Tina, and Tiff stepping into your line of vision as who you assumed to be Claire helped you up, Sydney off to your side awkwardly offering her help to the body beside you.

The sound of the front door slamming and Richie’s victorious guffaw led to silence. You stumbled a bit as Claire adjusted her grip on you, eyes looking around the room at the concerned faces surrounding you, no time for you to get a word out before rough hands gently gripped your face turning you in their direction.

Your eyes widened as you took in the bruise blooming around Carmy’s eye, his wide blue eyes frantically searching your face before landing on your busted lip and the blood around your mouth, you winced as he gently touched the cut.

The surprise on your face was instant as you took in Carmy’s new face accessory before moving your eyes to Richie, the older man was unharmed with a wide smile on his face as he gave you a look that meant ‘I told you so’ before your eyes drifted back to Carmen’s.

“You sucker punched Hayden?” The disbelief in your voice was evident, Carmy letting out a small chuckle that your main concern was who punched Hayden, and his main concern was you.

“Fuck yeah, he did!” Richie’s voice broke through your confusion, you would’ve been shocked by his excitement if you didn’t already know his prior feelings for the man who just this morning you were sure would be understanding of your lack of desire for a more intimate relationship with him. “Yo Cousin, you rocked that motherfucker’s world! Mikey would be proud!”

It was silent as everyone allowed Richie to rejoice in the moment. Your eyes find Carmy’s once more as his hand on your neck begins gently massaging the nape of your neck. What was supposed to be a celebration for two of your favorite people in the world had turned into the world’s worst baby shower, but you couldn’t help the smile you cracked at just how ridiculous this whole event turned out to be. Not even the sting of the cut stretching on your lip stopped the wide grin you couldn’t hide.

Your smile was infectious, something Carmy would gladly admit, even with the streaks of blood decorating your teeth. Carmen found himself smiling as you stood in his embrace laughing, a full belly laugh that he hadn’t been privileged enough to hear in so long. The sound was a catalyst for his chuckles to begin, followed by shocked laughs from everyone else that happened to be in town for the shit show that was your life.

Carmen Berzatto punching another man at Natalie and Pete’s baby shower was definitely not on your 2023 bingo card, but the chaos of it all reminded you of simpler times.

a/n: HERE IS PART 2!!!! please bear with me, i know this chapter is ridiculously silly but i just couldn’t help myself when it came to the dramatics. also hayden’s exit from this series was originally way more calm, but i just needed him out of the picture immediately. i need my losers in love already anyways enjoy! 🤍

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mr-robot-x · 5 months

Text

chapter nine | don’t say baby! [part one]

masterlist | ↢ previous chapter | next chapter ↣

pairing(s): carmen berzatto x fem!reader | male!oc x fem!reader

summary: the day of nat and pete’s baby shower has finally arrived.

wc: 6.2k

skin tones used in mood boards do not represent “baby” imagine her however your heart desires!

You sat criss-cross applesauce atop your island, a cup of iced lavender crème earl gray tea grasped in your hands as you took in the lively decorations scattered around your house. You’d been at it since eight this morning, the clock above your stove now read 11 a.m. It probably wouldn’t have taken as long if you asked the extra set of hands still asleep in your guest room for help. But after waking up this morning, you realized you just wanted to set up alone while in the comfort of your own home, before inviting everyone into your space. From your vantage point where you sat everything was perfect, exactly how you imagined it; only the best for Natalie and Pete.

You weren’t sure what to do with yourself now, all the decorations had been set up and now you were just waiting for the last of the desserts to finish up. While Pete had taken Nat out for her first day off in a while she’d mentioned to him a slew of deserts your mom used to make for you all growing up that she’d been craving, and what kind of friend would be if you didn’t indulge her pregnancy cravings.

Pete was instructed to show up with Nat at one, your group chat invitation asked for everyone else to arrive anytime before then to ensure everyone arrived on time. As you glanced at the balloon arch in your foyer and the boxes spelling out the word ‘baby’ you were nervous you had gone overboard, that Nat and Pete would think it was all too much. But with Pete telling you about Nat’s ideas you couldn’t help but go a bit overboard.

You glanced around your house one more time, a small laugh escaping you at the theme you’d chosen. It would’ve been a missed opportunity if you did anything other than a bear theme, you hoped everyone else got a laugh out of it the way you did. The more you looked at each decoration the more you forced yourself to not entertain the dozens of “what if” scenarios bouncing around your head. Those thoughts would bring nothing but negativity and as easy as it was to feed into the jagged wound of what once was, what could’ve been; you weren’t sure you had the energy to juggle both past and present today.

“Could’ve asked me for help.” You flinched at the sudden gruff morning voice traveling down your hallway.

Feet padding against the hardwood floor now alerting you of their towering presence next to you. You felt your nose scrunch as the rough scrape of a mustache caressed your temple along with cold lips.

You watched as Hayden walked around you, maneuvering around your kitchen like it was second nature, wearing his now wrinkled clothes from the previous night as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

He stood across from you on the opposite side of the island, forearms leaning against it, eyes darting to the many decorations behind you.

“I gotta run to the office, finalize some things for the gala,” he paused, raising the mug to his lips and taking a long sip. “I shouldn’t be too long.”

You nodded eyes unfocused as you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth. Your eyes shot up as Hayden reached out thumb gently sliding your lip from its prison.

“You nervous or something? I remember you doing that before big exams.” You watched as he let his thumb linger in a soft caress.

“Something like that.” You muttered as he reluctantly pulled his hand away, eyes lingering a moment longer.

After the oddly intimate moment initiated by Hayden, the two of you sat in silence as the man drained his cup of coffee before moving to round up his belongings. It felt odd having Hayden in your house and you couldn’t exactly pinpoint why. You weren’t sure if it was because of the incident from the night before or if it was because deep down you were hoping another man would be the first to spend the night under the same roof as you.

Hayden approached from the hallway briefcase in hand, a small smile on his face as you got up to walk him to the door, neither of you saying a word as he slipped his shoes on before turning to look at you. “Uh…I guess I’ll see you later?”

You sent him a small smile nodding your head as you opened the door for him. You watched as his hand came up to cup the side of your cheek, thumb gently caressing the corner of your lips before he began leaning in. You froze, the moment reminiscent of the previous night.

His lips were hovering so close over yours that you could feel the tidy hairs of his mustache tickling your upper lip as he took your silence as an answer.

“No! hell no!” You flinched in Hayden’s hold as the loud Chicagoan accent rang from the steps of your porch through your ajar door. Hayden quickly removed himself from your space and straightened up like he’d just been caught doing something highly illegal.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was, that boisterous voice was a staple in your life for longer than you could remember. You felt flustered as Richie’s back came into view, his tall stature stepping through the door and between you and Hayden blocking you from each other’s view.

“I uh was just leaving?” The questioning tone of his voice proved he wasn’t sure who he was hoping to convince. “Good to see you Mr. Jerimovich.” A small chuckle left your lips at how uneasy Richie made Hayden.

You watched as Richie turned, handing you the dish he was holding before his free hand came down to cover the doorknob and wrench the door open even more, making it clear that Hayden had overstayed his welcome.

“Yeah mhm-hmm you too Hilary.” If the wrong name wasn’t enough, the tone of Richie’s voice sure was and it told you he did not share the same sentiment as Hayden.

Hayden furiously nodded his head taking a step over the threshold before searching for your eyes and sending you a strained smile. “Baby I’ll ca-,”

“Pack it up, Heather.” Richie’s last words were punctuated by the sound of your front door slamming in Hayden’s face. His tall figure could be seen through the mosaic window on your door, showing he was still standing on your porch in shock.

You watched as Richie quickly locked your door before moving past you to your kitchen, a small sigh left your lips as you could physically feel Richie’s ire radiating off of him.

“Good morning to you too Richie.” The sarcasm dripped from your voice as you took a seat at the barstool at your island, and set the dish down as Richie set your oven to preheat for the dish he brought.

He turned to you, arms crossed tightly against his chest, the disappointed frown on his face telling you all you needed to know as you prepared yourself for the lecture he was about to lay on you.

“You know Baby, I was okay with Carmen, not my favorite choice for you but I got over it. But that jagoff with his slicked back hair and carpet on his upper lip is where I draw the line.” It was taking every bit of control you had not to visibly roll your eyes.

“Richie I appreciate the concern, but need I remind you I am a grown woman capable of making my own decisions.” You shrugged, while you appreciated the love and care Richie had for you, this was not a topic you wanted to discuss on a day such as this one.

Richie’s lips rolled in as he nodded his head, a humorless laugh escaped him. “Are you though?” You frowned as he shrugged, holding his hands out in a placating manner. “I’m just sayin’ I learned you were a recovering addict 5 business days ago.”

“Says the 40-year-old divorcee still hung up on his ex-wife.” It was silent in the kitchen as the two of you just stared at each other. Richie’s jaw clenched in annoyance while you raised your eyebrow daring the older man to challenge you.

The stare-off was broken by the beeping of your oven, signifying it was ready. You watched as Richie took the tin foil off the top of the tray mumbling under his breath as he moved to place the tray in your oven.

Richie turned back around when he was done, eyes not meeting yours as he stood with his hands behind his back for a moment. “You’re really fucking mean sometimes you know that?” The pitch of his voice rose a bit as though he was whining.

A soft laugh rose in your throat before being dispelled into your kitchen at Richie’s childish antics, the noise causing Richie to laugh as well before the two of you settled on sharing matching grins. The moment was lost as you watched Richie’s eyebrows pinch together, his teeth beginning to worry his bottom lip as he leaned across the island, a position similar to the one Hayden was in not too long ago.

“Listen, Baby, I just don’t want you letting the emotions of today guide your judgment,” you listened intently as Richie held eye contact with you. “I mean I know I ain’t the best person to be taking advice from, but channeling your grief and feelings for Carmy into whatever the hell you’re doing with Hailey ain’t good for anybody.”

A small smile graced your lips at Richie’s innate need to constantly misname Hayden, but you knew there was some truth in his words. Honestly, you weren’t sure what the hell was going on between you and Hayden, in actuality, nothing was going on between the two of you until 24 hours ago. The small moment you shared was abruptly initiated by the man, and though the two of you worked together and rekindled your friendship, you weren’t sure it was a good idea for the two of you to try and relive your college years.

You let Richie’s words sink in a bit more as you realized how right he was. Hayden didn’t deserve to be used as another man’s replacement, and you didn’t deserve to fill the void his divorce left. And while there might always be some underlying lust between the two of you, you’d rather not lose a friendship you were just getting back and cherished more than the intimate times you shared.

“God we’re such losers Richie,” the man raised his eyebrows confused by your train of thought. “You’re still in love with your ex-wife, and I’m in love with a man I’ve never even been in a relationship with.”

Realization dawned on Richie’s face, head nodding up and down as he agreed with you. “How’s the Loveless Loser’s Club sound? I know a guy who can get us a deal on some shirts.”

The serious look on Richie’s face caused the both of you to laugh, coming to terms with how sad your lives were at the moment.

“You uh know Carmen’s coming today right?” Richie scratched the back of his head not sure where things were with you and the Berzatto boy.

You sighed nodding, grateful for Richie’s concern for you, “Would you believe it if I told you I invited him myself?”

“Is that why the kids been walking around the restaurant smiling like a fucking whack job?” Richie questioned eyebrows raising to his hairline like you’d just told him the juiciest piece of gossip ever. “No… wait a fucking minute, you were on the other line when I barged in on him on FaceTime in the walk-in!” If you didn’t know the context of this conversation you would’ve sworn Richie just cracked the biggest mystery of the century with how giddy he was.

“Little shit wouldn’t tell me who he was talking to, he was all smiles like he fuckin won the lottery or some shit!” You laughed at Richie's observations. “So the two of you cool again or somethin?”

You shrugged unsure as to how to explain the relative peace between you and Carmy at the moment. You couldn’t help the small smile itching to show itself as your mind went back to the myriad of text and phone calls the two you were exchanging since your confession. Half of the time the conversations the two of you shared were pointless.

“Or somethin'…we talked about the overdose but I wasn’t completely honest with him about certain things.” Your words became quieter towards the end of your sentence.

“You’ll tell him though.” It wasn’t a question and it wasn’t a demand either, just a simple statement of fact. “Baby I uh…it wasn’t my place to tell you to keep this from Carmy, and I’m sorry I made that decision for you. But I’ll be there by your side when you decide to tell him…I’ll support you through it.”

You nodded appreciating Richie’s words but feeling nauseous at the thought of telling Carmy such a horrible truth about yourself. “You didn’t make that decision for me Richie. As much as I hate to admit it, I…I think my mind was already made up.” Your shoulders raised in a slight shrug as the two of you shared sad smiles.

When the time was right you would be honest with Carmen, because if anyone deserved to know the truth it was him.

Hopping off the stool you walked around the island to wrap Richie in a hug, his tall frame embracing you in a hug you never knew you needed but always appreciated when given. You stood in each other’s arms for a moment longer letting the reality of life settle into you before stepping out of his embrace.

“Wanna help me frost the cupcakes?” You smiled as Richie rolled his eyes at your question before nodding his head, the both of you knew he wouldn’t turn you down.

Richie watched as you maneuvered to grab the cooling rack on the opposite counter. “I was serious about those losers' club shirts.”

A small huff of laughter escaped you as you shook your head back and forth at Richie’s antics before handing him a piping bag. The two of you engaged in quiet conversation as you worked around each other, a sense of ease falling over the kitchen as the pair of you worked like a well-oiled machine.

Richie shooed you out of the kitchen to go get ready after the two of you plated the various desserts you made. The man mocking you at times when you complained he hadn’t placed the sweets at the perfect angle, mumbling under his breath that you were no better than Carmy.

You finished getting ready a while ago letting Richie know you’d be in the backyard if he needed anything. And that’s exactly where you were now tucked into some lawn chair that’d been in the garage when you first bought the house. Your cardigan tucked tightly around you as your eyes focused on the small garden you’d started after moving in.

The pretty blue flowers that you’d grown to love had your sole attention as you watched the spring breeze blow through them. The solitude felt much needed before you prepared yourself to be a gracious host. Part of you wished you never agreed to throw this shower, the grief you never allowed yourself to feel, now painting your insides with resentment. Another part of you was grateful to have made it this far, to even have a chance to celebrate these milestones with the people you loved.

The longer you sat there staring at the flowers, the lonelier you felt. It felt a bit hypocritical, for you to have some sort of misguided resentment towards Natalie and Pete when you couldn’t even work up the courage to show Carmen all your cards, couldn’t let him in on a truth he deserved to know the moment you knew.

Blue flowers stared back at you mocking the emotional turmoil you were putting yourself through. You could be angry with no one but yourself, you were now reaping the consequences of the choices you made in the previous year. It was no one’s fault but your own.

A heavy hand resting upon your shoulder caused you to flinch, the gentle squeeze pressed into the fabric of your cardigan letting you know the person behind you wasn’t a threat, and the signature scent of the off-brand laundry detergent they used led to the conclusion that it was Richie.

He was so close you could feel the warmth radiating off of him onto your neck, you felt his hand begin to knead your shoulder, the soft touch easing the tension your body had been building up throughout the weeks of preparation.

“People are gonna start to arrivin’ soon Babes.” You nodded absentmindedly as your eyes stayed glued to the blue bulbs, forcing yourself to face the reality of the life you were leading; reminding you of what a shitty person you were for keeping this secret from Carmen. “I could say you’re not feelin’ hot let you waste away in that big ass fucking bed of yours.”

You let out a quiet hollow laugh at Richie’s words, wishing the world would swallow you whole at that moment. “We both know Nat wouldn’t buy that.” Richie made a hum of agreement before walking around to stand in front of you, a familiar cartridge in the hand he held out to you eyebrows raised in question.

Your eyes landed on the packet of cigarettes contemplating just how overwhelmed you were in that moment before your eyes flashed back to the flowers. You let out a small sigh before standing up, dusting the nonexistent dirt off your outfit, you gave Richie a small nod before walking around him following the path that led to the gate that separated your backyard from the front. At the lack of footsteps echoing behind you, you stopped before turning to look at Richie. “Not in front of the flowers.”

The confused expression once marring his features dissipated into understanding as he took the steps to follow you out of the gate. It was stupid really, they were just flowers, and depending on which way the wind blew they’d still feel the stinging caress of the nicotine you were about to indulge in.

But you couldn’t stand another second staring at those vibrantly sad flowers.

Carmen wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the sight of you with a cigarette between your lips. His eyes traced you and Richie standing at the side of your house, the older man talking animatedly as you nodded along to whatever outrageous story he was telling. He sat there for a moment just staring at the two of you wondering how privy Richie was to the past year of your life, the sound of the car turning off not pulling him out of his analysis of you and Richie. He was almost positive Richie knew about your overdose and definitely was privy to whatever sickness you’d contracted upon returning to Chicago. It just made Carmy wonder if Richie knew about the tumultuous year you had, why didn’t he ever mention anything to him; why didn’t Nat?

“Carm?” He blinked eyes moving from the window to the wide green eyes staring at him from the driver's seat. “Lost you there for a minute, you okay?” Carmy watched as Claire’s brow furrowed in concern, eyes blinking rapidly as he nodded, sending a small awkward smile to the woman. “Well c’mon then Bear.” She laughed as she said his nickname sending a bright smile his way before she began exiting from the car.

A small huff of laughter escaped him as he followed suit, eyes catching yours as you watched the two of them move to the trunk of the car, face unreadable before you took one more drag of your cigarette before stomping it out, eyes leaving Carmy’s to dart back and forth between him and Claire obviously trying to piece that puzzle together.

Carmy reached into the trunk to grab his respective present and the dish he’d brought, patiently waiting for Claire to grab her share before he shut the trunk. The two of them made their way up the drive, Claire practically buzzing in excitement next to him.

“You know those things kill right?” Claire’s words echoed around the group as the two of you shared a hug.

“Not fast enough apparently.” Claire laughed at your statement as the two of you pulled away, Carmen gave you a blank stare finding your words less than amusing, as Richie raised his hand to swat the back of your head.

Claire and Carmy watched as you turned to glare at Richie, the man returning his own irritated gaze upon you. It was silent as the newcomers stood awkwardly watching you and Richie have some sort of unspoken conversation as the two of you stared each other down. The clearing of Claire’s throat pulled the two out of your moment but not before you sent your elbow into Richie’s rib cage and he flicked the tip of your ear.

“Claire Bear! It’s so great to see you, not sure why you came with this loser,” Richie offhandedly gestured to Carmy who stood there like a deer in headlights staring at you. “But nonetheless, welcome, let's get this inside.” Richie reached out to take the dish from Claire’s hand before gesturing for her to follow him.

Carmen watched as Claire and Richie fell into comfortable conversation, not letting himself turn his attention to you until the door shut firmly behind them. The small cough you let out finally drew his blue eyes back to your figure.

“So…” his eyes met yours a feeling of awkwardness floating between the two of you, while you may have been falling back into old habits through text and phone conversations being face to face like this reminded Carmy of when he was 16 and trying to force himself to ask you out.

“You and Claire look great together.” Your words caught Carmy by surprise considering to no fault of her own Claire was the exact reason the two of you fell out all those weeks ago.

Carmy nodded, eyes searching yours for anything other than the forced act he could tell you were putting on. “We’re uh not together, n-not like that. I mean we are together like we arrived together, b-but we aren’t…” Carmy found himself trailing off as you let out a soft laugh, eyes seeming to light up at his fumbling.

“Carm, you don’t have to explain anything to me,” he nodded watching as your eyes darted between his eyes before moving your focus somewhere past him. “If you’re happy I’m happy Carmen.” The smile on your face almost made it believable, but he knew you.

He knew that since your move back to Chicago this was the second time you lied directly to his face.

Carmy stood around pretending to listen to a debate between Marcus and Fak about something he didn’t have the mental capacity to care about. For the past 20 minutes, his eyes were focused on you, watching as you greeted the remaining guests which was mostly just the crew from work. The word subtle was not in Carmen’s vocabulary as he’d been caught by you too many times to make his starring a coincidence but apparently not enough times to shame him into stopping.

He found himself thankful that Claire was too preoccupied in her conversation with Syd and Tina to notice the way he’d been studying you since entering your house. He couldn’t help but wince as he thought of Claire, he wasn’t lying to you, the two of them weren’t together at least he didn’t think he was giving off those signs. It wasn’t like he knew how relationships worked, the only experience he had was 48 hours with you, and look how that ended.

Carmy wasn’t exactly sure what was transpiring between him and Claire. To him, it was just two old friends reconnecting, but sometimes he found himself noticing the way Claire’s fingers would ghost across his arm or the slight way she’d lean her head against his shoulder. All things he’d done with you and found comfort in, but with Claire, it felt like more than a friendly gesture. Not that he had much to say in that department considering he lost his virginity to his best friend a year ago, but he knew he didn’t want more with Claire in the way he wanted more with you; he just wasn’t sure Claire knew that.

Carmen watched as you answered the door, a small smile gracing your lips as you opened the door wider to let the guest in. He eyed the two of you, obviously, some type of familiarity between both of you as he wrapped you in his arms hugging you for longer than Carmy thought necessary. He felt his eyebrows crease as the man leaned down placing a delicate kiss into your hair before placing another one on your cheek. You stepped out of his embrace smiling up at him before removing the gift bag in his hands and gesturing him into the room.

Carmy couldn’t help but feel like he knew the man who seemed to walk into the room and gather attention, Carmy assessed the man feeling inadequate as he took in the fancy slacks and button-up he was wearing. The shirt almost looked purposely small accentuating the muscles through the sleeves, two buttons undone as though wearing the shirt properly would suffocate him.

The two men locked eyes, Carmy doing his best to appear neutral as the man made his way towards him smiling like he knew a secret Carmy didn’t.

“Carmen Berzatto man, it's been a long time.” Carmy watched the man laugh, clapping a solid hand onto his shoulder pearly whites almost blinding the chef.

Carmy nodded trying to place how this man knew his name, he didn’t want to be pretentious and assume it was through his culinary work or accolades, and even though the voice sounded familiar he couldn’t quite place the face.

The man laughed, dropping his hand from Carmy’s shoulder “Don’t hurt yourself. Hayden Ivanovski, from high school?”

It took every bit of control Carmy had not to outright frown in the man’s face, of course, Hayden fucking Ivanovski was standing in front of him. It was bad enough he was standing in his own way when it came to his chances with you, now he had to deal with his high school competition.

“Oh yeah, yeah, guess the stache threw me off.” Carmy forced a laugh

Hayden nodded as he made his way to the kitchen, something compelling Carmy to follow as the taller of the two produced two beers from your fridge handing one off to Carmy giving him no time to wonder why the beverage was in your fridge in the place.

“It threw Baby off too,” Carmy couldn’t help but bristle at Hayden’s use of your nickname, the two-syllable word didn’t sound right coming from his lips. “How’s the restaurant coming along?”

Carmy followed the bottle to Hayden’s lips, eyebrows furrowed as he watched the man take a swig, “Good yeah uh great…coming along great.” The underlying question in his words was obvious, confusion coursing through him at Hayden’s question.

“Don’t worry,” Hayden’s hands raised in a mock surrender. “Not stalking you or anything, I just okayed Baby’s article on the project.” Carmen’s confusion only worsened not following what Hayden was saying. “We work together at the Tribune.” Hayden shrugged like it was no big deal.

Because it was no big deal, at least to him. But Carmy felt his stomach sink at the information, the fact that Hayden had access to your attention far more than Carmy did to settle the bubble of irritation in his stomach.

It was quiet between the two men after that revelation was uncovered, neither of them eager to continue the conversation in any way. Carmy watched as Hayden finished the contents of his bottle before moving to place it in the recycling bin and making his way back to Carmy’s side.

“I actually wanted to thank you, man.” Hayden stood in front of Carmy arms crossed so tightly against his chest Carmy was sure his biceps would rip the sleeves of his shirt.

Carmy nodded unsure as to what he was being thanked for, his body’s fight or flight mode in overdrive as he offered Hayden one last curt nod before placing his unopened beer bottle down on the island prepared to leave the awkward confines of this conversation.

“Keep fuckin with Baby’s emotions the way you do and I won’t have to do much work to convince her I’m the better option.” Hayden’s words caused Carmy to stop in his tracks, the blank expression on his face finding the smug one painting Hayden’s.

“You see Carmen,” Hayden moved forward, stepping into Carmy’s space. “You keep pushing her away, and the more you push her away, the more I get to console her, dry her tears, make her feel better in ways you could only imagine.” Carmy felt his face flush at what the man in front of him was implying.

“Look at her,” Carmy reluctantly turned his head, your laugh jingling in his ears as he watched you converse with Tina. “You wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with a woman like that if she came with an instruction manual. Listen all I’m sayin' Boss, just quit while you’re ahead, let someone else give her the life she deserves.” Hayden shrugged, eyeing you from his spot next to Carmy hand moving in a small wave as you looked in their direction.

Carmy stiffened as Hayden gripped his hand pulling him into a hug and slapping his back harder than necessary. He tried to remove himself from the embrace as Hayden tightened his arms around the shorter man. “I don’t usually kiss and tell but…” Carmy could feel his blood boiling the longer he stood there locked in this conversation. “You wouldn’t believe how dirty she gets behind closed doors.”

Carmy stood frozen as Hayden finally let him go, what was a five-minute conversation felt like an eternity for him. He couldn’t help but feel like throwing up, the words Hayden had spoken with such confidence made him sick to his stomach. As disgusted as Hayden’s words made Carmen feel, he was sure there was some truth to them.

He wouldn’t give merit to the statements regarding whatever intimacy there was between you and Hayden, but he knew if he didn’t get his shit together you weren’t going to keep waiting around for him. A part of him knew the man was just trying to get under his skin, it was only a couple of nights ago when you asked for his friendship and he couldn’t let whatever misogynistic bullshit Hayden was trying to pull get to him.

As Carmy stood in your kitchen watching Hayden connect to you like a leech, he couldn’t help the images Hayden had procured from bouncing around in his head. Carmen didn’t think he was a jealous man, he didn’t seem to ever have anything in life to be jealous about; envious sure, but never jealous.

But as he let Hayden’s words play on repeat in his head, he couldn’t help but feed the little green monster growing inside him the longer he looked at you and Hayden. The tall man caught his eye from across the room as he smirked before leaning down to plant a kiss on your head before turning to greet Tina.

Carmy watched the moment with a blank stare trying to disregard the sour feeling settling in his stomach. His eyes glazed over the longer he focused on your small group and he couldn’t deny the fact that you and Hayden looked like the picture-perfect couple tucked next to each other. Carmy was broken out of his trance by the light touch to his bicep, eyes blinking rapidly as he found Claire now standing in his line of sight.

“Carm, hey,” He watched as Claire chuckled hand gently massaging his arm. “I’ve been trying to get your attention you know.”

He nodded distractedly eyes finding yours over Claire’s shoulder as you watched the two of them from your own corner of the room. Carmy held your gaze for a minute, neither of you daring to look away from the other, the emotions in your eyes conveying something Carmy couldn’t quite understand as he drank in the undivided attention you gave him. You broke the stare first, eyes trailing to Claire’s hand still latched onto him, he felt his heart clench watching as you sent him a small smile before turning to leave your conversation.

Carmen turned his attention back to Claire who sent another squeeze to his arm, eyebrow raised as she waited for an explanation. “My bad I uh I just zoned out.” He forced a small smile allowing her to take his hand and lead him towards the front door. She stopped them at a small table set up with various colorful pens, markers and stickers sprawled across it for anyone to use.

His eyes caught on a familiar Polaroid Camera that not only held memories for the two of you but printed out some of his favorite photos of you. He watched as Claire grasped it before handing it to him.

“It's to make scrapbook pages,” He nodded fingers clutching the camera like it held the secrets of the universe. “Baby’s gonna bind the pages we make here and gift them to Pete and Nat. Take my picture?”

Carmen’s head shot to Claire at the question, her smiling face encouraging him to do as she asked before he stared at the relic of a camera in his hands. He hesitated before nodding motioning Claire to pose as he stood in front of the balloon arch taking up most of your entryway. Carmy gave her a small nod before raising the camera to his eye readying himself to take the picture.

The gesture sent his mind reeling to the last time he’d used this camera the context of those memories sending a blush up his neck. He cleared his throat moving the camera to rest against his torso, “I uh…I think it needs more film.” His words went unanswered as Richie was distracting Claire with whatever he deemed necessary to bore her with.

Carmen felt a bit bad for lying to Claire about the camera needing film, but he just couldn’t get himself to snap a picture of another woman using the same camera the two of you used after such a vulnerable moment shared between you both.

Wandering away from the balloon arch, Carmen found himself looking at the camera in his hands mind racing with thoughts of you. The two of you didn’t have much time to converse since he’d arrived and for all the back and forth the two of you were doing over the phone, he was hoping for a warmer welcome in person. It would be naive of him to believe the two of you would fall back into your friendship from all those years and two things proved this to him.

The first was his ever-growing and constant feelings for you.

And the second; how easy it was for you to lie to his face.

a/n: suuurpriseeee! this update is so out of left field so please do not get your hopes up. if anything i hope this update can give you a silly goofy fic to indulge in for a bit 🤍

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mr-robot-x · 7 months

Text

leveling the playing field V

summary: you didn't meet the requirements for the plinth prize, only to find out that you're not just missing out on that- you're missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime. your friend wants to help, because maybe you can help each other.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.6k (she's long today DAMN)

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). implications and discussion of abuse, so read with caution!!

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a/n: head empty, no thoughts. only this fic. but i should say if you enjoy it please reblog!! it means so much to us as writers, and who knows! maybe one of your mutuals is missing out on their future favourite fic ;)

next part

You're about to walk out the door, heading to the academy to meet Coryo before the games start. To try and prepare as best you can.

"Y/N, wait." Your dad stops you as you reach for the handle, and you quickly turn to him.

"Yes?" You know better than to rush him, but you already were running slightly behind schedule.

"Good luck today." He says and you nod at him.

"Thank you."

"And don't let Coriolanus down." There it is. "He is helping you, he didn't have to do that. Don't ruin this for him. If he needs anything, get it for him. If he tells you to jump, ask how high. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." You nod, a pit forming in your stomach. The pressure was on, not that it wasn't already, but now it was so much more real.

"Now, hurry up. Don't keep him waiting." He dismisses you, and you don't have to be told twice.

When you reach the academy, you rush inside. You were always rushing places, these days. The building was almost deserted, it was still quite early, but only two minutes until the time you agreed to meet Coryo in the courtyard. The Games were set to start in just under three hours, and you weren't sure what you would fill that time with, but that is what he asked of you so that is what you will do.

The last you had seen him was only about four or so hours ago, when he walked you home after stopping at the zoo to bring Lucy Gray the arena layout and he gave her a compact. One she promised to give back after the games, after crying over what today would bring. You felt bad, but mostly because you felt it was somewhat inconvenient that she would waste time over tears when you had important information for her on where to go and how to hide. This was valuable to her. Every moment counted if she wanted to walk out of the arena alive.

You spot Coryo pacing the courtyard through the window before you push it open, stepping out onto the path as the cool air brushes over your skin. It was July, but the mornings were still crisp.

"Sorry I'm almost late, I-"

"It's okay." He interrupts you as you get closer. He really only wanted you there for company, and he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep in this time anyway. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, if a little tired." You shrug. "You?"

"Fine." He echoes your answer, just standing there staring at you in the silence. He really wasn't afraid of silence- but you were.

"What about your back? Recovering okay? I have some extra morphing if you're in pain." You offer, already reaching for your bag just for the sake of giving yourself something to do with your hands.

Confusion takes over his features. "Morphling?" He asks, brow furrowed. "Why do you have that on you?"

"Migraines, twisted ankles, cramps..." You answer. "You never know when you'll need some." You hold the small tube out to him, but he shakes his head, pushing your hand down.

He was sore, it wouldn't hurt, but something about taking it from you felt wrong. "No thank you, I'm fine." It would make sense that you would have it, though it was only accessible by prescription. It was likely your dad who prescribed it to you, if only so you could have it on hand. Or because he knows how often you're hurting, or he doesn't want you acting hurt- exposing the irony of having an abusive father who's also the most sought-after doctor in all of the Capitol. Morphling numbs the body, but also the mind. It's highly addictive, expensive to those who could access it, and not for the faint of heart- but you showed no signs of addiction. You must not take it often, therefore there's no real reason for him to be worried.

"Suit yourself." You shrug, tucking the vial away again. "Let me know if you change your mind. We have a long day ahead."

He nods in confirmation, joining you as you sit down on a bench nearby. "What did you give Lucy Gray last night, anyway?"

"A compact?" He feigns confusion, knowing the true implications of your question.

"Duh, Mister President." You tease. "I meant what was in it?"

Coryo chews on the inside of his cheek, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He has to answer casually, lest face your anger issues when he shows any guilt about cheating. "Uh, nothing." That wasn't a total lie, he just left out the part where he implied that Lucy Gray could find something within the cage at the zoo that would fit nicely in it, something like rat poison.

"Nothing?" You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. "You just gave her that as a gift?"

"Something like that." He shrugs, and your expression reads as though you're not buying it. "If she happened to find something to put in it, something that could help her, that would be just an unrelated convenience."

You freeze, staring at him in disbelief. "Coryo." You whisper, slapping his shoulder to get him to look at you as you read between the lines. "Something like rat poison? That's cheating! Are you kidding me right now?"

"What?" He defends, sitting up straighter as he looks over at you again. "It's my only shot! If she doesn't win, I can kiss the prize goodbye."

"It's not about her winning, Coriolanus. It's about the efficacy of the mentorship! Dean Highbottom said-"

"Dean Highbottom despises me, winning is the only thing I can do to get him to even glance at my mentorship as an option." He argues and you groan, burying your face in your hands.

He watches you, and suddenly feels regret for his decision. If only because you didn't approve of his actions. "Okay." You sigh, dropping your hands into your lap again and sitting up straighter. "Okay. We can work with it. As long as she is smart about it, we won't get caught. And like you said, we didn't do anything. It was just a gift."

"I warned her. She knows." He assures you. Really, there's no harm done unless you get caught. And should Lucy Gray become the victor, your life plan will fall beautifully into place. It will be worth it, you're ashamed you didn't think of such a thing first.

After everyone else arrived, the two of you decided to make a fashionably late entrance, walking into the newly decorated hall, containing many students and professors alike, the large screens against the back wall displaying all of the remaining tributes and the Hunger Games logo, where the games themselves will be aired. You were excited and scared all at once.

"Y/N, Coriolanus." Dean Highbottom greets you as you enter, taking in the atmosphere. Both of you grace him with just a nod. "I'd advise you to tell your friend Sejanus to find a seat near the door..." He adds quietly before walking off, leaving the two of you confused.

Coryo doesn't seem to think too much about it, just heading down the stairs. You follow behind him, head held high to counteract any of your peer's bitter staring or laughs. Everyone knew you didn't qualify for a mentorship, and to most, you just appeared to be following Coriolanus Snow around like a lost puppy, hoping to get the scraps of his success.

They won't be laughing when you are Head Gamemaker, that's for sure. But even then, will that not also be the scraps of his success? Him appointing you to the job of your dreams after his inauguration, will that not appear to be out of bias or pity? This isn't a question you have time to let bother you. Your future starts today.

When the games are about to start, you follow Coryo over while he decides which desk to take, deciding on one in the back row close to where you will be sitting. "Good luck." You grin, placing a hand on his forearm.

He looks down at where your hand is brushing over his coat sleeve and he nods.

You get closer, standing on your tip-toes to whisper to him. "Snow lands on top."

A small smile forms on his face. "Snow lands on top." He whispers back, grabbing your hand for only a moment, afraid of the Dean or Dr. Gaul taking notice. That would only serve to get you both in trouble.

You sit in the first row of benches where Coryo can see you, can easily look to you for help. He's grateful to have you in his peripheral, knowing that you're there, and you're not leaving, is what he didn't realize he really needed.

You both watch silently as the tributes walk out to their designated spots surrounding the pile of rubble in the center of the arena. You were there just last night, but now it looks scarier- even in the light of day. Maybe it's because you know what you are about to witness. All you can do is hope Lucy Gray won't be the first down.

Your heart drops into your stomach when the camera pans to show Sejanus's tribute- the one who escaped, hung from a beam by both his wrists. It's hard to look at, and along with the gasps that echo through the hall and Lucky's commentary, you hear a chair scraping and your eyes land on Sejanus, who's now standing in the middle of the room. He's seething, you can see it in the exaggerated rise and fall of his chest and in the contraction of seemingly every muscle in his body. That's what Dean Highbottom meant- he knew Sejanus would be leaving quickly. You stand as well, your intuition telling you he won't be leaving quietly. Neither would you, if you were in his place.

In a second, Sejanus is throwing his desk and everything on it at the large screen in front of him, screaming in anger. "You're all monsters!"

You find your feet carrying you toward the screaming boy, but he's shoving past you to leave before you get the chance to talk to him. Hug him, something. You stumble back at the contact, able to save yourself from falling as your eyes follow Sejanus out the door.

Coryo saw you get knocked back by the force of Sejanus's misplaced rage, and he wanted to check on you. Make sure you are okay, but the games are about to start. He promised Dr. Gaul that you would receive no sympathies from him, and her eyes are burning into both of your backs so he settles for shaking his head at you when you look like you want to follow Sejanus. Doing so would not only leave him alone, but sympathizing with him would align you with his attitudes, however irrelevant to your own opinions.

"Y/N." Coryo says to you, and when you look at him he shakes his head. Stay, he's saying. It's like he can read your mind. But he needs you to stay.

Surely, Sejanus needs you more. Surely, it would just be a few minutes. Then you remember what your father told you this morning and you smooth your shirt back down, returning to your seat. The games hadn't even started yet, and you're already facing hard decisions.

"You should go home." Coriolanus mutters to you, readjusting his posture in the uncomfortable chair.

"Huh?" You ask, looking up at him from where you're sitting on the floor next to his desk. After everyone else left, there was no use in sitting so far away when you could finally talk candidly about the events of the day.

"Go home." He repeats and you shake your head, attempting to salvage what was left of your hairstyle, which was carefully pinned back this morning.

"I can't, I'll stay. You can go home." You reply, looking up at the screen again. Nothing new had happened in a long time- but you didn't want to miss it if it did.

"Why not?" He yawns.

"My parents are expecting me to stay with you until it's over." You explain.

Coryo sighs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "I'd invite you to stay with me, but we aren't prepared for guests." Neglecting to mention, of course, the unmaintained mess the Snow apartment had turned into over the last twelve or so years.

"Of course, I wouldn't expect that of you. One of us should be here anyway." You wave it off. "Go home, get some rest."

As soon as he's packed up and left, insisting he won't be gone for long, you make yourself comfortable in his chair with your eyes trained on the screen. You have to stay awake. Lucy Gray could make an appearance any second in search of water, food, anything. You have to stay alert. You can't let Coryo down.

You're jolted awake by the sound of gravel crunching under footsteps, echoing over the speakers from microphones inside the arena. Shit. You fell asleep, you weren't supposed to fall asleep. Immediately you're looking for Lucy Gray onscreen, looking for her body, looking for any sign of her but you see none. If there had been a fight, if she had been screaming, that would have woken you up before footsteps did.

You squint to see what's going on, eyes landing on two figures in the middle of the arena, under the beam that Lamina is lying on, still seemingly asleep. The hair on the back of your neck stands up when you realize who the two people are. Sejanus and Coryo. Your friends. Inside the arena, standing over the body of Sejanus's tribute. You recall that one of the female tributes, Lamina, had killed him and cut him down. You suspected that he asked her to- so what were the boys doing in there?

You can't tear your eyes away- what can you even do? They're talking too quietly for the microphones to pick up. Why are they even there? If Coriolanus had planned this he would have told you. This is too reckless, even for him.

You're not helping by sitting and watching. You have to get there.

Abandoning your bag, you walk as fast as you can manage out of the Academy building before making a run for it, heading in the direction of the arena. You don't even have a plan as to what you'll do when you get there. Do you go in? You'll be risking your life without a doubt. You can't risk calling them, you'll practically be summoning the most violent and angry of the tributes right to them, and to you.

When you see the arena, there are people standing outside and several peacekeeper trucks. At least people know.

"What the hell is happening?" You ask, walking up to the first person you see. A peacekeeper.

"You can't be here, Miss. You have to go." They start to push you back and you shove them away by the front of their helmet.

"Don't touch me! My friends are in there and I need to know what's happening right now!" You're trying to keep your voice down, but you need answers- urgently.

"Miss Y/L/N," You hear Dr. Gaul's voice and the peacekeeper lets you go, motioning for you to go over and join her where she is standing with the Dean, and people you recognize as Sejanus's parents are standing by a black vehicle nearby.

"What's going on?" You ask again, firmly as you walk up to the group.

"Sejanus got inside, we don't know who let him in. Coriolanus went in to coax him out."

"What? Why not send peacekeepers? Coriolanus could die in there and you let him go anyway?" It's hard to even believe they would allow a student to walk into harm's way like that. And not just any student, either. Coriolanus Snow.

"If we sent in peacekeepers Sejanus would run. Coriolanus is the only one he would trust so they could leave unnoticed." Dean Highbottom explains.

You scoff, pointing into the gates. "Then why are they still in there?"

"Sejanus is in a difficult place right now, Miss Y/L/N-"

"Yeah. Fuck this." You roll your eyes, taking off your blazer and dropping it on the ground before rolling up your sleeves, and making your way over to the gate.

"Miss Y/L/N, you can't go in there." Dr. Gaul half-heartedly tries to stop you.

"Watch me." You state and the peacekeepers open the gate, letting you in. She must have allowed them to, otherwise they wouldn't.

You're mindful of your steps, trying to be as quiet as possible. You hop over the turnstiles, your landing making the two boys' heads snap toward you.

"It's just me." You whisper, knowing they can't see you in the dark but the large open space will still carry your voice.

"Y/N?" You hear Coryo reply, clearly confused.

"Yeah. We have to go, come on. Come with me."

"Go back!" He hisses. "You can't be here!"

"Neither can you!" Now is not the time for fighting. For once, he needs to listen to you.

He just huffs, turning back to Sejanus, you're assuming to try and talk him down.

"Okay, I've got a plan." You say this time walking back through the bars, triggering the mechanism.

Enjoy the show!

You try not to wince at the loudness of the voice, knowing by now that any nearby tributes must have heard that. If the Coral's pack had heard, clearly being the biggest threat, they'd be here soon so you pick up your pace, running back to the bars that surround the arena in one large circle.

Coryo is calling you to try and get you to stop, to leave, but his whispers don't make it to you anymore.

"Give up?" Dean Highbottom asks you from the other side, and you pick up a large rock from the ground.

"Nope." You shake your head, beginning to walk around the outside, far from the entrance before you start banging it against every bar you walk past. Just for fun, you begin to sing one of Lucy Gray's songs. Maybe, that will be less obvious of a diversion.

When Coriolanus and Sejanus hear the ruckus you're making outside, the banging accompanied by the sound of your voice moving slowly around the outside of the large arena, they look at each other in a mutual panic.

"Sejanus, please. We have to go now." Coriolanus pleads with him, and he looks back down at Marcus for a moment before nodding.

"But we're taking Marcus with us."

"Okay, whatever. Yes." Coriolanus agrees desperately, already grabbing the boy's legs.

They start to carry him toward the exit, picking up pace as they hear that your diversion has worked, echoing voices working their way around the outside of the arena. That's Coryo's primary concern- until they hear what can only be attributed to a war cry from behind them, another tribute with a large knife sprinting after them.

Wordlessly, they both drop Marcus and start to run.

Once you heard what you were sure was Coral's group running up behind you, still out of view, you changed your tune.

"Gem of Panem, mighty city, through the ages you shine anew!"

With this, you hear their confusion and anger increase tenfold, along with their speed.

You start running, dragging the rock along every bar.

"Come back, Capitol Princess! What are you so afraid of?" You hear Coral's familiar voice shout at you, getting closer.

They're laughing now, following you around the outside of the arena. Hopefully, Coryo is out because now it's a race. You're on the opposite side now, and have a long way to go to get back around. You ditch the rock, picking up a full sprint.

You can hear them gaining on you with every step, and you ditch your pride and start to yell about halfway back. "Open the gate!" You scream, hoping someone can hear you, and open it for you to make a quick escape. Every inch you have on the three tributes following you counts, and you're losing that valuable space very quickly. You've never been much of an athlete.

You round the side of the building, seeing the gate partially open, and Coryo is standing there holding a hand out to you. "Y/N/N! Come on!"

As soon as you get close enough he grabs your arm and pulls you through, yanking you back as the peacekeepers slam the gate again in the faces of the tributes. Barbarically they slam their weapons against the bars, making you jump as you crash into Coryo's chest. He's got his arms around you now, holding the back of your head protectively as they eventually give up and walk away, stalking off like a pack of wild animals who had lost their prey; except you don't think they planned on eating you. Just killing you for the fun of it, to leave your family and the city tortured the same way it was over the murder of Arachne Crane.

You're breathing heavily and you can hear your heartbeat pounding in your head, maybe it's his. You can't even really tell.

"You shouldn't have done that." He mumbles to you, gripping onto you as tight as ever. He wants to scold you, tell you that you were too reckless for your own good. That you could have been killed; but he can't. He doesn't care. In this moment, he is only concerned with one thing. "Are you alright?"

You inhale, trying to focus on slowing your laboured breaths as you nod against his shoulder. You couldn't speak, even if you wanted to. You couldn't argue with him and tell him you were only trying to help, and you would argue that you did.

"Coriolanus." Dr. Gaul says, walking up and looking him over. "You'll need stitches, come back with me to my lab." She instructs and he lets you go.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asks, pushing your hair back out of your eyes to look at you more clearly. You just nod, biting on the inside of your cheek.

"Fine." You assure him quietly, heart still racing behind your ribs. "Go get stitched up."

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mr-robot-x · 7 months

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"Se nos agotaron los pasos juntos y nada podemos hacer para reanudar la marcha. Solo somos pétalos de flor que ahora flotan en distintos cielos… Pero nos reencontraremos, no hay duda de ello; al final del día, todos caminamos el mismo sendero.

Crónicas del Mictlán | Los cuentos del Viento del Sur

Día de los Muertos 2023

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mr-robot-x · 9 months

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darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 7: Gone

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (Work In Progress!)

Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. Your sister prepares for her wedding to Laenor Velaryon.

Hello! this one took a while, so am sorry, lol! My cat got attacked, which I hope is at least SOME excuse. This is another 8000+ word chapter, so yay! This covers the Episode 5 stuff, which is fairly self-explanatory. Thank you to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs for coming back to me and beta-ing this thingo!

TRIGGERS: Episode 5 shenanigans. Nothing much else, really.

These are the things you have learned—

One: Uncle took ’Nyra somewhere at night.

Two: that ‘somewhere’ was terribly improper, a place that not even a maid would go if she wanted to be seen as respectable.

Three: he was caught kissing her and doing things with her, even when there were lots of people in the room at the same time.

Four: he left her there, and it was only because of Ser Harwin that your sister made it home safely.

Five: Uncle asked Papa if ’Nyra could be his wife, and Papa said ‘no’.

These are not things you tell others that you know. Septa will likely strike you with her switch if she hears you repeating any of it. If anyone finds out what you have managed to find out, they will start minding their words more carefully around you. That is not what you want.

Because you are small and quiet, it is very simple for you to collect secrets. For example, Lord Bar Emmon’s lady wife has been dallying with a knight from House Massey. Lord Rosby is in debt to bankers in Essos for borrowing large sums for gambling. Lord Darklyn has a bastard son that no one knows about. You overhear little things here and there, spot details that others might miss, and you learn, tucking information away inside your mind just in case. You make sure that these secrets are proper ones, too—from the hands and mouths of those they are about.

After the accident that gave you a small scar on your arm, Papa made it a rule that you must come visit him each day so that he can keep an eye on you. This is how you had heard ’Nyra and Papa talking in his chambers.

“…have exposed yourself. Now, we must both suffer the consequences.”

“Were I born a man, I could bed whomever I wanted. I could father a dozen bastards, and no one in your court would blink an eye…”

“…an end. You will wed Ser Laenor Velaryon, and you will do so without protest… You are my political headache!”

“… my duty as heir… you must first do yours as King.”

You had waited for a beat, then knocked, hoping that the look on your face was innocent enough that they did not think you had heard. It worked—you had been let in and conversation had turned away from things-you-are-not-allowed-to-know to things-you-are-allowed-to-know. After that, it was not so difficult to piece together what must have happened from the rumours flying around the court.

Now, you understand why ’Nyra and Uncle were sharing all those long looks. Why they would stand so close to each other. Why they would jump apart whenever you came. They are in love, or maybe they just want each other in the way grown-ups sometimes do, the way that means they wish to put their parts together and make babies. Whatever the reason, whatever they feel, it had been enough for Uncle to ask Papa directly; enough to be exiled for.

You keep Uncle Daemon’s letter—‘I will be back soon’—to yourself. If you tell Papa, he will just make it impossible for Uncle to return.

If Uncle marries ’Nyra, will they go to live on Dragonstone? you wonder. Will they have many babies together? Will they bring me if I ask very, very nicely? You would like it best with them, you are sure of it.

Thoughts of what life might be like with Uncle and ’Nyra entertain you on the days you are made to wait for ’Nyra and Papa to return from Driftmark, which is where Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys and Laenor live. Even though your sister wants Uncle, she has agreed to marry Laenor. You don’t know what to think. You hardly remember Laenor. It doesn’t matter, you decide. Uncle will stop it from happening.

Lord Lyonel has gone with them as the new Hand of the King. It was not hard to find out that Lord Otto had his spies follow your sister out of the Keep and report back to him, or that he had then gone straight to Papa to tell of what Uncle and ’Nyra did. Your sister often says that Alicent seduced Papa to become Queen and give him half-Hightower children so that they would inherit what rightfully belonged to her, and that Lord Otto made her do it. She has been telling Papa that for a while now. It seems he has finally listened, for Lord Otto has been made to go back to his family seat even though his daughter is Queen and he has princes and a princess for grandchildren. He has gone too far in spying on ’Nyra.

This all means that, even though Uncle is no longer here, Alicent still wishes to keep an eye on you. She does not have many friends in the Keep now that her father has left, and it has made her nervous. You are only seven summers old, but you understand the way of things well enough—you understand that she wants to be your friend now that she’s realised she is alone.

I’ve been alone this whole time, other than for ’Nyra, you think. It is an unkind thought, so you push it down and tell yourself that it really isn’t Alicent’s fault that she forgot all about you with three babies to take care of.

Septa Marlow takes you to the nursery each morning as always so that you can see the Queen and your brothers and sister. In truth, you quite like this arrangement—because they are so little, it gives you the chance to play with them, to pretend not to be so grown-up for a while. Or, rather, you play with Helaena. Aegon is at a stage where he likes to throw things, so you mostly avoid him. Helaena is a quiet companion, so playing with her mostly means passing her toys and watching her arrange them in neat little piles that make no sense to you but seem to give her a great deal of joy.

“Here, ’El,” you say, passing her the next item. She stops her normal routine when she sees what you have for her. “This is Marya, and this”—you take the other doll out from the makeshift wrappings you devised when still within your own chambers—“is Hana.”

Helaena babbles to herself as her pudgy fingers twist through the brown hairs sprouting atop the wooden doll’s head, surprisingly gentle for one as young as she is. She beams, a gummy spreading of lips that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle, and pats Marya’s wooden face.

“Dolly,” she whispers. “Marya?”

You nod. “Yes, it’s a dolly. Her name is Marya.”

Sometimes, you find that you need to repeat things to her. She often poses questions like this, as though she is unsure if she has heard you right, as though she wants approval. You wonder if you did that at her age.

“That is very kind of you, darling.”

You look up. From her seat by the window, Alicent surveys you and your sister with a small smile. Aemond sleeps on in her arms, seeming to care little for playtime. Is he not too old for that? you think. She can barely fit him in the cradle of her arm, but you suppose that Alicent has always been quite small-bodied.

You smile at her words. She has taken to calling you ‘darling’ as of late. You know not why. Still, it brings a flush of warmth tingling through your blood. “I thought she might like them,” you say.

It makes sense; your dolls were only laying there, doing nothing at all, and Aegon keeps breaking your little sister’s toys. Because she is so quiet, you sometimes wonder if her nurses just don’t realise that she is there and that she needs just as much to play with as her older brother. Your dolls are rather sturdy. They were made for you when you were three summers, so they ought to withstand anything he can subject them to.

It is as though your thoughts summon his attention to you.

“I want them, Mama!” Aegon cries, pointing in your direction. It takes you a moment to realise that he is not pointing at you, but at the dolls in yours and Helaena’s laps. “I want!”

“They are for Helaena, Aegon,” Alicent says, but it is no use. Aegon takes a deep breath, and you brace yourself as the scream pierces through the quiet of the room, quickly followed by the squawk and sobbing of Aemond.

Gwenys stands from her place beside Aegon and lifts him into her arms, trying her best to hush him. There is little point—now that he has it in his mind that he is being denied something he wants, there will be no dissuading him until he is spent from crying too much. As usual, she heads for the door, taking with her the low sounds of her soothing voice drowned out by the wails of your brother.

Alicent has not moved at all, aside from swaying Aemond gently and patting his back. She rarely ever tends to Aegon. There are times when she looks at him as though he is a complete stranger, as though she did not make him and carry him and birth him. You sometimes catch yourself feeling sorry for him, for the fact that his mama so clearly loves his younger brother more than she loves him. In some ways, you and Aegon are very alike—Papa loves ’Nyra more than he loves you. He loves ’Nyra more than he loves any of his other children, but that is because she is the heir and that means she is the most important. It is one of those facts that belongs in the drawer in your mind labelled ‘the way things are’.

Still, Aegon does not do any of the right actions that would get Alicent or Papa to love him more. He throws things and breaks things and yells and runs, and sometimes he will say the nastiest words like ‘I hate you’ to everyone when he is in one of his moods. At least you try. You use your manners and follow instructions and keep quiet and calm, which Septa says is what makes a lady respectable. Perhaps that is why Alicent is calling you ‘darling’ now.

“Dolly?” Helaena whispers again.

She is staring at Hana, so you prop the doll in her lap beside Marya. Your sister clutches them to her, burying her face in their hair so gently that it makes your chest feel tight and a lump grow in your throat.

You watch Helaena hug the dolls that used to be yours but now are hers, ignoring the little voice in your head that reminds you of the one you didn’t bring, the one you have kept all to yourself even though you’ve no need for it now. Of Alysanne, the doll with silver hair and purple eyes, no longer tucked away in a chest but resting beneath your pillow, hidden from the sight of all but you.

It seems like barely any time passes between the return of Papa and ’Nyra and the beginning of the wedding celebrations. Of course, that is not true, for there are days upon days of preparations—ravens to send out and replies to be received, journeys to be made to the capital and rooms to be cleared of dust to house the visitors, banners to be erected and decorations to be installed—that sweep seemingly all of King’s Landing into a frenzy. Not even you are free of it. Thankfully, your only role is to stand up straight with your arms out as the seamstresses pin and hem your dress for the event.

“What do you think, Princess?” Lina, the head seamstress, asks. You don’t know if she is speaking to you or to ’Nyra, who looks on with a smile.

“Lovely,” ’Nyra says, answering your unspoken question. She steps forward to brush light fingers against the neckline of the gown. It tickles. “Silver ribbons for the hair, I think. Could a belt be fashioned in the same colour?”

“Of course, Princess,” the seamstress is saying, but your attention has drifted to the guard that stands watch at the door.

Ser Criston has been strange as of late. Though he is usually always more quiet than not, there is something very unhappy about the way he surveys those in the room now. He is ’Nyra’s sworn shield, and yet his eyes seem to slide right past her, almost like he wants to pretend that she doesn’t exist. What surprises you the most is that ’Nyra notices—she gives him fleeting looks every so often, especially when he is fixed and still—but does nothing about it. She is not one to let an insult lie.

You have always liked Ser Criston. Before, when you were allowed to go about more freely, he would let you sit by him and talk while ’Nyra was busy pestering the minstrels to play more songs about Nymeria.

Your sister claps as the final note rings. “Again,” she demands.

Samwell sighs, flexes his fingers, and readies himself to play once more. As he plucks the strings of his mandolin, he lets his voice carry the melody forth.

“She fled with her ships and her people,

Her heart broken for those who had died.

But if they remained, they would perish

Under the dragon’s eye,

Under the dragon’s eye.

A hundred fell to the sea’s cruel sweep,

A hundred more to the Summer Isles’s tide.

The Queen lost many souls fleeing from

Under the dragon’s eye,

Under the dragon’s eye…”

You turn away from your sister and glance to the side, to where Ser Criston is sitting next to you on the bench. “You’re Dornish, Ser Criston. Are you not?”

It is what all the ladies at court say—even Ser Harrold has said so. It certainly makes sense, for the knight’s colouring looks the same as Nymeria’s in all the illustrations of her you have seen.

Ser Criston smiles at your question. “Not exactly. I… my father is Lord Dondarrion’s steward.”

“Oh.” You frown, thinking hard. “He’s from… the Stormlands?”

“Yes, Princess. Well done,” he says. You beam at the praise. Ser Criston turns to listen to Samwell’s song for a moment, the tale of Nymeria floating faintly through the air and carrying a great sadness with it.

You wait for him to continue. When nothing comes forth, you try again. “Why does everyone say that you are Dornish, Ser? You should tell them they are wrong.”

He laughs, a quiet sound. “They aren’t. My mother—she was Dornish.”

You have learned much about the difference between ‘was’ and ‘is’. ‘Is’ is for people who are living, who breathe and think and talk and laugh, like you; but ‘was’ is for those who are no longer here. Who have died and left the living to mourn them.

“What House was she from?” You keep your voice gentle. You don’t wish to make him sad.

Ser Criston shakes his head. “She was lowborn. A member of the commonfolk. My father encountered her on an incursion into Dornish territory. He fell in love with her at first sight, or so he’s always said.”

“That sounds nice.” You have never seen or heard him be so free with telling someone about himself before. Even now, after serving in the Kingsguard for as long as you can think of, this is the first you have learned of who he is beyond his ability to use a sword. “What was she like? Your Mama?”

At that, he says nothing. You sit and listen to the music, to the tale of a queen who is forced to begin again in an unknown land. You wonder if Ser Criston sometimes feels as strange in King’s Landing as Nymeria did in Dorne all those hundreds of years ago.

“I cannot recall my mother well, Princess,” he finally says. You just barely stop yourself from startling at the sound of him. He stares out at the grass, at nothing, appearing for all the world like he is unspeakably lonely. “She passed on when I was… very young. I know she was beautiful; I remember dark eyes”—like his, you think—“and the shape of her smile. At least, I think I do.”

He looks angry, or perhaps upset. It is hard to tell. You are not surprised, though, for men are often angry when they are made to think of sad things. There is little you can do to change his mood, but you still let your palm come to rest on his arm, patting it softly. He peers over at you. His face softens. You and he take shelter from the sun in silence, looking out as the final refrain of the minstrel’s song flows through the Godswood.

“… Th’ Dornish have yet to bow or to break

Under the dragon’s eye,

Under the dragon’s eye.”

You know what it is like to long for someone you cannot recall. You understand. In brief moments, Ser Criston has been a creature with a spirit much like yours. But he always disappears within himself and the Kingsguard returns, ready to do his duty no matter what. He is another of those that your sister sometimes strays a little too close to, so perhaps he is upset that she is in love with Uncle Daemon and not him. That would be very scandalous, you think, suddenly feeling rather sorry for him.

“… Well? Do you like it?”

You startle. Everyone is staring in your direction, so you shake such thoughts from your mind and glance over at yourself in the mirror. The dress itself is a shade of pale purple that gleams from the silver threads woven into the fabric; the collar is beaded with pearls and tiny diamonds; the bodice decorated with flowers and vines in dark purple and grey thread the colour of steel. It is far more elegant than anything you have worn before. You look like a real grown-up lady in it.

All you can do is nod, your eyes shining bright with excitement. Even though you will be wearing it to the feast for ’Nyra’s wedding to Laenor—to someone who is not Uncle—you are filled with a sudden impatience for the eve to come sooner.

The screech and roar of unfamiliar dragons drifts in from the distance, their dark shadows in the sky a balance with those of the Velaryon ships upon the water. The banners have been raised; the Great Hall prepared; the food made ready. Those who live within the Keep’s walls, including you, linger around the room in wait of the guests that come from all corners of the Realm.

You kick your feet beneath your chair as lords and ladies file into the hall, the booming voice of Ser Harrold announcing them each in turn.

“House Redwyne with their lord, Oren Redwyne!”

“House Hayford with their lord, Mathis Hayford!”

The arrivals become of greater importance the longer the festivities continue. Soon, the incoming nobles are declared with all sorts of titles after their House and name. “House Lannister with their lord, Jason Lannister, Lord Paramount of the West, and Master of Casterly Rock!” Ser Harrold calls out.

You do your best to avoid notice as Lord Jason walks down the steps, surrounded by people in different shades of red and gold to match his House. He makes his way forward, up, up, up the dais to stand before Papa and ’Nyra. Neither look very pleased by his presence, though he doesn’t seem to realise this.

“Congratulations, Your Grace,” he says, smiling as though he is an old friend of them both. “You have made a fine match for the Princess.”

Papa does not reply, just stares with his mouth frozen in an upturn. It forces ’Nyra to speak. “Thank you, Lord Jason. I could think of no better man than Ser Laenor.”

Uncle. Uncle. What about Uncle? you think, but you do not say it aloud.

Lord Jason makes a soft noise. You cannot tell if he agrees or if he is still upset that she refused him. “Well. If this is only the welcome feast, I admit I cannot imagine what you might have planned for the wedding.”

“My daughter is the future queen.” Papa looks at your sister with a great deal of love. She turns toward him, a glow of happiness on her cheeks. “I wanted this to be a wedding for the histories.” You wonder if your own wedding will be one for the histories someday, or if Papa only intends for his heir to have such treatment.

“Where is the Queen?” Lord Jason asks, glancing around. “I had hoped to pay my respects.”

It is a question you yourself had been thinking of. Alicent is not one to be late to important gatherings. It is very unseemly for a lady to do so. If she were still under Septa’s care, she would probably be scolded most terribly for it.

Papa pauses for a moment. “I understand the Queen is still readying herself for the celebrations.”

“This is why men wage war,” Lord Jason says with his chin tilted high. “Because women would never be ready for the battle in time.”

He laughs at his own words, though he is the only one. It is not a very good jest, for you can think of at least three ladies from history—Visenya, Rhaenys, Nymeria—who had waged war and done well at it. Papa and ’Nyra do not seem to find it funny either, for they merely look at him like he is stupid.

“Your presence is always such a pleasure, Lord Jason.” Your sister tries to be polite, but you can hear the bother in her tone.

The smile disappears from Lord Jason’s face. He bends at the waist in a short bow. “Princess. Your Grace.”

As he rises, his eyes flick to you. It is like he has only just spotted you here, two seats down from the King. He looks you up and down as though you are a prize horse. The curve of his lips as he does so is very off-putting. “Good evening, Princess,” he says to you.

Papa clears his throat loudly before you can respond. His hand is clenched tight around his cup, causing one of the scabs to crack slightly. A thin film of blood spreads slowly across the knuckle. It all serves to startle Lord Jason, who quickly averts his gaze and slinks back down the steps to where his brother sits.

The next group to greet Papa and ’Nyra begins their approach, only to be interrupted by another man. He cuts in front of them all. You do not recognise him. “Your Grace. Princess Rhaenyra. Congratulations are in order.” After he says this, he turns to you. “And my greetings to you, Princess.”

It is the first time someone has addressed you so far without making you uncomfortable, so you cannot help the warmth that spreads through you. “Hello, Ser.” It is as good a guess as any. You hope you have not erred.

Papa’s smile is much more real. “We are very honoured to have you as a guest, Ser Gerold.” His expression changes, dims, his brow twitching. “I must say,” he adds, wiping the back of his hand on the kerchief resting by his plate, “I was most distressed to hear of the Lady Rhea’s tragic passing. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Rhea? Uncle has a wife named Rhea, you think with a frown. You notice Papa’s kerchief is streaked with red.

“Lady Rhea was a unique character,” Ser Gerold says. “Her kind… is not soon to be seen again.”

’Nyra surveys him with kind eyes. “If there is anything the crown might do to aid House Royce…”

It is Uncle’s wife who has died is the thought that crosses your mind as the drums begin to beat, signalling the arrival of someone very important. The guests that were lining up to pay respects separate to either side of the hall as the doors open and Ser Harrold cries, “Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark.” At that, the Velaryons make their way into the hall in a sea of glittering black and gold. There are more of them than you ever thought possible—far more than your own House has. “And his lady wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen; and their son and heir, Ser Laenor Velaryon, the future king consort.”

Everyone claps as they walk toward the dais. Papa and ’Nyra stand and you follow—those who had been sitting do the same, rising to their feet in welcome of your Valyrian kinsmen. Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys bow and curtsey before you, Laenor stepping forward to do the same. ’Nyra leaves her seat to move around the table, and you are surprised to see her grinning at Laenor as he comes to meet her. She takes his hands; he kisses hers, and the applause begins anew.

As Laenor takes his seat beside ’Nyra—as Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys take theirs beside him, and the audience moves to find their own seats—someone comes in unannounced.

Uncle.

The room goes very quiet, and then the murmuring starts. Papa’s face is like thunder as Uncle Daemon strolls down the walkway with a smile and comes to a halt before him, as though daring him to make a fuss of his return. For a moment, you wonder if he will have the guards throw Uncle from the Keep.

Papa gestures to an attendant, who brings another chair to the end of the table. He will let him stay, then, you think. But Uncle does not sit in it. Instead, he looks at Lord Lyonel next to you, his brow raised.

“Well?” he asks. Lord Lyonel says nothing. Uncle scoffs. “Move. I would sit by my niece, Lord Hand.”

“My Prince—” The Hand of the King stops at the sight of Uncle’s barely concealed glare, a threat all on its own. He clears his throat and rises, the chair skidding back with a squeak as he steps aside. Uncle settles in the empty seat, shoulders hunching in that way he gets when he is trying to show everyone how carefree he is. He glances down at you and winks.

Papa turns from his brother to those gathered in the hall. “Be welcome, as we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning…”

“Āmāzī,” you whisper, only just loud enough for Uncle Daemon to hear. You have come back.

He leans into your space to whisper his reply. “Kīvio sētetan, gōnton daor?” I made a promise, did I not?

You nod, thrilled. He remembered. He kept his promise. Your hand finds his below the table, hidden from view. He is warm as he always is, like fire, and he squeezes tight even as his expression shows a picture of boredom. Though he lets go quickly, the warmth remains.

“With House Targaryen and…” Papa suddenly falls quiet, staring out at the end of the hall. Everyone’s eyes, including yours, turns to follow his line of sight.

Alicent stands alone in the entry. That is not the strange part, of course—but what she is wearing is unlike anything you have seen her in before. Her gown is a shade of emerald, off the shoulder, a deep cut in the neckline exposing an indecent amount of flesh for a respectable noblewoman. It is beautiful, but alarming, for the oddity of it is matched by the almost angry look she wears as she silently approaches, people rising in turn when she passes.

She stops to greet ’Nyra. “Congratulations, stepdaughter. What a blessing this is for you.”

It is cold, completely different from the way she normally speaks to your sister. It seems ’Nyra notices, for she cannot come up with a response before Alicent is kissing Papa on his cheek, taking her place like nothing is out of the ordinary.

“Please be seated,” Papa says with a cough. The hall echoes with the sound of shuffling. “Where was I? Oh, yes.”

He grunts. This time, he lets his voice carry to fill the room. “With House Targaryen and House Velaryon united, I hope to herald in a second Age of Dragons in Westeros.” The guests applaud. “And after tonight’s small affair”—everyone laughs—“seven days of tournament and feasting.”

More clapping. “At the end of it all…” He is starting to sound out of breath, which is worrying. He has been unwell as of late. “At the end of it all, a royal wedding… between my daughter, my heir… your future Queen… and Ser Laenor Velaryon, the heir to Driftmark.”

Papa sinks to his chair like he has just run up and down every step in the Keep, and you can see his chest rising and falling like he is trying to find air. The sound of it is drowned out by the music that begins to play. ’Nyra and Laenor leave their seats to perform the first dance, impossibly graceful in their movements. They look rather lovely together, you cannot help but think. Still, it is not he she should be dancing with. Glancing over at Uncle, you see he appears to be thinking much the same thing. You are unsure if it is a petty sort of amusement playing along the corner of his mouth or a snarl threatening to reveal itself as he watches your sister with a man who is not him.

The dance comes to a close and everyone claps, followed by a rush of lords and ladies rising to join ’Nyra and Laenor on the floor. Alicent stands. You observe her making her way to the Hightowers at one of the lower tables. You stay in your seat.

“Pōnte imazumbilā?” Uncle asks, jerking his chin toward those dancing in the middle of the room. Will you join them?

“Mirtys drējī rhēdiō daor,” you say with a twist to your mouth. I don’t really know anyone. In truth, you would like to go and dance, but you dislike the idea of doing so with a stranger. Or worse, with someone who looks at you like Lord Jason did.

Uncle grunts. “Konir drives qubys issa.” That’s a poor reason.

You feel your cheeks heat with your embarrassment. It is not very brave of you, you know. “Usōven, kepus,” you say with a small voice. I am sorry, Uncle. A sting prickles behind your eyes.

“Aōma lilinna.” He gazes down with a softness he uses only for you. I will dance with you.

“Really?”

Uncle Daemon shrugs. “Lo jaelā, darilaros.” If you like, Princess. His head turns to face the gathering dancers again. You know, though, that he is really looking at ’Nyra, smiling and beautiful in her white gown. “Yn ēlī, mirros gaomagon ajorrāelan.” But first, I have something to do.

You wonder what he intends. Will he take Laenor to the side, ask him to run away and leave ’Nyra a woman without a betrothed once more? Will he grab hold of her and force her to the High Septon’s rooms, make him wed them before anyone can stop him? Will he declare his love for all to hear, give Papa no choice but to do away with the Velaryon match? Each thought, wilder and wilder, circles through your mind. Whatever he means to do, it will surely be worthy of a great deal of court gossip.

But then, a voice interrupts. “In the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes. Even Targaryens.” Ser Gerold takes one step, then two up the dais.

Uncle remains unimpressed. “Who are you?”

“Ser Gerold Royce of Runestone.”

“And?”

You can see the clench of the man’s jaw. Uncle is being horribly rude. “I am cousin to your late lady wife.”

“Ah, yes,” Uncle says. “Terrible thing. I'm positively bereft. Such a tragic accident.” You want to sink to the ground, to hide away from this conversation. It goes against everything Septa has taught you about courtesy.

“You know better than anyone,” Ser Gerold says, “it was no accident.”

You glance between Uncle and Ser Gerold, worry churning your belly to sickness. The salted flavour of roasted boar turns sour in your mouth. What does he mean? you think.

Then, there is a faint brush of fingertips against your arm. You startle, peering to your left. Papa is leaning across Alicent’s seat. Though he has just touched you, he is staring across at Uncle and Ser Gerold. His eyes slide to you, and he nods to the dancers.

Go, he mouths. Your lips part with your rising protest, but he frowns hard at you. Now, he mouths again.

Scurrying from your chair, you crane your neck to find someone to take company with. There are not many options—’Nyra is busy dancing, though now with Ser Harwin, Lord Lyonel’s son, and Alicent is still speaking with her kin. Everyone else is a stranger to you. For a moment, you wonder if anyone would notice should you sneak to the doors and make your way back to your own chambers.

“Hello.”

Laenor Velaryon has broken away from the throng. Standing beside you, he looks every bit as lavish as a man about to be wed ought to be. His coat is richly embroidered in black and gold; the pendants upon his gold chain glimmer. There is so much detail to his attire that you do not know where to look. He is smiling down at you, his face gentle.

“Hello,” you say, wary.

“It has been quite a while since last we met, hasn’t it?” There is a way about him that makes me feel as though he’s an old friend, you muse. His expression is open, his arms relaxed at his sides. “You were rather a great deal smaller.”

“I am seven summers now.”

“And I am eighteen. Strange, how time changes us.” He folds his hands before him. “Would you care to dance?” he asks.

You shake your head, though a part of you wants to accept. He is very easy to be around, you are finding. Perhaps he is not so bad a choice after all. “I am waiting for my uncle.”

“Ah.” Silence reigns briefly. Then, he bends closer to your height, his pointed finger directed out to the crowd. “However… I do believe he’s occupied, Princess.”

You stare out onto the floor and watch as Uncle makes his way from Laena Velaryon, shifting between bodies like a snake slithers in grass, straight toward your sister. You watch him murmur something indistinct to Ser Harwin—he takes the man’s place—he swarms up against her, and the pair seem intensely concentrated on their conversation. They are barely dancing, swaying together in a vague rhythm to the music.

“Wonder what that’s about,” Laenor says.

You think you might know, but you say nothing. It is hard enough to keep the threat of jealousy from rising like poison at the sight of Uncle with ’Nyra—with her and not you. He promised you a dance.

Laenor sighs. “Look,” he says. You glance up. “I get the feeling you are not exactly pleased by this match. No”—he waves off your protest with a laugh—“it’s alright. I cannot say I was very happy, either. At first. But your sister… she’s quite the woman. I’ll be… content with her, I think. I just hope I can offer her the same.” He lightly places his hand on your shoulder, firmer when he realises you do not plan to shake him off. “I trust that you’ll set me right, should I behave in a manner less than what she deserves.”

He is painfully earnest as he looks at you, like he truly does intend to seek your guidance. You cannot say that of many people. At the very least, he is good at pretending you are important enough to need a high opinion from. It is more than you expected.

“I will,” you say.

It is too quiet, and you think he probably hasn’t heard you over the noise. But he smiles, pats your arm, and disappears back into the mass of people. You feel oddly thrilled by his kindness.

Now that you are alone once more, your eyes drift back to where you had seen Uncle and ’Nyra, near to the middle of the dancers. You spy two shocks of silver, bright against all the darker heads of hair—you see Uncle take ’Nyra’s face in his hand—he leans in—

He pulls away.

What is he doing? you think, frowning. Uncle is stepping back—’Nyra reaches out, though for nothing—he’s stalking off—

You don’t even realise you have followed him, that you have sidled along the edge of the wall to the door and slipped behind the guards, out of notice, until you are facing the looming dimness of the passages outside the Great Hall.

Behind you, someone screams. Then another. Another. More yelling. The door closes and the noise disappears, as if it never was.

You did not realise just how many guards had not been in attendance at the feast until now. They jog seemingly in pace, the crash of armour too loud, echoing as they rush toward the room you have just left behind. Perhaps they have been drawn by the sounds that had taken your attention also.

It forces you to seek a hiding place. You dart into the nearest alcove, and though it is not covered, you pray that it is too dark for anyone to take notice. Thankfully, it works. Your Papa’s men thunder rumble past with nary a look your way.

A creak from the door. A faint thudding, and whispers, and a gruff voice sounds out, clearer than the rest. “Something to cover it with… for the body… and fetch the High Septon to… wedding will take place when he arrives…”

“Now?”

“Yes, now! So, go and…” A wail, and then it is quiet again.

A manservant hurries his pace, footfalls ringing in the near-silence as he takes the steps up and up and up. You watch him disappear from view, surely having gone to carry out the order given to him. To fetch the High Septon, withdrawn into his own rooms somewhere far, far from your own, awaiting the day he is called to perform the ceremony. Tonight’s ceremony.

Tonight? The wedding is tonight? There was to be seven days before ’Nyra was married to Laenor! That is what Papa said earlier… is it not?

It takes a moment for you to remember how you have come to be here, so caught up are you in your whirling thoughts. A part of you wishes to return, to make sure that Papa and ’Nyra and Alicent are safe. ’Nyra is a Princess, you remind yourself. Alicent is the Queen, and Papa is King. Everybody will want to keep them protected. Besides, there is little you could do that the guards could not. You are only a little girl.

Then, it strikes you. Your purpose. Uncle. Where has Uncle gone?

You peer out, and immediately snap back into shadow. The hall is not empty as you had assumed, though it was perhaps silly of you to think otherwise. It is always full of life and activity. There are guards stationed by the stairs, by each archway projecting a further passageway, branching out from the main corridor; two or three messengers await, milling nervously opposite the doors you had just exited from; maids and servants walk by, uncaring of the chaos within, busying about with their duties as normal. Any one of these people could see you and know in an instant who you are. Your hair—your dress—it is all too easy to identify. And if they see you, know you, they will pass you off to a waiting guard, who will ensure you are returned to your rooms, to Septa Marlow.

How will you discover where Uncle is then?

You wait, hoping that the bevy of bodies will thin with each passing minute. As you wait, you listen to passing snippets of conversation from those who walk by. Then, you hear it. Uncle’s name is like a clanging bell out of the mouth of a nearby maid. Your ears strain to catch the rest. “… for Prince Daemon’s belongings to be… King’s Landing tonight… waiting in the courtya…”

“Yes, ma’am…”

Footsteps. Your mind races. No, no, no… Not again. Not now. Not so soon.

Belongings. Tonight. Waiting in the courtyard. You may be young, but you are no fool. Those words, in that order—it can really, truly only mean one thing.

It means that Uncle is leaving.

You wait. You wait through the fractured exchanges drifting to your shoddy hiding place, the morsels of what life must be like for those who live and work in the Keep. You wait through the spilling of people into the hall, the nobles who had witnessed whatever it is that had been hidden from you. You wait through their bewildered conversation—“a Kingsguard!” and “such a terrible omen!” and “what a ghastly sight!” being some of the choice fragments you can hear—and through their slow scattering back to whichever lodgings they had managed to secure themselves. You wait through the barking orders of the Kingsguard to “find the Princess!”—it seems all have finally realised you are no longer in the room—the thud of their boots easy to detects as they grow fainter, fainter, fainter.

Finally… quiet.

Well, not entirely. The doors are open once more, and you can just barely hear voices within, the sound of something heavy being dragged out. Grunting, as with some great effort. None of these are important. What is important is that finally, finally, the way is clear enough to steal out of the alcove and just across to the staircase, to sidle out of the hall and down the corridor. You thank whatever gods had favoured you that something shocking or maybe even horrid had occurred and given you a free path to the courtyard.

Your mind immediately rebels. What a terribly wicked thing to be glad for. If you had spoken it aloud—if Septa had heard you—you know you would pay the price for such sin.

When you arrive, the sight that awaits you is one you had hoped against hope you would not be greeted by. Even though you had heard the proof, the crushing weight of disappointment still feels heavy in your chest.

“Where are you going?” you ask, standing on the steps that lead to sand, to dust. To Uncle.

There he is—tightening the bridle on Varlet’s muzzle, reins in hand. Dark Sister is at his hip again. He must have fetched it from his rooms before commanding the servants to pack up his things, to send them along who knows where.

“Fu—” He cuts himself off, spinning to face you. A bad word, you presume. You see his face relax as his eyes scan you, recognising you even in dim torchlight. “Go back inside, sweetling,” Uncle says.

You cannot help the rush of tears that prickle behind your eyes. “You—Uncle Daemon, you cannot leave now!” You cast around for some reason, any reason you can find that might persuade him. “The—’Nyra is going to be married in the Great Hall soon. You have to be there. You said you would dance with me.”

This makes him release the reins, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, his eyes like slits beneath the steel shelf of his brow. The horse nickers cautiously behind him, toeing at the ground. After a moment where he does nothing but stand, silent and still, he moves, taking large strides toward you. Up, up, up the steps he goes, and then he is crouching before you.

“Talītsos”—little niece, he says, and as he speaks, his fingers reach out to swipe loose hair back behind your ear—“the King has asked me to leave. I must do as he says, correct?”

When have you ever cared what Papa says? you want to tell him. What about ‘Nyra? You are leaving her behind.

What about me?

Instead, what comes from your mouth is this: “When—when will you be back?” Your lower lip begins to shake. One of the tears falls, even though you tried so hard to keep them from doing so.

His thumb brushes it away. You can still feel the sting of it in the cool night air, though his skin leaves a trail of heat over your cheek. “I’m afraid… I’m not coming back.”

His face is unbearably soft as he says this, but it does not banish the shock, the dread that rises. You feel ill. You feel ill. Bile burns in the back of your throat.

“But… you promised,” you say. You wonder if you look as lost as you sound.

Uncle smiles, though it is weak. “I know. If I had a choice, you know I’d stay.”

You cannot count the number of people who might hear such a thing and take it for a falsehood. He is a rake; a villain; a rogue. He lies, steals, cheats. He is mad, he is cruel, he is the very worst thing that has happened to House Targaryen since your great-great-great-uncle.

But you know he means it. You know.

“Will I ever see you again?” you ask, close to a whisper. Any louder and you’ll burst into sobs, and that will surely bring the guards—you can hear them faintly calling your name—right to you.

Uncle takes your hand. His eyes are bright, sad. “Kostilus,” he says slowly—perhaps—using the language of Old Valyria the way he does whenever he wants to voice something fond, something gentle and warm. “Kostilus daor. Jēda ivestrilus.” Perhaps not. Time will tell.

That is not good enough. That is not nearly good enough—but what can you or he do? If Papa has decreed that Uncle must leave, then he must, for he is the King. There is nothing to be done. Nothing at all.

Before you even realise it, you’ve thrown your arms around him, burrowing as close as you can get. He smells the same—of salt and smoke and love love love. “Aōma ozmijīnna, kepus.” I will miss you, Uncle.

Instead of replying, he just hugs you tight, so tight that your ribs ache and you think you can feel his pulse against your skin, even through so many layers of fabric and leather. You can barely breathe from the force of it. It doesn’t matter. You try to carve out a space in your mind for the memory of this moment, this single point in time where he is here and you are loved and the rest is trivial.

But, like all good things, it comes to an end. He pulls away. He stares at you, almost as though he means to say something. He doesn’t. He cups your cheek, and then he stands. He walks back to Varlet. He mounts his horse.

The grief of it bursts from you like an almighty cannon, wrenching with heaving, painful gulps. It surges with loud, ringing sobs, your nose stoppered up so wholly that you cannot breathe, so much so that it blocks out all sound, all feeling. You do not hear any last words. You do not hear the gate open. You do not hear the striking of hooves on the ground as Uncle Daemon rides away, getting smaller, past the gate, out of reach, going, going…

Gone.

It will not be long before the guards are drawn to you by the sound of your tears. It will not be long before they march you back inside. It will not be long before you must sidestep a crumpled Targaryen banner in the entry of the Great Hall, before you are brought into the grasp of Papa and ’Nyra, before you are made to listen to their panicked reproaching.

“Don’t ever run off like that again!” Papa will cry out, grabbing you by the shoulders with unsteady, shaking hands. He will loom over you, an expression battling between relief and anger playing out over his grey face. “We thought… we thought…”

“It does not matter what we thought, Father,” ’Nyra will say, lips tipped up in a smile despite her wet eyes and dishevelled hair. “All that matters is that she’s safe.”You will wonder why she appears so untidy, but there will be no time to ask.

As the High Septon performs the ceremony, as ’Nyra and Laenor repeat their vows in stunned, shaking voices, you will stand beside Alicent, in front of Papa. And, after your sister kisses her new husband on the cheek, Papa will collapse to the ground, knocking you lightly on the way. Alicent and ’Nyra and Lord Lyonel and Lord Corlys will crouch to his aid, booming voices clamouring for the guards to fetch help. Papa will be taken out of the hall on a pallet, speedily dispatched to his chambers for tending to by the maesters. Everyone will rush about, fretful beyond measure for the King’s health, while you are overlooked once more.

You will find yourself staring at the discarded banner of your House, the red of the dragon darker, deeper, like blood. You will feel a twisting in your belly at the sight. You will return to your rooms where it is dark, where you are alone, and you will ready yourself for sleep with no joy for the day that is to greet you when next you wake.

All of this will happen.But right now—here, on the steps leading to the courtyard which leads to the city which leads to a world far, far out of reach—you will watch the gate, wondering if Uncle will change his mind, waiting for him to come back.

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mr-robot-x · 9 months

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I will reblog every single thing I read on this app, every single chapter 🫡

It's kinda funny when you get a bunch of likes but no reblogs like I enjoyed your post but I'd prefer if no one else saw it

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mr-robot-x · 9 months

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OMGOMGOMG You’re so sweet! I’m so happy my song recs are inspiring you 😭, I also read chapter 8 and listened to the songs and read the lyrics separately for the best experience lol, I sobbed what can I say, my favorite one was Your Needs, My Needs! amazing chapter like always, it took me so long to read it because work has been crazy, it was so sweet to come home and see that you had updated and that you tagged me? You made my night thank you so much

I’m also a very slow reader and when I saw all the chapter tags I made a playlist with your songs and some of my own lmfao, Philadelphia by Good Night & Good Morning, and I Bet on Losing Dogs by Mitski! Song recs are not exactly a birthday gift but lets pretend, happy late birthday, hope you had an amazing day!

Now, the chapter… 😭😭😭 I was so sad by the end, but I’m happy they are on somewhat good terms now, Natalie can finally rest! More or less. Baby finally coming clean in some parts it’s so good, for her and for Carmy, he needed to know that he wasn’t the only one going through stuff, and that his fear of commitment really impacted other people, even if the way things turned out were not completely his fault. He felt so bad knowing about the alcohol and pills, I can’t imagine how he will feel when the other shoe drops. We also had another part of the puzzle, the fact that it was Richie that found her the day of the miscarriage make his disgust for Carmy even more reasonable (and sweet? In some twisted way lol, we love a protective “older brother”), I hope we can read in the future what exactly happened and why. The chain and the pendant are also a beautiful detail, it’s the small details that make a story so memorable and you nail that every time.

I loved it! Can’t wait for the next chapter!

you could have read this chapter a whole year later and i’d still be screaming at this message! 😭 but yes they have all been so inspiring it is crazy! but omg yes, your needs, my needs was the heart and soul of chapter 8 i was bawling whenever it came on! i’m so happy to have made your night, you literally make my day anytime you send me an ask i like almost jump up and down when i see you in my notifications!

more song recs?!?! you spoil me, i will damn sure accept these recs as a birthday present! and yes it was quite great, thank you for the well wishes lovie!!

i was so on the fence about having them make up, but i just want to right them in love and lovin on each other so bad now! but yes nat can take a break for now lol. yes i thought it was well beyond time for baby to at least admit something to carmy, and you’re absolutely right hearing baby’s confession kind of gives carmy perspective like he’s not the only one struggling through things, but i also thought it was important to denote that no matter what, just because he loved her that didn’t mean anything would be different. not the other shoe dropping 😭 but yes richie is 100% so much team baby it hurts his big brother senses are always tingling around her lol. i’ve decided i’m not going too into detail about the miscarriage because of how delicate of a topic it is but when baby reveals it to carmy she will explain what happened. the chain, pendant, and flower lore are probably my favorite detail i’ve included in this series like its just so close to my heart and i love sharing it with you all!

i’m so glad you still love this fic so much and i can’t wait to continue sharing it with you! 🤍

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mr-robot-x · 9 months

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chapter eight | to see a friend, to see a ghost

masterlist | ↢ previous chapter | next chapter ↣

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: a secret you’ve been keeping from carmen finally comes to light.

wc: 8.9k

song inspo: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 (highly recommend to add to the heartbreak!)

If it was any later and the sky was any darker, you might have been startled by the figure waiting on your porch. But as you approached, arms occupied with bags full of decorations, you recognized that patch color jacket, and the baseball cap not doing nearly enough to disguise his features.

Stopping before your steps you just looked at the person for a minute, the man was obviously zoned out if he hadn’t already been alerted to your presence from the sound of your car arriving and now the slap of your boots against the pavement.

When you left that voicemail earlier, you hadn’t expected Carmy to take immediate action, it wasn’t like him. You also didn’t expect him to show up unannounced but maybe you should’ve waited before sending your address in that group text.

You made your way up the steps, the jingling keys in your hand finally drew the man’s attention, and the speed at which he flew off the chair situated on your porch was almost comical. Your eyes darted to his, taking in what you could see of his figure that wasn’t hidden behind his jacket or hat. He held two paper bags in one hand and the package you had been expecting in the other, sure the delivery driver just left it with him.

The silence stretched between the two of you. You could see Carmen begin to fidget in your peripheral vision; good he deserved to be uncomfortable for a minute or two.

Finally unlocking the door you pushed through, pausing to take your shoes off. The man behind you hesitated, not sure if he should move forward to follow behind you or not. He took a minute before stepping forward, your eyes meeting his as you stood between his only entrance.

“I don’t remember inviting you in,” it was harsh, but it was also the truth.

He stopped for a moment, cheeks flushing pink as he cleared his throat, “Can I uh, is it okay if I come in?”

It would have been easy to deny him access, leave him out here on your porch, or even allow him to squirm more. But you could hear Pete’s words playing in your mind as you thought of all the petty things you wanted to do at that moment.

You let out an exasperated sigh the constant back and forth between the two of you was finally catching up. You nodded before heading to your living room to drop the bags off on the couch, the open door an invitation for the man on your porch. The bags were safely deposited on your couch as you moved to head into your kitchen, stopping short as you spotted Carmy still standing in your foyer.

A chuckle escaped your lips at the awkward man. You made your way to him, stopping in front of him and taking the package from his hand and the two grocery bags. “You can leave your shoes and jacket out here.” You left him standing alone in the foyer, confident he would find his way to you eventually.

Carmen watched as you disappeared further into your house, the man quickly shedding his shoes and accessories, stopping at the mirror by the coat rack to tame his messy hat hair. He felt like a teenager all over again, fussing over how he would present himself to you. Carmy moved in the direction you had gone in, steps slowing as he tried to take in everything he could about your abode, from the decorations to the colors swatched on your walls. It all reminded him of things he missed out on with you, would you have gushed to him about the prospect of owning a home? Would you have asked his opinion on design choices?

The two of you had once gone to each other for everything, and because he was afraid of being completely vulnerable to his feelings for you, he felt like a stranger on the outside looking in.

He found you in the kitchen, eyes locked on the bottle of wine in your hands he brought with him, “You uh…talked about how much you loved it back in New York so I-I thought it might be nice to have it again.”

Your index finger traced the label of the bottle in your hand, memories of that weekend flooding through you, but that’s just what they were; memories. It was the present day now and no matter the itch you felt to let the red wine warm your mouth, drink enough of it to dull your senses, you wouldn’t allow yourself to.

“What are we doing Carmen?” The bottle of red was gently placed on your island as you looked at the man standing in the space just between your kitchen and living room.

Seeing him in a space that had been wholly your own felt a little weird, you didn’t want to think about the times you imagined what it would’ve been like to share such a space with him as you watched him stand in your house like he was meant to be there; like he belonged.

“I got your voicemail,” you leaned your elbows on the counter propping your head up as you listened. “This is me accepting your olive branch, I just…wanna make things right between us..” The explanation pulled a sigh from your lips, fingers tracing patterns into the marble island beneath you. You left the voicemail with the assumption that it would take Carmen a bit to get back to you, he had never been adamant about fixing your relationship before.

“You also have something I need,” Carmen watched as you raised your eyebrows, eyes leaving the spot you were tracing.

“And what would that be?” The scar between your eyebrows felt tight as your face pulled into a frown, your brain wandering to figure out what you could possibly have that Carmen would need.

Carmen sent a small smile your way, “Let’s cook and we’ll talk about it after.” You watched as the man joined you on the opposite side of your island reaching to remove the rest of the food from their bags.

The genuine laugh that bubbled out of your chest filled Carmy with warmth, “Do you always walk into people's houses and try and negotiate?”

Carmy did his best to control the warm fluttery feeling in his chest, the weeks without you were hard and the fact that your laugh could ease his full body ache was enough for him to realize just how much he wanted you as a constant in his life. “I didn’t think I’d make it this far.”

A silence lapsed between the two of you as you helped unpack the rest of the food. This whole situation felt like a bad idea, you definitely weren’t over Carmen’s stunt or the previous incidents where he let you down. But you had been skating through this year on borrowed time, and the time apart helped to calm your anger, you felt like you were in a much more level headed place to finally figure out what the hell this thing was between the two of you. And Pete’s words at lunch helped to give you a new perspective on the whole situation.

“What the hell are we even making?” Baking was your preferred form of cooking, so as you looked at all the ingredients laid out it was a bit confusing to piece the meal together.

The sound of your voice warmed Carmen’s senses, the silky tone danced through his ears buzzing against his brain. “Chicken Marsala.”

You nodded, declining a glass of wine with dinner was one thing, but now looking at the new bottle of Marsala that would be in your meal, you’d have to decline the whole dinner.

“That sounds so fucking delicious but I…I actually can’t eat it.”

Carmen stopped his ministrations with the ingredients, “No you’re good I uh I didn’t get anything you’re allergic to.” His eyes darted across the ingredients double checking that he hadn’t bought any compromising ingredients.

“Thank you, Carm, your consideration is thoughtful.” The extra measure made your heart rate speed up.

It was crazy really how the same man standing in your kitchen swearing up and down he didn’t buy any foods you were allergic to, could also be the same man who came across as uncaring.

“I appreciate the effort I do but…” Your heart felt like it was going to pound out of your chest. How could you admit to your best friend, the person who once knew you most, that almost a year ago you were staring at blank hospital walls as some doctor explained to both you and Natalie just how close to death you were? “Carmy I-”

The hand resting on your elbow helped to calm your breathing, it wasn’t like you weren’t ready to admit your overdose to Carmy, you were just worried about the aftermath. “Baby hey, you with me?” You felt the hand skate down your arm, Carmy’s thumb soothingly caressing your pulse point.

You turned to face Carmen searching his eyes, doing your best to memorize the way he looked at you, unsure if you’d ever be graced with this intimate gaze again. “Carmen I…I’ve been sober for 7 months.”

The silence in your kitchen was loud, You needed Carmy to say something to you, yell at you, call you a hypocrite for blowing up on him all those weeks ago when you had been the one lying to him this whole time. It would be easier if the blank wide-eyed look on his face morphed into one of disgust, hatred, hell any emotion would’ve been welcome. “You fuckin’ with me right?” The apprehension in his voice was the result of not knowing if he could bear to hear the idea that something so heinous could plague you.

The wobble of your bottom lip was enough, Carmen’s eyes skated across your face landing on the three prominent features that had been added to your appearance; the tiny scar on your upper lip, the one between your brows, and the jagged raised one stretching the length of your jaw.

The breath in your throat hitched as his finger slowly traced the long scar, the touch sent shivers through you. Your eyes watched him as he watched you, finger deliberately taking in the pattern on your jaw, his hand unconsciously moved to cup your face in the way he liked, forefinger pressed into your hidden tattoo as his thumb began caressing the corner of your lips.

“What the fuck happened to you, Baby?”

The shower you just finished was much needed, Carmy volunteering to pick up different ingredients while you relaxed before the two of you began this search for the truth. He didn’t say it but you knew he needed some time to internalize the small piece of truth you told him, to rationalize just how much you had gone through in your time apart.

You could hear Carmen shuffling around in your kitchen as you stepped out of the bathroom, steam following you out. Grabbing your moisturizer you moved to sit on the edge of your bed, mind racing to figure out what you were even doing putting yourself in this situation.

These past three weeks without Carmen felt needed, you were thankful for the time apart to focus on yourself and your wellbeing. But it always felt like there was a piece of you missing, it felt like that every time the two of you parted ways. The difference was instead of spending the time apart worrying over Carmy every minute you had finally put yourself first, and began living for yourself just like Tina had advised all those years ago.

And while a part of you wanted to continue this childish charade of ignoring Carmy, only showing up at the restaurant when Richie assured you he wouldn’t be there; you couldn’t. It took too much energy to live your life around Carmen’s especially since the two of you were so much more involved with each other than you had been in a while. Even without Pete’s words of advice, you could see the toll it was taking on the people around you. Natalie was too scared to even mention her brother for fear you’d have a meltdown. Richie’s anger for your situation souring his relationship with Carmen. And Carmen himself, he who had become a haggard sunken-in version of himself, the time apart affected him the worst his patience nowhere to be seen from the few times Richie had offhandedly mentioned him in your presence.

The two of you had been in each other's lives for longer than you could remember and you didn’t want to lose that friendship over your pride. During your time away from Carmen, you had come to the decision that you would be fine if all that was fated to be between you two was a friendship.

More recently you had decided that maybe it was for the best, maybe the two of you were never meant for anything more, anything good. Maybe it was naive to think you deserved anything good with all the hurt your selfish choices caused. Maybe it was best not to take any time and attention away from your recovery. This friendship was just a whole bunch of fucking ‘maybes’ recently.

But one could say that ‘friendship’ went out the window when the two of you crossed that blurred line a year ago.

You paused as your hand reached for the old crew neck you’d usually sleep in, as much as you loved the garment you couldn’t allow yourself to give Carmen any false hope about what would come from this. Walking into your closet you quickly grabbed your oversized ‘The Beef’ crew neck, slipping it over your head before stepping into your sleep shorts and a pair of fuzzy socks.

Exiting your bedroom you stopped by your record player, buying yourself time before you’d have to face Carmen and all the truth that would be exposed in this one conversation alone. You flicked through your vinyl selection before picking your favorite one, needing something comforting for everything that was bound to transpire.

You entered your kitchen seeing Carmy’s back at your stove sent an ache through you. The man cooking in your kitchen was a vision you had more than once, it was almost right, the only thing missing was the small figure you imagined standing in a chair next to Carmy watching from over his shoulder.

“Smells delicious Carm,” you sent a tired smile his way as he looked over his shoulder at you, eyes falling just above his own, no courage left in you to take in the look he was giving you. “What did you end up cooking?” Carmen’s eyes were stuck to you, your words falling on deaf ears, you fidgeted in your spot, the insecurity of being judged by the one person you didn’t think you could handle it from, weighed heavy on you.

Carmen cleared his throat as he watched you sink into yourself. He hadn’t meant to make you feel any type of way with his stare, he was just having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that things had been so bad for you and he had no idea because of his selfish inclinations. “It’s uh Chicken Alfredo, I thought it was safest.”

The air in the kitchen was tense, neither of you knowing how to be around the other at this moment, and you hadn’t even gotten down to the harsh truth of everything yet. “Can you…uh what do you mean you’re sober? I-I know what it means jus-I,” you watched as Carmy closed his eyes, a huff escaping him as he couldn’t articulate what he wanted to say. “Baby, help me understand. Please?”

You could hear the thickness in Carmy’s voice, the two of you watching each other with matching glazed stares. You stood frozen for a minute, your fight or flight instincts kicking in and it took everything in you not to leave the conversation as it was. A sigh escaped you before you nodded your head and hopped to sit on the island, fingers picking at the stray threads on your shorts.

Carmy turned the fire on the stove down before turning to lean against the counter next to your stove, the two of you now facing each other. The distance between you felt like it stretched on for miles, and maybe it did, the two of you didn’t know each other like you once used to. You and Carmy weren’t the same teenagers who shared everything, even the smiles you shared at this point in life held a different meaning.

You never knew where to start this story, was it better to ease the person in, or was it better to just rip the band-aid off all at once? “Now that I’m better I don’t think any reason was good enough for what I did to myself…what I did to the people I love. But uh, Mikey’s death was definitely a catalyst for everything.” You looked up to see Carmy watching you intensely, arms crossed over his chest, you can’t remember a time you’d ever seen him look so serious.

“I was alone, and maybe that’s just an excuse. We…we just buried Mikey, and I was scared to believe he was really gone, it didn’t feel right. I didn’t want it to be true.” You sucked in a deep breath trying to gather your thoughts. “I stayed in Chicago for a long time after that, your mom…gosh she was a mess and I understood why her grief was valid, but I…I just knew Nat couldn’t, didn’t deserve to fix things alone, so I just kept extending my stay.” The small sigh Carmen breathed was lost as you settled more and more into your explanation.

“An-And Richie was doing his fucking best to keep The Beef open but I could tell it was taking a toll on him. Tiff had filed for divorce just months ago and then he was dealing with Mikey’s passing. And I think, I thought if I just helped everyone get better I wouldn’t need to grieve, because I was surrounded by all the people I loved, and their wellbeing mattered most to me.” Carmen’s eyes stayed on your figure allowing your words to settle into him, it hurt knowing how much slack you had to pick up because he couldn’t bring himself to face the music.

Quiet sniffles came from where you sat atop the island. “Carm, you weren’t there…and I promise I’m not blaming you for the decisions I made, none of that is on you. But I just wanted my best friend, and I just needed to know you were okay. And when you weren’t at the funeral my mind went to the worst thoughts first. But then I…I just showed up in New York and you acted like your world wasn’t ending and then I just felt selfish because how was it that your brother just died and I was the one acting like I’d lost the person I looked up to most.” Carmy could feel his chest tighten, your words becoming less and less easy to swallow the more you spoke.

“And for a moment it was like the world stopped screaming like all I needed was your presence to assure me that everything would be okay,” a small sad smile rose to your lips as you thought about your time spent with Carmy in New York. “It-it was blissful and everything I wanted but I knew it was ending, we both knew it was ending you didn’t see a future with me.” You had to stop yourself, a sob sure to be ripped out if you didn’t give yourself a minute, “And I accepted your decision, it was for the best.”

You hugged your knees to your chest, barely beginning to scratch the surface of the worst of what you’d done. The new position provided you the comfort and protection you felt you needed. “I got back to Chicago, and I was only supposed to be here for a few more weeks but then…then I-I got sick and Rich-.” You clasped your hands over your mouth unsure if you could lay all your indiscretions on Carmy at once, unsure if you could mentally handle the toll the two confessions you desperately needed to make would take on you.

Rough palms enclosed your cheeks, moving your head so that you were face to face with Carmy. You could see the unshed tears in his doe-blue eyes, but other than that he didn’t seem to be affected. “Take your time, yeah?” He nodded his head waiting for you to nod along with him so you knew it was okay. The left side of his lips ticked up in a half smile, you let him lean in and place a delicate kiss on your forehead before he moved out of your space. “I’m here okay, I’ll listen for as long as you let me.”

Carmen was making this harder than it needed to be, how could you justify telling him one secret and not the other when he was being so understanding? Carmy made to move back to his original position, your grip on his hand stopping him, a quiet sigh escaping his lips at how fragile you looked. “Lemme turn off the stove okay?” You reluctantly let go of his hand, scared that at the loss of contact, he would take his chance to flee from you.

You watched as he turned the stove off, moving the food he had been cooking to the back burners, you felt bad that he had cooked for the two of you and neither of you would be enjoying it. He moved around the kitchen fear spiking in you as you thought for sure he was going to leave, to wipe his hands of you. He returned to you with a glass of water that he delicately placed in your hands before replacing your legs to their original position and taking his spot between them. Carmy’s finger tapped the glass in your hands “Drink up.” A small nod was your only response as you did as told you before setting the glass down beside you.

Carmy returned his hand to your grasp nodding to let you know he was ready to continue if you were, you took one last deep breath mind made up on how you would handle the rest of this conversation. “He uh Richie, he found me in the walk-in. You know that moment when you know something is wrong but you don’t know how you know. It was kind of like that, like Richie and I both knew I had done something wrong and Carmy,” your voice quivered as your eyes met his, the tears falling at a faster pace as he looked at you so earnestly, hanging onto every word you said. “I’m so sorry.”

Carmen’s brows furrowed, eyes widening as you collapsed against him incoherent apologies addressed to him spewing from your lips. His head came to rest atop of yours as you shoved your face into his chest your words turned to messy babbling as you tried to choke out words through your sobs. For all his social ineptitude Carmy knew there was something you weren’t telling him, something you weren’t being entirely honest about, and he wasn’t sure how it tied into your sobriety. But the way you were apologizing to him made him feel like he was partly responsible.

Your cries were beginning to grow in volume and Carmy was at a loss for what to do. He’d seen you cry before, hell he’d caused most of it but he couldn’t recognize you at this moment. The sobs that escaped you were echoing through the quietude of your house, you had never been an audible crier, usually a few tears escaping your eyes were the most Carmen had gotten. But these cries wracked your entire body, Carmy could feel them rattling his rib cage each sob breaking his exterior down more and more.

He wrapped his arms around you letting your tears soak his shirt, his tears beginning to run down his cheeks. The grip he had on you tightened ever so slightly as you sobbed your throat raw. Carmen needed to know what could’ve caused this reaction, he needed to know what you could ever have to apologize to him for. He felt you moving to get out of his grip, but he held you there as his tears dripped into the crown of your head, quickly wiping his eyes before he pulled back from you allowing you a fresh breath of oxygen.

“Carmy?” Your voice was scratchy as you played with his fingers avoiding any form of eye contact, you raised his knuckles to your lips kissing the ‘ou’ on his middle and ring finger. “Could you hold me for a little bit?” You raised your head to Carmy’s doing your best to send him a reassuring smile, to let him know everything would be okay.

Carmen frowned, he knew that smile anywhere. Even when you were so obviously going through something he couldn’t quite yet understand you would put his feelings before your own. He let out an exasperated sigh your need to put others well being before your own a habit he swore to himself he’d break.

The hand you kissed raised to your face, a light grip on your chin as his thumb caressed the space beneath your lower lip. Carmy leaned forward placing a soft lingering kiss on the scar between your eyebrows, “Let’s take a break yeah?” Carmy watched your body deflate.

He took a step back as you hopped off of the island, the two of you moving to your L-shaped couch. Carmy laid down opening his arms to hold you like the two of you had done hundreds of times while growing up. He knew the gesture would pull a smile out of you, a soft chuckle leaving him as you easily snuggled into him. Your face reverting to its home in his chest, his chin once again resting against the top of your head.

The light atmosphere was short-lived as you relaxed into Carmy, all of your words finally beginning to sink into him. He was happy for the intermission the time would help him to understand what you had told him thus far, to figure out how he could ever make up for the way he constantly held the door open and let you walk out of his life. The way he essentially cut you out of his life because he was afraid to admit to himself that what he felt for you for all these years wasn’t just lust and longing, but love.

Carmy’s fingers had been gently rubbing your scalp for the past forty-five minutes, the position the two of you were in reminiscent of a scene from New York when you visited. Now it was being translated in your own home, Carmy was laying on the couch one arm settled behind his head to prop it up, looking down on you to make sure you were okay. You were settled between his legs, your upper body pressed into his stomach as your head rested on his sternum.

“Baby?” Carmy did his best to whisper, not wanting to disturb you in case you had fallen asleep.

“Hmm?” Your response was so quiet it was easy to miss, Carmy was unsure if you had let out a quiet hum or if you were making noises in your sleep.

He stopped his ministrations on your scalp, his lips ticking up at the soft whine you let out “You asleep?” The question was followed by his fingertips resuming their massage.

“No, your heartbeat is just soothing.” You snuggled your face deeper into Carmen’s stomach, the movement raising goosebumps on his exposed arms. “Carm?” Your quiet voice drew his attention the apprehension clear on his features as he prepared himself for the words soon to leave your mouth. “There’s something that I need to tell you…something that you deserve to know. B-but I don’t think I can do it tonight. And I know that’s not fair to you but I think for my own sake I need to be in a better space mentally.” You shuffled around again turning to lie facedown, one of your cheeks rested against Carmy’s stomach so you could comfortably look up at him.

The confusion in his eyes was evident, whatever it was you couldn’t tell him was making him beyond nervous. It was hard because you had never kept a secret from him unless you absolutely needed to, and when you did it was never for anything more serious than a gift you were getting for him. But he knew he couldn’t force whatever truth you had to tell out of you, a part of him felt a bit relaxed, not knowing how much bad news he could take in the span of one night.

Carmy’s hand reached out palming the side of your face, thumb grazing back and forth in the space just beneath your eye, “You can share it with me when you’re ready m’kay? I’ll wait as long as you need me to.” He pushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear, watching as your eyes closed, a slight grimace on your face as you leaned into his palm more.

“You’re going to hate me, Carmen.” The words left your mouth with so much conviction all Carmy could do was frown, the idea of ever hating you would have never crossed his mind. He wanted to reassure you but lost his chance as you abruptly sat up, the movement caused him to sit up as well, the two of you only inches apart now facing each other. You forced a smile as your side relaxed on the couch, head propped against it as your eyes wandered around Carmy’s features. “Let’s just get through tonight and then we’ll worry about everything else.” You were exhausted. Carmy could tell by the way your blinking slowed, he wanted you to stop, to get some sleep, to put your needs before whatever made you feel like you owed him any explanation.

“Bab-,”

“I was in the hospital for a bit because I…I was sick. But after they discharged me I had been gone from my own life for so long I was so close to not having anything to return to. So I came home and forced the past month into a literal box in my closet, pretended none of it happened.” You were running on fumes at this point, with no regard for whether Carmy was even still listening to you, just this force within you driving you to finish the story.

“There was uh one thing that I couldn’t force myself to get rid of-,”

“The voicemail.” Your eyes shot to Carmy's, his silence easily making you forget he was even still here, that you were recounting these memories for a reason. You nodded eyes unfocused as you looked past him, would there ever be a time you could remember that part of your life without flinching every time you thought about it?

“It started slow, I was just getting back into the swing of things remembering what it was like to be alone after being in Chicago surrounded by people who actually cared about me. I would go out with my co-workers after a shift, drink just enough that I could get myself home, but not enough for anyone to worry about me.” A sardonic laugh left your lips, you were sure nobody would care about you, and you hardly had any strong ties to the West Coast.

“It helped…until it didn’t until I was drinking so much it was almost like my body was immune to the effects. But who needs their liver am I right?” The pinch to your thigh jolted you. Carmy wasn’t welcoming your self-deprecating jokes.

You raised your hands in defense, a humorless chuckle leaving you. “If I’m being honest, I don’t even remember getting that first prescription…not even the ones after it.”

“Wait,” Carmy moved so his feet were firmly planted on the floor, legs spread as he rested his elbows on his thighs. “What the fuck does a prescription have to do with this? Baby?” Carmy wasn’t stupid, he didn’t need you to spell it out for him but the sliver of hope in him was dwindling as the minutes of silence continued to tick by.

You shrugged, moving to sit crisscross applesauce staring blankly at Carmy’s side profile, one of his legs bouncing up and down. “You know they really should make those warnings bigger. About not mixing drugs and alcohol, the font is so tiny how cou-,”

“Stop!” You didn’t even flinch at the loud volume of Carmy’s voice, eyes following his figure as he flew up from the couch. The man was now pacing in front of you, one hand settled on his hip as the other furiously swiped across his forehead. “Why do you…do you…fuck!” The vein on his neck protruded with his frustration. “How do you just sit there and make fucking jokes about this shit Baby! Why the fuck is any of this funny to you?”

The urge to defend yourself was surging through you, in a way you knew Carmy’s reaction was valid. But it wasn’t like there was a handbook on the proper way to deal with your trauma, and you wouldn’t allow him to tell you right from wrong.

“What the fuck do you want from me, Carmen! I did it okay! I drank and I took the fucking drugs and when that shit stopped working on its own I thought hmm why the fuck not mix them because what the fuck could possibly be worse than living. In some fucked up way did I think it would help me understand Mikey? Maybe. It’s not like I fucking planned this shit! I didn’t plan to become addicted okay, that wasn’t supposed to happen I had a system…I had a fucking system.” It was like everything was becoming clearer the moment those last words left your mouth, you may not have planned the beginning, but as you thought back to what could’ve been your last moments you were almost certain some still sane part of you knew what you were doing.

Soft laughter left your lips as the pieces were starting to fit together in your head, the sound only growing in volume as you realized just how fucked up you were. Your eyes were unfocused as your gaze flew to Carmy, the whisper of ‘Baby’ lost in your internal revelation.

“I threw myself through that glass door, not on purpose I can’t even remember why the fuck I wanted to get outside so bad. But I-I remember swallowing those two extra pills and thinking what the fucks gonna happen to me huh, I’ve lasted this long.” Carmen couldn’t recognize you, the tears had started again but he was certain you couldn’t even tell, you looked possessed, your eyes flashing all around the room a wicked smile painted your lips as you spoke to no one in particular.

“Barely made it past the threshold before my body gave out, I wish I could remember, even if only for a second. What it felt like to have your body want something more than your brain did. But you know what the fuck happened Carmen?” Your eyes finally shot to his, you looked like a skittish animal ready to fight Carmy to the death if he encroached on your territory.

A sardonic laugh left your lips, your tongue swiping across them, the saltiness of your tears a shock to you. “I woke up and there Natalie was, right beside me. And you know my first thought wasn’t what happened to me or-or what the hell is Nat even doing here? I didn’t even pay her any attention the whole first two hours, and you wanna know what I was thinking Carmen?”

“Don’t.” The plea escaped his lips in a whisper your heart clenched at how desolate he looked.

“I laid in that hospital bed, and I looked at those stupid fucking fluorescent lights and I thought; Mikey got it right the first time, why couldn’t I.”

Carmen felt numb, like his whole body had been submerged in an ice bath and no matter how hard he fought to get out, it was like his body and mind were on two different wavelengths. He’d seen that stare before, in the eyes of his brother, the same way Mikey looked at Lee at Christmas dinner all those years ago was the same way you were looking at him now in your living room.

He wasn’t sure if there was a proper reaction to the truth you had just dropped. Mikey was dead, that made things easier, but here you were alive and well from what he could tell and he would have his time to mend things with you if that’s what he wanted. But he wasn’t sure he could stand in such proximity as you at that moment, wasn’t sure if he could even look at you. You had been the second closest person to Mikey, presumably knew he was doing drugs, knew he was spiraling out of control, and followed right after him.

Was there anything Carmy could have done to alter your path? Maybe if he had stayed by your side that night after Christmas you wouldn’t be standing here now talking to him about how badly you wanted to end it all.

Carmy drew in a sharp breath a small sob following it as he tried to control his emotions, he began taking small steps in your direction not sure of what he was going to do, but needing you to know his silence wasn’t because he was disgusted or disappointed in you; but in himself. How easy it would’ve been to keep in contact with you after high school graduation, how easy it would’ve been to just let himself love you and take care of you, be there for you. And as much as he wanted to believe you knowing how he felt would’ve changed much, he knew it was naïve, addiction was an illness and even if Carmen had fought harder to keep you in his life there’s no promise that he wouldn’t have been the one to find you floating in the space between life and death.

He slowly reached out to you, hands carefully grasping your cheeks in his eyes, committing your face to memory, mind racing with all the times he took being able to see it daily for granted. “Ba-baby, tell me you don’t mean that,” he waited, eyes rapidly flicking back and forth from yours. His grip on your face was just loose enough for you to send him the saddest smile he’d ever had the chance to see, “Please?” The broken whisper floated between the two of you before your head softly nodded up and down to confirm that indeed he was almost forced to live without you.

And this time it wasn’t his choice.

Carmy sat on the floor in front of your couch, back resting against it, head tipped back to rest on the cushion face pointed toward the ceiling. All he could hear were the soft breaths escaping you and his thudding heart in his ears. It took a while before you had finally calmed down, Carmy held you in his arms on the floor as the two of you cried. Your sounds lashing against his heart over and over again. He was exhausted, more than he usually was, the night far from what he hoped it would be. He was so overwhelmed by all that you had been willing to reveal to him, that the instinct to do something with his hands as you slept took over, the man dutifully cleaned your kitchen and stored the uneaten food away for you to eat at a later date.

And now here he was, back at your side finally coming to terms with everything he learned. Carmy felt like a fool he had prided himself on his friendship with you, always made it a big deal that you were his friend first, his friend by choice. But it had been almost 10 years since he decided to shut you out of his life with no reason, no explanation why and it was selfish of him. Selfish that he had so blindly pushed you away without a thought to how it would make you feel. Selfish of him to always expect your acceptance and open arms when it was convenient for him to re-enter your life.

He let out a small sigh raising his head from its position on the couch, eyes latching onto the dated picture atop your mantle, your cheesy smile staring back at him as Richie and Mikey surrounded you. His eyes poured over the picture, taking in how happy the three of you looked, and how simple everything was when the two of you were teenagers. A quiet humorless laugh escaped his lips as he reminisced, he was lying to himself if he thought your time as teens was simple, but compared to the lives the two of you were leading it sure as hell did feel that way.

Carmy allowed himself a moment longer to enjoy the happiness the picture exuded. He gave it one last glance before he adjusted his position on the floor, turning slightly so his side was leaned into the couch, eyes landing on your face as you slept. It felt like his heart was constantly breaking whenever he looked at your face, it was evident you’d been crying, the puffiness of your eyes easily giving it away. He reached his hand out, hesitating for just a second before he pushed the hair out of your face palm resting on your cheek as he began to softly stroke in back and forth. Since the first time he saw you this year, this was the most peaceful you had looked, he was glad that sleep had been able to bring you that sense of tranquility, but he wanted that for you always, to feel at peace on any given day and as he watched you back moving up and down to signify the breaths your were taking, he promised himself he’d provide that for you; even if it was only as friends.

“What am I gonna do with you, Baby?” The hoarse words left him in a sigh, a small smile making its way to his lips as he watched your nose scrunch up at the sound of his voice, eyelids slightly twitching.

He watched as you turned to lay on your side, lips brushing across his pulse point a small kiss now decorated his veins. “Still be my best friend?” Carmy laughed at your small voice taking up the space between the two of you. Your eyes slowly fluttered open, thankful that Carmy had figured out how to dim the lights in your living room. “Do you remember that promise we made the summer before seventh grade?” Your voice was scratchy from all the sobbing and borderline screaming from earlier.

Carmen nodded his head, a small smile raised on his lips, hand moving from your cheek to cup the back of your neck. “Of course, I do,” the smile only lasted for so long as he was forced to remember a promise he broke with no regard. “That we’d be best friends no matter what, even though we didn’t want each other’s cooties.” Carmy was happy to hear the sound of your melodious laughter, he spent so much time listening to your broken cries he was afraid he’d never know anything else.

“I’m sorry Carmen, I…I didn’t mean to blow up on you. I think telling you about my overdose…it helped me come to terms with it myself.” Your eyes were lidded, all the crying made them feel heavy, if Carmy wasn’t here in front of you right now you were sure you would’ve been dead asleep.

A small content sigh escaped you as Carmy’s thumb ran back and forth across the side of your neck, “You have nothing to apologize for we-I know I haven’t been a great friend to you these past years. And for that I’m sorry. I wish…I wish I could explain to you why I pushed you away but Baby,” Carmy paused heart thudding in his chest, the words were there, maybe not in the way one would expect but it was you; you would know what he meant even if he was speaking in another language.

“I uh I can’t even explain it to myself. But..I would like for us to be friends again if you’ll have me?” Carmy sent a tight-lipped smile your way, he couldn’t do it. He felt selfish for even thinking now was the time to propose the initial idea in his mind. Maybe it was an excuse, maybe not, but he didn’t think it would be fair to put you in that position. You had just told him such a harrowing truth about yourself and if his first instinct after hearing such was to ask to be more than friends it would feel insincere. Carmy wasn’t even sure you would want a relationship with him, you were sober, and recovering and Carmy wouldn’t allow himself to mess that up for you with his presence having been such a soul-sucking and negative thing in your life these past few years.

“I think that’s just what I need right now…a friend.” It was silent for a moment between the two of you, Carmy had prepared himself for the worst on the drive over, and although he could feel a lump forming in his throat and the ache in his chest, he forced a small smile on his lips upon hearing your words. “You kept it on there?” His eyes found yours confusion marring both of your features, at his silence your hand reached out delicately tracing the pendant settled against his signature white shirt.

Of all the times you’d seen Carmy you knew he still wore his chain, it was a part of him. You had caught glimpses of the gold peeking out from his shirt, but you would have never thought he wore the pendant you’d impulsively bought before leaving New York. You remember regretting having left the newly added accessory on his chain when you left his apartment, sure it made you seem like some desperate lover who had never even actually been a lover, just some girl too naive to see all the signs she was being given.

Your eyes flicked between Carmy’s waiting for his response, his cheeks tinting pink the longer you looked at him for an answer. The hand that wasn’t settled against your skin reached up to rub at the back of his neck. “I nev-I… uh never leave home without it.” The admission made your skin tingle, Carmy’s finger subconsciously tracing the lone letter you carried everywhere with you. “It uh, reminds me of you…of us.”

“There were forget-me-nots in the bouquet Willie made me,” you sent Carmy a small smile, although temporary, the sight of that bouquet filled you with happiness the short time you did spend with it. “Also I know you didn’t have shit to do with the flowers Willie put in that bouquet.” Carmy let out a small laugh face warming at the memory of old man Willie’s meddling.

Your thumb on the pendant began tracing the engraved letter, “This was like my form of a forget me not, something that was permanent, would never wilt with time…I just wanted you to have something to remember me by.” Carmen watched your lips stretch into a small smile, he knew what your words meant, but after learning about all you’d gone through it felt like your final words had a double meaning like if things had gone as you wished them to, this would be the only piece he had left of you.

A part of you felt shy sharing the reasoning behind gifting Carmy the pendant, the two of you were barely friends as it was and the flowers had been so personal to you, that you weren’t sure you wanted to let Carmy into that piece of your world even though he played a huge part in it without even knowing.

“Is that what they signify? Remembrance?” Carmen’s thumb ran back and forth across the scar on your jaw, tapping it twice to pull your attention to his.

You gave the pendant one last longing look, dropping it before your eyes finally locked on his, “Something like that.” You shrugged having to swallow the urge to confide in Carmen one last time tonight.

The two of you stayed like that with Carmy’s hand holding onto the side of your face, thumb trying to imprint the jaggedness of your scar to its memory. Your eyes became heavier the longer Carmy delicately stroked your face. The man made no move to wake you as you slowly began drifting back into the world of dreams, the same look of peacefulness he saw earlier had easily returned, the ghost of your past so evidently marked into your skin in the shape of your scars. He felt like he was able to finally release the breath he’d been holding in, his eyes skated across your face; a face he always considered to be a work of art, one he could never perfectly capture on paper.

As he watched you sleep Carmen came to terms with exactly what was left between the two of you now. For all intents and purposes the two of you were friends again, or at least on friendly terms, and as much as he tried to convince himself he would be happy to keep you in his life in whatever capacity you allowed; he knew that was a lie. But the only person he could really lay blame on was himself, you had been ready and waiting for him before he even realized he loved you and now that he was finally ready to take that next step with you there was no longer space in your heart for him.

Carmen watched you for a moment longer, thumb lingering against your scar before he finally had enough restraint to pull himself away. There was a part of him that would’ve stayed planted in that spot all night just to watch over you, make sure the moment he turned his back you wouldn’t suddenly disappear never to be gazed upon by him again. He quietly stood up, careful not to make too much noise and wake you, hand grabbing the blanket lying atop the head of your couch before he gently draped it across you.

He lingered in front of you every fiber in his body, willing him to stay there by your side, to be there when you woke up. But moments like that were no longer his to take; they never had been. Carmy let out a sorrowful sigh before he bent down to your level placing a soft kiss full of love and longing to the indentation between your eyebrows. What could have been, what never was would always stick with him but he would set his wants and needs to the side, and he would appreciate having another moment with you still in his life.

The two of you had seemed to come to an understanding now, and that’s all he could ask for. You said you needed a friend and that’s what he’d be; your needs were his needs.

a/n: in honor of turning twenty-three i present thee with the gift of suffering 🤪, anyway not sure how i feel about this chapter but we shall see. also i know it seems like everything between baby and carmy may have been resolved rather quick, but i feel like everything is very not obviously resolved. happy readings! 🤍

also: huge shoutout to @mr-robot-x for her impeccable song recs when it comes to this fic and the losers i write about. asleep by the smith’s heavily inspired this chapter. (which you would all know if you took my song inspo seriously 😐) just kidding but seriously it genuinely helped me get through this chapter! 🤍

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mr-robot-x · 9 months

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chapter seven | they know i believed in us last week

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pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader | platonic!pete x fem!reader | male!oc x fem!reader |

summary: carmy struggles to deal with your absence in his life, while you finally learn to live without him.

wc: 7.3k

song rec: i'll still have me - cyn, aquilo

semi-edited/proof-read

“Carm hey, are you listening?” Natalie’s eyes flitted across Carmy’s face, his blank eyes staring directly past her. She took this moment as a chance to take in her younger brother’s ragged appearance, at first glance he looked like he normally did; exhausted. But taking the time to really study him, she knew Carmy was doing worse than he’d ever admit.

His usual textured and fluffy hair was limp against his head, the greasy quality of it proving he needed a wash. The discoloration under his eyes was the worst Nat had seen it, the deep blue-purple bruising a sign that he was getting even less sleep than he usually did. The skin of his lips was dehydrated and bitten to pieces, a tick he had as a child that gradually calmed down as he grew older. And the visible stubble on his chin was enough to know that the absence of your presence in his life was hitting him harder than anyone expected.

Her eyes caught on the chain that was haphazardly peeking out of his shirt, squinting at the newly added pendant hanging from it. Natalie didn’t have to be a genius to know whose initial hung around Carmen’s neck, the chain which was usually safely tucked into his shirt was now blatantly on show for everyone to see. Natalie had noticed it more recently since your and Carmy’s argument, though this was her first time seeing it this close. She would find him just standing in the restaurant, sometimes eyes staring into nothing as he worried the pendant between his fingers, oftentimes raising it to his lips before letting it go completely and wandering to do whatever task needed to be done.

Natalie’s concern was palpable but the discomfort in her abdomen was worse. “Have you tried talking to her?” The shaky breath she let out filtered between the two of them.

Carmen’s eyes finally snapped to hers taking in the uncomfortable expression on her face, “Sug?” He waited for Nat to focus on him. “You good?” The question hung in the air as Natalie tried to even out her breathing.

Using his sister's obvious discomfort to deflect from the conversation she was insistent on having wasn’t the nicest thing to do, but he’d rather put his sister’s well-being before being forced to think about how long it had been since he last spoke to you; he last saw you.

Carmy watched as Sug raised a closed hand to her mouth suppressing the urge to gag. “Yeah good, I’m good.” The forced smile on her lips did nothing to fool Carmy, but he wouldn’t force the issue.

“Can you uh, explain to me again how we’re doing, I spaced.” His fingers raised to run through his hair a small grimace painting his face at the grime he could feel left behind on his fingertips.

“Seven weeks out, Carm, and still so much to be done,” An exhausted sigh breathed through Natalie’s lips. The stress opening this restaurant caused felt extremely unnecessary considering her current status.

“No yeah I heard that,” Carmy nodded his head rapidly, Sug’s words slowly coming back to him. He squinted his eyes, hand scratching the grown-out stubble on his chin. “You uh said something about the DBA getting rejected?”

“About that.” Natalie’s voice trailed off one hand pressing into her abdomen to ease the ache, “The name’s taken.”

Nat watched as Carmy processed the words, her discomfort felt like it was increasing as the seconds passed by.

“Who the fuck could’ve taken the name?” The idea perplexed Carmy. There was no chance another business could have the same name, well there was, it was just slim as hell.

Nat shrugged just as confused as Carmy “It’s been trademarked for years, whoever filed has all legal rights to the name.”

“Fuck me!” The pitch of Carmy’s voice rose along with his irritation.

Natalie’s own mumbled expletive was drowned out by Carmy’s outburst, the nauseating morning sickness she was experiencing came in an extra hard bout today.

“Yo, Sug…Sug. You sure you’re okay?” Carmy’s concern now outweighed his confusion, Nat’s weird behavior this whole morning was beginning to worry him.

“I can do this Carmy right, tell me I can do this.” Natalie’s breathing began to increase as a slight panic flooded through her. Carmy watched her with wide eyes, no idea what she could even be talking about.

“Tell me I can do it, Carm!” The wave of nausea subsided with her yell, Carmy’s hands raised in the air to divert blame.

“Fuck okay! You can do it Sug.”

“I am…completely terrified. And I’m only telling you because..I don’t know. Just-just in case.” Natalie nodded to herself as a way to provide her nerves with courage.

Carmy just stared at Natalie still not following where she was leading this conversation to.

“I really want this to be loving and good and happy,” A smile rose to Nat’s face “I just..I don’t want anyone to know…well besides Baby and now you.”

Carmy’s eyes focused on Sug’s abdomen, the pieces of the puzzle slowly fitting together in his head. The name she spoke felt like it was echoing through his ears.

“Sure” He wasn’t sure how to react to the news, he had always assumed Natalie would be the first of the siblings to start a family. And as the years passed by he knew it was a desire he himself had.

“I really don’t want Richie to know. Because somehow, it feels more in my control when and who knows…” The sound of the wall falling caused Nat to raise her voice as she finished her sentence. “That I’m pregnant.” Her final words were spoken just loud enough to alert the crew to her news.

“I fuckin’ knew it.” The sound of Richie’s shout grated on Nat’s nerves, but the quiet congratulations helped to ease her ire a bit.

Carmy was happy for Sugar, but it felt like it was setback after setback for the restaurant and all the personal issues he was dealing with weren't helping his stress. He felt his shoulders sag a bit mind racing as to how the name could already be trademarked, or who would’ve trademarked it.

His eyes found Richie’s as the man cajoled about how he knew Natalie was pregnant this whole time. Had Richie told someone the name and they took it for themselves? Did Mikey somehow trademark it while on a bender? The thought made Carmy’s head hurt what the fuck even was the point of opening this restaurant if they couldn’t use the name. The name was the epitome of the restaurant.

If you were here Carmy knew you would've given him an analogy for how he was feeling, you would’ve told him he was like Atlas holding up the sky or whatever he did. He shook his head trying to rid himself of thoughts of you, it wasn’t helping him in the least.

As much as he’d rather not converse with Richie, he needed to get to the bottom of this trademark business.

“Yo, Cousin!” The words felt wrong escaping Carmy’s lips the two men avoided each other in the same way you avoided Carmen.

The agitation on Richie’s face was instant, Carmy knew he fucked up with you, but the cold shoulder he was getting from Richie felt unnecessary.

Nat watched as the two men locked eyes, not too keen on playing referee for these two again. She looked in Carmy’s direction as Richie began making his way over, trying to gauge what was going through her little brother's mind.

“Carmen,” Richie nodded in acknowledgment to Carmy. Richie would be lying if he said he wasn’t purposefully using Carmy’s government name to rile him up, he knew how much Carmy hated it when you did it, and since you weren’t here someone had to uphold the tradition.

Carmy felt his eye twitch Richie’s immaturity since the argument with you felt never-ending. “Did Mikey ever trademark the name?”

Richie frowned looking between him and Nat the assumption that he had any goddamn clue laughable “What the fuck did Mikey look like trademarking shit? Wasn’t I just slangin’ crack to keep the lights on?”

Carmy’s eyes shut as Nat let out a quiet gasp, watching as Richie raised his hands in defense. Maybe running a back alley drug ring wasn’t the best for business, but without it, they may not have been in this moment renovating the restaurant.

“Well someone fucking trademarked it, Richie.” The attitude Carmy was catching was wholly unwelcome.

“I don’t like your tone, Carmen,” Richie matched Carmy’s energy giving him what he was getting. “All I’m sayin’ is Mikey didn’t trademark it whoever did might…I dunno hypothetically deserve an apology in return for said documents.”

Carmy was at his wits end with the older man “Oh so you’re the fucking Riddler now.”

“Baby trademarked the name?” Nat’s voice traveled between the trio at the same time as Carmen’s snarky remark. Carmy’s head shot to her, confused as to how she concluded you had anything to do with the conversation at hand.

“Bingo!” Richie’s hands came together in a loud clap Sydney rolled her eyes at the obnoxious man before looking over the various work orders. “She did that shit years ago and gave it to Mikey as a present, he…left it for her when he passed.”

A quiet fell over their small group, each of them taking in the gesture. Richie had only become privy to the present when he went through the office to try and make sense of what the hell Mikey was doing to keep the business up and running. He had knocked a framed picture of your group off the desk cleaning up the mess only to find the folded trademark document in the back of the broken picture frame.

Your name was haphazardly scribbled into the back of it.

Carmen’s chest heaved as he let the news wash over him, it seemed since the two of you had your falling out the universe was continuously pushing him to interact with you. He raised his hand to his face, rubbing it up and down as he added another item to the long list of things going wrong with the restaurant.

In a way, learning that you were responsible for trademarking the name made Carmy’s chest feel warm. It felt like you wanted this for Mikey just as much as he did, the two of you both supporting Mikey in ways the other never knew. It also gave him an excuse to speak with you, not that he needed one. If he was a better man he would’ve already worked up the courage to reach out to you. He could feel a headache coming on the more he thought about trying to fix things with you.

Carmen was sure he’d figure things out soon, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could figure things out with you not by his side. Which he would admit was quite ironic considering all the times he had willingly pushed you away. But being pushed away by you had proven to him just how badly he was screwing things up with you, to hear you be so upset by his actions he basically forced you into confessing your love stung him to his core.

Carmy wasn’t exactly sure what love was supposed to feel like, but he was almost positive it wasn’t this. The ache in his chest from not being around you, looking for you in every crowd he was in. Soaking up any conversation your name was mentioned in. Maybe he did know what love was supposed to feel like, because for all the time he had been in love with you, he had never once felt so completely and utterly broken as he had been since not fighting for your love a year ago like he should have.

“That was Nat,” you looked up as Pete returned to the table, a smile growing on your face at how happy he looked to have been speaking with his wife. “Cat’s out of the bag! Our pregnancy is no longer top secret!”

Pete’s excitement was contagious, your smile growing wider at his pure joy. “Our pregnancy?” You chuckled never having heard anyone refer to it as if the pregnancy was shared.

You watched as Pete sipped the water in front of him, a signature goofy smile back on his face. “Of course! I mean yeah Nat is carrying the baby, but I’m just as pregnant as she is.” You gave Pete a confused look, a laugh bubbling out of you.

“You laugh now Baby, but I’m serious.” Pete paused as the waiter brought out the bread for your table, both of you quickly thanking them. “Nat’s my partner you know? And I’m so grateful for her providing me the opportunity to be a father. Allowing me to build with her, for us to come together and bring a child into this world, it’s a beautiful thing I love her ya know.”

The sheen in Pete’s eyes was enough to make you emotional you didn’t need to hear his explanation to know how much Pete loved Natalie, you could just see it in the way he looked at her, in the way his face would light up when anyone would mention her name or ask about her.

“I’m happy that Nat has someone like you to build a life with.” Both you and Pete shared misty-eyed smiles, chuckles leaving each of you at how emotional the small things made both of you.

“Looks like that dinner you were planning just turned into a full-blown baby shower!” The loud clap Pete’s hands made startled you. “Wow, it really will be a Baby shower!”

You watched as Pete laughed at his own pun, doing your best not to laugh along with him and encourage his bad jokes. The relationship you developed with Pete was a bit weird in the beginning, you weren’t the most open to the idea, and it’s not because you didn’t like Pete, it just felt like you were replacing Mikey.

It took a while before you could look at Pete and realize he wasn’t trying to replace Mikey’s role in your life, and that the drugs and paranoia had driven you to that conclusion. Pete was a great man, standing by Natalie’s side while she fought to keep you alive. Probably being more accepting than someone else may have been when he and Nat decided to help you. Pete and Natalie both put aside their own lives to help you get better, and get back on your feet, and while part of you wished Mikey was around to ground you as well, Pete’s love and kindness didn’t deserve to be taken for granted.

“That dinner was supposed to be a surprise for you too Peter,” you shot him a tiny glare before reaching for some bread. “I just wanted you both to have a nice night off together, no stress.” The reservation had already been made, but thinking about Pete’s words and the excitement when explaining most everyone knew about the pregnancy, maybe it would have been best for an intimate shower for the two soon-to-be parents.

Pete was definitely a family guy and Natalie came from a big family, maybe a shower would be for the best. Surround them with people who loved and supported them and just allow everyone to bask in the happiness the joyous news brought, you were sure everyone could use a break.

“Okay hypothetically say I put together a small shower for the two of you, is that even something Nat would want?” Sure you knew Nat but Pete was her husband and this was their moment, you didn’t want to ambush her with a party she never wanted.

You watched Pete bristle a little, a nervous smile raised to his lips, “I uh I’m not sure if Nat ever told you but she kinda had this…this whole dream about the two of you,” you frowned confused at what Pete was talking about.

“Well not like an unconscious sleeping dream, more like a-an idea?” Pete’s voice rose at the end of his sentence, not sure if the question in his tone was meant for you or him.

“Pete bud you lost me.” You gave him a small nod of encouragement awaiting his response.

“Um so…after your uh…loss,” a sad smile rose to Pete’s lips, you could see the apology in his eyes. “Nat she uh…she confided in me about how she always wanted to be the one to throw you a shower if you ever decided to have children. And if-when we had our own she’d want you to be in charge of hers…if you wanted to not like she would force you.” The nervous huff of laughter from Pete hung in the air for a minute.

The admission perplexed you, Nat had never brought this up to you directly and maybe it was because she felt like she couldn’t. You weren’t the most open when it came to the topic of your miscarriage always avoiding the conversation whenever Nat tried to breach it.

“Baby…you’re the closest thing Natalie has to a sister. I can promise she would be ecstatic no matter what decision you choose.”

You nodded, the motion happened unconsciously as you tried to take in everything Pete had laid on you. Of course, there were things Nat wouldn’t share with you, but while the two of you were like sisters you didn’t expect her to share every little detail with you. As you let Pete’s words digest you couldn’t help the warm feeling beginning to flood through your body, if you were being honest you weren’t sure if it was the best idea to be throwing anyone a baby shower, but you also knew Natalie deserved to be celebrated, not only for the life she and Pete were creating together, but also for all the work she was doing to ensure that The Bear had a fighting chance.

“Okay,” your head continued its up-and-down motion. “Yeah okay let’s do it but I’m going to need your help, Pete.” You watched the smile on his face increase tenfold, your own wide smile spreading your lips due to how contagious Pete’s joy was.

“Anything and I mean anything Baby, I am your guy.” Pete’s giddiness warmed you even more, you didn’t think you had ever been surrounded by anyone with such a positive attitude before. In the beginning, when Natalie and Pete first began dating, his electric personality was a bit much but you found yourself always trying to make Pete feel included, especially with how off-putting the rest of the Berzatto clan could be.

And when you were recovering it was almost like you had to re-acclimate yourself to Pete’s personality. Your recovery was hard, there were some days you weren’t even sure if you wanted to get better or if you wanted oxygen to continue filling your lungs. But Pete was so positive and always looking at life and your situation with a ‘glass half full’ mentality, that his constant belief in you helped to make the hard days easier.

A small sigh escaped your lips as you readied yourself for the question you were about to ask. “Pete, do you think you could give me Carmen’s number?” You tried not to roll your eyes as you saw Pete’s own light up, you were almost positive he would be telling Nat about this topic of conversation. “Before you get any ideas, I just need it to invite him to the shower.” You raised your hands in defense hoping Pete wouldn’t look into this any more than he already was.

“No can do B, the idea train has already left the station.” His fingers drummed on the table with excitement. “But I will do you one better,” you frowned as you watched Pete pick up his phone, fingers skating across the screen before he held it up to show you. A call to Carmen already going through as Pete sent you a thumbs-up.

You looked at the screen eyes wide, the shock temporarily paralyzed for a moment. The quiet sound of the ringing between the two of you brought you back. “Pete! Hang up the phone.” Your voice was terse as you spoke trying not to draw too much attention from other patrons.

Pete laughed, “He never answers my calls anyway.” Pete’s words irritated you, but you were glad to see the call go to voicemail before Pete pressed the end call button and set his phone down.

You let out a surprised laugh, Pete had definitely been too influenced by the Berzattos during his time with Natalie. The little stunt he just pulled was something you knew both Richie and Mikey would do if given the chance.

“Baby?” Your head raised eyes meeting Pete’s, “I know this may sound selfish, but I…I need you to figure out this thing between you and Carmen.” Your eyebrows furrowed the need to defend yourself hitting you full force, you opened your mouth to respond but stopped as Pete raised his hand, a signal to let him continue.

“I know Baby, I know. I’ll be honest with you, as much as I love Nat’s family I think you should’ve given up on Carmen a long time ago.” Your jaw fell slack, and Pete’s eyes widened a bit. “No, no just for your own wellbeing, your peace of mind.” You began nodding as Pete explained himself better. “I just, whatever is going on between you and Carmen, it’s affecting Nat. And she won’t tell you because you deserve to feel how you feel, but with the baby and the restaurant…she doesn’t need to play "Fix it Felix” with you and Carmen right now.”

You let out a small chuckle at Pete’s explanation, over the years he had begun expressing himself to you more. You being the only one on Natalie’s side who actually gave him the time of day and willfully listened to him, helped him to gain more confidence when around the rest of the Berzattos. You reached for your glass of water, taking a long sip before setting it down.

“Thank you, Pete, for being honest,” you sighed, finger playing with the condensation on your cup. “If I’m being honest, it's easy to forget that Nat’s in the middle of everything. She’s so good at pretending it doesn’t affect her.” A rueful smile rose to your lips, as great as a friend as Natalie had been to you through everything, you weren’t sure the same could be said for yourself. “You’re right, Carmen and I are adults, we should be able to figure this out ourselves. I’ll…I’ll call him, figure things out.” You sent Pete a small smile.

Recently it felt like Natalie and Pete nursed you back to health and then for some reason became your surrogate parents. You didn’t think there was anything wrong with leaning on them, the three of you did endure a traumatic experience together so it was understandable. But maybe you had become too comfortable and relied on them too much to ‘fix’ your life. You could understand where Pete was coming from and he had every right to put his wife’s well-being before the feelings of his friends.

You knew Natalie and Pete would be amazing parents and of course, Nat’s fears were valid. But you had seen firsthand just how loving, caring, and kind the couple was, and while that wasn’t all that went into raising a child it was like a part of you just knew that their child would be in great hands.

“Enough about my poor life choices Pete, have you guys thought of any names?” The timing of the question couldn’t have been more perfect, Pete perked up at the question, eyes glazing over with excitement. A waiter stopped by your table to deliver your entrees as Pete began animatedly explaining his and Nat’s process for picking names.

A part of you ached at how happy Pete was, if things were different, maybe in another life you would’ve been able to see that excitement on another man’s face. Maybe the two of you would’ve come up with your own system for picking out names.

You listened as lunch continued, no matter how many times the thought had crossed your mind, you would always be grateful that Natalie had found a partner to love her in the ways she deserved.

It was silent between you and Cortez as you made your second lap around the block, the church in the distance behind you. Your hands were preoccupied with a warm disposable cup of hot cocoa as Cortez gingerly sipped his choice of tea. This had become the routine for your meetings with your sponsor, the two of you would meet at the bodega a little ways away from the church that housed both AA and NA meetings. Then continue your meeting with a few circles around the block before ending at the church stairs when all was said and done.

The air was tense between the two of you, Cortez hadn’t taken kindly to your decision to skip out on the few check-ins that you had asked for. In the beginning, you were in constant contact with Cortez, feeling the match between the two of you out. As you progressed through recovery and got back into the routine of daily life the daily talks between the two of you began to dwindle as you settled into life as a recovering addict.

But after that initial meeting at The Beef, being in Carmen’s presence again, surrounding yourself with Richie and the life you once knew, the meetings with Cortez picked back up in frequency. And you were doing fine for some time, the man meeting with you when you needed it, always willing to speak with you whenever you asked and it was helpful, god was it helpful. But then you made it to step nine, step eight in the recovery program was its own monster that Cortez helped you through especially when it came to who didn’t need to be on your list.

You made the decision to text Cortez after admitting your faults to Richie. As great as it felt to finally be open with Richie and let him into your life, it also brought with it the urge to use again. Richie had been kind enough to take the bottle of champagne off your hands that night, but the desire to call Fak and ask if Theo had anything he could spare almost won out. But as you scrolled through your contacts the red icon hovering over the voicemail tab brought you back to your senses.

“So your friend Richie knows?” Your eyes shot to Cortez taking in his side profile before focusing back on their attention focused on the steaming paper cup of coffee gripped in their hands.

“Yeah, his daughter kind of spilled the beans.” You nodded playing with the frayed edges of your jeans.

“That’s a bit fucked up don’t cha think?” Cortez’s brows furrowed. “I mean how does his little girl know but he don’t that’s gotta hurt.”

You rolled your eyes, “Aren’t you supposed to like not be judgmental?” Cortez’s laugh felt like it was grating on your ears, as good a sponsor as he was, he had the personality of an annoying older brother you were happy not to have.

“It ain’t even judgment though, it’s an observation.” You didn’t have to be looking at him to know that annoying smirk was on his lips as he shrugged his shoulders.

You stopped as Cortez dropped his now empty cup in a trash bin on the street, “Didn’t know you received your inspector gadget certification.”

“That smart ass mouth is bouta be the reason you out here looking for a new sponsor,” you let out a cackle before taking a much-needed sip of your hot cocoa. “Sound like my daughter with that dumb shit.” If you didn’t know the man who was walking by your side, you would’ve thought he was actually upset, but you could tell by the uptick of his lips he didn’t take anything to heart.

The two of you rounded the corner coming up on the church. You watched as Cortez plopped his long limbs down on one of the steps, opting to sit on the railing. Cortez took out his pack of cigarettes bringing the box to his mouth and removing one before offering the box in your direction. You slipped one out a small laugh escaped you at the irony of everything, how you had once been so against the cancer sticks that those around you would make sure not to smoke around you. And then instead of indulging in a nicotine addiction, you turned to alcohol and prescription pills, the fact that you would smoke a cigarette here and there to appease your urges now felt a bit comical.

You leaned forward allowing Cortez to light your cigarette, “Man ain’t nothin’ like smoking on Big G’s doorstep.” Cortez’s voice filled the silence that had settled over the two of you, you took a drag of the cigarette, a small chuckle escaping you with the smoke.

“I used to hate these fucking things.” The disgust on your face was obvious even as the stick hung from your mouth.

“Why you take one every time I offer 'em’ then?” Cortez switched positions leaning his elbows on the step behind him as he stretched his long limbs out in front of them, offering a wave to the few people entering the church for whatever meeting was scheduled to take place.

You shrugged eyes falling to Cortez’s beat-up boots as you sucked the nicotine deep into your lungs, “They’re the same brand Mikey smoked.”

“Damn ma, that shits kinda sad.” The two of you locked eyes before small laughs left the both of you. You had been around Cortez for so long that you’d picked up on his need to turn most anything into a joke. And while in the beginning, it pissed you off, you realized that’s just who he was and that sometimes being able to laugh in serious moments or at your trauma was helpful.

“Nah seriously though better smokin’ these than messin’ with that shit that hooked you in the first place. Know what I mean?” You nodded, finishing off the cigarette in your hand before taking the second cigarette Cortez offered. You knew how these things went and had spent so much time with the man that you learned to read him. Cortez only ever smoked two cigarettes and offered you two if the conversation was gonna be a rough one.

“Where you at with them apologies?” You sighed letting the man light your cigarette one more time, allowing the fumes to warm your lungs.

You dropped from your seat on the railing, your backside had gone numb. You settled yourself to lean against the railing “I mean I told Richie the truth and there were a lot of apologies in that conversation. But I feel like he deserves a better apology.” You shrugged, your attention dropping to Cortez as he listened.

“Ima be honest wit chu, this might be the hardest part of recovery. Shit I know it was f’me admittin’ to my little girl her father was a fuckin’ junkie. But at the end of the day, you gotta remember this recovery shit is for you. If homeboy loves you like a sister like you say he does, all that should matter to him is that yo annoyin’ ass still here. A’ight, ma?” You listened, nodding along to his words. “All you can do is apologize for the shit you did, you can’t control whether people forgive you or not, and remember ain’t nobody gotta fuck with your apology if they don’t want to.”

You let Cortez’s words settle into you, to anyone else his words may not have seemed genuine but this is just who Cortez was. And you knew no matter how nonchalant he sounded he was speaking every word from his heart.

“You still fuckin with that lil dumbass boy?” The question caused you to choke on the last bit of cocoa in your cup.

“We had a falling out, he’s one of the people I have to apologize to though.” The cigarette between your fingers continued to burn. “There’s a lot I still haven’t told him…the substance abuse, the reasons behind my overdose.” An exhausted sigh pushed its way through your lips. It was like one thing after another when it came to you and Carmy.

“Listen I know we ain’t sposed to have like personal relationships and shit, but lemme know what homeboy looks like I’ll get my goons on em’ for you.” Your head fell back in laughter as Cortez raised his fist to under both of his eyes.

“No goons Cortez, please. Wait, have you ever actually put a hit on somebody before?” You obviously didn’t know Cortez as well as you would have if the two of you were friends. But it wasn’t hard to tell that he would get down if need be.

“Why someone say somethin’?” The two of you shared a laugh, the now more frequent people entering the church signifying that your time together was coming to an end.

“Aight, I gotta head in, get shit set up in there. But ima send you the info for Nar-Anon you give that shit to people who still choose to put up with yo ass. You comin' in?”

You shook your head sending him a small smile, “I came to the morning meetings today.”

You nodded in thanks as Cortez stood up, pushing yourself off the railing. You placed the cigarette between your lips leaving your hands open to do the handshake Cortez insisted you did after each meeting. When he first introduced it you were still getting used to the idea of being a recovering addict and thought he was fucking crazy. But you realized he used it as a way to break the serious desolate feeling that some of these meetings ended on, to help bring some light to what was such a dark reality.

At least that’s how he explained it to you, but you were sure he just liked doing the handshake his daughter helped him come up with.

“Ima see you when I see you ma stay straight.” You chuckled before turning on your heel to head to your parked car. Putting the bud of the cigarette out against the trash bin you passed. It was still early, enough time for you to knock out some baby shower shopping before it got too late.

Carmen stopped in his tracks, eyes finding your figure across the street. You were in front of the church that held the Al-Anon meetings he told you about. Maybe you would be attending the one he was here for, his eyes traveled to the man sitting on the steps you were talking to eyebrows furrowing as he realized the vapors leaving your mouth weren’t from your warm temperature, but instead the stick you had raised to your mouth.

“Baby?” The question left his lips in a quiet whisper, he knew it was you standing across the street but it had been a few weeks since your last interaction he was sure he had imagined you. But he would know you anywhere, by scent alone. He couldn’t help the shock at watching you smoke, something you had been so opposed to since the two of you were children. Even going so far as telling Carmy you couldn’t be friends when he smoked his first cigarette at 15, the stalemate barely lasted a day after you realized how dumb the idea was.

Carmy watched as the two of you stood up, his hopes to see you inside dwindling as he watched the two of you begin to part ways, an intricate handshake taking place before you turned to leave. He watched as your figure disappeared around the corner, a quiet ‘shit’ leaving his lips before he darted across the street trying to catch you before you were gone for good.

“Baby! Hey!” His shouts were useless, you were too far gone to have even heard him. “Fuck!” One hand raised to sit on the bill of his cap, the universe seemed like it was doing everything in its power to keep the two of you apart. Or maybe it was just the way things were meant to be.

Carmy turned to see the man you were with still standing in the same spot you left him, eyes narrowed as he took in Carmy’s figure. The man eyed Carmy for a moment longer, sending a head nod his way before turning and entering the church. Carmy was tempted to follow the man and ask about you, but whatever your relationship with the unknown man was, it was none of Carmy’s business.

He sighed eyes shooting up to the sky before taking a deep breath and making his way inside, not wanting to be late and disturb the Al-Anon meeting before it began. Carmy made his way to the room where the meeting usually took place, eyes landing on the same man from outside once more as he greeted members, the sign near the door he stood by signifying it was an NA meeting. Carmy stopped for a moment, eyes darting between the man and the sign he’d just read.

“You lost kid?” Carmy looked at the man brown furrowed as he shook his head, he sent a tight smile the man's way before walking two doors down for his own meeting. Carmen’s brain felt like it was racing a mile a minute. If you weren’t coming to the Al-Anon meeting, why were you here? And why were you talking with someone who appeared to be leading NA meetings?

The vibrating of his phone caught his attention, the device easily slipped out of his pocket. He felt the air leave his lungs as your name flashed across his screen, he realized just how indecent setting that Polaroid picture of you with his chain on might have been now that he was in public, but it’s not like he ever thought you’d call him.

How’d you even get his number?

“Carmen, hey, we’re about to start your coming?” His head shot up to one of the usual who attended these meetings and would talk to him on occasion.

“Yeah uh, just give me a minute.” Carmy gave a tight smile, eyes flashing back to his phone finger moving to swipe across the screen, the call abruptly ending before he even got the chance to hear your voice. Carmen was sure he had the worst luck in the world, a defeated sigh leaving him, he was almost positive there was no chance you were calling him back.

Quickly putting his phone on Do Not Disturb and in the safety of his jacket pocket, he entered the meeting, as much as he wanted to drop everything and fix things with you. He wasn’t even sure what you had called him for. Carmen also knew it was for the best to attend the meeting,

Carmen was sitting in his car allowing it to warm up as he waited. The skyline began to reflect the sunset, the time on the dashboard letting him know it was around dinner time. He fished his phone out of his pocket mindlessly checking the notifications he’d gotten while in the meeting.

Carmy’s brows furrowed at the flurry of messages he received from a group chat he wasn’t aware he was a part of. He frowned as he opened it, your contact is one of the many in the text chain. The only contact with a photo was yours, making you easily distinguishable, he realized the rest of the people in the chat were the restaurant crew. He scrolled through the messages eyes reading over your message with details about a baby shower, your address included.

Carmy exited out of his messages, unsure of how things were between the two of you. It had been three weeks since the argument and neither of you had tried contacting the other. But here he was with a message from you, and a missed call and he wasn’t sure how to take any of it.

He decided it was a good idea to call you back, and try and feel out the atmosphere between the two of you. His heart felt like it was stuttering in his chest as his finger hovered over his screen; you left him a voicemail. He needed to know what the message said, but a part of him was also worried he might not like what he heard, he had hurt you too many times to count, and if whatever you had to say to him broke him down more than he already was, well then he was sure he deserved it.

Carmen took one last deep breath before clicking on the voicemail and raising the phone to his ear, heart pounding in his chest as he heard the sweet whisper of your voice.

‘Hey Carmen, uh it’s me…Baby. Not sure why I introduced myself. I'm sure you know it’s me.” Carmy let out a watery chuckle at the sound of your voice, even if he hadn't saved your number the delicate timber of your voice would’ve been enough for him.

“Listen uh, I got your number for Pete. I hope you don’t mind, I know you have issues with girls actually having your number…Sorry, that was actually kind of rude. Anyway, I uh…Pete helped put things in perspective for me and I, I think we need to talk Carmen. I’m not sure when or if you even want that, but I think we both deserve a chance to explain our side of things. I um…I also have some things I think you should know. Just, if this is something you’re interested in, you have my number.” Carmen felt his heart rate slow down your words, nothing more than a piece offering.

“I just want to be clear though, um..if I don’t hear back from you, I’m going to take that as a sign. So yeah, call me back or something I guess.” The line finally went silent, your voice no longer caressing Carmy’s ears.

It felt like he was having heart palpitations but he knew it was just his nerves getting the best of him. He pulled the phone away from his ear, the time on his phone reading 5:30 p.m. Carmy quickly opened the group chat scrolling through to find your address and open it up in maps. You lived about 30 minutes from where he was, he was confident he could get there in 20 and spare the 10 minutes at a store near you.

Carmen made his decision as he set his phone down in the cup holder before beginning his journey. The ball was in his court, you had given him an olive branch and it was up to him whether he accepted it or not. He was nervous, maybe showing up at your house to cook you dinner wasn’t his most thought-out plan but he needed you desperately, needed to see you, be in your presence, and know that there was still a chance of something more between the two of you.

The hope Carmy felt when he saw you calling him earlier was now back tenfold: the pendant delicately resting against his chest felt warm. Carmen was adamant that he would admit his love for you tonight, unsure if he could go another day living with the fact that you were in love with him, but you still didn’t know just how much he had always loved you. You were so blissfully unaware that since he could remember, you had been the one and only option in his mind.

a/n: wowza, long time no see. i apologize that this is a bit of a filler chapter but it felt kinda necessary idk. anway please let me know if there are any problems with this chapter it's barely edited. enjoy : )

also also: both richard cabral as coco in mayans and manny montana as rio in good girls inspired cortez the sponsor, but head canon him as whoever you want…okay bye now 🤍

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mr-robot-x · 9 months

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the little things (fluff) - Five times Soap questions the relationship between Ghost and the 141’s Medic, and the one time he gets an answer. little treasures, life's pleasures (fluff) - Now that Soap knows when to pay attention, he realizes you and Ghost aren’t as subtle as you think you are. life's little comforts (fluff/angst) - Soap finally gets a better glimpse into your relationship with the Lieutenant- even if it’s not the way he wants. our little secret (fluff/mild angst) - Soap finally gets all of his answers- and then some. daisies and daffodils(fluff/slight angst) - You picture your own home, lying in bed as you watch Simon cradle a child that looks just like him to his chest, a soft lullaby drifting from his unmasked lips to your son’s ears- a secret just between the two of them. we lay, my love and i (fluff) - Rare are the days you get to wake up next to Simon, and rarer are the mornings when you wake up before him. the scent of oranges (fluff) - In the time you and Simon have been together, you’ve come to learn a plethora of ways to deal with your worry. we know what we are (but not what we may be) (fluff) - You’ve been a medic for years, since long before you ever met Simon—which is why you’re surprised it takes you so long to realize what’s wrong. come on, someone, take off your mask (angst) - From the moment Price introduced you to the team, Ghost has felt nothing for you but pure, unfiltered hatred. i'm here just for the moment (so pour me another) (fluff) - Three drinks, tops. That’s what Soap had promised you.

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mr-robot-x · 9 months

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darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 5: Forgotten

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (Work In Progress!)

Synopsis: Your family gains new additions. As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon.

Hello! My sincere apologies for how long this took. I got massively sidetracked by researching how to bind a book, the interest in which hit at a completely inappropriate time in the writing-editing-crafting cycle, lol. I should definitely be focusing on finishing this thing before I start fixating on binding books. Anyway; this chapter is a little time-jumpy, given that I have to speed through a bunch of time. Also, note that I've fudged with the ages of Alicent's kids, so in Episode 3, know that she is now pregnant with Aemond, not Helaena like in the show. It's the only way to make him of-age in the Episode 8 scenes. Thank you to @randomdragonfires for workshopping this shitto for me, ahahaha! Happy (and well-deserved) holidays to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs, who I have graciously given a night off of slaving away for me, lol.

TRIGGERS: continued discussion of child grief, Viserys's shenanigans in impregnating an underaged Alicent (canon, this is NOT MY ADDITION).

When Alicent gets married to Papa, they have a big ceremony. So so many people come from all over the kingdom to see Papa take a new Queen, and the days of the wedding—there are lots of days to them starting in marriage—are full of more noise and colour and movement than you could ever think was real.

Her dress is very pretty, and Papa looks very nice in his new coat, but neither of them look so happy as people who are going to be in marriage should be. Papa keeps playing with the ring on his finger that is from Mama, while Alicent just looks like she is afraid. You think it might be because of how loud everyone is being.

’Nyra isn’t happy, either. She keeps you on her lap the entire time with an angry look on her face and doesn’t speak to Alicent very much at all, but at least she tries to be kind when she does. She ignores Papa, and because you are all sitting at the high table and everyone is watching you, he cannot tell her she is being rude and naughty.

Because you don’t want to look at Alicent’s unhappy face or ’Nyra’s angry one, you play with your sister’s necklace, letting the shiny metal take all your attention. It is Valyrian steel, which is what Papa’s and Uncle’s swords are made out of, so it is very special. Uncle gave it to her. When you let your fingers swirl over the ruby in the middle of the big pendant over and over, you pretend that it’s a part of him and that he’s here, after all.

After the big ceremony is done, life goes back to almost-normal. Now that Alicent is Papa’s Queen, she is something called a stepmother, meaning that Brella and Septa and all the people who are made to look after you and ’Nyra have to talk to her about you both. She is like your mama. You wake up and break your fast with Alicent, and she cuts up your food instead of Mama, and she takes you outside to play and tells you about the names of the flowers. Then, when it is time to sleep again, she reads you a story. You think that she likes it very much because she always seems sad until she sees you, and then her face goes bright like the sun.

‘Nyra doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like it at all. When she learns that Alicent is acting like your mama, her face goes very red like she’s going to scream, but she just goes very quiet instead and storms out of your rooms. For that whole day, ’Nyra takes you to the gardens and to see Syrax and to the library to learn some more High Valyrian, her new sworn shield Ser Criston behind her all the time. She never once lets you go see Alicent to do the things you normally do. When you finally get to be in the room with her at suppertime with Papa and ’Nyra, which Papa has said you all must do now so that everyone can get along, all she does is give you a small smile that doesn’t make her eyes go bright like usual and ask about your big day with your sister.

That is how things are for a while. Either you will go through your days with Alicent or with ’Nyra, and never both in one day because ’Nyra is still so angry at Alicent for being in marriage with Papa. You keep asking why, but your sister doesn’t tell you anything. She just goes quiet and frowns and mutters things you cannot hear. Meanwhile, Alicent will always stop, take a big breath that sounds shaky when she lets it out, and say, “I have no quarrel with Rhaenyra. She is as welcome to my rooms and in my company as you are, Princess.”

You think that might be a lie.

One day, though, everything changes.

’Nyra decides to take you to the library so that you can look at more books in High Valyrian. Even the books written in the Common Tongue make no sense to you yet, and Brella told you this is because you are not old enough to learn reading properly. Still, your sister says that it is still good to try when you’re young, so she sits beside you and points out all the funny-looking symbols and tells you what they mean all together. You fall asleep in there instead of having a nap in your bed, but ’Nyra just puts a blanket over you and keeps reading. When you wake, you listen to her voice as she speaks the words from the pages aloud. You don’t understand all of it, but you think you’ve learned more and more since Mama died and she stopped being friends with Alicent. It means she has lots of time for you. Maybe that shouldn’t make you happy, but you cannot help it.

At supper, you see Lord Hightower, Alicent’s papa, beside her. That means that you have to be next to ’Nyra tonight, so you follow her to her side of the table and sit in the chair that the maid pulls out for you. The chair is higher than the others, made special so that you can reach the food that is put before you. Looking around, it is easy to tell that something is different from how happy Lord Hightower looks and how smiling Papa’s face is.

“My two daughters,” he says a bit too loudly, cheeks bright red. His cup is in front of him, and the gold shines red from the drink inside. Wine, you think. It is for men and women, not little girls, and it makes the people who drink it act strange like Papa is now. He waves his hand in a ‘hello’ as he lifts his cup to his mouth and takes a sip. “Ah!”

’Nyra starts eating her food without a word. Everyone has plates with different foods on it, but you have a bowl in front of your seat. Because you are small, the cooks always give you pottage for your supper so that you can eat it with a spoon and no one has to cut things up for you. You don’t always like it—there are lots of lumps and you can never tell what taste is going to be in your mouth with each bite—but it is warm and makes your tummy nice and full.

The room is full of the sounds of chewing and clack-clacking when the knives and forks hit the plates. You pick up your spoon and scoop up some food. There are dark bits, which means the cooks have put meat in it. You scrunch your nose.

Papa coughs between bites. He is still smiling a lot. “It seems like an age since I saw you last!”

“We had supper with you yesterday evening,” ’Nyra says.

“Ah, yes!” He takes another drink of his wine. Maybe he shouldn’t, because he is blinking very much like you do when you’re trying to stay awake. “Perhaps the waiting has made it seem longer.”

“Waiting?”

“I am sure you have noticed Otto’s presence by now.”

’Nyra doesn’t even look at the man. “My lord.” Her voice seems cold.

“Princess.” Lord Hightower bends his head, but he doesn’t sound very happy either.

Alicent puts her hand on Papa’s arm. ’Nyra watches so closely that you wonder if her eyes can make holes in other people’s skin. “I—we—have some news, Rhaenyra.”

“Oh?” She sounds bored.

“Well…”

When Alicent doesn’t say anything, ’Nyra makes a huffing noise. It is very rude. “Well?” she asks, looking between Alicent and Papa. “What is it, then? Everyone’s acting rather strange.”

“Alicent is with child,” Papa says.

‘With child’ is what people say when a baby is growing in a lady’s belly. It’s what Mama told you before Baelon grew very large inside her.

’Nyra freezes, almost like she has forgotten how to move. No one says anything. Papa’s smile—the one that his words made so much bigger when he said them out loud—begins to fall, more and more with each moment that ’Nyra does nothing at all. Then, it goes away completely, and he’s no longer happy like he was.

It’s quiet again. Not the nice kind—the kind that means that someone is about to yell or be naughty.

“A baby?” you ask. Maybe you can stop the bad from happening if you help everyone remember that you’re still here.

Alicent looks at you, the fear leaving her face a little. She nods. “Yes, Princess. You’re to have a brother or sis—”

“Half-brother.” ’Nyra’s lips move, but the rest of her stays still. She cannot stop staring between Papa and Alicent. “Or half-sister. Either way, they will not be your full blood.”

“You are correct, Princess.” From the way Lord Hightower speaks and how silent Alicent and Papa are at ’Nyra’s words, you think she must have said something quite mean. He gives her a little smile, one that makes her hands squeeze really tight on her knife and fork. “Even so, these are glad tidings, indeed. Let us all pray for the Queen to be delivered of a son.”

“I’m sure that would be of great benefit to the Hightowers, my Lord. A son… to solidify your claim to my father’s throne.”

Lord Hightower stops smiling. Alicent gasps.

Papa makes a small noise. “Rhaenyra—”

All at once, she stands, the plate in front of her clattering loudly with how quick she rises. “Congratulations, Your Grace.” She doesn’t sound very happy for Alicent, even if the words are nice. “Forgive me—I feel suddenly unwell.”

“Daughter—”

’Nyra ignores Papa and storms out of the room, leaving her food only half-eaten. The rest of supper is very quiet, the loudest noise of all being the sound of your own breathing.

Isn’t a baby meant to be happy news? you wonder. You look around, but no one here is very happy—except for Lord Hightower. Though he isn’t smiling, he has his head held high like he has had every one of his wishes granted all at once.

“What do you think, Princess?” Brella asks.

You stare down into the cradle at the baby. Your brother. Aegon. He is squirming, face bright red, squished and crying. He hasn’t stopped even once since you came into the room. He might have been crying since before you did, even. Aside from the bright hair on top of his head, you don’t think he looks very much like you.

“He’s nice,” is what you say, but you don’t know if you really mean it. It’s more for Alicent, who is watching you from over on the bed. She looks very tired. If you said something less kind, she may cry.

Alicent smiles. “Thank you, Princess. Nurse—bring him to me, please.”

She doesn’t mean Brella. There is another woman here, Gwenys, who Lord Hightower and Septa Marlow assigned to help give Aegon milk and take care of him when Alicent cannot. Gwenys comes and picks up the baby, walking over to give him to Alicent. She rocks him in her arms which doesn’t stop him from crying, but she still keeps on bouncing him softly. He is very unhappy.

Now that Alicent is holding Aegon, you know that she’ll forget you are there. Ever since Papa told you and ’Nyra that he was in Alicent’s belly, neither of them have had much time for you. It feels like all the people in the Keep—from Papa and Alicent and Lord Hightower to the servants and maids and stableboys—have been more excited for the baby than they ever were for you. The only person who has remembered you is ’Nyra, and so you are with her on most days. It sometimes makes you sad, because it really was very fun to play pretend that Alicent was your mama for a while, but ’Nyra says that it wasn’t going to last, anyway.

“She is to have her own child to care for, now,” she told you in the days after learning about the new baby. “You were good practice—but you aren’t her blood, not really. Not like you and I. Her son will be born, and you’ll be given to a nurse or a Septa to raise.” When you cried, she bent down and wiped away your tears. “It doesn’t make her a bad person,” she said quietly. “But this is the way of the world, sister. Men and women, kings and queens… they all want sons. Us daughters must stick together, yes?”

’Nyra was right. At first, Alicent tried to keep pretending to be like your mama. But then, the baby made her very ill, so she stopped asking you to come to break your fast so you wouldn’t have to see her being sick into the pail by her bed. Then, she spent so much time sleeping that she didn’t have the energy to come outside with you, or to dance with you, and soon, the only time you would see her was at suppertime. Even that wasn’t always. And now the baby is here, you don’t think she will be going back to the way it used to be.

Maybe that is why he feels like such a stranger to you. At least with baby Baelon, you got to feel him kicking in Mama’s tummy. Aegon wasn’t here for so long, and then all of a sudden, he was. He is. You don’t know him at all. He’s just a baby, come to take your Papa and almost-Mama away from you like all the rest.

Brella’s hand on your shoulder is what helps you walk towards the door, Alicent and Aegon staying in the room behind you. With your back turned, it’s easier to pretend that Alicent is very sad by you leaving.

The more moons pass, the more faded Mama’s face is in your memory. You try to hold onto the way her eyes would crinkle at the corners when she smiled, or how her hair would curl a bit like yours after her bath, or the way she’d smell like roses when she hugged you tight. It slips away, out of reach. Putting rose oil in your bath helps you, but only a little bit—and the longer that Mama is gone, the less you can remember of her.

Papa doesn’t like to talk about her. When you ask him, he just spins the ring on his finger around and says, “Another time, perhaps.” You know that ‘another time’ really means ‘never’.

There is no one else in the Keep that really knew her like you and your family knew her, except ’Nyra. She tells you stories sometimes, but you don’t ask a lot because she usually likes to tell the ones that have you in them. When she finishes, she always smiles and asks, “Do you remember?” You never can, and it leaves you feeling like someone has scooped out all your insides.

So, Mama fades, and becomes part of that place in your mind where the things that are being forgotten go. Even though you try and try and try, there is nothing that can stop the forgetting. One day, you think she might be nothing more than a quiet sort of sadness, like looking out the window at the rain and wondering why it makes your chest hurt so much.

Seeing Alicent with Aegon is the only thing that reminds you of her. Even though Alicent’s hair is red where Mama’s was silver, and Aegon is loud and angry where you are quiet and shy, the way that she kisses his cheeks or hums little songs under her breath to him makes you think of how Mama would do the same for you. He doesn’t seem to be very happy when she does these things. If it were you in his place, you know you’d be better than him. You wish she’d realise that.

It seems like no time at all goes by when Alicent is with child again, meaning she’s going to have another baby. If it is anything like Aegon, you do not think you’ll like it very much. Sometimes, you feel very naughty for it, but you cannot help how he makes you feel. All he wants to do is make a fuss and take everyone’s attention, and he keeps crying and being naughty even as Alicent’s belly grows bigger and bigger with your new brother or sister.

When Helaena is born, Papa and Lord Hightower aren’t as pleased as they were with Aegon. You can tell because, while they are both in the room when you come to meet her, neither one is looking at her as she lays in the cradle. They had both been looking down at Aegon last time. You think it is because Helaena is a girl, like you and ’Nyra. You decide that you have to love her if they won’t.

She is a quiet baby, but so still that it makes Gwenys worry and worry, even though all she is doing is lying in her cradle and staring straight up. Maybe she knows how rude her big brother is, you think, and she wants to do and be all the things he isn’t.

You weren’t allowed to hold Aegon because he was so disagreeable, which means he would probably have screamed and cried if you did. He still screams and cries, which is why Alicent has to spend all her days with him even though she’s just had a second baby, so Helaena is by herself with Gwenys most hours.

Helaena isn’t like Aegon. This time, Gwenys has you sit in a chair with a pillow under your arm and brings the baby to you. “Mind her head,” she says, tugging your arm forward so that Helaena fits nicely in your arms. “There we go.”

She is a big baby, round and heavy and warm, but you don’t mind because she gazes up at you with large blue eyes that look like they might turn purple when she gets older. The hairs she has on her head—and there aren’t many, not like Aegon had—are silver, and you know that she will look very much like you when she has grown more. When you stroke a finger over the skin on her hand, her whole fist grabs onto it, strong even though she is so young. It’s like she knows who you are, even without any words being said.

You wonder if this is how ’Nyra felt when she met you—a burning that tingles all through your arms and legs, not in a way that hurts, no, but in a way that makes you want to squeeze tight and never let go.

Helaena doesn’t cry. She falls asleep while you’re holding her, her face turned into you so that you can feel her tiny breaths through your dress. It is special and warm and love-feeling like Alicent used to be, like Mama was when she was not-dead. The hurt goes far away, still there but not so much, not so heavy in your chest.

For a little while, the sadness—of forgetting Mama, of being forgotten by so many others—fades away, too.

When you are five summers old, you have to say goodbye to Brella.

All the while you are breaking your fast, she looks like she is about to start crying. Even though you wonder why, you don’t ask. When someone cries, it means that something bad has happened. So much bad has already happened, and you don’t know if you want to hear any more. You eat in quiet, scooping porridge into your mouth while the sound of sniffles fills the room. The taste of honey would make you feel happy, but not when Brella is so upset. Your food sinks to the bottom of your belly like one of the hot bricks you sometimes get under your blankets when it’s very cold at night, only there’s nothing nice about it. It’s hard and rough and makes you feel sick.

After you have finished every bite—you have to eat all of it, or you don’t get to play—Brella takes you by the hand and leads you to the chair. “There is… there is something I have to tell you,” she says, slow and shaky.

I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. You wish that you were like ’Nyra, that you could say the words out loud—but you cannot. You don’t want to know, but you say nothing, and you wait for whatever bad thing is coming to show itself.

“I…” Brella swallows and looks down at your hands, still holding onto each other even though you are sitting and there is no need. “Tell me again how old you are, Princess.”

“Five summers.” It’s a very small number, but you are still proud because you’re almost a big girl now.

Brella laughs, nodding. “That’s right. Five. My goodness. How time flies!”

You find that silly. Time doesn’t fly. It isn’t a thing-you-can-touch, and only things-you-can-touch can fly, like dragons or birds or insects. Still, you try not to show your thinking on your face as Brella squeezes your hand tighter.

“Being five summers old is a very important milestone when you’re a prince or princess,” she says. “Do you know why?”

“No,” you say. “Why?”

Here, she stops. “It… It means—gods, I don’t know if I can say it.”

“Well, then. It appears that I must,” comes a voice from the door.

You turn. Septa Marlow stands with her hands joined in front of her, her mouth pinched into a line so small it is like it has disappeared from her face. Her grey wimple makes her skin look just as colourless. She steps forward, and the sound of her shoes touching the ground seems as loud as thunder.

“You are of an age to begin your lessons, Princess. Thus, it is time for your nurse”—she looks at Brella and her lip curls, though you cannot tell if she’s happy or angry—“to depart, and for me to take over your care.”

The sick feeling gets worse, and you wonder if you might bring up all your food from how bad the pains are in your belly. “But—but Brella will still stay, though? For Aegon and Helaena?”

Septa Marlow huffs. “There is no need, silly child. Their nurse has already been appointed, and Gwenys will suffice for any future children borne by the Queen. Brella is to collect her things and return to the Vale.”

Brella has taught you some of the places on the map that shows Papa’s kingdom. You live in King’s Landing, which is in the Crownlands, and it is at the bottom of the map. The Vale is where Mother—Mother, not Mama, Mama is for babies and I am not a baby anymore, you have to keep telling yourself—came from, that it is a bit up and to the side from the Crownlands. It isn’t that far in the drawings, but Brella says that maps show a smaller picture of what is really a very, very long distance.

If Brella has to return to the Vale, it means she will be very, very far away.

You think you might be frozen, like ice. You cannot say anything. All that you can think, over and over, is no, no, no, please, not Brella, no, no, no. The fire-burn of tears warms behind your eyes, but you know that you cannot let Septa see you cry. She’ll think you are weak.

Brella sniffles. “I can write to you,” she says, pulling you closer to her. “And, when you’re old enough, you can write to me. How about that?”

You nod, but her words don’t make you feel better. Paper isn’t the same as a person, not really. Even if she puts letters on paper and sends them to you, it won’t be like one of her hugs or the way she laughs when you miss a dance step or fall over in the grass. It won’t smell like her or look like her. It won’t make you feel safe like she does.

She will turn not-real like Mother. Only, maybe it is worse—because you’ll know that, somewhere a long way away from you, she will be real, but that you cannot have her anymore.

“I don’t want you to go,” is what you say, but it comes out like a whisper, not strong like you wanted it to.

“I know, my darling,” Brella says, hugging you tight so that you can feel her heart beating through her skin and yours. “I know, and I’m so sorry—”

“If you could unhand my charge, Nurse.” Septa’s eyebrow is raised. “Although—now that it occurs to me—‘nurse’ is no longer the appropriate moniker, is it?”

Brella glares at her. “There’s no need to be so—”

“Your time here is at an end.” Even though she looks like she’s trying not to show her feelings on her face, Septa lifts her chin in the air like ’Nyra used to when she would win at cyvasse against Alicent. “Say your goodbyes.”

“What—here? Now?” Brella’s mouth is open like she’s very surprised. “I’d thought the Princess would be coming to see me off at the harb—”

“That is not a good idea. She is too… attached.” Septa says it like it is a curse. “A public display of histrionics does not a respectable Princess make, no matter her juvenility.” You have no idea what most of these words mean, but the way they make Brella sink in her seat cannot be a good thing.

She tucks your hair behind your ears as she looks down at you, her eyes wet. “Be good,” she says, very soft so that Septa cannot hear them well. “Make sure you write to me, yes?”

She brushes her thumbs over your cheeks—out, in, out, in—the way she does when she really means ‘I love you’.

“Please stay,” you whisper, trying not to let your lower lip wobble like it wants to so badly. “Please don’t go.”

Brella hugs you again, her whole body shaking. Your face is smushed up against her shoulder, the smell of her herness filling your nose with so much warm. You wonder if, by clinging on tight, you can stop her from leaving. She cannot leave. She is what you have left now that Mam—Mother is gone, now that Papa has Alicent and ’Nyra has Papa and Uncle has his war somewhere away from you. She cannot leave. She cannot.

It feels like she has been holding on for forever and also for no time at all when she lets go, stands up, and walks away without a word. The door shuts.

She didn’t even say goodbye.

Is it worse or better, watching her go away? you wonder through the cold that settles in your body, in your arms and legs, the sharpness of it so much that you feel like shivering even though the sun is shining hot outside. You never saw Mother die. She was here, and then she wasn’t. But you have to watch Brella leave, knowing there is nothing you can do to stop it all the while.

“Dry your tears, girl. ‘Tis about time your coddling came to an end.” Septa pulls you by the shoulder off the chair. Her hand doesn’t feel warm like Brella’s does. Her stare—fixed on you—travels up and down, her mouth crinkling at the corner like she is thinking about something. “Why she was allowed to linger past your name day, I will never understand.”

You cannot think of anything to say, so you keep quiet. It doesn’t seem to make Septa like you any more than she did before, which you don’t think was very much. The tears keep falling, though you try and try to make them disappear.

“Now,” she says, clapping her hands sharply. The loudness of the noise makes you jump. Teardrops shake onto your dress. “We have a long day ahead of us. The Queen has requested an update on your progress, so you will be learning no less than three hymns before the end of the sennight. I should like to provide her with”—she looks you up and down again, and this time it seems like she is thinking something unkind about you—“some indication that you will shape up to be a lady of high standing.”

I’m a Princess, not a lady, you want to say. You don’t.

Septa begins striding away, then stops and turns around to face you. “I expect you to follow when I walk, and to acknowledge me when I speak by saying ‘Yes, Septa Marlow’.” She almost spits the words at you. “Understood?”

“Yes, Septa Marlow.” It doesn’t sound as strong or as clear as when she said it. You wish you could sound less afraid. Still, she seems to find it good enough. She says nothing afterward, just waits for you to trail along after her.

“Hmph.” She clicks her tongue. Staring down at you again, she adds, “And stand up straight.”

You do as you’re told.

Septa Marlow is as frightfully mean as you always feared.

One thing you learn quickly is that everything you do and say is wrong. When you laugh, it is too ‘unbecoming’; when you smile, you show too much teeth; when you walk, you are too hunched over; when you eat, you are too ‘gluttonous’. You’re a ‘simpleton’ when you ask to play with your dolls, so they sit at the foot of your bed slowly being covered by dust; you’re ‘graceless’ when you try to dance, so you practice after you have been put to bed to try and get better before each morning; you’re ‘impertinent’ when you say what you’re thinking instead of keeping it to yourself, so you learn to let your thoughts stay inside your head. There is little that she doesn’t pick on and tell you that you need to change.

“Use full words, please!” she says whenever you forget to speak in the proper way that she expects. She always raps her willow switch on the table in front of you after that. Lucky for you, she has not yet used it to hurt you. “It is ‘does not’, not ‘doesn’t’. There is no need to employ such low-class mannerisms as a lady of your standing!”

“Yes, Septa Marlow.” There is no point trying to tell her that she’s wrong.

It isn’t all bad, though. Having Septa Marlow take over means that you are now expected to learn all sorts of things, and a lot of it is very interesting. New words, new Houses, new hymns, new dances—you start to learn how to sew, how to put letters together to read them, how to count numbers and add and take them away to make different numbers. Septa says that there are so many things a noblewoman like you needs to be able to do by the time she is ready to be married, so that she can run her husband’s household and take care of him and her future children. That is a long time from now, but practice makes perfect.

The only time you are not with Septa is when you are with your family, like today.

Because Aegon has lived past being a baby—and Septa says that babies die a lot from the weather or from being sick or from being fed too much or too little or sometimes for no reason at all—Papa has announced that everyone must go on a hunt to celebrate his name day. You have to sit in the wheelhouse with he and Alicent and ’Nyra and Aegon and three other nurses, but not Helaena. She’s only a baby still, so she must stay in the Keep with Gwenys.

It is not a very fun ride. Being in a wheelhouse with them all means putting ’Nyra very close to Alicent, whose belly has grown big with a baby again. Lots of people have lots to say about how many babies Alicent has had since she married Papa, and most of it is not very nice towards your mother. She could only have two girls, and it took her a long time to have you after ’Nyra.

Papa thinks there is another boy in Alicent’s belly. You hope not. Aegon is loud and rude. You think it might be worse if there were two of him instead of just one.

“…whole of our family off to celebration and adventure in the Kingswood,” Papa is saying. You swing your legs back and forth, though you must stop each time you roll over a big bump in the road. You stay quiet, because Septa says a lady does not talk unless she is asked a question.

A very big bump in the road makes Alicent’s smile fall from her face.

“Should you be travelling in such condition?” ’Nyra asks. She sounds worried, even though she is no longer friends with Alicent.

“The maester said that being out in nature would do me well,” is what Alicent says back.

Papa starts talking while he finishes giving Aegon a sip from his cup. You wonder if it’s wine. “Well, you will be with your own child sooner than late, and make me a proud grandsire.” He is smiling, perhaps at the thought of it.

‘No, I will not,’ the look on ’Nyra’s face seems to say. You cannot help but agree with her. Having babies seems like such a tiring thing to do.

“It's not so bad.” Alicent has to speak louder to be heard over the rattling of the wheels and the hoofbeats of the horses. “The days are long, but Aegon came quickly and without fuss. Helaena, too.”

The nurse who is holding Aegon in her lap—Delia, you think her name is—waves a toy dragon in front of him. He smacks at it with his hands, frowning. You would never treat your toys like that.

“You should ride out with me today,” Papa says to ’Nyra. “Join in the chase, while you”—his eyes go to you—“sit about with your lady stepmother. Hm?”

“Okay, Papa,” you say quietly. Proper ladies do what their fathers tell them to.

’Nyra’s hand finds yours. “I’d rather not. The boars squeal like children when they're being slaughtered.” From the way her fingers squeeze yours and her stare fixes on Aegon, you know she doesn’t mean you when she says that. “I find it discomfiting.”

“It's a hunt, Rhaenyra.” Papa smiles. It is a careful sort of smile, not a happy one. Aegon’s yell distracts him for a moment, but he is quick to return to speaking to ’Nyra. “How would you like to participate?” he asks her.

“I’d be leaving my sister alone with the vultures of the Realm,” ’Nyra says, “so I'm not sure why I must.”

Trying to understand what everyone means by what they say is very difficult—you aren’t sure if she’s saying that the ladies coming along are vultures, or if she’s trying to say Alicent is. You don’t even know what a vulture is, so you aren’t sure if it is a bad or good thing to be.

“Because you are my eldest daughter. The Princess.” Papa looks like he is finding it harder and harder to stop himself from telling ’Nyra off. “And you have duties.”

“As I am ceaselessly reminded.” Your sister says it softly, but it is easy enough for you to hear from your place next to her.

Papa doesn’t, though. “I'm sorry?”

Instead of making up a lie or saying that she did not say anything at all, ’Nyra repeats herself louder. It is terribly rude, but you enjoy watching as you have always enjoyed watching her being brave against other people. “As I am ceaselessly reminded.”

“You wouldn't need to be reminded if you ever attended to them.”

“No one's here for me!”

Papa doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. Neither does Alicent. They both just fall silent along with the nurses. Even Aegon stops making all his annoying noises, instead sitting so still that he could be sleeping if his eyes were not open.

You make sure to hold onto your sister’s hand even tighter. If there is anyone in the whole world who does know what to say, it is you. If only you were brave enough.

I understand, ’Nyra, you want to say. No one’s here for me, either. No one’s ever here for me.

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mr-robot-x · 10 months

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Oh, Darling! | MYG | Series Masterlist

[MAIN MASTERLIST] | [Membership]

Pair: Professor!Yoongi x Student!Reader

Summary: Starting your second semester at one of South Korea’s most prestigious universities should be stressful enough. Between juggling classes, good grades and a social life, your plate was full. Hoping to spice up your academic career, you thought it was a good idea to enroll as an assistant for your literature professor, whom you've held a very secret and very forbidden crush on for the past several months. What will happen now that you’re forced to work closely together? And what if your crush isn’t as one sided as you thought?

Genre: Series, fluff, angst, smut, non idol au, university au.

Warnings: This series is part of the Hyung Line Daddy Collection. Mild age gap (not underage) where Yoongi is in his early thirties and Yn is in her early twenties, power play, since he is her professor, but it’s not toxic or abusive and Yoongi doesn’t take advantage of his position, daddy kink (eventually). Forbidden relationship. Cousin Jungkook, Best Friend Jimin (what is new), art student Tae, literature student reader and Namjoon. Side pairing: ?? and ??. This series has a LOT of smut, in almost every chapter.

WC: 108k total.

Updates: Every monday and every other saturday.

Taglist: Open.

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More coming soon...

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mr-robot-x · 10 months

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EVERY CORNER OF THIS HOUSE IS HAUNTED. (4)

Synopsis ! Jake had taken you as his own after Tsu'tey's passing, leaving no one to care for you. Things had been good before your relationship with him had blurred along growing of age. You and him fought all the time; argued each other's ear off and tonight was no different-- except words have been said, severing the already damaged bond. Content & warning Jake sully x Daughter!Reader, Sully kids x Sister!Reader Neytiri x Daughter!Reader. Mentions of violence and death. (wc: 4955 )

Neytiri was up early– too early.

She ran her hands tiredly over her face, her fingernails barely grazing the creases of her skin. Her eyes felt heavy, but it wasn’t tiredness that forced itself to weigh on her lids– it was the dread that continued to settle in; she could hardly make out the sound of the pot blowing out steam, rising in pitch with the soup threatening to boil over. The lid covering the kitchen pan was shaking fiercely, trying desperately to contain itself.

No, who was she kidding? She had lain awake all night, tossing and turning in her hammock. Not a single wink of sleep had been granted to her.

Neytiri swore her heart cried every time she took a deep breath, gravelly gasping along her. She couldn’t sleep even if she wanted to– not when tuk-tuk quivered in her embrace the whole night; the slightest movement made her flinch and the softest touch made her cry. It was gut-wrenching, the thought that her own child felt no safety in the arms of their mother.

Not my children, eywa. Not them too.

War had started long before her mate had come, Neytiri couldn’t blame him– but sometimes, late at night when the only sounds that grace her ears are the thoughts running through her head, she dreams of a life away from the wildfire and bullets; a life where she had fulfilled her mother's desires and took Tsu'tey’s hand instead. Every once in a while, the idea pierces her heart as she finds herself tucked in between Jake’s embrace. It felt wrong to think so, like being unfaithful, but not quite.

Tsu’tey was never someone who crossed her thoughts as a person that had gotten away from her, nor had she ever been attracted to him in a romantic way. It would’ve been an union of convenience; for the clan and the people itself. They would be unhappy– unhappy and awfully miserable. With Jake, it was something else entirely; like marriage had more meaning to it rather than a simple alliance. Sure, it was miserable, but they were happy– she was happy. Neytiri could never resent her mate, not when they’ve come so far already.

However, in terms of her children’s well-being, she couldn’t help but think if Jake was the bane of it all– the root of every bad thing that has happened to them. There were no softer words to lay it out, but they deserved better. Her children deserved none of this war.

She was crying again– crying for them. She let the beads of tears roll down her cheek as she stared afar with not a single coherent thought behind her eyes.

It was no surprise that Neteyam was already up with the sun rising. He moved quickly, quietly lowering the fire and lifting the lid of the pot with caution— hissing when its hot liquid splashed onto his skin. With a concerned look on his face, he glanced over at his mother who sat an arm’s length away from the very stove; how could she not have heard the loud cackle of her own cooking? He was sure it would’ve caused a wildfire if not for him.

He slowly moved closer to Neytiri, gingerly reaching out and nudging her with his fingertips. He was mindful not to startle her already tired state. “Sa’nok– sa’nok?” Neteyam called out to her, “Sa’nok, are you okay?”

Neytiri stirred just slightly, turning her head to view the worried face of her eldest. Her lips thinned involuntarily, a feeling of relief washing over her; her children were here, safe and sound. Nothing will happen to them– not ever. As long as she lived, they will never be harmed ever again. No demon would take this away from her.

A wave of panic swept over her as she finally realized that she had been cooking before. She quickly turned back to see a billowing cloud of smoke rising from its surface. Neytiri cursed under her breath as her small attempts at fanning away the fog that had settled upon the area were to no avail, finding herself in a fit of coughing. “Why don’t you get y/n?” She requested, voice strained. “She can help with breakfast.”

With a heavy sigh, Neteyam could only nod, quickly leaving.

Right, y/n– you. When was it never about you?

Neteyam grumbled as he dragged his feet towards their thatched hut, kicking at every pebble that came across his path with a grunt. It wasn’t you who had woken up early to assist Neytiri nor was the one who had stopped fire from possibly spreading and yet, your name just had to be the first he’d heard today.

It was you. Always you.

Neteyam would be a big fat liar if he said it didn’t affect him. He saw you as a parasite – a damn leech that was draining the life out of everyone around him. He couldn't understand why you had to be so selfish and callous; why you were unable to look past Jake’s reprimands when all he desired was your well-being or how you had driven his own mother to such anguish that it became her own undoing.

You weren’t a kid anymore. On top of that, you weren’t theirs– so why had you always been on top of their priority? Why had you become a chore?

But never his, oddly enough. You were too good for him and he hated that.

(Heavy steps thudded behind Jake as Neteyam trailed, his disappointment palpable. He had been unsuccessful in his mission to persuade his father to let him come along on today’s expedition, always quick to dismiss him. He had gone through all the training, but what was the point if he still wouldn't be able to put it into practice?

Being olo’eyktan one day will never feel rewarding.

“It’s too dangerous, Neteyam.” Jake grumbled under his breath, eyes never meeting his as he gathered his arrows. “I need you here. Make sure Lo’ak doesn’t follow– do you copy?”

Neteyam couldn't help but wince when he remembered the time they had failed to be spotters, but it was just that one time– why couldn’t he let it go? It weighed down heavily on his conscience; the mistake that even still, months later, sent shame prickling on every fiber of his being.

Jake expected a copy in return– a curt yes-sir but Neteyam was silent. He finally urged himself to look up, only to see both his eldest locked in an intense stare, eyes never wavering nor breaking away from one another.

It clicked almost instantly the moment you walked through the flap of the hunt, clutching on the strap of your woven bag that held your own weapons. The war-paint drawn across your face had been the salt on the already deep cut of his– you were coming. Jake had asked you to come and he wasn’t.

You were looking down at him, Neteyam was sure of it; judging him, and no doubt thinking of how much he had failed himself. His sense of shame deepened as he saw the derision in your expression, feeling more exposed than ever before. He wanted to disappear right then and there, anything to escape this moment that felt like an eternity.

But you were there. You always were– and you could see straight through him.

If only he knew how different your mind worked– how you desperately ached for the same concern Jake had for his son. You wanted him to understand the immense longing to be seen in the same light that he was in, to receive even a fraction of his unwavering affection; wanted Jake to care enough that this could be the last hunt he would have with you, that you could get hurt or worse.

Jake was worried enough to sit his golden-child down; the one with capabilities greater than those warriors years older than him– the one he would make olo’eyktan someday.

Not you. Never you.

Neteyam was the first to turn away, a deep rugged grunt leaving his lips as he nodded once.

“Lima charlie.” )

What really messed with his head was that, despite his obvious resentment, he couldn’t actually bring himself to truly despise you the way he felt he should. Every time Neteyam looks at you, he swears he only sees himself– the same child that only yearns for the recognition of a father. There is a reflection of each other in the two of you that binds you nonetheless.

He wanted to truly look up to you; he wanted what Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk felt when they were with you– to have someone older, to feel as if the weight on his shoulders wasn’t his alone. Neteyam tried, he really did, but as much as you were there, you also weren’t.

It wasn’t always like this. Your relationship with him wasn’t built entirely on rivalry– he knows he had something more familial with you before, but whatever it was had blurred along age. As much as he wanted to come closer, you were always two steps ahead of him. To you, he will always be olo’eyktan– but never a brother.

It was a harsh reality– the same hands that cradled him when he was small couldn’t even look at him the same; like he had grown so ugly that you couldn’t recognize him at all. You didn’t even want to fly your ikran with him, nor did you want to train the same time he did.

He hated you, but not quite– he could never hate his sister. You were more of a stranger now that lived under the same roof as him and it was better than to perceive you as someone rather horrible– but that was what you were. A horrible, horrible stranger. Someone who saved him once from trouble and handed him years of headache in return.

You were a horrible sister. That’s what you are.

(“Tsmuke, what do I do?”

You couldn't believe your eyes as you gazed down at the mess on the floor of the hut. Beads were all over, and what used to be a clay tray laid shattered into several pieces. Neteyam stood still in midst of it all— the culprit of such doing evident. Your brain wracked itself to move, to do something.

“This is sa’nok’s favorite necklace. She told me to come get it for her, but the shelf was too high–” Neteyam spoke in a rush, hands gesturing wildly as he talked. His face crumpled in worry and his brow furrowed with frustration.

"’Teyam, don't move!" you said in a hurry, alarmed at the thought of him taking a step forward. Moving quickly to his side, you gently stopped him from doing so and scooped him up under his armpits. He was heavy in your arms as you stood there with him, but the shards beneath were sharp enough to cut skin. You grunted as you moved him aside.

"Tsmuke, what are we going to do?" He asked again, his voice running high with worry.

You tried to think of another solution, assessing the situation once more. You glanced at him and said, "I'm going to tell ma I broke it so she won't be mad at you." You quickly search for something sturdy enough to scoop the pieces off the floor. Maybe you can redo the necklace, but there was no salvaging the tray.

“But I broke it– she’ll know.” He visibly deflates, not exactly thrilled about not being truthful to Neytiri.

“Only if you tell her.” You said, looking up at him with a slight smile, though your heart was racing. You felt terrible knowing that you were going to disappoint Neytiri, especially since her beloved necklace had snapped– but something about your little brother's worry-stricken expression tugged on your heartstrings. You understood why her scolding was necessary, but it felt wrong to leave him alone to bear the brunt of it. “This will be our little lie, okay?”

“Lie?”

You immediately dismiss him, gesturing impatiently for him to exit the hut as quickly as possible. “I’ll tell you about it later, but you have to promise now that whatever mom says, just know that I broke it.”

He only offered a subtle nod in response, his eyes glossed over as he nervously played with his hands.

“Say it, ‘teyam. She’ll be back any minute now!”

"You broke it!" Neteyam had shouted and almost as if in response, Neytiri had walked in through the hut's entrance, all but gasping as she took in the sight before her– shards of what once held her jewelry now on the floor. She stumbled slightly as she carried the basket of fruits, before dropping it to the ground and quickly scurrying over towards you.

The scolding you got was harsh, but Neytiri couldn't do much other than wrap her arms around you and sigh. You were just a kid, after all. Mistakes like these are inevitable and all she could do was understand.

Neteyam was patiently waiting just outside the doorway, swinging his legs back and forth as he listened with a heavy heart. He awfully felt guilty. You sat with him moments later.

“Why did you do that?” He quietly asked.

You looked at him with a confused face, “Do what?”

"Lie." He says, his accent making the word feel awkward in his mouth. It was unfamiliar to him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You only say, casually shrugging as you swung your legs along his. Little Neteyam looked at you with the most confused face; eyebrows furrowing and the creases in between deepening as he tried to make sense of everything that had happened.

But then you glanced at him again– winked and gave a small giggle.

And only there did he understand. He leaned his head on your shoulder.

“Thank you, y/n.” )

Neteyam didn’t even realize he had finally reached home. He stared at the flap of the hut, unable to let himself in, despite living here ever since. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about having a moment alone with you– not when the thoughts that ran through his head had been unpretty.

He knows damn well Eywa could strike him down if she heard herself.

He sighed, “Y/n? Sa’nok asks for you.” He softly said, waiting for a reply. You had never been a deep sleeper; any little noise would bring you right back to consciousness. Every creak from the floor, every whisper and murmur from outside, even the lightest rustling of leaves would startle you wide awake in an instant. Neteyam knew of that, knew of the many sleepless nights you had. You had the habit of scratching the walls of the hut, carving who-knows-what on its surface. It kept him from being able to get any rest himself.

When only silence greeted him, he finally urged himself to go inside only to be met with an empty space.

Your absence now felt different to the other times when you had gone for a stroll through the forest or set out to train before dawn. It was not like that this time, and Neteyam felt it deeply. He frantically rummaged through the hut, searching every nook and cranny for anything that you possessed. Nothing. Neteyam stood at the center of the room, taking in the now cluttered room.

His fingers nervously reached up to the intercom on his ears. A voice crackled over the device, "Sir, is y/n with you? Over." He took a deep breath as he glanced around once more.

Almost quickly, Jake answered. “No, she should be back at the hut.”

Neteyam gulped, “She isn’t– nor any of her things are. What do I do?”

“You– you! You let this happen, Jake!”

After spending hours on scouring the forest for any trace of you, they had finally concluded that you had chosen to leave of your own accord. This was not something that anyone wanted to believe and yet it seemed like the only option left; none of your things were to be seen back at home, or at least those that were valuable to you— your worn-out saddlebag, the wooden bowl that you had carved yourself, weapons. All of it. Soon, eclipse neared and everyone was tired.

Neytiri was quick on her feet. As soon as Jake had returned from the south, she lunged at him – pushing him forcefully with a look he didn’t want to come home to. He attempted to grasp onto both her forearms, wanting desperately to soothe– but, try as he might, she continually knocked away his hands with increasingly greater force. It was like his very touch had burnt her skin; the same hands that held her children.

“What did you do? What did you say?” Her panicked voice quivered as she asked in desperation. She felt her breath quicken, body absolutely worn out from everything that had happened. Neytiri’s tear-stained face was like a punch to his already battered heart. He had caused this. Jake had finally pushed you away.

“One thing I asked of you– and this one thing you couldn’t do!” Each word that left her mouth was accompanied by a strike to his chest, not enough to cause any physical pain but enough to emphasize the anger he knew he had been keeping to herself for years. Neytiri was patient with him– understanding. Jake had pushed the limits of what she was capable of doing for him and this was the very consequence.

Shame. Nothing but shame.

People were watching– warriors that had accompanied him on the search and lingering eyes of the clan, but he couldn’t care less. Jake allowed her to hit him, he let her push him around; it was better for him if she inflicted the pain instead of harboring it. He’d let the people talk for all he cared. He failed as an olo’eyktan and as a father.

Let everyone know he failed his eldest.

“I did talk to her, please listen to me.” He begged, his pleadings faint. He desperately tried to reach out and grasp Neytiri's arm, yet his hands seemed unable to find the strength to hold her. His voice quivered as he spoke, fragile and hesitant in its delivery.

“Tell me how exactly!”

And he couldn’t answer that. Not when he made the crucial mistake of not checking the hut beforehand. Maybe if he did, he would’ve known you had run away– maybe he could’ve gotten to you. The fact that you weren’t able to hear his vulnerability was a different heartbreak he refused to acknowledge. You were never there to begin with.

When Neytiri saw that Jake had nothing to say in response, she was rendered speechless. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth as she tried to muffle the cry that threatened to escape her throat. She frantically paced around, harshly tugging on her braids. Jake could only close his eyes, shoulders slumping in defeat. He stood there, stunned in silence.

“My daughter, Jake! My daughter is out there with those– those demons scattered! She could be lost– dead! Do you not understand?”

Dead. You could be dead. Jake refused to close his eyes, hoping he could keep the thought at bay. But it came back again and again, wriggling its way into his mind like a snake. He let his heavy eyelids shut and instantly, he was presented with a vision of you in the dark - his sweet babygirl, lying there lifeless. It would be his fault. The blood would be on his hands.

"Ma, please," Neteyam had spoken, his voice gentle in a bid to soothe his mother. He tried desperately to soften the blows, carefully pulling her away from Jake. It was Neteyam that calmed Neytiri and all he could do was stand and let it happen– what the hell was he doing? How could he fail so miserably? His eldest had to step in and do his job, his pride and joy.

His gaze drifted across to where his other children were, huddled together on the corner. They looked bewildered at what they were hearing, unsure of what to make of it all. It seized him, squeezing what’s left of its already limp heart. Tuk was nestled in Kiri’s protective embrace, asking her– trying to understand. She asks of you, where have you gone?

A father protects, that’s what gives him meaning and Jake Sully has done the opposite– ushering you to danger.

“Have we failed them, Jake? Have I been a horrible mother?” Neytiri asked, her voice now barely above a whisper. She tried to be gentle with pushing Neteyam away, attempting to continue nonetheless. Jake placed a firm hand on his son's tense shoulders, and he gave him a subtle tilt of the head. He could see the battle that was raging inside of his young boy's head, between wanting to do what he felt was right and obeying his father's instructions. “Jake what have we done?”

Your mother needs this, his eyes try to tell him, go. Neteyam reluctantly steps back, deciding it was better to return to the others.

“Look for her again. Send out everyone this instant!” She sobs, pounding her fists against Jake’s chest in a desperate attempt to get her point across. Her neck is strained with veins popping out and bulging eyes filled with desperation, pleading him to understand. Each beat of her fists matched the intensity of her wails, no amount of tears ever seeming to be enough.

Neytiri takes a heavy inhale once more, “I beg of you, Jake Sully. Find our daughter, bring her back home.”

His gaze finally met hers and the feeling it brought was more than he could bear. He had to make a decision, another choice that would have to let her down again. “We can’t go looking for her now, Neytiri. We are already short on warriors, you know this.” He gently says, as if it was enough to soften the blow– but his eyes saw how her face slowly fell. He could clearly hear the telltale sound of her broken heart, shattering once more.

“I have to ensure everyone’s safety. Warriors are out scouring perimeters and we can’t risk one hold-up. Our family, Neytiri, I cannot risk our family,”

“She is our daughter!”

“And I am still olo’eyktan.” He was heartless. He was sure everyone thought so, but he had to be the one to make decisions. His composure was a mask that hid the fact that inside he was breaking apart; that he was failing– that he already had failed. If he let himself break down now, he might as well gamble everyone he loved.

Jake’s responsibilities weighed down heavily on his shoulders. Everyone was at stake– Quaritch was on the loose.

Neytiri told him he had a strong heart the moment they had met, but right now, it was stone-cold– shut off and mean. Not the compassionate man she had once saved. “I’m trying, Neytiri. I’ll get her home.” He tries to assure her, but the breathy shudder that left her lips only made him wince.

He was finally able to wrap his arms around her mate and when he did, it was tight– as if he was trying desperately to piece her back together. He closed his eyes once more, kissing the top of her head. “I promise. She’ll be back, I promise.”

You were out there. Alive. He had a chance.

Your mama’s crying for you, sweet child, come home.

“Mawey, Mawey!”

You found yourself in an unknown area. How you had gotten there, you could not explain. Your ikran, exhausted from the raging storm, needed some respite and so did you for that matter. After all, it would be cruel to deny her this much needed break even if it were just for a night. You only prayed that it’d be peaceful.

You searched the space for materials needed for fire, but the rain was ruthless and provided no light. You felt a chill as you curled up beneath the shade of the tree. Hugging your knees to your chest you tried to conserve warmth, shivering slightly as a gust of wind blew past. Nothing around you but darkness - no stars, no moonlight, and not even the bioluminescence around provided much warmth. This was it, you thought.

Should I go home instead? Have they even noticed that I’ve gone?

Why couldn't you just stay? Why couldn't you have simply kept it all down inside rather than running away? You had been content enough to stay silent before, content enough to ignore everything; what had been different now? It was home still— who were you kidding?

Thoughts ran unmercifully inside your head as you sat motionless.

You are never satisfied.

I miss my mom.

They deserve the heartache.

You should’ve listened instead– now look at where you are.

Why couldn’t they love me?

Maybe I should head back.

Father will be mad.

You wanted this– needed this. You had to prove yourself. There was no use crying over something small, a night had only passed.

The snapping of leaves and rustling of bushes pulled you abruptly back to reality, your head quickly turning in its direction. You had been lost in thought before the sound startled you; the somber pool of thoughts still eddying in your mind. But there was something else nestled in that pool now, taking up the space– fear. Genuine and terrible, terrible fear. You might never come home ever again. You will never see them again.

This was it, you thought, something that had been swirling around in the back of your mind since you’ve left now finally felt certain. You gripped your spear tightly in both hands.

The cry that ripped through the air was deafening, shaking every part of your being. It felt like each syllable ricocheted around your entire body; coursing through your veins and settling in the cavity of your chest. Even the ground seemed to tremble in response, shaking beneath your feet as you tried to keep composure. There was no mistaking it; it was an 'angtsìk— a particularly angry one, at that.

The loreyu that once surrounded you shriveled in response; coiling up and retracting to the ground, and then was gone completely, leaving you exposed to the hammerhead.

You were in a desperate situation. It didn't help either that you were unable to make out your surroundings– you were one on one with an 'angtsìk with nothing but a spear and a lousy handgun (that you don’t even know why you brought in the first place. It was small on the palm of your hand, but it was valuable to Jake– this couldn’t damage any animal even if you tried.)

Lifting your bow and arrow and preparing to shoot would be pointless. The threat could be just a moment away; it could pounce on you in the blink of an eye, leaving you as food for its prey before you even have time to process the danger.

You stood your ground, constantly shifting on your feet as you carefully backed away. You kept your gaze steadily ahead, refusing to break eye contact with the 'angtsìk– but when it roared again in response to your steps, you couldn't help but express your annoyance with a loud kiss of your teeth and an exasperated groan.

You did something that no one in a million years would ever consider or do– you ran straight towards it.

You stepped forward with your spear raised, shaking it threateningly in front of the strange creature that had been creeping closer. Your movements were frenzied, a frenetic attempt to scare it off and make it retreat back to where it had come from. You could feel your heart pounding against your rib cage as you readied yourself for whatever would come next. All around you, an eerie silence had descended upon the dank forest that seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation– watching both of you.

As it was poised to launch a counterattack, the creature suddenly halted; its gaze directed toward something past you with an expression of sheer terror, but your mind was too clouded for you to take any hint of the bigger threat skulking just behind you. You could feel the nervousness bubbling up from your chest, but before you knew it, a confident chuckle had escaped your lips that soon turned into fits of laughter, not believing how that foolish move of yours had made the 'angtsìk retreat.

“Yeah? Yeah! That’s right– you better run!” You yelled, brandishing the spear in your hands and waving it around in triumph. “Get your punk-ass back to mommy, penis-face!”

As the 'angtsìk disappeared into the distance, you allowed a sigh of relief to escape your lips. "You're not getting any of this, keep running!" You called out after it mockingly, putting your hands on your hips. In spite of this bravado, your heart was pounding and your knees were weak with fear– you were this close to give Eywa an early visit.

You slowly turned back, that’s when you finally saw it; the force with which the thicket of bushes violently parted around it, the palulukan emerging from behind. It was like all the air had been sucked from your lungs, and a chill ran through your body as a wave of fear engulfed you. Every part of you tensed up, and you could feel your soul being wrenched from within.

You looked at it like a poor deer in headlights, grip momentarily loosening around your spear.

If death knocked tonight, let it be instant.

NEVER BACK DOWN NEVER WHAT ?? ???? finally, after a month! (i am gonna be honest, i am this close to loosing interest in avatar.. jesus. i am holding onto crumbs people) this is so long overdue, but i hope it's good enough!

put so many references here, hope ppl can tell! teehee

not thoroughly edited so please feel free to point of any mistakes! thank you so much for being patient with me, until the next chapter loves! smooch <;3

(i removed tags that didn't work anymore :/ again, i am not taking anymore tags! please leave your notif on instead) tags: @reyalvr @sparklyphantom @iwanttohitmyself @planetslove @teyamsjustsleeping @grandgreengrapes @erensbbg @queen-dk @loaklvr @theyoungeagle @ducks118 @teyyyteyyy @yeosxxx @simply-lovely78 @ellabellabus07 @thehoneymushroomhealer @saturdayrj @kingjulian0o9 @hippiezworldz @joemamalackin @random-3455 @zoetrope1997 @cl0esblogg @anxietydrogz @lokisfirstandlastwife @lunyyx @blkmystery @marsbars09 @gcldtom @luna-salem @wolflover384 @mushy-mushroom04 @whatthemonsterfuckisthis @eternalidentity @celi-xxmoon @dumb-fawkin-bitch @pinkeroppi @mellowdiy @jimfiqs @ell0ra-br3kk3r @ayra2452008 @vodoo-heart @rose-brulante @starxao @bluevenus19 @entertain-my-lvst @wwwellacom @starjane312 @mona-aiko @audigay

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