ariiireads - Tumblr blog

ariiireads · 2 days ago

Text

cw ₊ ˚ ⊹ f!reader, sexually explicit content, set after friends and family night, implied once casual/fwb arrangement, *rough* oral & fingering (f!recieving), fucking doesn't solve anything, mean!carmy, jealous & bratty!reader

carmen is furious.

after being stuck in the walk-in, a heated argument with richie, breaking things off with claire, and your stubborn refusal to listen to his incessant voice notes that begged you to come to friends and family night, he needed to blow off steam; lots of it.

you swore that you'd never see carmen again; vowing to slam the door shut the moment he stepped foot on your doormat or tried to call you back. it was ridiculous when he expected you to show up.

you couldn’t bear to be hurt again, especially not by him.

despite the seething anger and bitter resentment that consumed you when he started seeing claire again, you still desperately longed for the way he fucked you: the sweet feeling of his thick girth filling you up inch by inch or how the rough pads of his fingertips roamed the contours of your body in a tender—bordering romantic way.

you knew these trysts and stolen moments at the back of the beef or tangled up in his place would eventually come to an end, after all, you were—they were just casual.

no strings attached. no feelings. you felt foolish.

on the lonely, touch-starved friday nights where you missed him just oh, so much, with a pillow stuck in between your thighs, you convinced yourself that you were just horny and that your insatiable lust was fleeting. surely anyone—someone much better and emotionally stable than carmen could give you just what you wanted.

right?

maybe it was the way his chef whites hung loosely over his burly shoulders, how his sleeves were rolled up and the veins of his arms bulged out of his calloused flesh. the way he convinced you so easily into letting him in—just for tonight, one more time, it can’t hurt—beads of sweat gathering at his brow, and two seconds later, shoving you shamelessly against your front door; effortlessly tearing down the cemented brick wall you’d spent months carefully rebuilding with a gritty determination that bordered spite.

you knew better. at least, you should’ve.

one thing led to the next, and you found yourself here: your body spread out on your kitchen counter with your leg slung over his shoulder as his lips—hot and silky—slope harshly against the smooth, creamy expanse of your slick inner thighs.

you couldn’t for the life of you figure out why every alarm bell was sounding off in your head—begging your body to stiffen and forcefully resist the man in between your legs—was reduced to nothing more than indiscernible tv static the moment the wet cavern of his mouth suctioned firmly on your succulent folds.

“why didn't you fuckin’ come to opening night, huh?” carmen spat, punctuating each syllable with a harsh suck of your cunt. “been ignoring me for weeks, why’s that?”

you barely registered carmen’s words or your sagacious judgement for that matter. the last vestige of any wise reasoning was clouded by the blissful feeling of his feverish mouth on you, your nimble fingers threading patterns through his sweaty strands.

“m'sorry, i was busy..” you writhed weakly, knowing it was a futile excuse. you subtly maneuvered your hips towards his face, feeling the tip of his nose graze against your clit nearly making you drool. “mmph...got a new job and—”

“and?” carmen jeered, retracting from your heat.

offended and deeply frustrated, you glared darkly at carmen. your gaze met his, a brief flicker of sweltering desire and humor gracing his blue irises.

with a sudden keening cry, you quickly seized your legs around his head, trapping him in between your thighs. your shaky hands shot to pull on the back of his head, desperate to find purchase and coax him to continue.

"jesus fuck!" carmen grunted. "fuck!"

your boldness paid off, for carmen was nose deep in you once more. with the sweet, intoxicating scent of your slick luring him in, your hips churned wantonly against his face as his tongue pumped greedy circles against your throbbing core.

"jesus—fucking hell—for once in your life—stop. fucking. thinking." he gritted out gruffly. "i-i broke up with claire, happy?”

elated was an understatement.

with a moment of relief washing over you, you suddenly felt two of carmen's tattooed digits plunge fiercely inside your gaping pussy.

"shit!" you howled out, your velvety walls steeling and clenching against the punishing thrusts of his fingers as the euphoric, white-hot waves of release began to crash in. "hngh—carmy—what the fuck?"

your vision was obstructed by the tears that threatened to spill out from the swollen corners of your eyes; you wanted to scream.

“you happy?” carmen sneered, your stomach fluttering at the way his pupils dilated the very moment he slipped a third finger into your core.

you were so done for.

“this is what you fuckin’ wanted, right?”

"carmen! fuck!" your teeth gritted hard enough to crack. carmen leaned back down, lapping at your raw, overstimulated flesh with a perfect precision; drawing out near sobs and an overwhelming feeling of pain and pleasure—you couldn’t make out which.

with his free hand, he began to fumble with his belt, the metallic clasp clinking against the hard muscles of his lower abdomen.

carmen was hard. rock hard. achingly so.

so hard, that a damp smear pooled dubiously on the cotton fabric of his boxers.

you needed him; he needed you.

"legs open, now." carmen demanded, ravenously eyeing the slick dribbling down your thighs and onto the kitchen counter. “gonna show you how much i fuckin' missed you because you don’t fuckin’ believe me.”

juno's note ₊ ˚ ⊹ hey yallll.. hope u like! ദ്ദി >⩊< ) likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

#well GOOD FUCKING MORNING #goddamn #this awoke something in me #im very much awake and ready to start the day now #literally speechless #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy my love

166 notes · View notes

ariiireads · 2 days ago

Text

carmy has a surprisingly common sex fantasy that he’s yet to experience. (18+)

you didn’t even mean to end up in the shower together. not at first.

it started with a long shift. too long. the kind that settled into carmy’s shoulders like bricks. he came home exhausted and quiet, smelling like smoke and onions. you didn’t ask questions, just stood up from your spot on the couch and helped him out of his jacket, pressed a little kiss to his back for a second longer than usual.

and he exhaled. not relaxed, but as if he just remembered he was allowed to breathe here. with you.

“come on,” you said softly. “shower. you’ll feel better.”

he nodded. didn’t say much, just followed.

he took a second to toss his shirt in the hamper, moving on autopilot, before stepping into the bathroom.

and for a moment, he just stood there… stunned stupid.

steam clung to the air, the sound of water hitting tile, the way your silhouette moved behind the glass, the soft smile you gave him over your shoulder like it was nothing. like it wasn’t a quiet little fantasy he didn’t even realize he’d been holding onto all these years. still warm, still unfulfilled.

because it was a fantasy. one of the oldest ones. not even about sex. well, not only about sex. it was more about getting to have this. be this close. be wanted like this.

he’d been having this dream since he was a teenager. since the first time he even thought about sex and didn’t know what the hell to do with all that wanting. back then, it wasn’t even graphic. just shapes and heat and steam. someone he liked, laughing in a shower. soft skin and trust. hands through wet hair. nothing wild. just the intimacy of it, the closeness.

carmy wasn’t a virgin. not by a long shot. but still, he felt green. inexperienced. because the sex he’d had before was always just… release. a way to decompress when things got too tight in his chest. and in the kitchens he worked in, under all that pressure, it always got tight. he never had the time or the space to figure out what he really wanted. so the dreams stayed dreams.

and this one, the shower, the steam, the feel of your body slick against his, the sound of shared moans echoing off tile… it was cliché as hell. one of the most basic sex fantasies out there, he knew that. didn’t matter. he wanted it anyway. wanted it so bad.

and now, you were here. he had you.

you, inside his shower, already naked, waiting for him.

and the fantasy he used to fall asleep to had never felt more real. never hit harder.

he wasn’t even sure what to do first. how to walk across the bathroom and make it seem casual. but you didn’t rush him, didn’t tease him. just stood there under the water, with that gentle smile on your lips, the one he couldn’t quite read. something soft in it, but also expectant. a little sexy, a little timid. like you were wondering what might happen next too.

he hesitated, just a beat. then his fingers found his waistband, tentative and a little shaky, pulling pants and boxers down in one go. and that’s how he stepped in, slowly. bare skin to bare skin, heart hammering, the spray of water echoing off tile all around him.

it felt like he was being let into something secret. and for once, he didn’t want to run.

you reach for the soap, lather it between your hands, and he watches you. not in a way that makes you self-conscious, but in a way that makes you feel seen. desired. he’s memorizing every small motion, eyes drinking you in, as if he still can’t believe this is real.

his blue eyes track every inch of you, wide and almost awestruck, lashes heavy with droplets, blinking slow through the steam. he’s soaked and completely wrecked just by the sight of you.

and god, the way he’s looking at you. it already has you a little turned on, warm all over. like you’ve been touched without being touched at all.

you don’t ask for permission. you just press your hands to his chest, start slow, careful. glide the suds over his skin and down his sternum. his breath hitches. his eyes close for a second, jaw flexing like he’s trying not to fall apart from just being touched.

you whisper, “you okay?”

he nods too fast. swallows. “yeah. yeah, i just… no one’s ever…”

his voice trails off, shoulders twitching under your hands. he doesn’t finish the sentence, and you don’t need him to.

your fingers trace the dip below his collarbones, then slide lower, skimming over his sculpted ribs and toned stomach. slow and steady, like you’re mapping him out. his body lean and strong, with sharp angles and defined muscles that speak of long hours working hard and a quiet strength beneath the surface.

he’s breathing unevenly now, leaning into your touch like it’s the only thing tethering him to the moment.

you press a kiss to his shoulder, warm water cascading down both of you. his hands finally lift, hesitant at first, until they settle on your waist, thumbs stroking your skin.

"can i…" he starts, then doesn’t finish. again.

his voice is too quiet, too reverent.

you guide his hands up, around your ribs, over the curve of your back, settling them just beneath your shoulder blades.

“you don’t have to ask,” you murmur, tilting your face up to his. “just touch me.”

and so he does.

his hands are curious, but also worshipful. he touches you like you’re a dream come true, like this moment is something he doesn’t want to rush. he’s not just chasing an end, but trying to savor and commit every sensation to memory.

he finally kissed you. and you kissed him back, like you’d been waiting just as long. he sighed into your mouth, soft and shaky, like that was the moment he’d been waiting for since he stepped through the door. his hands grew bolder now. up your back, down your hips, skimming the side of your breasts, fingertips gliding over your thighs like he was scared of forgetting the way. you let your body press into his, skin to skin, steam wrapping around you like a second set of hands.

he groans, the sound vibrating against your lips, when your hips shift forward, brushing against his hardening cock. he breaks away, forehead pressed to yours, trying to catch his breath.

“fuck,” he murmurs again, and it’s not even a curse anymore. it’s disbelief.

you continue to roll your hips gently against him, his tip lightly snagging between your thighs, and his mouth falls open, forehead pressing to your shoulder now, like he’s trying to stay grounded. he gasps out your name. overwhelmed already. and it’s everything. it makes your whole body pulse.

“you okay?” you ask once again, mouth brushing the shell of his ear.

he nodded, hard. “yeah. i just–fuck–i’ve thought about this for so long.”

his eyes flicked down, then back to yours. “this… bein’ here with you. in the shower. it’s been in my head for… years. like–like a fuckin’ dream, and i know it’s–”

he couldn’t finish. because the moment your hand wrapped around him, everything short-circuited. a moan broke from his throat, low and desperate.

you stroked him once. slow, sure, deliberate. his hips jerked forward slightly, unthinking. he was hot and hard in your palm, already dripping pre, and when you did it again, his mouth dropped open with a soft, inarticulate gasp. not because he hadn’t felt this before, but because he hadn’t felt it like this. not here, not with steam curling around his shoulders and your wet skin pressed to his, not with the wet echo of pure want resounding through the tiled space.

“holy shit,” he whispered, barely audible over the water. like he couldn’t believe this was real. like you weren’t just touching him, but undoing every version of this moment he’d ever imagined.

you kept it steady, a slow rhythm of your wrist just to watch him unravel, one gasp at a time.

his hand slid down your back, then gripped your ass, holding on like that was the only thing grounding him.

“i want you,” he breathed, voice cracking just a little, almost desperate. “please. can we–fuck–can we do it here? in the shower?”

you kissed him again, slow and deep. your body already answering for you, the way you pressed closer, the way your hand slid along his drenched abs like you couldn’t get enough. you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. your voice low, warm and a little breathless.

“yeah, baby,” you whispered, lips brushing his. “right here. take me.”

his hands find your hips again, firmer now, more certain, fingers digging in like he needs to feel you anchored beneath them. warm water poured over both of you, flowing in rivulets down your bodies, slicking your skin as steam billowed around you.

you brace one hand against the wall behind you, the other wrapped around his shoulder for balance, and guide him into you, slow, careful. your breath catching as he presses in, inch by inch. his gaze meet yours, both of you flushed and trembling, wet skin sliding against wet skin

it’s overwhelming. the heat, the intimacy, the ache of finally. like he’s never going to forget a single second of this.

he eases into you like he’s afraid he might break something. like the water might still wake him up.

your hands are steady on his shoulders, fingers curling just a little when you feel him stretch you, unhurried and precise, trying to memorize the way you feel around him.

“jesus,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. his voice sounds stunned. “you’re so tight, fuck.”

you just nod, too breathless to say much else.

he doesn’t move at first. just holds you there, hands trembling against your skin like he’s still getting used to the idea that this fantasy is becoming a reality.

you kiss him again, soft and coaxing, and he starts to move. slow. so slow it makes your head fall back against the wall behind you. he follows the motion with his mouth, pressing kisses to your neck, your collarbone, anywhere his lips can reach.

“feels good?” he asks, voice shaky, barely there.

you nod, moan softly. “yeah, baby. so good.”

you tilt your head, brushing your lips against his jaw.

“how about you?” you murmur, breath warm on his skin. “is this how you pictured it?”

he lets out a low, wrecked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a moan, and quickly focuses on your pretty face again.

“better,” he says, eyes searching yours like he can’t believe you’re real. “so much better.”

and the fact that you asked, that you care about how it feels for him, makes something in him come undone. he won’t forget that tenderness, the love threaded between each breath and movement. this isn’t just a fantasy anymore. it’s real, and it’s with the one person who sees him, wants him, loves him.

his hips roll again, a little deeper now, more sure of himself, panting at the way you cling to him in return.

your leg tightens around him as the rhythm builds, and the water keeps falling. warm, rushing, washing over both of you like some kind of absolution. but there’s nothing holy about the way you’re moving now. nothing sacred except maybe the way he’s looking at you. eyes wide, mouth parted, like this is the only thing that’s ever made sense.

“you’re–” he tries again, but can’t finish. his head falls to your shoulder, breath stuttering as you rock into him again.

you slide your fingers into his hair, grounding him, and whisper against his ear, “it’s okay, baby. i’ve got you.”

and god, the way he moans when you say that, broken and beautiful, like he never knew someone could have him like this.

like no one ever has.

his rhythm changes to a deeper one, he’s fucking you harder now. not rushed, but determined. like something clicks in him, like he finally believes it’s really happening. that you’re really his, here and wet and warm around him, moaning his name like it’s the only word you’ve ever known.

his hands grip tighter at your hips, dragging you closer, tilting your body just right so he can thrust up into you again and again.

the water beats down around you both, steam rising between gasps and slick skin and the quiet slap of movement between your bodies. his eyes drop for a moment to take you in. the way water trails down your chest, slipping over your breasts, nipples peaked and glistening. he can’t help himself. he cups them, thumbs brushing over the tight buds, watching you shudder at the touch. his jaw flexes, and a low groan escapes his chest. the sound makes your spine arch against the tile, cold against your back, a sharp contrast to the heat rolling off his body like a blaze.

“fuck–” he pants, voice ragged. “you don’t even know… how many times i thought about this.”

he grabs under your thigh, lifts you higher, and slams back into you with a force that punches the air from your lungs. you cry out, nails clawing into his back, but he doesn’t stop. he can’t.

“used to think about it all the time,” he says, thrusts growing erratic. “having you like this. your legs around me, water pouring down over us–fuck–”

you can barely think straight. all you can feel is him. the way he fills you, the way he kisses you like he’s starved for it, the way he’s talking out of pure lust. his mouth finds yours again, messy and wild. his tongue tangling with yours as he groans into your throat, his hips stuttering forward like he’s trying to crawl inside you.

and when he pulls back just enough to look at you, cheeks flushed, hair soaked, eyes wild, you see it clear as day: he’s not holding back anymore.

this was his fantasy. and now he’s living it. you. wrapped around him. soaked and shaking. his.

and he’s fucking you like he never wants it to end.

your back presses harder to the tile, slick and trembling. his hands never stop moving. one gripping the back of your thigh to keep you steady, the other sliding up between your bodies, fingers slipping over your soaked skin until he finds your clit.

he circles it, slow, then fast, in time with his thrusts, and it’s like a jolt through your spine.

“that’s it,” he grits, voice low and strained, forehead pressing to yours. “come on, come for me. wanna feel you.”

you unravel under him, sharp and sudden. a burst of light behind your eyes, a cry of bear! that echoes in the small space, drowned only by the water crashing around you. your legs tighten around him, arms clinging to his shoulders like you might break apart if you let go.

he tightens his jaw, barely holding himself back as he fucks you through it, but he doesn’t follow. not yet. he’s still rock hard inside you, still throbbing, still chasing it. and when your body starts to loosen, shuddering and dripping wet, he doesn’t waste a second.

“not done, baby,” he pants, voice rough in your ear.

he pulls out only far enough to manhandle you into place. hands tight on your hips as he turns you around, pressing your chest to the wall tile. it’s cold against your breasts, and it’s shocking, but his hands are everywhere. steadying your waist, spreading your pussy open. you brace one leg on the shelf for balance, presenting for him like you’re his to take. because you are.

he groans behind you, the sound filthy and desperate. “jesus, you’re unreal.”

when he slides back in, it’s with one smooth thrust, and the slap of his hips to your ass echoes loud in the steam. he grabs your hips like he never wants to let go.

“you’re fucking perfect,” he mutters, like it’s been sitting on his tongue for too long. “so wet for me. so fucking perfect.”

he drags his hand up your spine, slow and reverent, and then back down, cupping your ass, kneading once, then guiding himself back in with a low groan. you’re tighter from this angle, deeper, and it punches a sound out of both of you.

his hips snap forward again, harder now, and your whole body jerks with it. he braces one hand beside your head on the wall, the other gripping your hip so tight you’ll probably feel it later.

he starts to move, sharp and hungry, each thrust heavy and claiming, like all those years of quiet want are pouring out of him at once. like he’s making up for every day he didn’t get to do this with you.

you’re moaning now, loud, wild, unrestrained. but it doesn’t matter. not over the sharp slap of skin against skin, the rush of water crashing down, or the ragged, guttural groans he spills with every thrust. it’s all filthy and frantic, soaked in steam and sweat. the slick, relentless rhythm of your bodies drowns beneath the roar of the shower.

a whimper of his name escapes you, which only fuels his roughness. his rhythm breaks, but only to adjust your leg higher, opening you wider. he shoves his cock back in, so deep it steals your breath, making you splay your fingers against the tile for purchase. his palm covers your stomach, grounding you as he presses you into his body.

you can feel him everywhere. his chest against your back, the heat of his breath at your shoulder, the sharp need in the way he fucks you like he’s starving. and maybe he is.

because this was the fantasy. you, naked and drenched, bent over in the shower, steam curling around your bodies while he finally, finally gets to fuck you like he's dreamed of for so long.

carmy’s breath hitches as he thrusts one last time. your gasps echoes off the tiles as he comes, hot and thick, pulsing deep inside you. you feel his body tremble, his cock twitching inside with each surge of release, your walls milking him through it. the water pounds down, washing over you as he stays locked in place, buried deep as he groans your name into your neck. it’s rough, raw, like it tears out of him.

you feel the way he continues to shake against you, the way his hands grasp at your body like he still can’t believe it’s real. his hands start to explore again, slower this time, tracing the lines of your waist, the soft of your thigh. his mouth and tongue brush the curve of your shoulder, then your spine, open-mouthed kisses, as if to apologize for how rough he got, or maybe just to worship you now that he can. how it’s somehow better than any dream he ever dared to let himself have.

“fuck,” he whispers, forehead pressed to the back of your neck. “it’s better than i thought. better than anything i ever–”

he can’t even finish the sentence. you’re both breathless, soaked, bodies tangled and twitching, warm water still streaming down your skin, doing nothing to cool the heat between you.

he pulls out slowly, one hand still firm on your hip, the other reaching around to guide you to turn. and when you do, his eyes flick down. at your flushed skin, your chest rising and falling, the soap still clinging in streaks to your curves. and he lets out this soft, stunned little noise.

you lean into him, letting your forehead rest against his.

“we good?” you whisper, lips curling in a teasing grin.

he nods, breath still uneven, hand cupping your cheek, thumb dragging gently across your mouth.

“we’re more than good,” he says, voice low. “thank you for indulging me.”

you laugh softly, dizzy with love and the high of him. because if he asked, you’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

he kisses you then. slower now and filthy-sweet, like he’s still tasting the fantasy made real.

and when you finally step out of the shower, wet and flushed, towels barely clinging to your bodies, he doesn’t let you get far. just grabs your wrist, pulls you back into him with a growl against your neck.

“next time,” you murmur, smirking, “don’t wait so long to tell me your dirty little fantasies…”

he exhales hard, hands already wandering again, voice hot against your skin, “yeah? then don’t make me wait long for the next round.”

because with the way he’s looking at you now, you know it’s only a matter of time.

₊˚⊹♡

thank you for reading. please reblog or comment. or both ☻

#this is so sweet and so hot at the same time #literally yearning for this #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy my love

302 notes · View notes

ariiireads · 2 days ago

Text

Clingy Carmen

He's in love. He's clingy. He's yours.

The annual staff party is in full swing, the cramped staff room of the restaurant buzzing with laughter, clinking glasses, and the faint thump of a playlist Richie threw together at the last minute.

You’re leaning against a counter, nursing a soda water with lime, watching the chaos unfold.

The kitchen staff, usually a tightly wound crew, is letting loose tonight, and it’s a sight. Sydney’s debating pizza toppings with Marcus, Tina’s dancing with Ebra, and Richie’s trying to convince everyone he’s got the best karaoke voice in Chicago.

But your eyes keep drifting to Carmen—your Carmen—whose usual sharp focus has been replaced by a tipsy, lopsided grin.

He’s three whiskeys deep, maybe four, and it shows. Carmy’s not a big drinker, but tonight he’s leaning into it, his shoulders relaxed for once, his anxiety tucked away under the warm haze of alcohol. He’s standing by the drinks table, laughing too loud at something Fak said, but when he spots you across the room, his whole face lights up like you’re the only person here.

“Babe,” he calls, voice slurring just enough to make Sydney snicker. He weaves through the crowd, nearly tripping over a chair, and before you can say anything, he’s at your side, wrapping his arms around your waist like you’re his lifeline. “There you are,” he mumbles, burying his face in your neck. His breath is warm, smelling of whiskey and that faint, familiar scent of the kitchen—olive oil, smoke, and him.

“Carm, you good?” you ask, patting his back, trying not to laugh as he nuzzles closer. His curls tickle your cheek, and you can feel the heat of his skin through his thin T-shirt.

“M’great,” he slurs, pulling back just enough to look at you with heavy-lidded eyes. “You’re so pretty, y’know that? Like… stupid pretty.” His hands slide up your sides, lingering a little too long, and you catch Richie raising an eyebrow from across the room, smirking like he’s enjoying the show.

“Thanks, babe,” you say, gently steering his hands back to safer territory. “You’re having fun, huh?”

“Only ‘cause you’re here,” he says, earnest in that way only a drunk Carmy can be. He leans in, trying to kiss you, but it’s messy, his aim off, landing somewhere near your jaw. You laugh, guiding his face back, and he pouts, looking like a kicked puppy. “C’mon, kiss me,” he whines, tugging you closer.

“Carmy, you’re drunk,” you say, keeping your tone light but firm. The others are watching now, Tina stifling a giggle behind her hand, Marcus pretending to focus on his drink but clearly eavesdropping.

Carmy’s usually so tightly wound, all sharp edges and nervous energy, that seeing him like this, soft, clingy, practically draping himself over you—is comedy gold to them.

“Don’t care,” he mumbles, pressing himself against you, his hands wandering again. “You’re my girl, right? Lemme… lemme take you home.” His voice drops, low and suggestive, and you feel your cheeks heat up as Richie lets out a loud “Oh, shit!” and claps like he’s at a stand-up show.

“Carmen Anthony Berzatto,” you say, grabbing his face with both hands, forcing him to meet your eyes with an amused grin. “You are way too drunk for that.”

He blinks at you, slow and confused, then grins like he’s got a secret. “But I want you,” he says, loud enough that Sydney chokes on her drink and Fak lets out a “Yo, Carm, chill!”

You’re torn between embarrassment and amusement, because this is Carmy, the guy who can barely say “I love you” without blushing sober, trying to get frisky in front of his entire staff.

“Nope,” you say, shaking your head, but you can’t help smiling. “You’re going to bed, chef. Alone. With water and some aspirin.”

He groans, dramatically, and slumps against you, his head on your shoulder. “You’re no fun,” he mumbles, but he’s still clinging to you, arms tight around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

You catch Tina’s eye, and she mouths “cute” with a grin, clearly loving this rare glimpse of Carmy’s softer side.

“Alright, party’s over for you,” you say, gently prying him off. “Say goodnight, Carm.”

“Goodnight, Carm,” he echoes, giggling to himself, then waves sloppily at the room. “Night, losers!”

The crew erupts in laughter, Richie yelling, “Get his ass home, Sweetheart!” as you steer Carmy toward the door.

The drive to his apartment is an adventure. Carmy’s in the passenger seat, still touchy, reaching for your hand at every red light, muttering about how you’re “the best thing that’s ever happened” to him. You keep one hand on the wheel, the other gently batting his away when he gets too bold, reminding him you’re not crossing that line while he’s hammered.

At his place, you manage to get him inside, the two of you pressed together, all sloppy kisses and whispered promises. You're giving him this much as you walk him to bed. “C’mon, babe, just stay,” he pleads, flopping onto the mattress, tugging at your wrist.

“Not tonight, Carm,” you say, firm but gentle, pulling the blanket over him. You set a glass of water and two aspirin on the nightstand, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

He’s already half-asleep, eyes fluttering shut, but he grabs your hand one last time, holding it against his chest.

“Love you,” he mumbles, barely coherent, and your heart does a little flip despite yourself.

“Love you too,” you whisper, kissing his forehead. He’s out cold before you even turn off the light.

As you lock up and head home, you can’t help but smile, thinking about the teasing you’ll both get from the crew tomorrow. Clingy, drunk Carmy might be a handful, but he’s your handful, and that’s more than enough.

#si me vieran la sonrisa enamorada que me traigo #god this man makes a fool of me #i love him so much #my baby #my love #i love himmmmmm #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy my love

370 notes · View notes

ariiireads · 2 days ago

Text

Can we as a community bring back gallzatto fics

#2024 oct nov n dec i miss u #gallzato fics were so powerful then #please come back gallzatto

16 notes · View notes

ariiireads · 2 days ago

Text

@nyrasfangirl n me rn bc our favorite writer reblogged her fic

#Go read her ficcccc #im so excited i cant go to sleep now lmao #shes famous omgggg #guys my writerbbestie is famous omg #i feel like a proud mom #after weeks of the cowboy au in our dms its finally here GO READ IT #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto

14 notes · View notes

ariiireads · 3 days ago

Note

Saying this with my whole chest, you are the most talented writer for JAW’s characters and genuinely an unproblematic human. I thoroughly admire how you gracefully state your opinion, then just be on your way. I hope you never stop writing because it is truly ART.

omg )))): thank you thank you this is so cute and i was a little blown away by it cause i didn’t expect it

you’re SWEET AS HELL for sending this ❤️❤️ i’m just giddy about being able to yap and share with all of you about my hyperfixation who i see we all have!! 😅

i think i’ll always write, whether it’s on here or not. it’s always drew me in and i’ve enjoyed running this acc immensely. thank u again. this means so much to me you don’t even know

#so true!!!#wanna give it a post here bc I4I is truly so amazing and talented #im so happy you are posting

6 notes · View notes

ariiireads · 3 days ago

Text

can't stop thinking about clark realizing you're pregnant before you even had a clue..... (1.8k words)

It's damn near midnight. You'd spent most of the day in bed, barely able to keep anything down. Maybe the flu can still be going around...in March? That's what you told yourself anyway. You'd promised Clark you'd go to the doctor in the morning if you weren't feeling any better.

The day had been uneventful. Your time was spent by nursing cups of broth and watching reruns of your favorite show - it was all you had the energy for yet you were still exhausted by the time Clark came home from work. He had tried to make you eat real food, but even the smell of butter burning slightly in the pan made your stomach flip and allowed the sickness to take over.

Clark had helped you into the bath after and opted to sit on the cold bathroom tile next to you. He missed you dearly, but more than anything wanted to make sure you were okay. He told you what you missed at work today. "Whole lotta nothin," he quipped, his hands moved to push the hair out of your eyes. He told you about the new article he'd gotten approved to write, that he saved a cat from a tree on the way home, that he saw a photo on Jimmy's phone that he really wished he hadn't. Clark sensed that his rambling soothed you, the energy surrounding you turned mellow and your heart rate slowed as he gently massaged your scalp with his fingers. You really were worn down, he thought. He wished more than anything that he knew how to make you feel better, but this would have to do.

That led you to now. In bed, on your side, eyelids growing heavy with one arm and leg draped over Clark's toned chest and legs. He was bare, save for a pair of tight fitting boxers. Any other day, you'd be all over him; begging for him to be all over you until you're a pile of mush in the sheets. But not tonight. Tonight, you just wanted him to hold you. Clark is a good boy, so he was doing just that with his large hand splayed across your back. His fingers occasionally running up and down your spine almost sank you into blissful sleep. That is, until...

Clark stiffened beneath you. It's like his entire body turned to concrete while his eyes darted from one corner of the room to the other. He heard something.

"What is it?" You ask, exhaustion and a hint of annoyance laced in your voice.

"Hear someone," Clark murmured.

He slid out from under you with ease and pulled some sweatpants over his legs. The spot he just left was still warm, but his absence made the bed suddently feel cold and sterile.

"You sure it wasn't just a bird, baby? They've been crashing into the windows like crazy for weeks now."

You're slightly perturbed, but you try not to be. He is Superman after all. His job is to keep the city safe, so you can't blame him for being attuned to hearing anything and everything that could possibly pose a threat. Plus, you knew he cared about your well being more than anything else in this world, so you chose not to push it any further.

Clark doesn't say anything else, only turning back to you with a finger over his lips, asking for silence as he investigates. He glides through the room tactfully and undetected, as if he were a lion hunting its prey. You watch as he pads down the hallway from your shared bedroom and disappears into the darkness that is the rest of your apartment.

He's gone for only a minute or two. When he comes back, you notice his hair is a bit windswept. He must have checked the outside of the building. You can't even imagine if someone had saw him. A half naked man with rock hard abs seemingly levitating outside the 17th floor of a Metropolis apartment building in the middle of the night. Although, it probably wouldn't have been the weirdest thing anyone has ever seen.

"Sorry," he apologizes, "Guess it was nothing."

Clark quickly discarded his sweats back onto the floor and nestled back into bed next to you, resuming the same position you were both in just minutes before. He runs his veiny hand over his face and rubs his eyes, an adorable yawn escaping his lips. Clark was tired too.

"It was probably just something happening on the street. They're still doing night construction across the street," you thought aloud.

"No, honey," he was quick to interject with a click of tongue, "It wasn't something; it was someone. I heard their..."

Clark froze again, ears perking up as he turned to fully face you. He suddenly felt hot and cold at the same time. He looked like he wasn't breathing.

You were growing concerned with his sudden skittishness. "Everything oka-?"

"Heartbeat," he finally mustered up the strength to say out loud.

You're not making sense of what is unfolding in front of you. Clark is staring at you; his eyes felt like they were burning a hole into your soul. His gaze drifts about your body, as if he were checking you for injuries or trying to see if anything was different about you. You notice his eyes are lingering at your lower half, where your arm laid haphazardly across your stomach as you rested on your side. Your engagment ring glimmered in the low light of the lamp in the corner of the room, but that's not what Clark was really staring at.

"So, it was a person or no? I'm lost, bubby," you stated, begging him to make sense of this.

"I only heard the heartbeat when we were in bed earlier. 'S not outside or in any other part of the house. I think...." Clark's voice is shaky now. "I think you're pregnant?" It came out as more of a question than a statement.

It was your turn to be speechless. Your eyebrows furled as you sat up straight. Either Clark was losing his mind or this was some kind of joke.

"Clark, what in the hell are you talking about?"

He's quiet again, only this time he shimmies down the plush mattress until his head is hovering right above your belly and facing away from you. It felt like the whole world stopped in that moment. What if it was true? Is this why you've felt so sick over the last few days? Gears are turning in your head trying to solve this puzzle. When Clark turns his head back towards you, the final piece locks into place.

"I hear it. It's quiet, but it's there. A heartbeat." Clark was smiling.

You reach a hand out to hold the side of his face that isn't pressed against your stomach. You don't know whether to cry, celebrate, or puke for the seventh time today. You run your thumb anxiously along his jawline.

"Holy shit," is all you can muster. "Is that even possible?" You really didn't know. Neither of you did. Sure, you've both pondered (and loved) the idea of mini Clarks and mini yous running around the farm in Kansas one day. However, you had never seriously considered whether or not a human could give birth to a half-Kryptonian.

"Guess so," Clark replies. "We can make some calls in the morning and try to find out."

He's moved back to the top of the bed now and his arms are enveloping you in an all-consuming embrace. His chin is tucked into your collarbone, his breath tickling your neck just slightly with each exhale.

"Are you happy?" He asks, begs, quietly. Your lack of enthusiasm has him growing weary.

You pull back to look at him fully. The dark, curly hair on top of his head, the prickly stubble on his cheeks that appears after a long day, the warmth radiating off his perfect body. You melt under his touch, along with any doubts you had in your mind. In front of you is a man who would literally go to the ends of the Earth (and beyond) to protect you. A man that lends a hand to anybody and anything that could possibly need his help. A man that loves you so deeply that he would know how to find you in any universe or lifetime.

"I think," tears prick at your eyes, "That I'm a little scared. And a little shocked."

Clark nods his head, listening. His jaw twitches slightly.

"That's okay," he tries to reassure you.

"I know." You swallowed hard. The tears were coming now. "But also still a little happy."

It's like a switch flipped, the two of you begin chuckling contagiously in disbelief. Clark thumbed the tears away from your cheeks and you kissed him deeply. He was warm and his tongue was soft, slipping through your mouth and running along your bottom lip.

"I love you so much," Clark says as he pulls back. There isn't a doubt in your mind of how much he means it.

"I love you too, Clark," you beamed, "But I can't believe you thought our baby was an alien intruder that came here to destroy humanity at midnight on a random Tuesday." A fake pout adorned your features.

Clark playfully flicked at your nose, unable to fight the laugh in his belly. "I thought you were sick?" He jested, "Now you have time to crack jokes?"

"Heyyy!" you protested, "Be nice to me. You have to now."

"'M always nice to you," Clark snided, feigning offense and planting a forgiving kiss to the top of your nose.

Neither of you remember when you both fell asleep. You talked until the sun almost began to rise. About what color hair you thought they'd have, what theme the nursery would be, what color their eyes would be. You wanted them to have Clark's, and of course, Clark wanted them to have your eyes. Agree to disagree Clark proclaimed, though he'd be happy even if the baby's eyes were purple. The baby, your baby, was a piece of the two of you and the love you shared so deeply with one another. And that was all that mattered to him.

You woke up turned away from Clark, morning light quickly taking over the bedroom. Your body was engulfed by his broad shoulders as he spooned you. His arm, as strong as it may be, was draped oh so carefully across your abdomen. Clark was already protecting the little one growing inside of you. And he always would.

#AY LO AMO #im a sucker for domestic fics #superman x reader #clark kent x reader #clark my beloved

4K notes · View notes

ariiireads · 3 days ago

Text

you and i- we're in this for life. ( clark kent )

open the door baby, let me in and see you all pretty. it's your wedding day, you've dreamed of this for moment for months to finally marry the love of your life so why does it feel like you just can't breathe. it's the shoes, the dress, the people you don't even know waiting for you outside- good thing clark doesn't believe in it being bad luck to see the bride before the wedding- he has the best luck in the world to be marrying you.

pairing: clark kent x fem! reader

themes: fluff, fluff, fluff, minor angst- wedding breakdown, clark kent being the best partner ever

the knocks that land at the door are gentle; his knuckles kiss the wooden panels three times in a comforting rememberance.

its the same three knocks he lands at your desk when he whispers a 'good morning' into your hair as he hands you the first coffee of the day. the same three thuds that softly ask for entrance when you're in the bathroom; soaking in the tub after a long day of work and he just wants to sit with you, to be near you and fill his heart whole again.

three thuds that let you know he's here, he will always be here and it's entirely your call to answer.

"baby?" his voice heats at the door, rumbling through the frame and vibrating through the walls of your heart. you try and get some words out in return, but there's something hot and heavy twisting the veins in your body. blood rushes to your ears and you feel yourself drowning.

he calls out for you again, this time concern laced through his soft voice and he rattles the door knob.

locked of course.

you needed some time alone to just think about anything other than how huge and heavy this gown your mother chose feels on you, how the straps to your shoes feel a little too tight how you're trying so damn hard not to cry and spoil the makeup you got up at eight am for. it's all just a little too much for you and even now, there's people waiting outside who you've never heard of- waiting to see you mess up the most important day of your life.

"honey?" the struggle against the door is real, in the blur of a breakdown you can hear his body firmly sling itself against the door before rattling the doorknob all over. "please tell me you're okay in there, or god i'm gonna get all sweaty breaking this shit down," he heaves another body slam into the door and stills once your breath lands in the air after what feels like forever.

"c-clark," you get out, hands bracing the door- palms feeling the coolness of the frame as you try your hardest to hold your weight up. your shoulders are hunched over as you bend to catch your breath. eyes crinkled shut in fear of opening them and unleashing the river of tears for sure to destroy your makeup.

"love," he returns gently, "it's me, i'm here now. just breathe for me okay?" and he can't see the nod you deliver shakily but resumes nonetheless. "one in we go, two breathe out, one," and you hear him loudly inhale, "two," a comforting exhale. he repeats it four times and you follow on to his steady rhythm, heart desperately returning to its rest state as you count alongside him.

"one," you mumble to yourself, regaining control, "two," and the breaths feel lighter, your head slowly returning from the fog and you keep going like that; numbers and chests fluttering filling the silence. the seconds pass and the thundering thoughts die down as a soft "good girl" whispers through the barrier that separates the two of you.

"clark?" you call and his response is immediate.

"yes, my love?"

"i'm scared," you sheepishly admit, eyes trained upwards to the door where you imagine him facing you on the other side.

"of what, honey?" and the question is so gentle it heats you to a pool of warmth and melts your soul.

"of letting you down," your voice cracks as you lay yourself bare. "of letting them all down," and your back slides down the length of the door as you sit in a pile of ruffles and tulle. your head rests in your hands and you try not to cry again, its just been a constant effort of that today.

"oh honey," he soothes and thats one of your favourite things about clark kent. he's a force to be reckoned with, a hell of a journalist and built like a brick- but he's also tender, soft hearted and the sweetest human you've ever met- who would bleed himself out to give you a means to float ahead. "you could never let me down," and the sounds of him sitting on the opposite side fill your ears. "not in any world," he swears. "if this isn't what you want, i'm not going to be angry, sweetheart."

and you instantly bite down the bile rising and shake your head no, "no," you plead, "i want this more than anything- you, more than anything," and he murmurs in comfort.

"you wanna talk me through whats going on right now?"

"it's silly"

"it is not," he stresses firmly, serious to his core.

"well, argh, for one, i can't breathe in this silly dress and i've been awake since eight and i haven't had anything to eat and-" the panic swirls in your throat as you count on your fingers all the things that have gone wrong today. you've dreamt of marrying the love of your life ever since he slid the ring on your finger or possibly even from the moment you knew you loved him enough to work towards forever with, this just isn't how you imagined it.

"so we take off the dress," he shrugs and you scoff in disbelief.

"it took lois, my mother AND my sister to get me in this thing!"

"and i promise you darlin' it won't take me long to get you out of it," the flirt in his drawl sending butterflies swirming in your stomach and you blush a deepen rose at the insinuation.

it's working, he thinks. you're slowly coming out of your head and back to him on earth.

"we loose the dress, we get you something to eat, maybe take a nap and then we get married," you can hear the smile in his voice, the order and direction that steers you clear in clarity.

"and then what will i wear?" you play along, leaning the back of your head against the frame. you imagine him on the opposite site, his skin on yours- his big firm arms wrapped around you tight enough to hold you together but loose enough to give you all the room to breathe.

"you can borrow one of my shirts," he offers and you bark out a laugh so loud and beautiful clark would like to bottle it; savour it and drink it on the nights he's spent away from you. "oh come on," he teases, "you've never had a problem with that before." you shake out another laugh, the tulle settling around you in a pool on the floor. you're no longer drowning, but afloat with your sailor of a partner clark kent.

"you gonna open the door for me, sweetheart?" he finally asks the burning question and you swallow the phlegm gathered in your throat.

"can't", you mumble offhandedly, "bad luck to see the bride before the wedding and the "what?" he shouts is outrageous.

"and who in the hell says that?" his recoil is comical.

"i don't know," you chuckle, "but rules are rules, kent."

"well i say fuck the rules, kent," and you can hear the mischief laced in his voice and twinkle in those vibrant sea eyes. something warm and firery lands in your veins at him calling you by his name; like youre his and have always been and now you've never been more sure of the future you'd like. "there's no such thing as bad luck, not when i'm the luckiest person on damn planet earth to be marrying you right now, doll."

you don't answer right away, but stand slowly, dust yourself off before turning the lock. at the first click, clark is on his feet in an instant, almost too quickly and just like that the wind knocks out of him completely. he stands there, gaping, drinking you in till the very last breath and its still not enough.

you stand there, tear stained with vulnerability, suddenly bashful under his attention. you rock on your two feet, twisting your hands behind your back as your fiance is stunned into silence.

"oh don't get all shy on me now, say something," you almost whine.

"i'm trying to find the words," he attempts at closing his mouth left wide open and thinks for any word that could come close to describing how utterly gorgeous, downright stunning you look- but nothing can even begin to scratch the surface, nevermind even exist in the same timeline. "you are beyond perfect- you are magical," he whispers in awe and takes the first step of forever towards you. you meet him halfway, his arms drawn to your hips and clawing at the bottom of your back as yours land on his chest. the embrace is sweet and all you've ever known. you stand as the sun, centre of his universe as he rotates around you in awe. you rest your head on his chest and he softly sways the two of you in a silent dance- a mock of your first dance to be had in the next few hours.

he lets you stay like that for a few minutes, regaining your pace and composure. "you sure you still want to do this today?" his murmur is hot on your neck, breath tickling just under your jaw where his lips hover dangerously.

"please," you whisper, tilting your head upwards to him, meeting him halfway and destroying the inches of air that separate the two of you in a long kiss. it's slow, paced, filled withe knowledge that clark kent gets to kiss you for an eternity; any moment of any given day. filled with the yearning he still feels for you and the patience that has guided you to where you two stand today. you pull apart for a single moment to breathe in his existence before clark's lips chase after yours to savour another taste. he kisses you a little bit more urgently this time, bending you at the waist and moulding his body into yours; marvelling at how perfect you slot against him like the missing puzzle piece hes searched planets for.

"then we get rid of everyone," he nods to himself, "and then we get you out of this dress, eh?"

the smirk is loud, confident and makes you blush a pink so heavy and vivid- matching the same sunset later that night that he marries you under. you're dressed in a pair of slacks and one of clark's dress shirts; an excited smile printed into your face permanently. clark holds his hand in yours as he walks you down the first step into a lifetime of forevers with you, matching your outfit to his- his wedding attire sans the fancy blazer and waistcoat. he's even unbuttoned the top two, flashing a you-satisfied amount of skin as he relishes under your attention as he walks you down the garden of the home the two of you have made.

you meet lois, your sister and jimmy who stand at the end and when clark whispers his vows, marking them into your soul and you returning the same branding he kisses you like its the very first time, holds you like its the last. the butterflies in your stomach have graduated to a zoo as clark swirls you around the garden under a sky that bleeds day into night, glistening under a sea of stars that twinkle at your laughter and guide clark home into your arms.

and when the small party's over and your guests have left your home, clark carries you upstairs slightly buzzed as the two of you are high on the excitement of being newlyweds. he holds you in his big arms, undresses you for the second time that day and when he lowers you into your bed, whispering a sweet oath of "you and i, we're in this for life," against your skin, theres nothing more you can do than sigh in bliss and gratitude that this is your life. it's the start of something not new, but what you've always known and what you feel like to your core is what you've always been meant to do.

clark kent was made for loving you and you would return that tenfold, in every lifetime he would stay by your side just as he promised to before you spoke a soft and true, "i do," cementing his existence to yours.

note: i wanted to do something very cute to say thank you for 2k on baby, it's you!!! my first clark fic that was special to me and i think is special to you to garner that kind of attention- nonetheless im extremely grateful and it means the world to go through all the reblogs, comments and mentions on it so thank you for gifting me that pleasure. i hope you enjoy this and as always let me know what you think, i love you & my inbox is always open even if you just wanna come say hi! i love hearing what you have to say and i hope you have a good one wherever you are <33

#hes a sweetheart #love him #clark kent #clark kent x reader

689 notes · View notes

ariiireads · 4 days ago

Text

krypto, take me home

summary: when Clark can’t make it to the fortress, Krypto brings him to you

pairing: clark kent x female reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: typical injury/kinda recovery warnings, blood, broken bones, etc. not much else. reader is mentioned have hair once. no other descriptions

a/n: sigh another fic the next day, that’s when you know i’m obsessed. here’s a lil idea i had as soon as i saw the opening scene. if you're new here cause i'm pretty much known for bucky barnes fics, I love angst so that's kinda my lil niche. hope that's okie!

oh and I loved @sharknutz idea of Clark calling the reader sunshine so yeaaa I had to try that out <3

masterlist | send requests

You were never a very light sleeper, per se. It wasn’t like you were waking up with each creak of the floorboards or gust of wind. But you never were one to sleep fully through the night without waking up just once. Clark had this little joke; he could always count on an extra cuddle sometime around 2 am. What could you say? You always slept better with him by your side.

Tonight, sleep proved to be a challenge. Clark had been gone for hours, off handling what you think you heard as some underground group of metahumans terrorizing the capital of Wales? After a while, you couldn’t find it in yourself to watch the news. Sue you, but the constant sight of your boyfriend smashing into concrete and brick buildings wasn’t how you wanted to spend the evening. It never was easy, knowing every time he left in that cape, there was the slightest chance he wouldn’t return. The habit of flicking on the television, just to become distraught and overwhelmed, and turning it off only to cave and flick it on again, consumed your evenings.

The bed was cold, feeling larger than normal without Clark’s large frame claiming more than half the bed and hogging the blankets. Your feet fluttered under the duvet, trying to shake the nerves and unease that engulfed your body. He should’ve been back by now, slipping through the door with a smirk and some half-funny quip about his injuries; it never was all that funny to you. You knew he needed to stop by the fortress first if he was hurt, recharge and heal, and maybe check on Krypto before flying back. Still, it was 4 am, and the news declared the situation to be handled by 1 am.

The thoughts swirling in your brain halted when a crash and the sound of shattering glass echoed through the living room. You jolted upright in bed, stumbling quietly out from the sheets and reaching for the steel pipe you had stashed under the bedframe. Clark always thought it was ridiculous, offering to get you a bat or something, but the pipe was found with your first apartment, and you’d had no issues in all your years since in Metropolis, maybe it was a good luck charm.

You slowly inched to the door as you heard grunts mixed with the sounds of stumbling feet and soft pounding. Any bit of drowsiness you had managed to build up while lying in bed was gone. If you needed to escape, the front door was in the kitchen, which was right next to the bedroom. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? Unless they weren’t human.

Before you could continue to spiral and plan your first mode of attack, the familiar sound of a bark bounced up the other side of the door.

“Krypto?” you asked hesitantly as you lowered the pipe. The grading sound of that familiar yelp continued, confirming your suspicions.

You placed the pipe on the bed before slowly pulling the door open. You couldn’t even greet the superdog before he latched onto the hem of your shorts and tugged you out of the room.

“Hey, buddy, slow down,” you said as you stumbled behind him, trying not to fall. Something was wrong; the high-strung and chaotic pup you had come to know well was never this focused. He dragged you to the living room before letting go of your shorts with a bark. The white dog rushed over to the window- that’s when you saw.

The large bay window was shattered, exposing the crisp air of the early morning. Glass was strewn across the hardwoods. Lying face down in the middle was Clark. He looked wrecked, bruises covered the sharp angles of his cheekbones, and blood dripped from his lips and soaked parts of his hair. His arm twitched slightly, letting you know there was something damaged beneath the suit. He looked awful. The haunting rattling from his chest was the worst, filling the silent room and pounding in your ears.

“Clark!” you said, rushing to his side. As carefully as possible, you slipped to your knees, being sure to avoid the bits of glass that surrounded the scene. Your hands began to shake as you reached for him, scared to do any further damage. You rarely saw him like this, and if so, it tended to be through news footage.

“Honey, hey,” gently, you tried to turn him off his face and onto his back. He cried out at the movement, but his voice quickly turned to a whimper. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

He didn’t respond, just fluttered his eyes open and glanced up at you. Through the blood on his lips, he still flashed you a smile. Your heart stuttered.

“Hi baby,” he said, through bloody teeth.

“Clark, honey, what are you doing here?” Your voice was frantic as your hands hovered over him, afraid to touch anywhere.

“…needed to heal,” he said, trying to lean up into your touch, but the movement just brought more pain.

Delicately, your hands moved to cup his face, softly brushing a bit of glass from the sable curls that framed his face. As your fingers grazed the dark bruises by his eyes, you couldn’t help but notice how he relaxed under your hands.

Krypto leapt up onto the couch beside you, crawling up to the front and watching as you tried to figure out what to do next.

“Why…why didn’t you go to the f-fortress?” You asked. He hated how he could hear the tremors in your voice, hated how visibly distressed you were. He hated that he was the one to cause it.

He tried once again to lean upright into a sitting position. This time, you grabbed him and quickly propped him against the couch. At this angle, it seemed the airflow in his lungs was strengthened.

“I…too far,” he said, his bright blue eyes fully opening and meeting yours. “I couldn’t…make it. I got as far as outside the city but...”

Your hands moved slowly down from his neck to his chest. Through the thick blue fabric, you could feel the cracked bones of his clavicle and sternum. Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to relax.

“Then why …? Clark, why did Krypto bring you here? I can’t—I can’t fix this,” you said, your words spilled out in an almost incoherent ramble. Your panic stilled for just a moment as you felt Clark’s hand softly reach up for yours, guiding it to his chest where your palm felt the steady thumping of his heart.

“I told him to take me home,” he said as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

A soft sigh left your chest; you couldn’t place what it was, perhaps it was a mix of surprise or relief or even resignation. Those words were everything you wanted to hear. You wanted nothing more than to be his safety, his place to go and feel protected. If he wasn’t battered on your living room floor, those words would have driven you to kiss him silly.

Your hands came to rest on his neck, tenderly keeping his weary head up as you focused.

“Okay… okay, love,” you said, nodding to yourself as your thumbs brushed softly along the dips of his cheeks. Your eyes darted around the room, trying to remember where you placed the first aid kit. You began to rise from your spot beside him, hoping to find some hydrogen peroxide and gauze to clean out the gash by his hairline. A strong hand on your wrist held you back.

“Don’t… please stay,” he said, his brows curling up as he pleaded his case.

“Clark, I need to get stuff to clean you up…we need to fix you,” you said, brushing back some curls to get a look at the wound.

“The sun will be up soon… I’ll be fine,” he said. “Please, just stay, sunshine.” Your hands moved to cup his face once again, gently leaning in to place a soft kiss to his temple.

“Please, I can’t see you like this. Just let me make you better?” you asked.

Clark always knew his biggest weakness was kryptonite, but somewhere along the way, that changed. Somehow, it became you. He never could deny you, say no, or dare to not put your needs or wants before his own. It didn’t matter if it was inconvenient or difficult or even impossible; if it was for you, he’d make it happen. He could see the fear and devotion in your eyes; he knew the sight of himself was crushing you. You needed comfort, you needed to feel useful, as if somehow you could make it all okay for him. He knew he’d be fine with a few hours, but if you needed to patch him up, then so be it. Who was he to say no when you asked?

“Yeah… of course, baby,” he said, his hand gingerly squeezing yours before letting you go. With a relieved sigh, you rushed to the kitchen. You didn’t miss the needy sigh that left his lips at your absence.

Krypto dashed from the couch, following you through the apartment as you checked your cabinets. You carded through the bathroom until you gathered everything you’d need. Rushing back to Clark’s side, you could feel the pounding of your heart begin to slow. Words ran through your mind, repeating like a mantra as you tried to compose yourself. He’s okay, he’s alive, he’s here.

You spilled your medical stash along the rug as you returned to his side. You gently began to wash out the first cut you saw. You stretched over him as you worked, kneeling but no longer resting on your legs as you found the best angle to wash out the wound. Your hands worked quickly, stopping the bleeding before applying butterfly plasters to close it.

Somewhere lost in your mission, you noticed the weight of the superbeing below you melting into your chest. Clark’s head rested safely against your chest. His good arm wrapped around your thighs, keeping you as close as he could with the strength he had. The sound of his breathing still left you shaky, but his sighs of content helped.

By the time you had finished, the sun began to creep its way over the sky-high buildings of Metropolis. Warm light filtered in through your apartment, casting deep shadows before banishing them with a brighter day. Your hands gently shook Clark.

“Love, sun’s up,” you said. His strength was returning, but he still had injuries only the yellow sun could fix. He slung his arm around you and helped you pull him up as you moved him over to the window.

You did your best to hold him still and steady as the bright glow of the sun coated his body. You were never around when he took his time to heal; you never saw the way he thrashed and cried out at the pain. As much as it killed you to hear his whimpers, you held him firmly, using what little strength you had as a human to keep the god-like man in your arms upright.

With one last cry, Clark sagged back into your arms. You struggled to keep him rooted, but he soon caught himself. You watched as he drew in deep, long breaths, air finally filling his lungs without the eerie rattle you’d never get out of your head. His hands gripped your arm and hip. His arm was straightened out, firm and taut once again. With one last breath, he stretched back up.

“Are-are you okay?” you asked, your hands once again moving around in search of any surprise injuries you may have missed. With a soft laugh, Clark took your hands and pressed a kiss to your palms. He pulled you in closer, cupping the back of your head and slipping his fingers through your hair.

“I’m fine, sunshine. I said I would be,” he said, pulling you close and resting his forehead to yours. “You took care of me.”

You nodded at his words, falling into his chest as your arms wrapped tightly around him. Calloused hands stroked your hair and held you to him as he placed kisses on the top of your head. You peeked around Clark’s large frame to see Krypto stretched over the couch, his tail thumping at the faded leather as he watched you both.

“I’m glad Krypto brought you to me,” you said, resting your head back over Clark’s heart. The steady beat filled your ear and soothed any anxieties that settled in your bones.

Clark rested his chin atop your head, sighing softly as he squeezed you gently, “He brought me home.”

---

I hope you liked it! kinda quick and eh but thx for reading <3

#CLARKKKKK MY LOVE #and krypto i love him sm #that little dog reminds me of my dog #in my heart my dog reencarnated in krypto (it doesnt make sense but i swear hes just like my mona)#getting emotional is the tags normal ari #clark kent x reader #clark kent #clark my beloved

4K notes · View notes

ariiireads · 4 days ago

Text

Crawling back to you

Carmen Berzatto x Reader

Chapter 1. What the Summer Brought Back

Word count: 1.3k

Content warning: Carmen Berzatto x fem!reader, enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, slow burn, cursing, mutual pining, eventual smut.

a/n: So this came out of many conversations with @ariiireads as well as several videos related to cowboys and i needed this au so i leave it here for yall to enjoy! English isn't my first language and it's the first fic I've ever written so excuse me if there are any mistakes.

Summary: Every year led you back here — to laughter, and people who felt like home. But this time, things feel different. Especially when the past shows up again. You weren’t epecting to see him. Not after everything. Not like this. But Berzatto Ridge has always had a way of stirring up what you thought was buried, old feelings, old fights, and a blue eyed cowboy you never quite forgot.

It didn’t matter the season, at least twice a year, you had to be here, in this beautiful place you called your second home, and this year wasn’t the exception.

When Sugar called you, asking about your plans for this summer, and then invited you to spend the summer, of course, you said yes. You hadn't really thought about your plans, and if you had, they weren't as important as the invitation from your best friend.

Yes, she was a little older than you, like Mikey and Richie. The only one who was close to your age was Carmen, with only three years of difference, but it meant nothing. Even with the age gap between most of you, it was never an impediment for y'all to have fun, and it was always nice having older friends to talk to, people who had already been through what you were feeling, who knew what kind of advice to give.

As soon as the car stopped, you felt it, the mixture of being nervous and excited at the same time. You stepped out, boots meeting earth. The air hit your nose with a wave of nostalgia, memories of old laughter, young love, and small-town drama.

After all this time, there it was, the same big sign at the front gates, Berzatto Ridge, wood darkened by sun and time, a crooked sign at the front gates that was maybe carved by hand many years ago.

You couldn’t help but smile when you saw the big, rustic, timeless house. The wooden porch, wide enough for rocking chairs and new memories. To the right, the horse corrals came into view and a little further, the barn.

You stepped into the house, the smell of cinnamon and old wood reached your nostrils, you sighed and felt that somehow you belonged here. Everything was silent, a little weird for this place, you remembered the house as anything but silent.

“Where is everyone?“

“They must be in town, there’s a rodeo tonight at the county fair, bull riding, eight seconds and barrel racing, the whole thing.” Sugar answered

Ah, the county fair. Hearing the name brings so many memories, you sneaking with the siblings and your friends. Eating cotton candy until your belly hurts. Watching bull riders ride the wild bulls and naive cowboys trying to stay on a horse for more than eight seconds just to win a belt buckle.

“Do you feel like going?“ You muttered.

“I don’t, but Mikey said that they had a surprise for us so maybe we should go. But if you are too tired from the road we can stay, I'm sure they’ll understand- “

“We should go” - you interrupted her - “ it’ll be good to get some fresh night air, besides, I miss those nights and I'm really craving cotton candy.

It was already dark, and the moon was up. You and Nat arrived a few moments ago. You were looking for the boys until you heard Mikey’s loud, wheezy laugh, followed by Richie’s dramatic cackle and some guy yelling “Shut the hell up, you two!”

You turn your head, you see them.

“No fuckin’ way,”

Mikey’s voice cuts through the noise,

“That’s not-hey, HEY. Look who the fuck it is!”

Before you can react, he’s already jogging toward you, arms wide, eyes wide like he just saw a ghost he's fond of.

“What the hell, you didn’t tell us you were comin’!” - he says as he wraps you in the kind of hug that squeezes your ribs.

“I wanted to surprise you, guess it worked,” Sugar mutters as you laugh into his shoulder.

Richie appears, stepping around Mikey and pulling you in for a quick, rough hug that smells like beer and whatever the hell Richie always smells like.

“You look good. You look grown. You look taller—are you taller?” - “She’s not taller, dumbass, she’s wearin’ boots.” - Mikey says, pointing at your pretty boots.

“Don’t get soft on us now,”

Richie mutters, trying not to grin.

“You’re one to talk. You nearly cried when you saw me last Christmas.”

“Shut up, I had allergies.”

“It was December.”

“Yeah, and??”

Gosh, how you missed this, the dumb conversations with Richie, going shopping with Nat, feeding the horses with Mikey, but someone something is missing. Mikey pulls back just enough to look at you. There’s warmth in his eyes, but also something quieter.

“Missed you, kid. Place wasn’t the same without your loud ass yellin’ at all of us.”

You swallow hard.

“Missed you guys too.”

Before you could say something else, Richie says with a grin of amusement on his face.

“So… you seen him yet?”

“Who?” you said confused.

Mikey just smirks and says - “You know who... now hurry cuz it’s ‘bout to start”

And before you could process what these two just said you heard it on the speaker, the sharp call of the announcer’s voice bouncing through the night air. And that’s when realization hits you.

“Next up... from Bear Valley, Carmen Berzatto, hometown boy ridin’ Thunderstrike. Let’s see if he can hold for eight! “

“Surprise, bears!” Mikey says, referring to the surprise he told Sugar about and you both assumed it was this.

You freeze. And then you see him. He was wearing a blue plaid shirt rolled to the elbows. It matched his big blue eyes, ugh, those big blue eyes that you hadn’t seen in a while. He wore dark jeans, fitting him a little too well, that thick belt buckle with something engraved on it. Of course he has his hat and gloves on, and the boots that Mikey gave him for his 18th birthday. You notice that his hair is longer and even curlier.

And when he looks up for just a second, just one, he swears he saw you right in the crowd. That's when he gets tossed, the crowd gasps, your heart drops. He lands hard. He rolls, gets up on one knee, shakes it off. Then stands and when he takes his hat off, his eyes find yours, realization hitting him, you weren’t his imagination, you were there. And right then Mikey’s already halfway over the fence, jumping into the arena.

“Jesus Christ, Carmy!- What the hell was that? You tryin’ to die out here in front of her??” Carmy’s breathing heavy, brushing dirt off his jeans, still dazed.

“I didn’t know she was gonna be here,” He mutters, voice rough from dust and adrenaline.

“You sure 'bout that?”

Mikey gives him a look. That big brother, all-knowing look.

“’Cause you rode like your whole life depended on whether she saw you or not.”

Carmy exhales hard, running a gloved hand through his sweat-soaked curls.

“You think she did?”

“She’s here, ain’t she?”

And Richie, from outside the fence, yells:

“YOU OWE ME FIFTY BUCKS, BERZATTO. I BET YOU’D EAT DIRT TRYNA LOOK COOL.”

Carmy just shakes his head, staring across the crowd. At you.

“Why is Carmen doing this?” Sugar asks, looking with disapproval at Richie.

“He lost a bet and now he’s doin’ the punishment” The oldest sibling explains.

“When did he get back?” You mutter.

The truth is that you hadn’t seen Carmen years ago, not since the fight. He wasn’t here last Christmas and every time you were at the Ridge after the disagreement he just wasn’t there. When you were here for summer, his sibling said that he wanted to spend that season in the city so he lived with their aunt Michelle. When you were here in autumn, they said that their mother sent him to the Meadows Ranch so he could learn more and properly help at the Ridge. And this time you weren’t expecting him to be here.

“Six months ago, the day after you left” Richie says.

Six months ago, isn't that funny? It was clear that he didn't want to see you but if anyone's fault the fight was, it was his!

“Speaking of the devil-” Richie says, watching the brothers walking towards you.

He’s standing there, dirt still on his boots, sweat drying on his neck, hat in his hand, and those eyes.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” He says finally, voice low.

“Yeah. I could say the same thing.”

“Didn’t fall on purpose.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Silence but not the empty kind. He steps closer, just one step.

“You look different,” He says, scanning your face as if it were the last time he’ll ever look at you.

“So do you.”

“Worse?”

“Better.”

“Bullshit.”

“That's worse.”

He laughs, a nervous laugh. You both are blushing, you shouldn’t have said that but none of you know what to say. Five years passed, no text, no birthday call, nothing, what the hell were you supposed to say?

Richie’s voice from the side gets you out of that haze of awkwardness.

“OKAAAYY seems like you have a lot to catch up, do you want us to leave you alone or-? ” He gets interrupted by Sugar.

“Shut up, Richie. It’s late, we should get going back to the Ridge”

Mikey’s behind him, grinning like an idiot.

I'm happy no one got punched today but, well, you look like you were.” Mikey says with a smirk pointing at Carm’s split lip and probably sore back.

The ride was silent and when everyone noticed that, the jokes and comments started to flow. They were mainly Mike and Richie telling you about the bet or commenting about how Carm would’ve done to win.

“Only 3 seconds more, bro. Still, you had a high punctuation.”

“Better luck next time” That was all you said in the car, not that you had something else to say.

When you got to the Ridge you saw your luggage still at the entryway, the same spot you used to leave them when you were a kid. Guess you got distracted talking to Nat and you forgot to take them to your room.

Richie clocks it immediately.

“So.. Bear’s not even gonna offer to carry her bags now? Damn, chivalry’s dead.”

Mikey jumps in.

“I saw him carry a calf across the field last week but three bags are too much?”

Carmen just glares.

“She has hands.” He says.

“Yeah, and so do you, Cowboy Ken.” Richie teases.

You smirk.

“It’s fine, I got it.” You mutter.

“No, no,” Mikey puts a hand on Carmy’s shoulder. “Let him. It’s tradition now.”

He doesn’t say anything when Mikey makes the comment.

He huffs. Picks up the bag. Doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t say anything. But his ears? Bright red. Of course he was gonna carry your bags because after all it’s you and because he’s afraid that if you left them for too long someone else was gonna pick them up for you.

And then he hears Mikey again, low and teasing.

“Look at that. Like clockwork.”

Richie’s laughing behind him. You’re quiet.

He doesn’t turn around when he climbs the stairs. You don’t think. You just move. By the time you realize what you’re doing, your boots are already creaking up the stairs behind him. Carmy hears it, you know he does, his back stiffens slightly. He sets your bag down gently, like it might break, then he turns with arms crossed, hat now in one hand, hair a mess, lip still bleeding a little.

“Didn’t know I was getting a chaperone.”

You lean in the doorframe.

“Didn’t know you were still such an asshole.”

He smiles. Barely.

“Yeah? well, I’ve changed since you left”

“Guess I was never going to find out about that”

“You talk like I never wanted to be here”

“Didn’t look like you were forced to leave”

The silence was worse this time.

“I didn’t think you’d show up here, honestly.” You said quietly.

“Why? Scared I’d ruin your cowgirl image?”

“No. I just figured you forgot.”

He doesn’t talk back because anything he says now might come out wrong, or worse, true.

“Thanks for carrying the bags.”

“Yeah. Don’t expect it again.”

You see him walking in your direction and just when he is about to leave he stops.

“You still wear that perfume?”

“Why?” You ask back.

“'Cause it’s fucking with my head.”

He didn’t stutter, he didn’t look at you, he just walked away and you watched him leave, again.

The hours passed, you couldn’t sleep. And you couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen in these three months. You weren’t sure if anything important was planned for your future but you were sure that there were going to be plenty of good times this summer.

It’s funny how you couldn’t stop thinking about it, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Carmen Berzatto either, his piercing blue eyes, his denim jeans, his blonde curls and his not so nice comments.

You never saw him looking directly at you but you’d be lying if you were saying that you didn’t feel him staring right at your soul when you weren’t looking. You don’t know why he said what he said but it was definitely messing with your head now too.

#HE WANTS THAT COOKIE SO BADDDDDDD #GUYS YALL IM A FATHER THIS IS MY BESTIES BABY!!!! I FEEL LIKE A DAD ONLY TALKED WHILE SHE WROTE IT SHE MADE THIS YALL #GOSH the tension??? everyone knows it and these two pendejos dont do shit about it #fuckin love richie and mikey #i knlw those two probably have bets on which one confesses first #because sure they havent talked for a WHILEEE but come on...those little snappy replies? babe...you want each other...come on...#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #cowboy!carmy #carmy my love #fic rec #im so excited for thisss #sofi ATEEEE with her first fic 😌😌#im a proud father of a baby (my friend's fic) yes im a coparent but im the dad so basically im emotional support?

59 notes · View notes