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moonstruckme · 3 days

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This celebration bake sale is so unbelievably precious omg I’m in love with you

Congrats on 7k!! And wishing you a lovely birthday!!

May I request a little apple pie with Carmy and the prompt a six pack of beer and an apology (#10) (it just seems so him)

I’m overwhelmed with affection for you babe <3

Thank you lovely, I got really excited about the idea haha. And you're right, it is so him <3

cw: alcohol

Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 902 words

You’re unsurprised to open your door and find Carmy on the other side. It’s why, while you have changed into your pajamas, you didn’t go for one of the shirts that’s all moth-bitten or the pants with rockstar squirrels printed on them (they’re very comfy, alright?). These are your presentable pajamas, and they allow you to stand tall in your slippers and look at Carmy with some dignity.

He, of course, in his chef’s coat. It still has some sauce splattered on the fabric partway down his chest. You know he’s trying to look presentable since the restaurant went more upscale, but you miss his tight white t-shirts (for reasons which will remain unspecified, though you’ve hinted to him more than once).

“Hey,” Carmy says. He looks abashed, which is a nice start.

You’re not letting him off easy, though. You cross your arms and let your hip jut out a little, regarding him coolly. “Hi.”

His gaze seems stuck on your chin. “I, uh. I wanted to apologize.”

Try as you might, you can’t help the little smile that turns your mouth at how awkward he sounds. You lift an eyebrow to try to retain some of your higher ground. “Okay. Wanna come in and have a drink?” you ask him, partly because you know how difficult this is for him and partly because you want him to know you know how difficult this is for him.

“Sure,” he says, letting you lead the way to the fridge. You grab a couple of beers from a six-pack, setting them down on the kitchen table.

Your fingers grow slippery with condensation as you crack yours open. Carmy moves to do the same, but his mouth twists.

“What?”

His eyes flick up to yours like he’s been caught. You don’t know why he’s surprised; Carmy has never been good at keeping things off his face. He gives a minute shake of his head.

“Nothing.”

“No, what?”

“It’s nothing.” He’s looking at the table, and you get the sense that while he sounds like he’s done talking, he’ll say more if you let him. So you stay quiet. “Just, my mom used to baste turkeys with this stuff.”

You raise your eyebrows. You and Carmy haven’t been together for long, but you’ve been around his family long enough to know what his mom is like. What holidays mean for them all. “This same brand?”

“Yeah.” Carmy still looks like he’s about to open it, working a short fingernail under the tab, but you pull it away from him before he can.

“What do you want instead?” you ask earnestly.

Again, he looks surprised. You’re reminded of how much tough love he’s around all the time. Maybe you ought to be kinder to him. He chews the inside of his cheek, thoughtful.

“Do you have any ginger beer? I could make a Moscow mule.”

And again, your lips betray you. You almost laugh, actually. “God, that is so New York.” You stand, taking your beers back to the fridge. Yours will get flat. You don’t mind. “What would make you think I have ginger beer? In my tiny fridge? Why would I stock that?”

You can practically feel the waves of Carmy’s awkwardness hitting your back like radiation. “If you don’t have any…”

“No, I do.” You emerge with two cans of ginger beer. “Weirdly, I bought some months ago and it got shoved back there. Make me one, too, that sounds way better than beer.”

Carmy stands to take the cans from you, going to the counter. He’s not smiling but looks tantalizingly close to it, the tension in his shoulders relaxing somewhat. “Do you also have a lime, or…”

You roll your eyes. “In the bowl on your left, fancy pants.”

“Thanks.”

“Thank you.” You sit back down in your chair, watching him cut your lime into wedges. “As apologies go, you’re off to a great start.”

“Yeah.” Carmy sounds a tad bashful. “I wasn’t really expecting it to go this well.”

You take a breath, letting it whoosh out of you, and decide to put him out of his misery. When you speak, your voice is serious, though not unkind. “You can’t just yell at me because you’re stressed, Carm.”

Carmy’s shoulders string tighter again. “I know. I shouldn’t have lost my cool like that, I’m sorry.”

“I know you’re used to a lot of yelling, and it’s all you hear in your kitchen and stuff, but not with me. I can’t do it, okay? And you can tell me when you’re having a shit day—I’d love that, actually—but you can’t expect me to tiptoe around you because someone else did something when I wasn’t around.”

“I know.” Carmy’s eyes close. He looks almost pained. “I know, I know. I really fucked up. It won’t…I won’t let it happen again. Really.”

“Okay,” you say softly.

“I’ll keep my shit separate.”

“Okay. I believe you.” You wait until he opens his eyes, let him see the sincerity in your expression. Among other, softer feelings, probably. “We’re cool. Okay?”

He nods once. He still looks guilty, ashamed, but that’s okay. You’ll bring him back around. Forgive him forcefully until he gets past it, too.

“Sick.” You pull your legs up into your chair, crossing them and setting your hands on your knees eagerly. “I still want my apology drink, though. Blow my mind, chef.”

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thecapricunt1616 · 14 hours

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💋🐁🍸🪱💖Moot tags; @mouseymilkovich 🐁, @gallaghersgal 💋, @l4long-winded 💖, @carmybrainworms 🪱 , @carmenberzattosgf 🍸, @daysofyellowroses 🌯🌼

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year

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Pity Party.

Synopsis - Carmy just wants to see you treated the way he thinks you deserve. He decides to take matters into his own hands.

Pairing - Carmen Berzatto x Female Roommate Reader

Word Count - 3k

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol mention. carmys filthy mouth.

Age Rating - 18+

Author's Note - hello hello hello!! i am back!! i had a wonderful vacation soaking up the sun, and i am feeling refreshed and ready to go. i have had so many ideas over the past few weeks, so i'm excited to get some of them written asap!! this was a fic that came to me randomly, as i was thinking about roommate!carmen and how much of a menace he'd be if you ever talked about other guys. this was written as a part of my carmen roommates collection. it doesn't follow on from Finders, Keepers or Sweet Dreams, but it does exist in the same universe - so you can decide if this takes place before or after!! as always, feel free to send me any ideas or thoughts or burning desires you have. so much love <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Series Masterlist. Masterlist. Inbox.

"You're back early."

Carmy had swung the door open, expecting to come home to an empty apartment. Instead, he's met with the sight of you, sitting on the couch, undoing the straps of your shoes.

"Fuckin' disaster," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

He breathes out a chuckle at the stormy look on your face. Carmy thinks you're cutest when you're angry. He aches to smooth the crease between your brows with his thumb.

"That bad?" he asks, taking a seat next you and kicking off his sneakers.

"You wouldn't even believe."

He rises and makes his way to the kitchen, filling the tea kettle and placing it on the stove top. Grabbing two mugs, he casts a glance over his shoulder at you, frowning at your body language. You look defeated.

Carmy steeps two cups of tea, placing one of them carefully into your waiting hands. He resumes his seat on the sofa, pressing his thigh against yours and turning to face you.

"You wanna talk about it?"

You think for a moment before replying.

"You're gonna laugh at me."

His face instantly crumples, confusion written all over it.

"I'll never laugh at you. I'll laugh with you, sure. But never at you."

He nudges your shoulder with his, urging you to go on.

"Okay, fine. The actual date was pretty good. He took me to that Italian place downtown-"

"Dolce Vita? Did you get the truffle pasta I told you about?" Carmy interrupts you before you can continue.

"Yes, oh my God. It was incredible. Do you think you can recreate it sometime?"

"Fuck yeah. They're pretty secretive with their recipes, but I think I can figure it out. You can help me if you want - I'm gonna need a sous chef."

He pulls a reluctant laugh from you, the sound echoing off the ceramic of your mugs. You both know that being the sous chef involves you sitting on the counter drinking wine while Carmy does all the work.

"Of course. I'll always be your sous chef."

"I'll hold you to that."

You smile at him gently, a little taken aback by the sincerity in his voice.

"Anyway. The dinner went great. He seemed super interested in me, asked me questions, told me about his job, his hobbies, his dog. He was hot, and good to talk to. I thought I'd hit the jackpot."

"And then?"

"And then we went back to his apartment. And it all went to shit."

He chuckles, blue eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"Tell me more."

"You really want to hear about all of this?"

It's not like you and Carmy aren't close. You absolutely are. It's just that there's always been this unspoken connection between the two of you. A bubbling, fiery attraction that you both shut down repeatedly, screwing the lid on tight whenever it rears its head. So, you tend to avoid talking to Carmy about dating. You're scared you'll accidentally blurt out the truth - you compare every single date to him.

"Of course I do."

His answer is so genuine it makes you ache. You continue, hesitantly.

"Well... things got a little... heavy. He wasn't a bad kisser, I guess... he just wasn't... a good one? He kept biting my lip super hard and it kinda hurt. Then he pulled my clothes off like a high schooler, and he's on top of me, and I'm waiting for him to sort of... do... anything? And then he's finished. Like, completely done. And then he has the nerve to ask me if I finished."

Carmy's mouth has fallen open, shock etched across his face. After a long, heavy pause, he speaks.

"What the fuck?"

You look at him for moment, before bursting into contagious laughter. He joins you, both of you with your heads thrown back, giggles reverberating around the lowlit room.

"I mean, seriously," he pants, still laughing. "What the fuck?"

"I didn't even answer him. I just put my clothes on, grabbed my bag and left without saying a word."

Every time you try to stifle your laughter, a giggle escapes. The situation wasn't funny at the time, but looking back, it's hilarious.

All of a sudden, you both go silent. You're deep in thought, reflecting on the seemingly never ending stream of bad dates that you've endured. Carmy is watching you intently, ocean blue eyes glued to your face.

"Fuck," you breathe. "This is kinda pathetic."

Carmy inhales deeply, and turns his body so it's facing yours on the couch.

"The way I see it," he begins, "you have two options."

You quirk a brow in confusion and stay quiet, waiting for him to explain.

"You can sit here feeling sorry for yourself, or, you can let me fuck you the way you deserve."

Your mouth falls open in shock at the exact same moment your brain seems to shut down. You can't think. You can't process his words. All you can focus on is the way he's staring at you. You suddenly feel hot under his gaze, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. A shiver runs down your spine, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

"Wh-... what?" you choke out.

"You heard me, honey. You can wallow in your little pity party, or you can let me show you what it's like to be with someone who can actually make you come. Your choice."

His voice has dropped an octave lower than usual, the tone warm and honeyed. He's still staring at you, blue gaze unrelenting.

"Is this gonna fuck everything up between us?" you whisper hesitantly.

Carmy reaches out and places a gentle hand on your cheek, thumb stroking careful circles into your skin.

"I don't think anything can fuck up what we have," he murmurs. "You're the only thing in my life that makes sense."

His confession seems to sober you up, the honesty in his words snapping you back to your senses.

"Okay."

He almost does a double take at the sureness in your voice.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Put your money where your mouth is, Carmen."

"There she is," he chuckles. "You scared me when you went quiet for a second there."

"Well, if what you say is true, you're not gonna be able to shut me up for the night."

He laughs darkly, and slides closer to you slightly.

"Oh, honey. You're gonna wish you hadn't said that."

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, tracing the journey of your neck with his fingertips. He rests his hand lightly at the base of your throat, the heavy weight of it making you pant.

"If there's any point where you don't like something, or you want me to slow down, just say so. Okay?"

You nod your head, entranced by the sudden dominance he's displaying. You've never seen this side of him before. You can't believe he's been hiding it this whole time.

"Words, pretty. Need to hear you say it."

"Yes. I understand. I'll tell you, I promise."

He doesn't say anything in reply, just smirks. He lets you sit in the silence for a moment too long, the anticipation slowly killing you.

"Please, Carmen," you breathe. "Please."

"Fuck," he groans, shuffling closer to you. "You sound so pretty when you beg."

Carmy leans in and kisses your cheek gently, testing the waters. He presses a kiss to your other cheek, and pulls back to watch for your reaction. When he's happy, he tilts forward and leaves a careful kiss on your chin, then your forehead, then both of your closed eyes, before kissing you on the side of your mouth. His closeness makes you whine, desperate for him to give you what you want.

Finally, he connects his lips to yours, starting off slow and tender. When you tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and try to pull him even closer, his resolve snaps. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, exploring eagerly. You clamber over him and climb into his lap, straddling his hips and pressing yourself into his body.

Carmy can't decide where to put his hands. He's grabbing at your waist, running his fingers up your back, pulling you into him by your ass. You're both groaning into each others mouths, enraptured by the other person and the all consuming way they kiss.

"Can I take this off?" he asks lowly, pulling at the hem of your dress.

Instead of answering, you pull it over your head, throwing it onto the floor in front of you.

"Fuck," he murmurs. "Most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

His hands are roaming all of your exposed skin, as if he can't get enough. He's terrified he won't ever get to see you like this again, so he's not going to waste a second.

You grind your hips down into his, eliciting a groan from the both of you. His hands tighten their grip on your waist, as he leans up to press open mouthed kisses to your jaw. Your fingers fly to the hem of his t shirt, pulling it off swiftly. You manage to shove his jeans down and off, before attempting to pull off his underwear. Carmy stops you in your tracks.

"Nuh uh," he tuts. "This is about you. Not me."

He pulls you off his lap gently and shuffles so his back is resting against the couch cushions. He spreads his legs wide, and gestures for you to sit between them. When you don't move, he looks at you carefully.

"Give me a color, pretty girl."

You take a deep breath, and smile at him softly.

"Green, Carmen. Promise."

You manoeuvre sideways, so you can place yourself with your back to his chest. He wraps his arms around you for a moment and holds you tightly, as if he's scared you'll disappear any second. You relax into his embrace, all the tension leaving your body. You have nothing to worry about. It's just you and Carmen, in the place you call home.

You drop your head back into Carmy's shoulder, and allow yourself to get lost in the feeling of his hands on your skin. He's begun tracing patterns down your arms, your sides, your stomach, until he reaches your underwear. He plays with the band, dipping his finger underneath in a feather light touch. Goose bumps rise across your body and you shiver, practically vibrating with need.

"Carmen," you whisper. "Don't tease."

"But that's half the fun," he murmurs into your ear, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You can picture it perfectly, too. The way his eyes crinkle, the way his mouth curves, the way he bites his lip to stifle it. The image in your mind makes you melt into him further. You want to be as close to him as you physically can be. You'd completely disappear into him if you could.

He brings you back to reality by cupping you over your underwear, groaning when he feels the saturated material.

"Oh, pretty girl. Is this all for me? Fuck."

Suddenly, his game of teasing has lost all its fun. Carmy twists his fingers into your underwear and pulls them off in one swift movement, throwing them in the general direction of your dress on the floor. He places a hand on each of your thighs and spreads them apart, hooking them over his legs.

Carmy starts off slow, careful. He caresses over your skin, gentle and almost apprehensive. When he gets to your core, he swipes a finger through, testing the waters. When you buck your hips into his hand, he knows you're both on the same page.

"Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good."

His deep, smooth, whiskey like voice is doing nothing to help the heat bubbling in your stomach. You only whine in response, wiggling your hips to urge him to keep going.

Carmy throws one arm around your stomach, keeping you plastered to his body. You can feel him hot and hard against your back, and you so desperately want to feel him that your mouth is watering. You grind back into him, and he reads your mind.

"Not yet," he whispers. "This is about you, remember? Need to show you what you've been missing."

With that, he circles your clit with two fingers, slowly but surely. He revels in the noises you elicit. They're making him dizzy, disorientated. He never thought he'd be the one to pull a sound like that from you. He's quite convinced he's dreaming.

"Let me hear you. Don't hold back on me, okay?"

You nod your head frantically, willing to give him whatever he asks if you get what you want.

Carmy slips a finger into you slowly, moaning under his breath at your warmth. When he thinks you're ready, he adds a second finger, and sets a steady rhythm, trying to figure out what you like.

After he's set his pace, he starts to curl his fingers on the up stroke, grinning to himself when he finds the spot.

"Yeah? Right there? That's it, isn't it?"

You're nodding and shaking and pawing at his forearms, trying to tether yourself to reality in any way you can. You think you might be floating, on cloud 9, in some sort of euphoric trance. You can't believe no one's ever made you feel like this before. You're convinced no one ever will again.

Carmy quickens his pace and basks in the glory of your moans. He thinks this might be the most beautiful you've ever looked, spread out completely for him. Every inch of your skin is touching his, and it makes his heart skip a beat for a second.

He presses a kiss into your hair and keeps his mouth there, murmuring honeyed praises into your ear.

"Doin' so good for me."

"You got it, honey, that's it."

"Atta girl. Keep going. Almost there."

"You look so fuckin' pretty like this. Fuck. Gonna be thinking about this forever."

"I'll ruin you, baby. Nothing's ever gonna compare to this, to what we have."

All you can do is moan in response, his filthy words pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You're almost there, but something is stopping you. You whine in frustration, tears welling in your eyes. Carmy feels the tension suddenly grasp your muscles, and leans down to mutter to you softly.

"What is it, sweet girl? What do you need? Just tell me. Anything, and I'll give it to you."

You're not sure how much you trust your voice right now, so you decide to show him instead. You take the hand that he's using to hold you to him and move it up your body until it's resting against your throat. You tighten your fingers around his, and moan in response to the pressure.

"Oh, baby," he coos. "Filthy fuckin' girl. Here I thought you were so innocent, and this whole time you wanted to be choked like a whore?"

The way he degrades you so lovingly makes you mewl. You'd never ever trust anyone else to speak to you this way in such an intimate moment - but with Carmen, there's no hesitation. You know he's just telling you what you need to hear in the heat of the moment. And you love him for it.

"Fuck, Carmen," you manage to choke out. "Keep going. Don't stop, please."

"I'll do anything you want if you keep saying my name like that," he whispers.

"Carmen," you moan in response. "Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy."

You're chanting his name like a prayer. He's rutting into your back, hips grinding and circling in time with his fingers that are maintaining their steady rhythm. His fingers tighten around your throat as he crooks his digits just right, and the result is a devastating moan from you that Carmy wishes to have on repeat for the rest of his life.

"So close," you whisper hoarsely. "Harder."

Carmy uses his thumb to circle your clit with one hand, other hand pulling you by your neck back into him tightly. He grinds his hips dirtily into you, and the feeling of him so silky and warm against you is what sends you over the edge. The corners of your vision go white as you arch into him, head thrown backwards into his chest. The sounds you're making are so melodic, so borderline angelic that Carmy almost cries. Heaven, he thinks. This is salvation.

Carmy finishes with you, climaxing onto the soft skin of your back. You both relax simultaneously, chests heaving and panting. He removes his fingers gently and wraps both arms around you, pulling you into him tightly despite the mess. He reaches to brush the hair out of your face, and the gesture is so tender it makes your lip quiver.

"Thank you," you whisper after what feels like hours of comfortable silence.

"Sorry I called you a whore," he murmurs back.

You let out a surprised laugh, vibrating with amusement in his arms.

"I know you didn't mean it."

"I mean I did give you the best orgasm of your life, so... call it even?"

"You're forgiven," you chuckle. "Completely forgiven."

You trace gentle patterns over his forearms with your fingertips, following the black ink of his tattoos. He sighs in contentment and places a kiss into your hair, relaxing further into the couch.

You sit together like that for a while, neither of you too concerned with the time. It's not often you see Carmy so relaxed, so serene. You're enjoying it for as long as you can.

"We should clean up," he says quietly, eventually. "Sorry about the mess."

"It's okay. Worth it," you tease, pinching his thigh. He pinches your side in retaliation, which makes you jump.

"Come on, trouble."

He stands from the couch, never letting go of the grip he has on you. You have no choice but to stand with him, yelping as he half carries you through the apartment towards the shower.

The sounds of both of your laughter bounce off of the abandoned mugs of tea still sat on the coffee table, melodic and joyous. The moonlight seeps through the windows, illuminating the beginning of something special in the living room of your shared apartment.

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lovebugism · 2 months

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thigh riding Carmy because he isn't paying attention to you please please please 😭

summary: carmy misses date night and finds a way to work and make you feel good at the same time (2.2k)

pairing: carmy berzatto / f!reader

contents: established relationship, thigh riding, public setting (ish), dirty talk, smut with sprinkles of fluff 18+

Carmy’s office is a windowless concrete cage of chaos. There are a million papers stacked and scattered across his desk, half-hidden beneath books that are flipped open to random pages. You’re not sure how he’s keeping up with any of it. Though, to be fair, you’ve never been able to completely understand his mind.

You know him better than anyone else, but he’s still such a mystery to you sometimes — like a language you can read perfectly but can’t speak all the way.

You don’t know why he runs himself aground with work even though it kills him, even though he swears the enormity of his desire brings him back to life again. You just know to try and save the drowning man from himself from time to time, and not to let him strangle you with his panic in the process.

“Bear?” you call gently into the amber-lit office, knuckles rapping against the opened door. “You ready?”

Sitting slouched over his desk, you can hear the faint tap tap tapping of his pen against the paper, an anxious tick for his ever-fidgeting fingers. “No. Not— Not yet, baby. I’m fuckin’— I’m drowning in this paperwork right now.”

He lifts his heavy head from his tattooed hand and glances at you over his shoulder. The sight of you makes his breath catch — leaning against the doorframe, all pretty in the lamplight, wearing the dress he bought you.

The deep emerald silk drips over your body like summer rain. It dips low at your chest and flows just above your knees, fitting you like a total dream.

Carmy, for a flicker of a moment, forgets to be anxious.

While his eyes dart over your form, the rest of the world disappears — it could be entirely falling apart for all he knows, but all he can see now is you. Your stormy eyes, your soft skin, and your quiet sensuality. Your ruby lips, your cheeks like wine, and your gentle voice.

His mouth falls agape to say words he can’t make out. His ocean eyes go wide, glimmering a deeper blue in the low light — which casts dark shadows over the sharp edges of his face. His gaze is like the sea. You feel yourself drowning in it accordingly.

“It can’t wait?” you press gently, lifting yourself from the doorframe and sauntering slowly towards him. Closing the door behind you, you drop your chin to your chest and flash the boy a sheepish smile. “All the restaurants are gonna close soon.”

Carmy huffs. He knew better than to plan a date. He’s far too busy — or, rather, he doesn’t allow himself to be anything other than busy because there’s a voice inside him that just won’t be still. Working himself to death was an art he did exceptionally well, which hadn’t bothered him so much until he met you.

“I gotta get this done, babe,” he answers sympathetically, tilting his chin to keep his eyes locked with yours as you near him.

Your familiar scent sets the stagnant air aglow. The warmth of your perfume cradles his senses when you loom beside him. Your hand rises to his shoulder, fingers fidgeting with the swathe of curls at the nape of his neck. His wide palm smooths over your hip — softly calloused against the satiny fabric.

You smile softly down at him. “So I got all pretty for nothin’?” you tease with a scrunched nose.

“Well, you got all pretty for me, actually,” Carmy corrects.

His pink lips curl in a faint smirk. Your grin widens tenfold. The subtle act of possessiveness, coupled with the strong hand on your waist, makes your chest sparkle.

“Yeah, I did,” you hum proudly, bending at the waist to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. He tastes fleetingly of nicotine and sweet plum wine — a maddening concoction.

You rise to full height again. Carmy pats your hip twice before his fingers fall away. He turns back to his desk, and you feel half-invisible again. It’s hardly his fault, though. There was something deeply intense about his stone-blue eyes. You feel strangely held when he looks at you, left inevitably mourning every time he turns away.

His pen darts across the gridded page in chicken scratch you can’t make out, worsened by his wrist smudging the ink. Your arms wrap loosely around his neck. You bury your nose in his chestnut curls and inhale the familiar scent of grill smoke and cedarwood.

“You know I don’t care actually about going out, right?” you mumble there.

Carmy hums, half-distracted. “Mhm.”

“Just wanna spend time with you… Don’t care what we’re doing…”

You press a kiss to his temple. He leans instinctively into your touch. “Well, I’ll make you the best damn PB&J Chicago’s ever seen when we get back home, alright?” he muses with a quiet smile. “How’s that sound?”

“I’m holding you to that, Bear,” you say, grinning into his curls.

“I’m countin’ on it.” Carmy chuckles and lifts his free hand to squeeze your wrist. His touch slips away soon after when he turns back to his work.

Quiet returns, heavy and deafening, filled only by the distant clanging of pots from stragglers in the kitchen. It makes you strikingly aware of yourself — of the space you’re filling in this tiny office, and the distracting weight of your arms around his neck. Feeling more like a burden, you clear your throat and pull away.

“I’m, uh— I’m gonna see if Richie left yet. Maybe he’ll let me bum a smoke or something.”

Carmy mourns your warmth the second you’re gone. He spins in his swivel chair to face you, laughing to cover up his ache. “What happened to us spending time together?”

He knows how you think. You think he gets so involved in his work that he doesn’t spare you a single thought. But really, he’s so strongly devoted to you that it feels like the emotion could rip him open from the inside.

You squint. “Watching you sign a bunch of paperwork while you pretend I’m not here is not spending time together,” you argue, laughing despite yourself.

“Don’t go. C’mon,” Carmy pleads, very distantly begging. He tilts his head and blinks at you with wide, pleading eyes. “Come sit,” he tells you.

“Sit where?” you scoff.

“In my lap.”

“I’ll squish you,” you insist, giggling.

“Shut up and sit down,” he commands, still playful but leaving little room for argument. His wide palms smooth slowly up and down his denim-clad thighs. Your heart lurches into your throat.

You walk the short distance to him with a huff of feigned annoyance, dress swishing around your knees. Carmy pushes away from his desk to give you space to sit. You take a seat on his lap, just like he asked you to, but he stops you with a pair of strong hands grasping your hips.

“Not like that,” he murmurs.

Your brows furrow in response. “What do you mean?”

“On my thigh,” Carmy corrects, swatting playfully at your clothed hip. “C’mon. Sit right.”

You rise slowly, with a hesitant squint in your eyes. “What are you playing at, Bear?” you wonder lowly, legs spread slightly to welcome his thigh between them.

Carmy bounces his shoulder in a lazy shrug. His tattooed hands creep up the hem of your dress to urge you down onto his lap — the proper way. “You’re the one always sayin’ I’m too busy for you, right?” he responds, hardly expecting a real answer, as he helps you straddle one of his thighs.

The angle is awkward. The old chair leaves little room for the both of you. You’re forced to keep one leg on the ground while the other bends at the knee between his legs. You hold tight to his shoulders, trusting him to keep you steady. Your dress bunches at your hips in the meanwhile. Carmy raises his thigh until it’s flush against your clothed cunt.

Your breath catches, and he smirks.

“So… You’re gonna cum on my thigh,” he continues casually. “…And after that, we’ll go home, I’ll fuck you like you need, and then I’ll run you a bath… How’s that sound?”

Your stomach swirls with a familiar warmth — which you can feel pooling in your panties now. “What about the PB&J?” you joke in a quiet voice that trembles only slightly.

Carmy scoffs a faint laugh. “After the bath.”

“What about in the bath?”

“Whatever you want,” he assures with a smile. “You just gotta ride me first.”

The lighthearted air turns bone-crushingly sensual in a flicker of a moment. His light eyes pierce you mercilessly, peering into the depths of your soul. You melt for him, going uncharacteristically soft and subservient, just how he likes.

Carmy helps you with a few passes over his thigh. You’re obviously unsure, and he can tell by your hesitant movements. His free hand squeezes your hip, urging you up his leg and down again, until you find your own rhythm. Then he turns back to his work and tries to focus. The soft sound of your breathy moans entwines with the scribbling of his pen.

You rock your hips in measured thrusts, trying to find the proper pace. The delicate fabric of your panties ruts along the rough denim of his jeans — catching your clit perfectly when you buck your hips just right. Lightning strikes down your spine, then. Both alleviating the ache between your thighs and creating a new one all at once.

Your breath hitches. Pitiful whimpers sound in your throat instead. You bury them all in Carmy’s neck as you hide your face in his shoulder, with your warm cheek pressed to his ear and your fingers balling his shirt in your fists.

There was something foreignly erotic about all this. Being in Carmy’s office, the door unlocked, with Syd and Richie meandering elsewhere in the kitchen. The fear of being caught made your movements quick. Careless. Wild.

And there was something about Carmy, too. The way he’s got you getting yourself off, with little help from the boy himself, while he busies himself with paperwork. You can hear him scribbling away still, flitting through papers with the hand not holding you. All while you hump his thigh, so desperate for attention. It’s pathetic. And something about it made you feel good.

Your pretty whimpers turn into deeper, breathier moans. Carmy smiles to himself. He can feel the warmth of your cunt despite the layers between you. It makes him wonder if you’ve left a stain on the denim. He prays you’ve left a stain on the denim — wants the mark of your honey stamped there forever.

“You close?” he murmurs when he notices your legs starting to tremble.

You bury a whine in his neck. “Fuck, Bear—”

“Hey,” he hums, pulling away from his paperwork for the first time in several minutes to look at you.

His long fingers rise from your hip and curl into your hair. He tugs softly at the strands to urge your head back so he can admire his work. Your eyes are lidded and glassy, your lips swollen and parted — already fucked-out, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“I asked if you were close,” he repeats, unsmiling.

“Yes,” you manage through a whimper.

His grip on your hair slackens. His touch returns to your hip, encouraging your rapid movements. His pink lips quirk in the faintest hint of a smile. “Good,” he praises. “Good girl. Keep going.”

You bury your face in his neck again, lips curling around your teeth to stifle the moans swelling there. Your hips lose their rhythm as the threat of your orgasm grows. Your clit pounds like a second heartbeat. You briefly wonder if Carmy can feel it, and the thought alone sends you reeling.

“Carmy,” you keen, voice wavering. “I’m gonna cum.”

You feel him nod against you. He licks his lips and turns his head. His nose squishes your temple; his wet mouth brushes your ear.

“Do it, then. C’mon,” he mumbles against you, coaxing you closer towards your pleasure — not because he’s a pro at the whole dirty-talking thing, but because he knows how much you like it. “Be a good girl and cum on my thigh. Come on.”

You last two more passes up and down his lap before you tense on top of him. Your hips still as you whimper into his shoulder, shuddering hard when your orgasm washes over you.

“Atta girl,” Carmy praises. “Keep cumming for me.”

He drops his pen and finally turns away from his work. He grips your hips with both hands and works you the rest of the way through your orgasm. You let him, for a few agonizing moments, until your high fades and leaves you achingly sensitive.

You inhale sharply through your nose and reach suddenly for his wrists. “No more,” you plead, then exhale a breathy chuckle.

When you part from his neck, Carmy ducks his head to catch your averted gaze. His wide eyes dart over your pleasure-stricken features. “You good?” he wonders. His words have lost any hint of sensuality. He’s always serious about checking in on you.

You nod and swallow hard. “’M good,” you promise, then freeze when your knee nudges his half-hard cock. “Are you good?” you parrot.

Carmy scoffs a breathy chuckle. “I’m almost done here— go bum a smoke from Richie, alright? I’ll out in a second.”

He kisses you softly. A chaste kiss that’s perhaps too innocuous for such a honeyed moment. You rise on tired legs, and he swats playfully at your side. “How’s that for spending time together, huh?” he calls over his shoulder as you wrench open the office door.

“You’re an idiot, Bear.”

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luveline · 3 months

Note

Hi Jade ! I loove your sunshine!readers, could I request one for Carmy ? Maybe someone calls her to get to the restaurant when hes feeling anxious to calm him down idk if thats good lol love ya !

ty for requesting <3 fem, 1.4k

Is it The Beef or The Bear? In your head, despite the wishes of everyone who works there (except for Ebra, who seems to have mixed opinions), you always call it The Beef. But the sign brags otherwise, and when you push open the doors, nothing inside is left to remind you of the old restaurant. It was a total gut.

“Hi, gorgeous,” says a familiar, warm voice.

You almost walk straight into her table, distracted looking for brown curls through the kitchen door’s little window. “Hey, Tina.” You grin at your second favourite chef. Your most favourite Sous. “You taking a break?”

She offers you a round butter cookie from a sleeve of them. Her cup of coffee billows with steam. “Uh-huh.”

“Hiding from a meltdown?” you ask, taking a cookie, fingers oily with butter, sugar grains falling to the floor.

“It’s not like that,” she says.

Well, what is it like? you think.

Richie’s text wasn’t exactly descriptive. Need ur help with the little Bitch, he’d said. Then, when you didn’t answer, ASAP!!!!

You figured it must’ve been another rant. He’s prone to these… episodes of anger where he doesn’t realise he’s spinning out and hurting people who really care about him. You try to bring him out of it, but he’s a Berzatto. They’re all the same, sort of. Everything that’s wrong with them has been stamped into them a long, long time ago.

He’s been better since Nat steel armed him into AA, but still. You tilt your head to one side, sugar cookie between your fingers, listening for the goings on in the kitchen. “Sydney’s here?” you ask. “I thought she was sick.”

“Sydney gets sick, but she doesn’t take sick days,” Tina says with a loving shrug.

You smile at her in brief goodbye for now and make your way to the kitchen, where you push in quietly. All their ‘Behind!’ and ‘Corner!’ and ‘Hands!’ makes you laugh, and you can’t take it seriously so you don’t, but you’re not trying to be dangerous in there either.

“Hello?” you ask.

Sydney and Richie look up from a cramped notebook at the table nearest to the door. There are employees you're unsure of prepping vegetables along the wall, but Carmy isn’t anywhere to be seen.

“Fucking finally,” Richie says, before rubbing his face regretfully. “I’m sorry, it’s just– I texted you an hour ago, babe, you’re letting me down.”

You laugh. “Sorry, babe,” you tease. “I have a job, just like you.” Your hands are cold where you tuck them under each armpit, crossing your arms. “Hi, Sydney. You feeling okay?”

“No. He’s stressing me out.”

“Which one?”

“Both of them.” She looks like she might rub her face too. “I need him to be in here right now, he should be doing this, but he keeps walking away and– and not saying where he’s going.”

“He is stressful,” you agree, though usually Carmy’s stress tends to bounce right off of you, “I’m gonna find him and strap him down for you.”

Sydney just frowns.

“I’ll see what’s up,” you say more seriously. “In the office?”

“Out the back,” Richie says. “Smoking like his mother. He’s a fucking steam train lately.”

It’s like they want to worry you. You give them grateful nods, sorry nods, and start to make your way out of the main kitchen, past the dishwashers and the dessert station to one of the back doors. Carmy isn’t your responsibility. You don’t have to apologise for him, you don’t have to mother him, he should commit to his responsibilities all on his own, but… it’s hard. You like apologising for him because his behaviour isn’t always on purpose, and he struggles with commitment for similar reasons. There’s this aching, stagnated grief in him that’s reawakening, there’s the stress of the restaurant, his business, the scars of the last ten years, and before that. You know it isn’t your job to come here and make him feel better, but isn’t it? When you love someone, it’s half the deal.

Carmy shouldn’t yell at his friends, or employees. He shouldn’t chain smoke, and he shouldn’t be sitting on the low wall by the dumpsters shaking so hard with his head so low that you can see the first notch of his spine in his shirt.

“Carmy?” you ask.

His head ducks further down. You can hear him breathing, not too hard as to alarm you, and yet unrelaxed.

You smile without thinking. You hate seeing him like this, but looking after him is a pleasure. “Hey, Carmen. Can I sit with you?”

He forces his face up. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

Trying to make sure he doesn’t tear another chunk out of Richie. “It’s my lunch break.”

You perch on the wall beside him and snap your nearly forgotten cookie into two pieces, one side bigger than the other, which you offer him.

Carmy takes it. Looks at it without expression, though that slowly turns to a dry ire you’ve felt directed your way a hundred times. “What the fuck is this?”

“Cookie.”

“I don’t want this.”

“Could you just eat it?” You put your own half in your mouth in its entirety, all aligned to your teeth. It shatters into sweet, soft crumbs between your teeth. You talk with a hand over your mouth, “It’s not gonna kill you.”

Carmy looks at it for a long time before he eats it.

You watch him. He’s more tan than you’d think, that Italian gene kicking in, skin clinging to whatever sunshine it finds. He spends enough time inside that you’re surprised it can muster the energy. He looks better with it though, his curls look gold toned under the sun, and his clenched jaw doesn’t seem so harsh.

“What’s wrong?” you ask eventually. Almost conversationally.

“Nothing.” His hand shakes on his thigh. He turns his palm down to clasp his knee.

“You sure?”

“No.”

“That one’s my favourite.”

“What?”

You poke toward a tattoo on his hand. It’s a simple flower, same style as most of his tattoos. “I like it ‘cos it’s just a flower.”

“My least pretentious,” he guesses.

“Something like that.”

He tips his head back.

“Richie texted me. He thinks I’m gonna… like, I’m gonna calm you down, I guess.”

“You always do,” he says.

You give him a long, smiley look. “So you’re in love with me?” you ask warmly, pushing up into a knee to wrap your arm behind him, hugging him before he can move away. “You’re totally fucked for me, Berzatto, that’s fucking crazy.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs.

You rub his arm, his skin hot in your hold. He touches your waist very, very lightly. “What am I supposed to do, anyway? I can’t cook. You and Syd are on your own.”

“You already… already did enough.” He grabs your waist where you wobble on the brick wall, grit biting your knees, his hand comparatively soft.

“Such a crush on me,” you tease in a whisper, his hair crushed under your cheek.

You’re tempted to kiss his temple, but affection with Carmy is like oil and water sometimes. You give him a last protective squeeze and sit yourself down again.

“Carm,” you say, “you know you can call me, right? Like, if you don’t feel okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“Or text me. If that’s easier. It’s hard to say hard things out loud.”

He laughs again. “Sorry.”

“I know, I don’t– I don’t seem like I know what you’re talking about, I get it, but I do understand. N’ even if I didn’t, I don’t mind listening. Or laughing at you.”

“What’s that about?”

“The laughing?” you ask. “You tell me.”

His hand slides behind your back in half a hug. “Guess it’s funny.”

“Can I change my mind about the tattoo?”

“The flowers not your favourite?”

“No. You know which one I like best?”

His thumb rubs into your back. “The snail.”

“Absolutely the snail. You’re so fucking silly sometimes, I’m supposed to take you seriously when you’re yelling and red in the face with a snail on your arm?”

You can’t see his face with your cheek to his shoulder, won’t know that he’s smiling at you with a rare aura of peace. Can’t see the wanting, either.

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alisonsfics · 3 months

Text

words unsaid

pairing: carmy berzatto x reader

summary: after months of flirting and unconfessed feelings, you and carmy get in an argument when a customer gives him her number.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: swearing, angst, carmy being completely unaware of everything

After wiping down your stations for the night, you and Carmy headed to the lockers to grab your bags. You both were exhausted after a hectic night.

“You have any plans for the rest of the night?” Carmy asked, curiously. You shrugged, looking over your shoulder at him as you fiddled with your locker. “You mean besides eating leftover pizza and then passing out from exhaustion?” You joked. You heard a small chuckle from Carmy.

He noticed you were tugging at the locker and the door seemed to be stuck. “Here, let me help you with that.” He offered.

You stepped out of the way and let Carmy take a shot at it. He jiggled the handle a few times and then was able to tug it open. “My hero,” you teased, as he walked back to his own locker.

If you had turned around, you would have seen the pink tint on Carmy’s cheeks.

“Anyway, did you want to maybe go grab a drink. I mean, only if you’re okay with postponing your pizza plans. Those sounded important though,” he teased you. You were one of the few people that Carmy would actually joke around with.

You jokingly scoffed at him. “My commitment to my leftover pizza is none of your business, Berzatto,” you responded, trying to maintain a serious tone. Once again, the sound of his soft chuckle met your ears.

“Hey, guys. Our last table wanted to personally thank their chefs.” Richie said, sticking his head around the corner.

Carmy gestured towards the door, politely letting you walk in front of him. Richie guided you both to the booth that currently seated three women. They were the only remaining customers from the dinner service.

Richie quickly introduced you both to them, and then he headed back to help with clean-up.

You noticed that two of the women seemed to be smirking at their other friend. “The food tonight was absolutely amazing.” One of them perked up and complimented you both.

You politely smiled, letting Carmy take the lead since he was the owner. You saw his posture shift as he went into customer service-mode.

“Thank you very much. Thank you for coming to visit us tonight. We’re glad you liked it.” He said, putting on a polite smile.

Carmy didn’t see it, but you noticed the two women quickly raise their eyebrows at their other friend. She then directed her attention to Carmy.

You knew where the conversation was going, and you hated how it tugged at your gut. You felt a heavy weight on your shoulders, and it took a lot for you to fake a smile.

Carmy was an attractive guy, and he was a chef, which was a pretty good recipe for success. You saw customers fawn over him constantly, but it never got easier.

That being said, Carmy wasn’t technically yours, but he was. He wasn’t your boyfriend by any means, and you weren’t his girlfriend. But, he dropped everything any time you called, and he’d do anything for you.

Your relationship was sometimes flirty, but neither of you had ever taken it further.

“Yeah, the food was really excellent. You’re an amazing chef. I definitely have a reason to come back.” The woman said, coyly.

You forced yourself to bite the inside of your lip, so you could keep your pleasant facade. You noticed their check sitting on the table and decided to use it as your excuse out of there.

“Thank you again for coming,” you said, smiling, grabbing the check, and heading back towards the kitchen. The woman looked like she finally realized you were standing there.

Carmy quickly thanked them again and followed right behind you.

Once the kitchen doors closed behind you, you turned to Carmy. “Being a chef does it every time, Berzatto,” you teased him.

Instead of being met by his usual grin, you saw him tilt his head as he tried to figure out what you were talking about.

“What do you mean?” He finally asked, when he couldn’t figure it out. You waited for a second, almost thinking he was playing dumb. “She was hitting on you, Carmy.” You told him. His eyes widened as he looked at you. “No, she wasn’t,” he argued.

You looked down at the check you were holding, which confirmed your suspicion when you saw a phone number written across the bottom of it.

“Really?” You asked, sliding the check into his hand. Your hand grazed his as you did, which almost made Carmy short circuit. He looked down at the check in his hand and saw the phone number clear as day.

“So, what am I supposed to do?” He asked you. From his perspective, he was asking how he was supposed to let her down and tell her he wasn’t interested. You didn’t take it that way.

“Well, if you’re interested, you call her.” You explained. He was speechless. He stood in front of you, not having a single coherent string of thoughts in mind.

“Wh…what—what do you mean?” He stumbled over his words.

You were practically fuming. You thought that you and Carmy had a thing going on, but he seemed to be pretty interested in asking this girl out.

“Are you interested? Do you want to go on a date with her?” You asked, your tone coming out a little more hostile than you intended. You were just jealous and even more unsure of where your and Carmy’s relationship stood.

“I…I don’t know,” he stammered, taken aback by this whole situation. He was getting love advice from the girl he wanted to be with, but was getting love advice for a different girl.

“Well, you’re the only one who can figure that out,” you huffed and quickly walked away from him. You knew if you continued the conversation for another minute, you’d start crying.

You grabbed your work bag and slammed your locker shut. “Woah, you okay?” Sydney asked from beside you. You hadn’t even noticed she was standing there. You took a deep breath before responding.

“Not really, you wanna go get a drink?” You asked her. She could tell that something had really gotten to you. “Yeah, of course. Is it about Carmy?” she asked, quietly. You just nodded, biting down on your lip and trying not to tear up.

“It’s okay. C’mon, let’s get you out of here,” she said, wrapping her arm around you as the two of you walked out the back door.

Still stunned from the whole encounter, Carmy walked into the office to hopefully clear his head. He sat in there for thirty minutes, continuously replaying his conversation with you in his head. He knew you were mad, but he wasn’t sure why. He was also thrown off by why it seemed like you were encouraging him to go on a date with the other woman.

After wracking his brain for answers, he still had nothing, so he headed towards the back alleyway to smoke a cigarette. He found Richie doing the same thing.

“You okay, cousin?” Richie asked, clearly being able to see how on edge Carmy looked. “Fuck no,” Carmy mumbled.

“Is this about your girl?” Richie asked, having already gotten a text from Sydney that explained what happened. “She’s not my girl, Richie, but I think we’re in a fight, and we’ve never been in a fight before. I just don’t know why she’s mad.” Carmy explained.

“You don’t know why she’s mad?” Richie asked in shock. Carmy looked at him with a confused look and shook his head.

“You two have been flirting and hanging out more and more. Then, you tell her that you maybe want to go on a date with this other girl. You don’t think she’d be hurt by that?” Richie asked him. Carmy didn’t understand why everybody was suddenly an expert on his relationship today and why he was so out of the loop.

“What do you mean, we are just friends.” Carmy argued, not being able to admit anything to the contrary, “wait, how do you know about our conversation?”

“Sydney told me. She’s busy trying to cheer Y/N up because she’s pissed at you.” Richie said, quickly brushing past it, “how does the idea of her going on a date with someone else make you feel, cousin? Like when you watch those customers that stare at her,” he asked.

Carmy hesitated. He knew the answer. “I fuckin’ hate it, but I’m just being protective. We’re friends, and I care about her.” Carmy replied, still in denial.

“Cousin, do you really think colleagues go out for drinks after work and get coffee together before work as often as you guys do? You know all her favorite movies, and her favorite flowers, and the words to all her favorite songs. And that big dinner you made for her birthday,” he told Carmy. Hearing all of it like that made Carmy realize how special your relationship was, but he was having trouble admitting it out loud.

“I’m a chef. I make food for people. It’s what I do.” Carmy argued, not even believing his own excuse.

“Yeah, because it’s like your fuckin’ love language, dickhead. How did you not see this?” Richie asked.

Carmy didn’t know what to think. “So are we like together?” He asked, stunned. Richie shook his finger at Carmy.

“Not until you finally grow a pair and actually make a real move. Ask her out to dinner, tell her how you feel, give her some grand gesture.” Richie told him.

Carmy stood still for a moment, processing what he had just heard.

“Where are her and Syd right now? I need a ride.” He told Richie, desperately. Richie quickly grabbed his car keys, and they both headed out the door.

“I know we’re not dating, but I just don’t understand why he didn’t say he wasn’t interested. Like, surely I can’t be imagining all of the flirting and how sweet he’s been.” You rambled to Sydney, taking another sip of your drink. Sydney nodded along.

“Maybe he felt like he was put on the spot because I’ve seen how he looks at you. He really cares about you but just has a shit way of showing it.” Sydney mentioned.

You looked down at the bar, slowly stirring your drink around. The front door of the bar quickly opened, slamming against the wall. Both yours and Sydney’s gaze went right to the loud noise.

You both saw Carmy burst into the restaurant. His eyes searched around until they landed on yours. He rushed towards the end of the bar where you and Sydney were sitting.

He stopped in front of you and caught his breath for a minute. “I am so fucking sorry. You are my everything, and I really fucked it up. And I don’t even know what I was saying.” He started to ramble.

You were shocked to say the least. “Carmy, you wanna go talk outside?” You suggested, assuming some privacy for this conversation was probably a good idea. He quickly nodded and held out his hand to help you down from your seat.

Sydney gave you a reassuring smile, and then you felt Carmy’s hand on the small of your back as he followed you outside. Now that he had a better grasp on your relationship, he felt much more confident, which made him more affectionate. And you loved it.

He rushed in front of you, so he could hold the front door open for you. You both saw Richie waiting outside. “Syd’s inside. Can you give us a minute, cousin?” Carmy asked him. Richie quickly nodded and headed inside to freak out with Sydney that they were so close to getting you two together.

“I didn’t mean any of that earlier. I was just confused, and it felt like you wanted me to ask that girl out. So, I was questioning if you felt the same way I feel about you.” He apologized. He had to stop himself from grabbing your hands. He wanted to, but he wanted to apologize first.

“Enough of what I want. Tell me before I waste anymore of my time. Carmen Berzatto, what do you want? Do you want to be with me?” You asked him. You felt like you were being harsh, but you wanted everything to be out in the open.

“I want to be with you so fuckin’ bad.” He said. One of his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. He used his other hand to cup your cheek and close the distance with a kiss.

Richie and Sydney saw the kiss through the window and had to stop themselves from cheering.

You stumbled forward a little since Carmy had pulled you towards him so quickly. He tightened his grip around your waist, while smirking into the kiss. You let your hands rest on his forearms, feeling his biceps flex under your fingertips.

The kiss was rushed, fueled by months of pent up feelings and the fear of losing each other that you both had experienced. Neither of you wanted to let the other go.

His lips tasted like spearmint as they moved effortlessly against yours. There was a loud clap of thunder above you both, and the sky opened up as it started pouring.

You both pulled out of the kiss in shock at the freezing rain that was hitting your skin. You both just grinned at each other, knowing how picture-perfect this moment was.

“You wanna go inside?” He almost had to yell for you to hear him over the rain. You just shook your head. You wanted to enjoy every single second.

He grabbed your hand and spun you around in a circle, watching as the rain droplets flew off the ends of your hair.

You were smiling and giggling. You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him back into a kiss. “You are perfect,” he mumbled as he kissed you.

He finally pulled out of the kiss when he noticed you shivering. “This is magical, but I’m not gonna let you get sick.” He said, wrapping his arm around your waist and leading you back inside where you were met by the smiling faces of Richie and Sydney. They both immediately pulled you into a hug.

“You know how hard we had to work for this to happen because you both wanted to be in denial for months that you’re head over heels for each other.” Sydney teased you both. You just smiled at Carmy, and all you could think about was how the rest of your coworkers were going to freak out when they heard.

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#carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto fic #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto imagine #the bear #the bear fanfiction

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queers-gambit · 1 year

Text

Two to Tango

prompt: the aftermath of Carmy's words seem to rattle him more than you.

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

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 5.4k+

note: author still does not want any messages about glorifying toxic relationships. typically, but not always, when someone calls you clingy, it's weaponized and is abusive. this fic is not meant to portray that! it’s meant to show internal agony and the journey to forgiveness - Carmy apologizes 'cause he's actually sorry!

warnings: cursing, reader folds 'cause who wouldn't for the sweet puppy that is Carmy, hurt and comfort, small angst, small fluff, we talk about Mikey a bit, author uses writing as therapy, relationship angst...? barely edited.

part one: God's Plan

"It's six in the Goddamn morning!" You raged at your front door, stomping up to it, "Are you dumb in the fucking head!? Who the fuck in their right mind knocks like the Goddamn cops at six in the fucking morning!?"

You whipped it open, the force causing a breeze of air to blow your bedridden hair back and highlight your exhaustion. "Hiya, sunshine," Richie beamed down at you, holding up a paper bag, offering, "donut?"

"Richie!? I know you're not fuckin' stupid, baby boy, so, what the fuck is wrong with you? It's six in the morning on my day off - do you want to give me a reason to punch you? You hate your nose that much?"

He tisked at you mockingly, "Someone's cranky this morning."

"What do you want?"

"You're not gonna invite me in for coffee? I brought us donuts! See? C'mon, Peach," He jostled the bag around with a shit-eating, closed-lip smile. "Dooonuts," he taunted.

You had to pause, count to ten in your head, then sigh through your nose. You offered kindly, "Richie? Would you like to come in for some coffee? Since you kindly brought donuts?"

He grinned, "Awwh, thanks, Peach, thats real nice of yah! Don't mind if I do!"

"Don't call me that," you snapped, leading him into your kitchen. The door shut and locked.

"Oh, someone's touchy."

"What do you fucking want?" You whined, pouring two mugs of hot coffee. "You come bangin' at my door, early ass in the mornin'. You better have a good-ass reason," you slid the mug over the counter he sat at. "Cream or sugar?"

He shook his head, fiddling with the mug for a moment before admitting as you dressed up your own coffee, "Uh, so... It's Carmy."

You paused, taking a slow sip from your mug, waiting for more that wouldn't come. So, you quietly asked, "What about Carmy?"

"He's falling apart."

"O...Kay?"

"Peach," he frowned, "you know that your relationship was the only thing that made sense to him - he's falling apart without you there."

"Okay," you nodded, taking another swallow of hot bean-water.

"That's it? Nothing else to say? Dude's losin' his fuckin' shit, Peach. Okay? Barely leaves the restaurant, h-he's all manic and shit, doesn't stop cookin', isn't gettin' a lotta sleep, and Syd said his clothes are all over the apartment - he's not keeping himself in order."

"So, he needs his mother?"

Richie glared with a clenched jaw, "Not fuckin' funny, Peach."

"I'm not laughing."

"He needs you."

"I'd argue otherwise, he's a grown fuckin' man who doesn't need to be taken care of. Look, if he was man enough to call me a desperate, clingy bitch, he's man enough to deal with the fallout of his words."

"Look, hey, hey, hey, I'm not sayin' he's not in the wrong," he waved his hands, eyes widening, "actually, the exact opposite. We all chewed his ass out when we found out what he fuckin' said, Peach. And look, I've never seen Fak that fuckin' angry."

You semi-pouted your bottom lip, "Really?"

"Fak was ready to strangle Carmy, I think," Richie sighed. "I yelled, Sugar yelled, Fak lost his shit, Syd even cornered him in the office and laid into him..."

"I thought she didn't like me," you whispered.

"She's getting to know you, but she likes you," he assured, "and it's obvious the affect you have on Carmy. We all respect that - "

"Oh, great, so everyone except the one person who needs to respect our relationship - respects it!"

Richie frowned at you, nodding in agreement before admitting, "He's a dumb fuckin' idiot, Peach, we all know that, but the dude is losing it without you."

"Sucks to suck."

"Peach," he groaned, slapping his hands to the counter with exasperation. "Don't you love him?"

"Of course I love him, but I also have this little thing called self-respect! He said some shit - shit he can't ever take back. The fuck I look like going back to him when he's the one in the wrong!? I don't hate myself that much, and despite what he says, I'm not that desperate for love."

"How is talking to the man you love - "

"Richie," you paused him, "your Cousin said a lot of hurtful shit. It's been weeks, okay? He's gonna snap outta it, realize what he's done, and right the wrongs he's committed. I don't need to speed that along in any way, shape, or form - he's a grown man. And I'm a grown woman, I don't have to fall to anyone's beck-and-call, he can figure his own shit out."

"I know - look, it's been fuckin' weeks of us dealin' with him losin' his fuckin' mind!" Richie snapped. "We tried to respect that you wanted distance and time, we really did, but he's losin' it, Peach, more than he's lost it before. Okay? I'm concerned about him, more than I was when the shit with Mikey went down..."

You sighed and leaned on your kitchen counter, wiping your fingers over your eyes to pinch the bridge of your nose after. "Okay, okay," you paused, sighing again, blinking as you looked at Richie, "so, what would you like me to do?"

He pouted dramatically, "Talk to him? Please?"

"To say... What?"

"I don't know, you guys can work that out together, but he's miserable, Peach. Just talk to him, just..." He sighed, shaking his head, "I know it's not fair to ask of you, but he's slippin' off the deep end. You're all he knows, all that makes sense to him, and with you gone..." His eyes turned red as he held back his tears, "I-I'm not sayin' he's gonna do anythin', Peach, but everythin' with Mikey's still so fresh... I just - I can't go through this again. Can't lose another Berzatto."

You frowned, understanding now why he appeared so frazzled.

"Carmy's not Mikey, Richie, okay?" You reminded him softly, reaching for his hand; leaving your extended to reach him, "And you're not gonna lose any more of us, you hear me?" You gave a squeeze, "I'll talk to him."

"Really?"

"I will," you assured softly, seeing the single tear drop from his waterline when he bowed his head and sniffled harshly. "Hey, Richie...? Do you, maybe, wanna bring some flowers to Mikey today? Think you wanna visit?"

He shrugged, "Maybe..."

"Maybe it'll be nice," you assured calmly. "It rained a few days ago, so, the ground won't be too soggy anymore, but the grass will be lush and green - hydrated and shit."

"Right," he chuckled, nodding, "yeah, okay, maybe that'll be nice, yeah, you're right."

"Maybe Carmy could use a visit, too."

"He won't go."

You nodded, "I know, but sometimes it's nice to just have the offer."

Richie agreed, downing the last of his black coffee. "All right," he cleared his throat, "let's go - you wearin' that?"

"What?"

"You gonna wear that? To go talk to Carmy?"

"It's not even seven in the morning!"

"He's at the restaurant," Richie shrugged. "Dude doesn't leave. C'mon, he needs a nap or somethin'."

You groaned, knowing he wouldn't leave unless you left with him. So, you got ready quickly while he sat at your desktop computer; playing Facebook's FarmVille - the same you left your little cousins to play when they needed distracted. He was enraptured by the adorable virtual sheep, laughing to himself as he learned the ropes of the game; and when you were ready, you had time to fill a to-go tumbler of coffee while he signed off.

When you arrived at The Beef, it was still closed for the morning prep; and inside, chaos rained in a fury of angry voices. You listened to Carmy snap at Marcus about something petty, going as far as to slap a pastry out of his hand as they argued in one another's faces with ignited passion.

"Ooookay," you moved through the kitchen and got between the two men, hands on Carmy's chest, "that's enough, Chef, hey, hey, hey, c'mon, walk away - just walk away, Carmy, don't do this. Hey, hey, don't do this, c'mon, just step off - walk away with me, please. Please, Carmy, hey, hey, step off, walk away with me, please."

"Fuck you doin' here, Peach?" He asked with red, swollen eyes. He looked sullen; pale between the angry red blotches to his skin, bags under his tired eyes, looking worn out and thinner than you remembered.

"Yeah, hey, hey, we'll talk about that, c'mon, outside, outside, outside," you directed him, sighing at the sight of the splattered pastry you were forced to step over. "I'm so sorry, Marcus," you whispered, seeing him nod and wave you off as you and Carmy pushed outside into the alley.

The door shut behind you, making Carmy snarl, "What the fuck, Peach - "

"No, I think that's better asked to you," you snapped. "The hell's wrong with you? Yellin' at Marcus like that? You know how rude it is to slap shit outta anyone's hand?"

He paced in anger, wiping a hand down his face; circling his mouth with his fingers, eyes ringed with red, hair greasy and tossed in a mess. His pants looked baggy, his shirt wrinkled, stained, and dirty with sweat marks.

"What're you doin' here?" He asked in a pant, hands going to his slender hips, head shaking as his tear-filled eyes avoided yours.

"Carmy, we need to talk."

"No shit," he breathed, scoffing after and widening his pace.

"Hey, Carmy, hey, hey," you reached for him, taking both his wrists in your grasp so he had to face you. "I need you to pause for me, please, hey," you stepped in his way when he tried to move. "Carmy, you're no good to anyone when you're like this - least of all yourself. So, I need you to talk - "

"You left," he panicked, pulling back to start pacing again. "You left - you left me. We got in a fight and you left, you fucking left. You walked away and you left me."

"Carmy, we got in more than a fight," you sighed. "You lashed out at me, then turned avoidant, and I don't linger where I'm not wanted."

"How can you think that?" He demanded, still pacing. "That you're not wanted by me? That you're not welcome, what? In my life? At my side? With me? Baby - of course, you are!"

"You didn't exactly make me feel any different," you pointed out sharply. "Carmy, can you please fucking pause for me so we can talk this out - "

"I know I fucked up," he ranted to himself, huffing and puffing as his emotion strangled him. "I know I did, I kept - I couldn't - I fucked up. I know I did. I couldn't get my head outta my ass," he listed, pacing as he panted when panic took hold of his being, "and I hurt you, and it was like I had to keep hurting you because I couldn't be alone in what I felt and I couldn't exactly figure out what the fuck I was feeling - I just needed you to hurt, too."

"Carmy," you sighed patiently.

"And I couldn't stop, I just kept going, and when I realized how bad I made it, I couldn't fucking stop - I needed y-yo-you t-to know what I felt, but I couldn't find the words. I-I hate that I did that, I-I fucking hurt you and I made this so much worse than it ever had t-to be, and I fucking know, Peach, okay? I know you're not clingy, you were just loving me. Y-You were loving me, you were using your own love languages, and I felt y-you so fuckin' close to me, and freaked out - I just - I just don't know why. I just - I panicked, I couldn't stop whatever I felt, and I'm so sorry," he breathed, shaking his head, wiping his cheeks as the tears started. "I-I-I'm so sorry, Peach, I couldn't control myself and I-I hate that I hurt you, and I know I don't deserve your understanding, but I just - I couldn't stop - "

"Carmy," you stepped directly in his footpath; needing to seize hold of his swollen biceps to catch his movements as he all but barreled right into you, "I need you to breathe."

"Nah, I'm okay - "

"No, you're not," you spoke sternly, shaking your head. "Baby," you eased your tone to a softer tone, seeing a glimmer of hope spark in his baby blues, "I need you to take a breath and remain in the present with me, okay? Just stand here with me," you watched as he blinked a couple of times; reaching out to hold your waist tentatively. "And stay in the present, okay? Stay here with me."

"I'm so sorry, Peach," he whispered, stepping closer so he could feel your breasts against his chest; caging you with his arms. "I'm so fuckin' sorry, I didn't - I didn't know what the fuck I was even trying to fight with you about. You're not clingy - you're not any of the things I said, I didn't mean it - any of it."

"Calling me desperate?"

"I didn't mean any of it."

"A bitch?"

"Please," he whispered, bringing you in closer so he could rest his forehead on yours. "Don't repeat it, I know what I said, and I'm so fucking sorry for all of it. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm goin' crazy without yah, Peach. I need my best girl, and I don't deserve you, but I fuckin' need you." He sniffled, pulling back to caress your cheek, whispering, "I need you, Peach, you're the only thing that I know - the only thing I can understand, that makes sense to me. I think I just felt stressed and overwhelmed, I wasn't sure what to do - I couldn't find the words, I'm so sorry."

You nodded slowly, "I think we can work through this."

"I don't deserve you."

"Maybe not, but you have me anyway," you whispered, bringing his forehead to your own again. "But you can't do this again, taking anger out on me when I haven't done anything."

"Never again," he sighed, now nestling into your neck for comfort; arms tightening so you were the closest you could be with your head bent to keep his head caressed with yours.

"I don't think we can say 'never', but we can make an effort to leave work stress at work, right?" You whispered softly, letting one around coil around him to keep him close; the other caressing his jaw. "You don't get to treat me like that," you reminded him, "because I'm on your side, Carmy, I'm not the enemy."

"I know," he squeezed you tight.

"And the people doing their jobs are not the enemy," you smirked.

"I know," he chuckled lightly. "I owe Marcus an apology..."

"I'm sure you owe it to the others, too," you mused, holding his cheek as you turned your head to kiss his forehead. "Promise me we're done with that reactive bullshit. It doesn't make navigating a relationship easier on us."

"We're done, we're so fuckin' done with that shit," he whispered, deflating into your embrace as you held him close. "I'm so sorry, baby. I really am."

"I know," you comforted softly. "I forgive you."

"I don't deserve it."

"Hey, hey, this self-deprecating stunt has to end, too. We've gotta go forward with at least some confidence if we're gonna figure this out together."

He nodded, pulling back but keeping hold of your waist. "I am confident about this... About you - about us."

"Hmm?" You gently pushed a few stray curls from his forehead.

"Move in with me - officially."

Your face contorted in mild disappointment, "Oh, Carmen - "

"No, no," he rushed, sighing as his hand flattened on your jaw and cheek again, "just listen to me. I've wanted to ask you for a long time, okay? I've wanted this for - like - fucking years. Hear me? I just," he sighed, "I wasn't sure how to ask. I want this for us, I want us to be together, okay? Officially. I-I want us living together, Peach, okay? I want to come home and just - I want you there. I want all of you," he frowned, tears swelling again, "and all your shoes in the foyer, hair in the shower drain, perfume on the counter, and every-single-way you know how to love me. I was wrong to say you were clingy - and everything else I said. Baby, the last couple weeks, I've felt so fucking empty, so lonely and - just - cold. I've been cold without you. I need you, Peach, I need you with me, and I need you to be exactly you - no holding back. Because you're exactly who I need to love me, I'm so sorry I fucked that up before."

"Carmy."

He frowned, "I'm sorry."

"I know," you smirked, "and I forgive you. But you know it's gonna take more than a few pretty words and some tears, right?"

He nodded, "Anything to make this work again."

You sighed in patience, "Go say your apologies to the others, we've got t'make a stop before going back to yours - and you're going to take a fucking nap."

"I'm fine - "

"Look me in my eye and try to tell me in the past 72 hours, you've had decent, restful sleep."

He frowned, opening his mouth a few times but then sighing. "You know I can't," he whispered.

"Exactly why we're going back to yours."

Carmy paused, brows furrowing as if a thread pulled them together. He asked softly, "Is that a no to us... Living together? Is that why you're calling it 'my' place?"

You offered him a look of patience and leaned in to peck his lips for a few prolonged seconds, promising, "There's your apartment, there's my apartment, and then there's gonna be our apartment. Somewhere that's just ours, 100% us." His mouth stretched in a grin, so you swiftly cut him off, "But you have to ask me again when you've got restful sleep under your belt. I want you clear headed when you make this kinda decision."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed. "Where're we goin' before?"

You swallowed nervously, telling him softly, "You absolutely do not have to go with us, but I think Richie could use a visit out to Mikey's grave. I said I'd take him with some flowers, but you do not have to get out to go with us - not if you're not ready."

He blinked a few times, rolling his lips between his teeth as his eyes dropped from yours. You were about to coo his name and assure him again, when he nodded at you and tried to half-smile. "Okay," he breathed.

"Okay?"

"Mhm. I'll, uh... M-Maybe I can, just, hang back in the car."

"Sure, baby, whatever you're comfortable with," you whispered, leaning in to peck his forehead. "You good?"

"I will be."

"Mhm," you hummed, caressing his cheek again before pushing your hand into his curls. "Now, let's get a move on - I want you to march in there, say you're sorry to your Chefs, and then we'll leave."

"Yes, ma'am," Carmy whispered, leaning in to kiss you - but you pulled back.

"Aht," you halted him with a teasing finger to his lips, "after we've got everything worked out, then you can kiss me."

"You got t'kiss me," he mumbled against your finger; making you hum as you fought off a stretching smile, and lower your hand.

"Fair point - just one then - "

He cut you off by, indeed, pressing a single kiss to your lips, but not pulling back. His hand raised to hold the back of your head, your lips spreading in a grin against his; finding rhythm to move together before pausing to press in prolonged passion.

When he pulled back, you both paused to smile, and when you tried to peck his lips again, he pulled back, teasing, "Aht, just the one."

"Oh, fuck you," you laughed lightly, letting him take your hand before leading you back into the kitchen. The other Chefs lingered, sparing you and Carmy a few nervous glances, making you whisper in his ear as you squeezed his hand, "Go ahead, baby, get it done."

He nodded and called the kitchen to attention, clearing his throat, and beginning to make his apologies. He singled out Marcus, then Sydney, Richie, and Sugar; the kitchen staff all accepting his words and insisting he could take the day off - even the next few days if he wanted! You had to usher him to grab his things a few times, nudging him in reminder and verbally pushing him back into action. That boy's ADHD would truly be the death of him.

"So?" Richie smirked at you as Marcus handed you a packaged box of pastries.

"We're talking it out."

He chuckled, "Good. Get him outta here, Peach, dude needs to breathe."

"I got it," you swatted him away as Carmy exited the office. "But we've got somewhere to be first, right?"

He paused, then nodded and asked in a mutter, "He said okay?"

"He's got time to decide what he wants to do, but he knows we're going. C'mon, get your coat."

Richie met you at the front of the restaurant and with a parting wink to Sugar, you took Carmy's hand, tangled your fingers together, and left to venture to your parked car. Carmy got in the front, Richie in the back, and after a stop at a corner bodega to grab three bouquets of flowers, you drove to the cemetery. Carmy was silent, no music played, and Richie's leg bounced in anxious tension; making small conversation with you about your job in an effort to distract himself.

When you arrived, you pulled up on the access road that you knew was closest to Mikey's grave. Richie spared a glare between you and Carmy before muttering that he needed a cigarette and got out of the car to leave you alone. "Baby?" You whispered, reaching for his hand. "Hey, look, if you don't want to go with us, it's okay. We won't be long... But maybe you want to sign this," you showed him the small, blank name card left in the flowers.

"Why?" He whispered.

You shrugged, "So he knows they're from you."

"Peach," he sighed, meeting your eyes.

"Baby, I know it's silly, I know it's easier to ignore it all. But I'd like to believe it's just a nice gesture for our own closure - it's a signed gift from us, to them... And maybe it's nice to pretend that wherever they are, they know what we've left for them."

Carmy nodded slowly, "I-I don't think... I don't think I can go..."

"It's okay, baby," you whispered.

"But," he sniffled, opening his hand to you, "I'll sign it, if you'll leave it for me?"

"Of course," you rushed, opening your purse to producing a pen for him. The clank card rest on the center console of your car, pausing, swallowing nervously, then scribbling his name as he cleared his throat. He offered you the pen, waited until it was put away, then offered the flowers. "Hang tight, we won't be too long," you whispered, leaning in to rest your forehead. "You okay?"

He nodded, pecking your forehead before letting you get out of the car. You handed Richie his own flowers with a signed card, holding your own and Carmy's; linking arms with Rich to venture up the small grass hill and moved about halfway down the cemetery plot line. When you came to his stone, you understood this was what Rich needed more than you, so, you knelt and laid the two bouquets down before starting to quickly groom the area around his tombstone.

You told him, "I'm sorry it's not much, but I'll be back later for a picnic and a chat. I brought you flowers from me a-and from Carmy. He's in the car, but he's here, Mikey... Give him time," you whispered, brushing dirt from the stone before standing. "Take your time," you told Richie softly, seeing the tears gather in his eyes.

"Thanks, Peach," he whispered, offering you a tight hug. When you pulled back and started to walk away, Richie lowered himself to kneel and lay his own flowers down; hearing him tell Mikey, "Don't gotta worry 'bout us, Mike-Man, Peach is the glue that keeps us together. Shit, she even got Carmy out here..."

You made it back to the car and got in, smiling at Carmy - but dropping it the instant you saw tears in his eyes. "Talk to me," you whispered, reaching for a wet wipe in your glovebox to clean your hands after plucking the grass and brushing off dirt from the grave.

"Why can't I get out?"

You only stared at him for a long moment, unsure what to say.

"I'm here... I'm finally here... Why can't I get out?"

"You're not ready," you nodded, tossing the wipe aside to a plastic bag. "It's okay, Carmy, it's okay to not be ready yet. We can come back when you are," you reached for his hand.

"I think this added to my frustration," he admitted. "I couldn't... I didn't go to the funeral, haven't been here since he was... You know."

"Laid to rest."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Fuck's wrong with me?"

"You're grieving," you relented, nuzzling closer so your head rested on his shoulder. "It's not linear, Carmy, baby, just let yourself feel. When you try to repress your emotions, you lash out inappropriately."

"I know," he whispered, "'M sorry."

"It's not your fault," you promised, the two of you quietly bowing your heads together. You remained as such until Richie got back in the car, and from there, it was quiet as everyone stewed in their own emotion. You dropped Rich back at work before promising to call him later and driving away; heading for Carmy's apartment in the soothing silence, his hand locked in yours.

When you arrived at his apartment, you froze upon seeing the interior's state. "Oh, Carmy, no," you whispered, frowning deeply.

"Looks worse than it is," he deflected. You only hummed and let him lead you to the bedroom; watching him strip and prepare for bed before joining you on the mattress. He crashed almost immediately, sighing in relief as he pecked over your shoulder and collarbone, muttering, "'M so glad you're back. 'M so sorry, Peach."

"I know you are, and I forgive you," you told him softly, carding a manicured hand through his hair. "Just get some rest, baby."

He was asleep nearly instantly. He deflated on top of you, deeply resting enough to not notice you slip out from under him. You cleaned his entire apartment; doing laundry, cleaning, scrubbing, replacing necessities he deemed himself too lazy to pay attention to. You did dishes, cleaned out his fridge, and as you mopped up the floors, the sun set and Carmy emerged from the bedroom.

"Baby?" He mumbled in earnest confusion, sighing in relief when he saw you.

"What? Afraid I disappeared on you?" You teased with a small grin.

"For sure," he mumbled, wiping sleep from his eyes; making your amusement dim when you realized the nerve it struck. "The hell you doin'?"

"You didn't seriously think I could rest knowing this monster of a clean-up job lingered out here, did you?"

"I don't want you t'clean after me."

"Well, too late," you smirked. "You good now?"

"I feel better, yeah."

"Good."

"And I made up my mind."

"Hmm? About what?"

"I'm gonna take some time off work," he nodded, "and focus on us. Get us in a new crib, it'll be nice."

"Think you can handle that?"

He nodded, "I'll have to, you're the most important thing in my life, I can't lose you. So, if I gotta take time off, that's the least of my worries. I'm only here for us, for you."

You smiled at him, setting the mop aside to wrap him in your arms. "I like the sound of that, us making a home together - being able to decorate a new home. But don't let me overdo it, okay? I get all excited and kinda bulldoze my way through projects. I don't want you t'find real reason t'resent me."

"Nah, that ain't possible," he promised quietly.

True to his word, Carmy took three solid weeks off; agreeing to a fourth week as a contact-only consultant. You and he slept in most days, looking at apartments, and not once did he even mention work. He was diligent in his attention, focused on you and you alone; putting in overtime to rebuild that what was broke by focusing on shared interests again. You found a place you loved ready for what was basically immediate move-in, taking time to pack your respected places and prepare for the official start of your cohabitating relationship.

You didn't forget what he said, being reserved in your displays of love. Yet Carmy was different; he was totally clingy the moment you returned to his life. He feared letting you go meant you'd disappear again, feared you'd run away again. He held your hand at every possible opportunity, got you a fresh bouquet of weekly flowers, ran all his errands with you; never went to bed without you, cooked all meals with you in the kitchen - perched up on a counter. Most showers you took together, and almost every night was spent cuddling on the couch or in bed with either a book being shared between you or a new show playing on the mounted flatscreen TV.

Carmy clung because he thought if he showed you acts of his love, it'd allow comfort towards your loving behavior to flourish again - and he was right. It took a little bit of time, but Carmy clung tighter and tighter; ensuring you started to reciprocate before ever easing up in the intensity of his affectionate displays. He didn't want to overwhelm you, but knew you needed the reassurance.

You were cautious, you were apprehensive; tiptoeing around Carmy even when living together before warming back up to him. You didn't need to repeat the words he hurled at you all those weeks ago, not wanting to dredge up repressed feelings, but never letting him forget what he said. Your actions spoke enough, skittish around his affection; something Carmy took note of and despised himself for. He made up for it, of course he did, it was Carmy and he hated tension and conflict in his closest circles of life. Yet it wasn't so easy for you two to move forward, they weren't just words to you.

They were direct insults to you as a person; to you and how you loved others. Carmy had seen your deepest fear and used it as a defense against you - wanting you to hurt the way he was, too. He understood this wasn't acceptable, knowing the next time he resorted to such despicable actions, you'd simply walk away; never dealing with disrespect, so, he needed to be acutely aware of his words.

You would never allow yourself to be someone else's doormat, but part of being an adult is understanding that people were allowed to make mistakes - it's part of being fucking human. How terrible you'd feel if someone held your own mistakes against you, because the truth was, you weren't perfect either.

Part of being in a(n adult) relationship is understanding when someone apologized, it was best to accept and move on because nothing was ever solved by dragging turmoil out. This didn't mean forget what happened, forget whatever emotion was evoked - but to do your part to repair what was broken; no matter who was at fault, it always took Two to Tango.

And in this song and dance, you were ready to sweep around the dance floor if only with Carmy. Because that's what a relationship was; a conscious effort by both partners to work as one, to dance in-sync; owning the art together, as equal partners.

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Text

the art of dancing in the kitchen

carmy berzatto x fem!hairdresser!reader

gif by @hotch-girl

word count: 3,479

warnings: literally nothing? this is pure fluff with slight swearing and little baby innuendos. i did make reader a hairdresser because i just love the idea and it makes so much sense for this.

synopsis: nothing brings you more joy than spending time with carmen…except maybe having him help you bake.

a/n: i swear to you, i think this might be my favorite fic that i’ve ever written. i love it so much and it made me so happy to write. i found myself smiling at the screen while typing, if that tells you anything. i think i’d definitely like to continue writing things in this universe, too! carmy is so fun for me to write and i love coming up with ways to make him feel tangible. (also shoutout to the first pic because if you know, you know.) i hope you enjoy this one and happy reading!! <33

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Carmy never sees you run as fast as you do when you’re leaving work. In this case, it’s just so he can eat lunch with you, but you rush out of the salon door just as fast.

Your sundress catches the wind, the hem flying behind you as you jog up to the passenger side door. You catch a glimpse of Carmen through the dirty window. His curls are crushed underneath that worn blue cap, but today it’s turned the wrong way around on his head.

It makes him look boyish. The hand rubbing over his mouth in an effort to hide a grin doesn’t help his case.

If you’re honest, you’ve been giddy since six that morning, when you got up and remembered that Carmy was meeting you for lunch. And when you got to work and found it was much slower than expected, with no show after no show, you were so grateful for the blue eyed man waiting for you outside. In a loading zone, no less.

You hop into the car, pulling the door shut behind you distractedly. You’re too eager to see him, and before you can even say hello, how are you, how’s life—anything—you’re kissing him.

His lips feel a little chapped against yours, the skin slightly dry and cracked, but you don’t mind. It feels like he’s just shaved, his jaw all smooth, and he smells like cinnamon and dish soap and cigarettes, but you’d be a liar if you tried to claim that wasn’t the best smell in the world.

You pull away from his kiss, locking eyes with him, where his pupils are blown wide and his cheeks are flushed like he’s been pinched. “Hi, gorgeous,” you say.

Carmen laughs, that little shy one that’s more of a big puff of air than a chuckle. He shakes his head at you, still not used to someone being so excited about his presence, so…enamored by him.

“Hey, you,” Carmy answers, placing both of his hands on your cheeks. He stares at you for a moment. He’s trying to drink you in. He does this every chance he gets because he literally cannot believe you’re real. He’s not dissociating, he’s not daydreaming. This is his life.

Your already broad smile widens as you take the opportunity to stare back at him. Your eyes wander to his just-too-long sideburns. “I think it’s time for a trim again, Carm. Lookin’ a little grizzly there.” You ruffle his curls, which feel surprisingly clean.

Carmy watches you bite your thumbnail in an effort to conceal the laugh threatening to burst from your throat due to your own horrible joke.

“Ha, ha. So funny.”

He puts the car in drive and listens to you giggle to yourself as you fasten your seatbelt. Neither of you say much on the very short drive to the park across the street, knowing you’ll be able to vent as much as you please while you eat.

“Cross your fingers our bench is free?” you say, raising your hand up towards Carmen. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as if that also counts as a way of manifesting your favorite seat. Carmy lifts his fingers in the air, the middle crossed over the index and gently knocks his hand against yours.

You pull into the parking lot, the sound of gravel crunching beneath tires filling your ears, and your gaze immediately flies to the bench underneath the biggest tree with the most shade and the best view for people watching. “Fuck, yeah!” you shout, a brilliant smile blooming on your face as you unbuckle.

Carmy laughs for real this time, the corners of his eyes going all soft and crinkly at your joy. “Run over there and claim it, yeah? I’ll grab everything.”

You push open the car door and stand quickly, smoothing the sweet ruffles of your dress. You wink, already starting to happily jog away. “Yes, chef!” Carm catches your salute just before he reaches in the backseat for the cooler and bag of food he brought with him from the restaurant.

On your bench, you prop your hand on your chin, tuck your foot under your thigh, and watch as Carmen walks up the short little incline to you. He looks gorgeous.

He’s wearing jeans, Levi’s that hug his ass and thighs just right. He has on an old “I heart New York” t-shirt that he only wears when he hasn’t caught up on laundry (and only bought for that same reason a few years ago).

His curls and necklace bounce almost in sync, and you can’t help but think that he just looks so pure and free.

And he’s got this glint in his eye that’s directed right on you.

“Ebra made your favorite. He heard I was meeting you for lunch and insisted he do it,” Carmy says, snapping you out of your how-could-this-man-get-any-more-sexy daze.

He places the tin foil wrapped sandwich in front of you, pretending not to notice the way you’re gawking at him. “I swear he’s never been so gentle with roast beef.”

You smile, pulling up the strap on your dress where it’s started to slip. Carmy leans over the table to press a kiss to your shoulder. It makes your stomach flip.

“Did he make yours for you?” you ask, mouth watering impatiently as you lift the still-warm bread up so you can take a messy bite.

Carmen hands you a napkin. “Put that over your chest—yeah, like that. So you don’t get your dress dirty.” He rips open a bag of chips for you to share. “But to answer your question, fuck no he didn’t.”

You toss your head back and laugh. “You’ll have to tell him I said thank you for making such a yummy lunch for me.” Your boyfriend watches as you suck a stream of au jus from your thumb.

Carmy scoffs playfully. You wink at him. “I did have the cutest delivery boy though.”

His brow raises, and the corners of his mouth quirk while he chews on the handful of potato chips he’s just shoved in his mouth. “Oh yeah?”

You hum. “Yep. Cute even with roast beef stuck in his teeth.”

Carmy falls for it, quickly taking a sip of his drink like he’s going to wash the beef free. But the twinkle in your eye tips him off. “You’re fuckin’ with me?”

You wipe your grinning mouth. “‘Course I am, Bear.”

Carmen raises up from his side of the picnic table just enough so that he’s leaning across to meet you halfway. He waves you closer with his hands. “Come on now, you owe me a kiss for bein’ a little shit.”

You brace your palms against the worn—and slightly damp from last night's rain shower—wood, quickly connecting your lips with Carmy’s.

You do this thing where you start smiling into the kiss and in turn it makes Carmen smile because your giddiness to have your mouth on his is insanely fucking contagious, and he’d be a damn fool not to join in.

When you pull apart you make sure to quickly kiss both of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “There’s your tip for being such a pretty delivery boy and bringin’ me lunch.”

The both of you settle into quiet conversation, catching up on whatever as you finish your sandwiches and drinks. Carmy reaches across the table to hold your hand, rubbing the pads of his fingers over your polished nails. He likes the way they feel.

As a surprise to end your lunch hour, he pulls out a little back holding two oversized oatmeal raisin cookies. One for each of you. And he knows those are your favorite. You do a happy little wiggle in your seat when you see them. It makes him laugh, makes his stomach flip.

“Marcus made a batch of these, just tryin’ out cookie recipes? We thought having them out front for people to grab on their way out would be smart.”

You take the cookie from him. “That is smart. And I already know it’s gonna be yummy.”

“Damn straight. I ate like, four of them as my breakfast and lunch yesterday. But that’s not important. How’s work so far?”

You’ll have to berate him about that later. The man cannot eat cookies and wash them down with Pepto Bismol and call it a day.

You demolish your cookie within seconds. “Work has been so fuckin’ slow today, Bear. We’ve had all these no shows, so I got set up and then they don’t come and now I’ll have to send them the files about the fee.”

“You want me to yell at ‘em for you? Tell them how they’re missin’ out on the world’s best haircut and color?”

You smack him playfully on the wrist. “I just love my job, y’know? So it sucks when I sit there playin’ on my phone instead of listening to all the gossip my customers bring me.”

Carmy downs the rest of his Coke and swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “If it helps, I’ll let you give me that trim after service tonight.”

“At least I know you won’t cancel on me.”

Carmen watches you for a minute, losing himself in now fucking ethereal you are. He’s never imagined himself using the word, but that’s the only proper way to describe you. And he secretly loves you cutting his hair because your hands feel so good, especially when you wash it for him.

“I’ll tip you real good too, baby.” Carmy blushes at his own joke and it makes you laugh. Mid-laugh though, your eyes widen like you’ve just had an idea. It feels a little devious to him.

You pull out your phone. “Oh! When I was doomscrolling this morning, I found this video of blueberry muffins—dammit, of course I can’t find it now—but they had the…the…”

You lift your hand, wiggling your fingers in a sort of sprinkly motion like you’re try to demonstrate what you’d seen. “The crumbly shit, Carm! I don’t know what the fuck it’s called.”

You reach over and take both of his hands. “Point is, they looked really yummy and I wondered if you’d help me make them?”

Carmy starts chuckling. He definitely knew what you were talking about with your hand gesture, since you’re always making them and he’s got them memorized by now, but it’s so fucking fun to see your brain work.

He begins to gather up your trash and put it back in the bag he brought it in.

“Yeah, I think I have enough flour and shit. There’s some frozen blueberries in the back of the freezer. But do you want the crumbly shit, or streusel?”

“Carmen, sweet angel baby, I don’t know what streusel is.”

“It’s usually got cinnamon and nuts and shit, so that’s what we’ll do because I know how you like your nuts, love.”

You take his hand when he offers it to help you stand. You smack a big, wet kiss on his lip. You let your eyes drag up and down his form before you begin to walk back to the car.

“Sure do, Carmy.”

————

“You don’t need a recipe or anything?”

Carm presses a sweet kiss to your lips and passes you a few fresh blueberries to snack on. He’d grabbed some at the store on the way home because was he really going to teach his girlfriend how to make muffins with a questionable bag of frozen blueberries? Fuck no.

“Nah, it’s all pretty simple. I’ll tell you everything to do, and I can write one out for you if you ever wanna make ‘em when I’m not home.”

You pinch his sides, raising up on your tippy toes to express your giddiness. “Really? Holy shit, I love that.”

He lets out a huff of a laugh. “Yeah?” Carmen cups your chin, tilting your mouth up to meet his because he wants a kiss.

You start to talk while his lips are still on yours. “It’s your handwriting. I have a thing for it.”

He bites your bottom lip playfully. “You’re insane,” he says, smiling through each syllable. He pulls back briefly. “That reminds me, I got you somethin’.”

Carmen walks to the living room and pulls something out of his work bag. “Does this have to do with my insanity?” you ask, jokingly.

He shakes his head. “Only with your insanely cute ass.” He holds up an apron. “It’s your honorary chef apron. Ta-da.”

It’s the same blue as his at work, except it has a ruffled hem and the logo for The Bear embroidered on the chest. Your brows shoot up.

“You got this today, Carm?” The alarm in your voice makes him smile.

Carmy walks up to you and starts tying it around your waist. “No, no, not today. I got it awhile back, but you bringing up muffins made me remember I’d ordered it. It came with the chef’s whites and shit.”

“You got it made for me?” Your voice pitches up a notch, causing Carmen to spin you around so you’re facing him.

“‘Course I did. Couldn’t leave my number one out. And yours is cuter than everyone else’s.”

Your eyes water, just slightly, and you start smothering Carmy’s face with kisses until he starts to giggle boyishly. “Okay, okay!” he fusses, “No tears, only muffins.” He grabs your hips and moves you in front of the counter where he’s laid out all the ingredients for you. “Let’s get movin’ now, yeah? This shit is making me hungry.”

��———

“Why do they tell you to fold it in? I’m not doing fuckin’ laundry, Bear.”

Carmy is sitting on the counter next to you, watching you intensely. There are floury handprints on your apron and you have your tongue poking out in concentration. He keeps bringing a straw to your lips every few minutes to keep you hydrated, like this is a very important surgical operation.

“Probably ‘cause it looks like folds when you do that?” You smack him on the knee and continue to fold in all the ingredients, pretending like you don’t see exactly what he means.

Once you feel like it’s all combined you let go of the spatula and turn to Carmen.

“What now, Bear?”

“You gotta mix up the sugar and the flour and the cinnamon, and then you can add your little nut mixture and I’ll show you how to do the butter.”

You reach for the collection of small glass bowls Carmy set out for you. “So sassy,” you say, shaking your shoulder just a little.

He smiles at you and extends a socked foot out to lightly kick you on the butt. But you were expecting it, so you reach behind you and grab his ankle, tickling the bottom of his foot, which is where he’s most ticklish. It’s his Achilles heel.

Carmy releases a short bout of laughter before pulling away from you to catch his breath. “Fucker.”

You grin, leaning over the sink to wash your hands for the umpteenth time. “But I’m your fucker, angel boy.”

He hops off the counter, scooching in behind you to press a kiss to your clammy cheek. “Can’t argue with that,” he says.

Carm watches over your shoulder as you add a small mix of crushed almonds, granola, and pecans to your streusel topping. “Good job, baby. Now I need you to cut a few pats of butter and add ‘em in. Just do a few—yeah, just like that—and you can start mixing it up. You can use your hands if you need to since it gets so difficult to stir.”

The warmth of Carmy’s chest against your back should be unnerving, what with him observing your every move.

But it isn’t. Rather, it's comforting. When the butter combines with your little potion mix as much as it can, you use your hands to make sure nothing gets left behind.

“You’re very good at making sure the crumbly shit is crumbly, lovebug.”

You look over your shoulder at Carmen as you finally slide the finished tray into the oven. “I’m givin’ you a run for your money, aren’t I, Bear?”

He smiles at you, reaching around your waist to untie your apron and lift it over your head. He hangs it on the little rack meant for keys. “Might have to tell Marcus about this. Get you in there, helpin’ him decorate donuts and shit.”

You push up on your toes and wrap your arms around Carmy’s neck. His go around the small of your back like that’s the only job they’ve ever had.

“So you can throw them on the floor?” you quip, biting your lip to hold back a laugh. You know you’re being a little shit, but at least it’s a memory you can all laugh at now.

Carmy’s lips quirk up at the corners. His right hand lowers and squeezes at the fat of your ass, a little menacingly, but loving all the same. “Never gonna let me live that down, huh?”

You lower your forehead so that it’s resting on Carm’s chest. He feels your giggle against his skin. Feels the way your fingers play with his necklace where they rest at the back of his neck. It’s giving him goosebumps.

“Nope,” you say, that cute little teasing lilt to your voice.

Carmy tightens his grip around your waist and lifts you up into the air, spinning you around his small kitchen a few times. Just enough that you squeal out of surprise, out of pure, unadulterated joy because of this romantic ass gesture that feels straight out of a story book. You pop your feet up for good measure. You could never let Princess Mia down like that.

When he sets you down, you both stare at each other for a moment, catching your breath with these stupid happy smiles on your faces. And right there, you both feel that little bolt of electricity. The one that tells you this will never go away. This connection is everlasting.

It takes a minute for you to register that you’re both shuffling lightly across the floor, in gentle, sloppy circles.

You look down at Carmy’s socked feet and back up to meet his eyes. “Does this count as dancing?”

He scratches his nose. “Couldn’t tell you.”

You kiss the spot where he was self-consciously rubbing. “Maybe we should practice, you know, in case we need to dance someday.”

Carmen snorts. “Yeah, maybe, sweetheart.”

You play with the curls around his ears, remembering your promise to give him that trim. “Have you ever danced, Mr. Berzatto?”

He kisses you. “Only alone in my room.”

You kiss him. “That what you do when I’m not around?”

He kisses you a second time. “Yep. Busted. But Richie used to try and make us play Just Dance with him when he got drunk.” He grins at the little chuckle you let out. “What about you?” he starts. “Have a past dancing career?”

You shake your head, admiring every little freckle on his face. Every little dry patch of skin, every line.

“In high school, me and my girlfriends would usually just hold hands and spin around in a little dance circle since we were all single. It was very cool of us.”

“I would’ve paid to see that,” Carmy says, cupping your jaw. You grin up at him, eyes twinkling. You imagine you’ve got big ‘ol pink hearts fluttering back and forth at him.

You both melt into each other after that. Slowly shuffling around the kitchen, hips swaying to music that isn’t there. Usually Carmy would be on the verge of shitting his pants in a situation like this, but…it’s you. You’re safe.

Why wouldn’t he dance with you?

Carmen brings his lips to your ear. “Is there music in your head right now?”

“Rick Astley,” you whisper.

Carmy blinks.

And then he tosses his head back, laughing. “Seriously?”

“Nope. I just wanted to hear you laugh,” you say, and kiss the chuckle right off his lips. He kisses you back, pecking your lips three times in quick succession because one is just never enough. You tug on a curl. “We’re stupid in love, aren’t we?”

“We’re dancing, shuffling like old people really, in my shitty kitchen on a weeknight, and waiting on blueberry muffins that I’m pretty sure we’ll finish within the hour.”

“Oh my god, Bear.”

“Yeah, baby. We’re stupid in love.”

You are. And when you sit on the kitchen floor, your socked feet in his lap, eating warm muffins and getting butter all over your fingers and down your wrists, that only confirms it.

Those are the best damn muffins you’ve ever had. And Carmy’s lips taste like blueberries for the rest of the night.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

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aestheticaltcow · 2 months

Text

No Phone Policy

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader

I'm in an angsty mood; I'm sorry, everyone.

The Bear Masterlist

“Fuck you, Carmy! Fuck you, Carmy! Fuck- where are you?” you wailed as a wave of contraction pain crashed over you. You knew where he was, that fucking restaurant. Since moving back to Chicago, you’ve learned a lot about your husband.

You knew he was an anxious ball of stressed-out nervous energy, but something changed. You suspected that the friends and family freezer incident was his breaking point. Watching him slowly lose his mind over daily menus and constant fighting with the people he loved hurt. You were convinced he wasn’t sleeping or eating, but the part that hurt the most was how he’d withdrawn from your pregnancy. Before The Beef made the change to The Bear, he would rub cocoa butter on your stomach and tell the baby about his day and how excited he’d been to meet them, but now you were lucky to have a conversation deeper than a greeting or a passive ‘love you’ before going to bed. You were unsure if he even wanted to be a dad anymore.

“How you doin’ Y/N? Need anything?” a nurse asked as she opened your chart to document your vitals. You shook your head. “I think I'm just ready to get this little girl out.” you quipped as you watched her write something down on your chart.

After the nurse had scurried out of your room, you reached for your phone on the table beside your bed. As you unlock your phone, another wave of contractions came over you. You winced as you hit Carmy’s contact, and it went straight to voicemail. “Carmen- the baby is coming. This is like my 50th call-” you groaned as the contraction intensified, “Get your ass over here! This really hurts, and I-I can’t do it alone.” a whimper escaped your lips when the realization of what doing this alone would entail.

Carmy was in the zone that night. Everything was going off with a hitch, and he couldn’t believe it. His head was swimming with ideas on how to recreate this energy. He was on cloud nine and couldn’t wait to get home to you. At the end of the dinner service, Carmy debriefed with Syd before heading to his locker. He turned his phone back on and saw a slue of text messages and voicemails from you, “Oh shit…” were the only words he could manage to get out before panic took over.

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irndad · 1 year

Note

Hi hun! I just love love love your pieces <3

As for Carmy prompts - could we have some hurt to comfort when Carmen doesn't show up for a date? It's ok if you dont wanna do it or i requested incorrectly, but if you do, i cant wait to read!!!!! Thank you so much mwah mwah mwah

I’m not thaaaaaat sure how I feel about this and it’s so long but your request was so sweet I had to!!! Ily <3333

wc:1.1k

There’s so fucking much in his ear. Fak’s screaming whatever bullshit he’s sure will help absolutely nothing, Richie’s harassing Sydney and Tina’s trying to keep them all in line and will of that goddamn chaos, he shouldn’t be able to make out anything.

Prepping this whole thing, the opening, Richie biting his head off for fucking sending him to the best kitchen in the city- it’s all a bit fucking much.

He barely hears the door open (she has a key, because of course she does) and he doesn’t even look over his shoulder as he calls out her name.

“Hey, baby,” he yells back towards the entrance. It feels good, chopping the vegetables. It’s actually one of her favorite dishes that he’s making, and something inside him preens that he gets to feed her tonight. Everything feels illustrious under her gaze. He remembers the first time he’d cooked for her, how her watchful gaze felt a bit like sunlight; equal parts burning and doused in light.

She’d said she liked his hands, then. Said he looked pretty with a knife and a cutting board. “Will you try this sauce for me?”

He hears her heels click, the soft thud of her purse landing on the couch. It’s a slow saunter she does to him, but he’s razor focused- what does it need, garlic? Oregano?

It only breaks when he sees her. And she looks gorgeous. Wearing a black dress with a cowl neck, shimmery eyeshadow that catches and dances in the low light of the kitchen, a crimson lipstick neatly applied to her beautiful pout.

She smells like vanilla, and Carmen has the privilege of knowing what real, rich, Madagascar vanilla smells like. He’d loved the scent so much that he’d bought her a perfume made from it, and there’s a warmth blooming in his chest when he realizes that she’s wearing it.

Wordlessly, she opens her mouth and leans forward to try the sauce covered wooden spoon he’d raised to her lips.

Even when she’s in front of him, he can’t believe she’s someone he knows. That she’s wasting her time with someone like him.

“Jesus Christ you look beautiful,” he says without thinking, and he kisses her quick. It’s true. She’s a vision, plucked out of an old movie shot on grainy film, warm to the touch film.

He abandons the spoon and the sauce without much fanfare, a rough, calloused hand meeting her soft warm cheek.

“Thanks, Carmen.” she says, but her doe-eyes deny the joy she typically exudes in his presence. It’s his proudest achievement, how she glows around him. She’s tight lipped, smile betraying her words.

“What’s wrong? Is it the sauce? I know it’s a mess in here, I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d see it-“

“No! No, seriously, it’s okay, honey.” She tries to insist but it really doesn’t work. He moves the pot off the burner and twists himself completely to face her, placing a gentle hand at the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. He tries not to let it sting, how she stiffens for a moment before softening again.

“What happened?” He asks again.

“It’s the first,” she says, a rueful grin on her pretty lips, before gesturing down at her outfit, and oh.

The dinner. The fucking dinner that he’d promised her. His sweet girl, who waited up every night, who dutifully tasted every recipe, who soothed him on nights where nightmares stole his sleep-

“Fuck,” he says, more to himself than her, but god, he can’t stop looking at her, “Fuck! God, I’m such an asshole, I’m so sorry-“ he insists, suddenly so grateful that she’s letting him touch her, even more aware of every point of contact with the sudden fear that it could escape in a moment’s notice.

“Y’know, Carm, if you could’ve just told me that would’ve been one thing? But I left the reservation, and this was the one night we both had off!”

“I know, baby, fuck, I forgot-“

She backs away from him, and there’s a sick feeling in his stomach. Sitting on the chair he keeps by the stove (he put it there for her, because she loved watching him) she pinches the bridge of her nose.

“It’s just not fair, Carm. To either of us. If you don’t have time for this-“

“I have time for this! I have time. Don’t say things like that.”

“Carmy, I’m not trying to hurt you. You know that’s the last thing I want.”

And it is. It’s the last thing she wants, and Carmen fucking knows it. Knows that three months in he’s supposed to have brought her flowers and taken her out and done more than cook for her and spend hours in his shitty apartment, and lately she’s been asking if he has time for being in a relationship.

And maybe he doesn’t, but fuck it if he doesn’t feel like he can breathe around her. This was the point of the dinner- take her out, be a boyfriend. Have her wait a little while on him. Show her he’s worth it.

Instead he fucking missed it, stayed home and made sauce no one would even eat.

“I’m sorry,” he says, grabbing her hand and lacing it through his own. It always shocks him, how it fits his own. “Okay? I’m so, so fuckin’ sorry. Tell me what I can do. Tell me, cos I’ll do just about fuckin’ anything to get you to stop saying shit like that.”

Her voice comes out small.

“I was alone, Carm. They kept trying to take my order and you weren’t there, and eventually I had to leave.“

She looks up at him, eyes sparkling and kind and Carmen. She looks beautiful, and if he wasn’t with her, he’d see her in the street and hate whatever fuck was lucky enough to be who she got dressed up for.

“I am so, so sorry. It’s just with the stove, and Fak, and Richie fucking calling me to bitch me out every thirty seconds,” she reaches her delicate fingers to brush his cheek with concern, “I should’ve remembered. It’s just about the only thing this week worth remembering. And you look…stunning, I should’ve been there. I should’ve. Please.”

Her expression softens and he loves the sight of her, warm and kind and lovely in both form and temperance. She’s so patient with him, responds with kindness- a gift.

She brushes her soft lips on his cheek and he tries to savor the sensation, note how warm and wonderful it is to have her form pressed against his, how her arms knot themselves around his waist.

“I know you’re stressed, babe,” she murmurs against his cheek, eyes shut, “tell you what. Why don’t you make me something better than what that place could’ve, huh?”

After he kisses her for so long that excess is no longer the right terminology, he makes her the best pasta she’s ever had in her goddamn life.

It’s better this way, anyway. She’s gorgeous in a way that’s just his to look at tonight.

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x You #carmy berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto imagine #the bear #the bear x reader

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newtkive · 7 months

Text

confectionary clash - carmen berzatto

pairing: carmen berzatto x afab!reader (established relationship)

summary: carmy's girl is the human embodiment of a sweetheart. that is, unless it's that time of the month and richie provokes her.

wordcount: 3.2k

warnings: swearing, fighting, weaponized incompetence from richie but we still love him.

a/n: this was meant to be a drabble but turned into 3k words. so it's written kinda like a drabble?? (hence the lowercase i can't be arsed to change) but just... long. idk hopefully its entertaining. also, i don't mean to demonize richie, he's my favorite character i think,, i just love writing him as problematic lmao cuz he's so funny. anyways, enjoy!

as carmy’s confidant and girlfriend, you were always the voice of reason. with just a string of words, you’d be calming him down after a hectic work day, giving him a fresh perspective on his work dilemmas since you were outside of the restaurant circle. in the time he’s known you, he hadn’t seen you do as much as barely raise your voice. maybe the occasional snap, but you always follow it up with swift apologies and big watery eyes.

that is, unless you’re in pain. specifically cramps. the sight of you 180ing from a sweet girl with a bright smile and even sweeter words, to an evil sorceress with spells rolling off your tongue, inflicting curses onto anyone who irritates you is jarring. a bit dramatic, sure, but that’s what you were during that time of the month—dramatic.

carmy tries best to dote on you. you would never ask him to go out of his way for something, unless it’s grabbing a heating pad or water, but carmy wants you to. it takes prying to hear your desires and cravings after asking a million times, and you begrudgingly give in with no expectations. nevertheless, you end up with exactly what you asked for, or something close to it, and you’re endlessly grateful.

on days when you stop into the restaurant when you’re feeling down, carmy enacts this same routine. if it’s food, he’ll cook it for you; desserts, he’ll grab any extras marcus has (or marcus happily makes it from scratch if they're not busy, claiming he needs the practice). if you want snacks, he sends his right hand man richie out to grab them despite your protests.

richie does it often whenever you stop into the store, and he acts like it’s a chore sometimes, but everyone has a hunch that he really loves it. come on, twenty dollars to get a few items for you and pocket the rest for himself? plus a break from work? done deal.

richie wouldn’t admit it, but he liked taking care of you too. you were always a sweetheart to him, but it wasn’t in his personality to be as sincere as you, so this was a little act of service to show his love. besides, the year and a half you’ve known him has definitely earned you the title of a friend, and you’d agree.

now, you don’t ever want to seem ungrateful, but when you ask for a specific treat, you get disappointed when you don’t really get it. maybe it’s the fluctuating mood talking, but you always end up snapping at richie due to his poor choices. if you ask for one thing, he’ll get you the next, and you even suspect he does it on purpose sometimes. pulling reactions from people is his specialty.

it’s not like you’re a complete bitch about it, because he took his time out to go get you something, but richie has a problem with weaponized competence even with his new and improved attitude. you know he can get you the jolly ranchers you suggested, but he chooses to grab goldfish because it’s closer to checkout. it was annoying, but you never really brought it up to carmy. it's not like you needed to, it wasn't a huge deal. you figured richie could use the little break, and you don’t hate the snacks he brings.

except on days like this.

you were at the restaurant on a slow day, dragged yourself out of bed despite your cramps just to see your little grumpy boyfriend and hide in his office. even as you entered the establishment through the back you glared at richie (who sweetly waved) in passing, side eyeing a few of the newbies who ran in front of you despite their apologies. none of your usual bright smiles and cheery greetings. the bee line straight to the office was a clear enough explanation for how you were feeling.

upon entering, carmy looked up in a panic, which quickly melted into a soft smile at the sight of his girlfriend. “hey, baby.” he cooed softly, immediately scooting back from his desk to reach out to grasp at your waist. you let him, but pushed down the irritation, not favoring touch at the moment. however, his rough hands sliding a little under your shirt to grasp at the flesh of your hips calmed you down, earning a small quirk of the lips from you.

“whatcha doin’ here, love?” he asks, bringing one of your hands to his lips to kiss softly, still looking up at you.

you shrug, squeezing his hand, face a bit stoic. you’d been like this for a couple of days so he wasn’t surprised by your lack of friendliness. knowing you this long, carmy became accustomed to your monthly mood swings, and he felt privileged that you didn’t feel the need to put up an act for him.

“missed you.” you finally sighed, scooting closer so you stood between his knees. palms found both sides of carmy’s face and tilted it upwards a bit so you could study his appearance. stressed and tired. however, he seemed to glow at the mere admission of you missing him. it took a few seconds for his brain to rewire, looking up at you like you created the cosmos. the only reason you heard his soft, shy, ‘missed you too’ was because of the stagnant silence.

“hungry?” carmy asked, beaming from the attention. you shrugged again, allowing him to tighten his grip on your sides and tug you onto his lap. whining a bit in protest, you reposition yourself, legs falling over his lap and arms around his neck. your faces were closer now, and carmy looked at your sad eyes with a little pang in his chest. brows furrowing, he tilted his head and snuck a hand under your chin. long, tattooed fingers tickled at your chin, and before you knew it you were giggling and grinning while batting his hand away.

“cmon, i know you must want somethin’.” your grin was infectious and laced in his soft words. you hummed, already cheered up, and tapped a finger against your chin to make a thinking face. carmy chuckled, brushing a lock of hair away from your eyes and patiently waited.

a thought crossed your mind and you met gazes again. “i might go grab some little debbie snacks from around the corner.” you decided and nodded to yourself as if solidifying your decision.

as you started sitting up more, carmy’s grip tightened on your waist. “ah, ah, no. stay here.” he protested. soon enough he was calling out ‘cousin!’ and richie came bounding over, opening the office door.

richie’s face used to contort in disgust at any visual sign of affection exchanged between you and carmy, but he was used to it now. “what’s up, cousin?” he asked, almost seeming out of breath, eyes flickering between the both of you.

a short exchange between the two occurred: carmy asking richie to run to the corner store, handing richie a twenty, and richie asking you precisely what you wanted. you made it simple and easy, something he could remember: oreos and ho-hos, a midwestern's guilty pleasure.

“ight, cap’n, i’ll be back.” richie says, saluting you two before heading out. both you and carmy exchanged an amused smirk, knowing the only reason richie went was to get himself some cigarettes and hot fries he would scarf down on the walk back.

in the twenty minutes richie was gone, the kitchen had gone to shit. the newbies had been running the wrong food to tables, online orders were filling the tablet nonstop due to a discount glitch, and carmy was close to losing it. sitting in the office, now alone with the muffled sound of your boyfriend yelling, you were more grumpy than before. arms crossed, you snapped your head to the side once the door creaked open. in walked richie with a plastic bag, inside of it holding your hope for a better day.

"what took you so long?" you frowned up at him, but sat up straighter in anticipation. you eyes almost shone as you looked at corner store logo on the bag.

"went the long way." he mumbled, digging in the plasic. the skeptical look on your face didn't leave as he pulled out an item and set it on the table. your frown deepened further as you noticed there was nothing at all you asked for, only met with a crushed sleeve of crackers.

“where are the oreos?” you sighed out, lips pursed in a bit of a pout.

“didn’t find any, so i got you some peanut butter crackers.” he mumbled, digging around the bag again, as if he didn’t just break your heart. if it was anyone else you'd believe them, but with richie you figured he just got bored of looking.

your jaw fell slack and you gaped like a fish for a moment, waiting for him to pull out more treats from his bag. but that time didn’t come, as he fished a pack of cigarettes out instead. “and the ho-ho’s?” your voice was hopeful.

richie perked up at that, putting the cigarettes down next to the crackers. the next second he presented you with a smushed mountain of brown and white concealed in a plastic wrapper sitting atop the palm of his hand. eyes flicking between the disappointment before you and his face, you frowned in disbelief.

richie only managed to emote as much as a ‘yikes’ face before placing it on the desk. “got smushed in transit, but tastes the same!” he gave his best attempt at a smile. your brows grew taut together and anger bubbled up in your chest. you were sure your face was quickly turning red.

“carmy gave you twenty dollars, and you come back with this?!” you hiss out, daring to look at the dry crackers and smushed up dream of a ho-ho. the sight only made you become angrier. this was something a senile old person would give you, not a competent 40-something-year-old man. his lack of care was clear, and you were boiling.

richie just scoffed—he had the nerve to scoff.

“no, not just that! i got a sprite and a few pack of cigs for myself and the guy.” he waved around one of them to prove his point. if you thought you were mad before, you reached a new level of anger. usually, you’d deal with the disappointment and thank richie for even going—aside from a smart alec remark.

however, the demon conducting your period for this month did not make your rational decisions seem clear nor enticing. as you shot up from carmy’s chair, you only knew you wanted to make richie as upset as you were in this moment.

with one finger poking his chest, you began raising your voice. as soon as you started talking, richie's eyes turned wide as saucers, exactly like a deer in headlights. a string of curses snuck into your tirade, between phrases such as “you always fucking do this richie!” and “are you fuckin’ dumb?! did you get dropped on your head?!”. you only figured he didn't fire back right away because he was so stunned.

outside of the office, the kitchen was calmer now. things were finally falling into order but still required carmy’s supervision until the sudden rush ended. the only disturbance was you. now, it was your voice yelling behind closed doors and not carmy’s.

the chef—in the middle of helping sydney plate a dish—just about gave himself whiplash with how fast he turned around to look at the barely cracked door of the office. there was the telltale muffled yelling, but what shocked him was it was clearly you yelling.

turning back around, carmy gawked at sydney who silently shared the same look of surprise. it was only until they heard richie start yelling back that sydney silently pushed him toward the door. it didn’t take more than a second for carmy to snap out of his surprise and march over to the office.

throwing the hand towel he was using over his shoulder, he yanked the heavy door open before all but body slamming his way into the room and slamming the door closed. the yelling was suddenly clear, as if carmy was being pulled out from underwater.

“YOU GET ME WHAT I ASKED YOU, OR GET ME NOTHING AT ALL!”

“THEN YOU’D BITCH ABOUT THAT TOO—“

“OR NOTHING AT ALL!”

“hey, hey, HEY!” the two of you were too busy at each others throats to even hear carmy enter, until his voice brought you both to a halt, heads turning towards him.

carmy’s eyes were immediately glued to you, not paying the least bit of attention to richie. your arms were stiff as boards to your sides, fists and jaw clenched, brows taut, and race beet red. the man had never seen you look like this before, and his instinct to comfort you took over. turning to richie with a look that could kill, carmy finally spoke. “what did you do?”

“what did i do?! except take precious time to get your girl shit she didn’t even want?!”

an offended gasp left your mouth, and you retorted instantly. “oh please! because a crushed up sleeve of crackers and a mountain of mushed up cake is just what i asked for!”

“you’re ungrateful.” richie pointed a finger at you now. carmy launched forward and slapped it down. he knew richie would never hurt you, and you knew it too, as you just rolled your eyes in response, but carmy’s instinct’s took over. richie didn’t even look phased, just irritated. carmy stood in front of you and forcefully turned richie around by his shoulders to send him to the door. if carmy didn't have half of a sane mind, he would’ve kicked richie's bottom with his shoe for good measure.

“go take a break chef! or do whatever the fuck, i don’t care.” carmy shouted after richie, and the man left with a slam of the door.

you simply watched the scene unfold with arms crossed and that same deep set frown. carmy turned around to face you as the air settled, a hand running through his hair. blue eyes raked over your tense form and carmy decided he would give you a little space to calm down. however, the second he saw your bottom lip wobbling and eyes grow watery he threw that thought to the wind

“hey, no, no, don’t cry.” carmy extended his arms and collected you into them. the tense posture you held relaxed into his slouched form as he held you close; one hand in your hair, and the other rubbing circles on your back as you sniffled.

a pit of guilt burned in your stomach and spurred you into attempting to bury yourself into carmy. blue straps of his apron rubbed against your cheek as you shuffled impossibly closer. usually, carmy would love this, but right now he'd do anything to not see you so out of it. shushing you, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

there were a few beats of you hiding away before you decided to pull back a bit to face him again—and boy did you look pitiful.

the same cheeks previously bright with anger were now flush with embarrassment and stained with tears. a tattooed hand found itself sitting on your cheek, thumb rubbing under your eye to collect a fallen tear. at the touch, your eyes fluttered closed, and carmy’s heart broke at the sight.

“you gonna tell me what happened?” your boyfriend asked, trying not to make you feel even more guilty. his full attention was on you. exhaling slowly, your eyes fluttered back open and were met with those bright blue ones that always calmed you down.

“i dunno, i just-“ you shook your head and carmy waited patiently, “it wasn’t even a big deal, but richie just really set me off for some reason.”

“yeah, may as well join the club.” carmen’s words were light, not at all sarcastic, but aiming to ease you and bring out a smile. it worked, your lips turning upwards and carmy mimicking the half smile. he looked down at you with such love, head tilted to follow every time yours moved, and thumb caressing your cheek as he took in every expression.

your smile finally faltered as you glanced back at the office desk. “i feel so awful. he went out and got me stuff and i just yelled at him.” you sputter out.

carmy followed your gaze over his shoulder to finally see what started all of this. at the sight of the crackers and ball of what looked like mush, carmy scoffs in both disbelief and amusement, because of course richie would bring you that. turning back towards you, the chef finally gets it.

“baby, if someone brought me that shit while my insides were shedding i’d kill them.” he chuckled.

“really?” you asked hopefully, smile forming again.

“yes, really. even if i wasn’t goin’ through that i’d actually kick his ass.” carmy mirrored your smile.

nodding, you let yourself chuckle along with him. strong arms found you again and you were wrapped in a tight hug, allowing his squeezes to take away some guilt you were feeling. a moment passed and you knew carmy had to get back to work. with a sigh, you pulled back.

it was your turn to reach up and cup his cheek. guiding his face close, you met him halfway and pressed your lips to his in a kiss. lips moving against his, your noses brushed, and after a moment you let the kiss dissipate; lips slowly falling away from where they were molded together. one last peck was placed on carmy’s lips, as if saying, ‘thank you for being so attentive’. that earned an appreciate hum.

you both beamed, faces still close as you came back down to earth. “you gotta get back to work, and i gotta apologize.” you murmured and carmy nodded obediently.

with apprehension, carmy let you go, arms floating in the air for half a second as he walked backwards towards the door. “don’t go easy on him, though. richie lives for a fight. that was probably his anger management for the day.” carmy smirked, grasping the doorknob.

you just shook your head, eyes narrowed teasingly. before he turned to leave, you called out to him. “thank you, carmy.”

the man just gave you a confused look, chuckling. “don’t thank me, you're my girl.” with that he was back to work and you were left to your own devices. with one more glance at the monstrosity on the office desk, you left the room and went on a search for richie.

thirty minutes later, carmy was due for a smoke break and approached the back door. he slowed his tracks, lighter and cigarette in hand as he cracked the door and heard giggling. the sight before him was drastically different than before: you and richie sitting on a ledge next to each other, giggling and bumping shoulders. carmy breathed out a laugh at the sight and fully walked out. this caught both of your attention, grinning ear to ear as you clearly made up.

“hey, cousin!” richie grinned, and you both waved. figures.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #the bear #the bear imagine #carmy berzatto imagine #x reader #carmen berzatto imagine

2K notes · View notes

violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 month

Note

hey!!

could i maybe get a roommate fic where carmy’s getting ridden and about to come and has no filter so it slips out that he loves her

Baby, Please.

it’s been on the tip of his tongue for too long. it was only a matter of time.

roommate!carmen berzatto x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. carmy’s a bit pathetic at some points in this (you’re welcome)

word count - 2.4k

authors note - ah shit, here we go again. I always end writing carmy as a little bitch in these, sorry lmao (i’m not). but here it is!! a love confession!! will they ever talk about anything, I hear you ask? we’ll see…

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

series masterlist. masterlist. inbox.

Carmen automatically smiles when he hears your keys clinking against the lock in the front door.

As soon as he clocks it, he rolls his eyes at himself. You’re not supposed to get butterflies in your stomach when your roommate comes home on a random Thursday evening.

And yet here he is, sitting on the couch, trying to play it cool - as if he hasn’t been waiting for your return for the last hour and a half.

You’re usually back from work before he is, and suddenly he’s grateful for it. He couldn’t do this everyday. Sitting, waiting for you to come home as if you’ve been gone for months rather than nine or so hours. The apartment feels a little bigger, a little colder without you in it. Carmy wonders how he lived here for so long without you.

You swing the door open, kicking off your shoes instantly. Throwing your bag onto the counter, you take in the sight of your home. It’s clean, tidied, more organised than you’ve seen it in a while. Carmy’s been putting the work in while you’ve been gone.

“What happened, Carmen? Are you okay?”

“W-what?”

“Were you stress cleaning?”

He laughs, all full and warm.

“No, babe. Just regular cleaning.”

He rises from the couch, coming over to press a kiss into your cheek before slipping your jacket off your shoulders and hanging it up behind you.

“Carmen, what’s that smell?”

“Tomato and basil slow baked rigatoni. Homemade garlic bread. And then, if you have any room left… my homemade snickerdoodles.”

“Did you… cook for me?”

“Yes I did, baby. It’s the least I can do after you’ve been at work all day.”

It’s all so domestic, so thoughtful, so heartfelt, that you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. You step forward into his space, looping your arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his lips. He grins at you when you pull away.

“What was that for?”

“A thank you,” you whisper, kissing him again. “I really won the roommate lottery, huh?”

“We both did,” he chuckles, covering your face in kisses while you squirm in his arms.

Eventually, he lets you go, but not before raking his eyes up and down your figure very slowly. He takes you in - your work clothes, the way your hair is falling out slightly, your bare feet. As much as you want to let him devour you, you’re starving. A different kind of hunger to his.

“Dinner first. That after.”

“What after?” he plays coy, trying to fight the smirk off his face.

“Don’t play dumb, Berzatto. It’s not a good look on you.”

With that, you leave the kitchen to get changed, laughing as you go.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You sink further into Carmy’s side on the couch, trying desperately to pay attention to the vintage sitcom that’s playing on the TV.

All you can focus on are the rough fingertips tracing patterns on the bare skin of your thigh. They keep getting higher, brushing the seam of your pyjama shorts occasionally. Every so often, Carmy leans in to press a kiss onto your temple, into your hair, behind your ear. You rest your head on his chest, soothed by the steady beat of his heart.

“That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I could eat that pasta every day for the rest of my life and die a happy woman.”

Carmy laughs, and the sound rumbles through both of you.

“I don’t cook for you often enough.”

You sit up, then, turning in your seat to look him in the eyes.

“Carmen. You cook for me almost every day.”

“Yeah, but… not really.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Most of the time when I’m cooking at home, I’m trying a new recipe, or perfecting an old one - for the restaurant. And then we both eat it for dinner. But tonight, I actually picked a recipe I knew you’d love, and made it for you. Because I don’t cook for you often enough.”

You lean in to press a gentle kiss to his lips, smiling as you do it.

“You know I don’t mind either way, right? Whatever you make is always delicious. Except for that weird duck mousse from last week. That was… awful.”

He shoves you playfully, laughing when you topple backwards onto the couch cushions. Climbing onto you, he digs his fingers into your ribs, chuckling as you try to squirm away from him.

“Stop, before I kick you in the stomach or something,” you plead, wrapping your legs around his waist to try and keep him still.

When that doesn’t work, you resort to dirtier tactics. You roll your hips up into his, watching as his face changes when he realises what you’re doing. The tickling stops, replaced by fingertips gripping your sides in a completely different way.

“Fuck,” he murmurs into your neck as he drops his head down. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Minx.”

“Well you wouldn’t stop, so…”

“You’re usually telling me not to stop, honey. ‘Oh, Carmen, don’t stop baby, don’t stop’…”

You laugh as he mocks you, half in disbelief, half in amusement.

“You’re such a dick.”

“You still want me though, huh?”

The atmosphere in the room shifts, tension thickening in the air. Carmy’s eyes go dark as he looks down at you, gaze raking across your face. You nod in response to his question, chewing at your bottom lip.

“You gonna let me thank you for dinner properly, Berzatto?

Who is he to say no to an offer like that?

You tighten your legs around his waist and pull his hips down to yours, flipping you both over on the couch. You settle with your thighs on either side of his, your weight keeping him anchored down to the cushions.

“You look so pretty underneath me,” you whisper, tracing the features of his face with your gentle fingertips. “Pretty, pretty boy.”

Carmy’s hips buck up into yours at the praise.

“You’re so fucking predictable,” you giggle as he groans. “You love this, don’t you?”

“Love what?”

His voice is all strained and breathy already, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Being my bitch.”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes, but his tightening grip on your waist gives him away. You lean in to press your forehead to his, breathing him in for a moment. Carmy tilts his head up to meet your lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth as you whine.

You tangle your fingers into his hair, melding your lips against his. You let him explore your mouth, winding your hips down into him in a steady motion. You lean back to pull his shirt over his head, yours following suit shortly afterwards and ending up in a pile on the floor.

Carmy kisses his way across your chest, nipping and sucking as he goes. You’re way past the don’t leave marks stage. Neither of you care anymore. You rake your nails down his stomach, smirking when he shudders, goosebumps rising across his skin.

You tip forward to bite at the muscle of Carmy’s neck, licking a stripe up his throat as you go. He tastes like his minty shower gel and cinnamon sugar from the snickerdoodles. It’s the perfect combination to make your mouth water.

He tangles his fingers into the waistband of your pyjama shorts, trying to tug them down. You go to stand up to help him, but the whine he lets out stops you in your tracks.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

“Carmen, if you want my pants off, you need to let me stand up.”

“You can do it here.”

He pulls you back down into his lap, ignoring your raised eyebrows. You manage to slip your shorts and panties down one leg, rising awkwardly on the other to try and get them off. You kick them to the floor, chuckling as you settle back over Carmy’s hips.

“Happy now?”

“Very happy,” he mumbles, reattaching his lips to your jaw. “The happiest. Got the prettiest girl in the world naked in my lap right now.”

Heat rises across your chest at the compliment, head ducking down to avoid his eyes.

“Shut up,” you mutter, tugging down the waistband of Carmy’s sweatpants.

You pull them and his boxers off in one fell swoop, dropping them onto the floor. When you take him in your hand, he reaches out and grabs your wrist, looking up at you through thick lashes.

“Wait, baby.”

You freeze instantly, finally meeting his gaze.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong. Just need to get you ready first.”

You shake your head, gentle smile on your face. He’s always thinking about you. Selfless boy.

“I am more than ready, Carmen.”

When he looks at you with skepticism in his eyes, you decide to make a point.

You trail your fingers down your stomach, pulling them through your wetness when you reach it. Sliding a digit inside, you rock your hips, throwing your head back. You can both hear how ready you are, and it makes Carmy groan.

“Oh, fuck.”

He’s whispering in awe, careful not to spook you when you’re so clearly in your own little world. You add another finger, and Carmy has to grip your hips as hard as he can to stop himself from flipping you over and having his way with you.

You remove your fingers and shove them straight into Carmy’s mouth, panting as he laves his tongue around them. You both whine in unison. Always so in sync.

“I’m more than ready,” you whisper into his jaw. “Promise.”

“I believe you,” he croaks, wrecked already. “Please.”

“You’re so pretty when you beg.”

You line him up, sinking down ever so slowly. You want to feel every inch, every ridge, every movement. You don’t want to miss anything.

You both drop your heads back in bliss, chests heaving against each other. You’re adjusting, while Carmy’s trying to get a hold of himself. He doesn’t want it to be over too quickly, but it so easily could be if he isn’t careful. He runs his hands up and down the bare skin of your back, admiring how soft you are.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he says through gritted teeth. “Shit, baby.”

“You feel so good. So big, Carmen. Fuck.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you can’t help but tease, running your thumb over his bottom lip.

“Talk like that. Fuck.”

“Oh,” you laugh in fake realisation. “You like it a little too much, huh?”

He leans his head forward to rest on your chest, gasping when you lift your hips up to drop them back down. It’s all so slick, so easy. It’s like you’re made for each other, made to fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

You can’t help but want to push him a little further. He’s always so quietly domineering, so seemingly in control, that you love when he allows himself to fray at the edges slightly. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t get you off.

“So you don’t want me to tell you how you’re filling me up just right? That you’re so big, that you feel so fucking good? That I could sit here for hours? That I’ve never had it like this with anyone?”

Carmy’s hips buck up involuntarily, and you chuckle a little cruelly.

“Baby, please.”

“Okay, Carmen. Okay.”

You press a sugary sweet kiss to his lips before settling your hands on his broad shoulders to give yourself some stability. You set a steady rhythm, winding your hips up and gliding them back down with a clear purpose. Your knees ache, and your hips are being held open a little too wide, but you feel delirious with it, high off the pleasure. It’s good. So good.

“Shit, honey. Fuck. S’good, yeah? So good. Keep going, don’t stop.”

You’ve always found his babbling amusing, but right now there’s nothing funny about the way the sound of his voice pushes you undeniably closer and closer to the edge. You never want him to stop talking.

Carmy moves one hand from your hip to between your legs, rubbing soft but intentional circles onto your clit. It sets your nerves alight, whole body buzzing with anticipation.

You keep your rhythm going, even as it’s getting harder and harder to concentrate. You can feel that Carmy’s close, that he’s sitting on a knife’s edge waiting for you. You realise, suddenly, that you want him to come before you. You want to undo him.

You move one hand to tangle in his hair, while the other settles at his throat. You don’t squeeze too hard, just enough to turn his moans into breathy little ah ah ahs.

“Baby, please. Fuck, so close. So good, honey. You’re so good.”

Your grip tightens in his curls, making him groan. Your hips get faster, and so do his fingers on your clit, the pressure more insistent now.

“Fuck, yeah, that’s it, don’t stop baby. Fuck, I love this. I love you. Keep going, so close. Atta girl.”

Your brain is too lost in your actions to register his words. Instead, you press your forehead to his, kissing him gently in contrast to the violent slam of your hips. This juxtaposition seems to be Carmy’s undoing, his grip on your hip tightening so much you hope it’ll bruise.

He emits the most gorgeous moan you’ve ever heard when he comes, which sends you straight over the edge. You tighten like a vice, whole body shuddering with it. Your climax seems to last forever, every single one of your nerves fried and frayed.

You both come down slowly, foreheads pressed together and lungs heaving. You’re panting into his mouth, smoothing out his hair where your fingers have ruffled it. Carmy’s arms wrap around your back, pulling you in so you’re chest to chest as he presses a kiss to your temple. You sit like this for a while, completely at peace in each other’s company.

Eventually, after what could have been hours but was probably minutes, you break the silence.

“So we should probably talk about the I love you, huh?”

@jazminsjaz @buendiabebeta @kingsqueensandvagabonds

1K notes · View notes

lovebugism · 2 months

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you’re writing for carmy now omg i’m frothing at the mouth 😭 i love the trope where reader is quiet in bed and needs to be coaxed a bit but… i feel like it would be kind of hot if reader was the one coaxing carmy? 👀 no worries if you’re not feeling this one!

ty for requesting! — you teach the bear how to use his voice in the bedroom (new relationship, inexperienced!carmy, experienced!reader-ish, smut 18+)

bug's summer fic fest (⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Carmy never notices when he’s quiet. His head is always so loud in comparison — it’s easy to forget he isn’t saying anything out loud when his mind’s constantly racing. He doesn’t mean anything by it, though. He’s just chronically observant. And painfully silent with it.

He lays on his back, pressed between unmade sheets and your warm body. The covers bunch at your bare hips as you roll in languid thrusts over his lap. A satiny summer breeze smooths over your burning skin from a cracked-open window. Every time the curtains billow, more of the moonlight peeks in. It drips in silver shades over your naked skin and your pretty face, now twisted in a look of undeniable pleasure — brows scrunched, eyes closed, mouth wide open.

Carmy’s tattooed hands rest impatiently on your hips. His fingers dig into the plush of them as he rocks you back and forth over his cock. You make pretty noises for him every time your clit brushes his coarse thatch of pubic hair, so he angles his hips just right to make sure you keep hitting that spot.

“Carmy,” you moan in a whimsical sigh that makes his chest swell. “Just like that. ’S so good like that. Please don’t stop—”

His face, made of dark shadows and sharpened edges, is pinched in a look of acute concentration. A distant feeling of deja veux swims in his stomach. It makes him wonder if he’s seen this in a painting before. One of those Renaissance types. The kinds that are harrowingly realistic and always heart-wrenchingly beautiful in a way.

It makes him want to draw you. Just as you are now. Head tossed back, mouth gently agape, lashes fluttering over glowing cheeks. He wouldn’t be able to do any of it justice, but he tries to memorize the soft lines of your face, anyway.

Your hips slow to a stop. Reality hits him hard.

“Woah, woah— Hey,” Carmy mumbles in protest, brows pinched in confusion when he comes down from the clouds. Through labored breaths that make his sweaty chest rise and fall, he wonders, “What happened? Why’d you stop?”

His icy blue eyes dart over your face, searching for any sign of harm. In true Carmen Berzatto fashion, he immediately thinks he’s done something wrong — that he got too far in his own head and hurt you in some way without realizing. The anxiety is fleeting, but he feels the pinch of it anyway — right where your palm rests flat on his chest, just over his pounding heart.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, similarly panicked. Your bare chest sparkles with a thin layer of sweat and catches the moonlight with every uneven inhale.

Carmy nods rapidly, chestnut curls brushing the pillow. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m— I’m great. Why?”

You exhale a small sigh of relief, growing sheepish under his unwavering gaze. You feel a bit silly for stopping now. “You just aren’t… You aren’t really, you know… saying anything,” you answer shyly.

“Am I supposed to be saying something?”

You giggle quietly to yourself until you realize he’s being genuine. Your smile ebbs as you stammer, “Well, no, it’s just— Some people usually moan, I guess— When they feel good.”

Carmy nods firmly in reassurance. “I feel good.”

“Okay…” you nod back, slower and more unsure.

“I promise,” he tells you, tattooed hands squeezing your sides. He shifts nervously on the mattress, similarly victimized by your adoring stare. “I just… I just like watchin’ you, I guess…”

A shy smile quirks the edges of your mouth as you peer down at the boy beneath you. “You’re sweet, bear,” you coo in a honeyed murmur.

“You’re sweeter,” Carmy insists. You think you see the faintest hint of a grin on his lips, but it’s hard to tell in the low light. “Wanna taste?” he teases a second later.

Wordlessly, you bend down for another kiss, far too chaste for his liking. He almost says something about it until you roll your hips again. The words of protest disappear when he inhales sharply through his teeth.

“Does that feel good?” you ask him.

He nods silently, squeezing your sides in a feeble attempt to move you faster on top of him.

“Tell me.”

“Feels good,” Carmy obeys through gritted teeth.

The subtle assurance makes you moan — a pretty, breathy thing that spills accidentally from your opened mouth. All he can think about is getting you to make that sound again.

“Do you like it when I talk to you?” he wonders aloud, very innocuously curious.

You nod, brows furrowed as you grind over his lap. The bed frame squeaks quietly when you roll your hips forward. When you roll them back again, he can hear the faint sounds of your wet pussy — the quiet schlick-ing of his cock fucking into you. The two noises play one after the other in rhythmic tandem. The sinful sounds of sex.

Carmy racks his head for something to say in the not-so-silent meanwhile. You watch him get lost in his mind and cup his cheeks between gentle palms. “Don’t think so hard about it, bear,” you say with a wavering smile. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s okay.”

You duck down to kiss him again. The angle shifts. Carmy bends his knees and fucks up into you, mercilessly and without warning. Your mouth hangs open in another weak moan that fans across his chin.

“That good?” he pants.

“Yes,” you whine. “Carmy— fuck— You’re so deep…”

Babbles spill from your mouth in thinkless slurs. They tumble from your swollen lips with an admirable effortlessness, which Carmy has never thought himself to possess. He tries, anyway, to talk to you with such sinful ease.

“You’re huggin’ me so tight,” he mutters through a clenched jaw. The very first thought to come to mind as the velvet confines of your cunt pulsate around him, squelching quietly in time with his thrusts. “Can feel you throbbin’ around me, babe— Shit— It’s like a fuckin’ heartbeat.”

Your whine fills the quiet bedroom, adding to the symphony of bed squeaking and skin slapping.

Carmy shifts his hips upward. The new angle allows his cock to reach a spongy depth inside you and pins your swollen clit against his happy trail, which now glimmers with a layer of your honey.

“Right there?” he pants.

You nod wordlessly until the words catch up to you. The tip of your nose brushes the bridge of his. “Yes,” you whimper.

His brutal thrusts pick up pace a second later, never wavering in their wicked pursuit. “Let me hit that spot,” Carmy mumbles to himself like a man crazed. “Let me hit that spot, let me hit that spot.”

Pleasure swells within you, overwhelmingly so. It’s a warm and sparkling feeling in the pit of your stomach — a tightening coil, a fraying rope, a dam about to burst. The intensity of your inevitable orgasm frightens you.

“Carmy…” you whimper.

“I know,” he nods sympathetically, right before he plants his feet on the mattress. He strengthens his thrusts, which have slowly started to lose their rhythm. “It’s okay. C’mon. Cum for me— I can feel you fuckin’ drippin’ on me, baby— C’mon.”

Your jaw clenches to fight back the scream clawing at your throat. It comes out in a pitiful whimper instead when you tense over his lap. Your orgasm washes over you in waves that leave you shaking, thighs trembling on either side of his hips.

Carmy goes accidentally silent once more as he watches you, swelling with pride as you reach the height of your pleasure. His light eyes flit over your features in a feeble attempt to memorize them — the furrow between your brows, the wrinkles beside your shut eyes, the spit-slicked sheen to your kissed lips.

You’re painting brought to life. A heavenly thing he can’t believe he gets to touch with unworthy hands.

“That’s it…” Carmy murmurs lowly. The words bubble in his throat and fall from his mouth mindlessly. He doesn’t even have to think about them now. It just feels right to praise you like this. “That’s it. There you go. So pretty… Always so pretty for me.”

As your body racks with aftershocks, you seek refuge in his arms. Your weight rests entirely upon him as your tense limbs slowly relax, but Carmy doesn’t mind. He just wraps his tattooed arms around you and holds your trembling body closer.

“I got you,” he promises through labored breaths, chapped lips brushing your temple with every word. “I got you. ’S okay. You did so good for me, baby. Thank you.”

You don’t have the words to tell him that you should be the one thanking him.

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luveline · 3 months

Note

Oooooo carmy request: him being jealous of readers friendship w richie cos they re like buddys and he thinks she doesn't like him cos shes not like that w him

—you realise what Carmy wants from you. fem, 1.4k

Richie isn’t technically an upstanding citizen, but he’s a good guy.

“I’m telling you, sweetheart, you just need to be more aggressive.”

You’re sitting on a stool behind the counter filling the ketchup and mayonnaise bottles with the huge ones from the walk-in. Richie isn’t doing much of anything, which is fine by you; he’s good entertainment for a shitty job.

“I don’t want to be more aggressive, I want people to be nicer.”

“We don’t get what we want,” he mutters.

You frown expressively. “Aw, baby, we don’t get what we want. You don’t get what you want, huh?”

“What’s your problem?” he asks, though he laughs brightly. “You’re the fucking baby. You’re not doing that right.”

You point at your extremely slow drip of ketchup. “No, you think? I know I’m doing it wrong, Richie. Doing it right is a lot of arm effort. Have you seen my arms?”

“You’ve got muscle.” Richie lifts your arm up by the wrist. “Flex. Flex your arm.”

“I’m flexing. You can’t see that?”

“What are you guys doing?” Carmy asks.

He comes up behind Richie and they’re almost twins. Not in appearance —Carmy’s lighter facially and broader physically— but in stance, their mussed up aprons and the rags on their shoulders a uniform.

You flex. “Weight training.”

Richie drops your arm. “I’m showing her how to fill the sauce bottles.”

“And you didn’t know how to do that?” Carmy asks you.

“I’m the one that taught Richie.” You absolutely didn’t teach Richie how to do it, that much is obvious. Richie laughs heartily, and Carmy frowns, and you realise that Richie thinks you’re both laughing at Carmy, which isn’t what was happening. Not totally.

It’s hard to navigate The Beef without Mikey; Carmy is nothing like his brother, and Richie’s an asshole.

Carmy nods at you. You’re worried his lip is gonna curl like it does when he’s mad and you’re gonna get told to do something you’re uninterested in, but it’s Richie who gets punished. “Can you finish Sydney’s prep?”

“Why can’t she do it?”

“Her stomach thing. It’s just onions.”

Richie wants to argue, but can’t. He’s paid a wage to work. “Fine. But tell Syd I’m not her gopher.”

Richie saunters away.

“He’s not her gopher,” you tease when he’s out of earshot, to Carmy’s surprised delight. “God, Carm, don’t you know anything?”

Your Richie impression isn’t your best. Carmy must enjoy it, still smiling to himself as his attention is turned to the register, where he begins wiping down the keys.

“Is that really the way to do that?” he asks, gesturing to your sauce bottles.

You’ve turned the cap upside down, feeding sauce into the bottle one drip at a time. It would be quicker to remove the cap entirely and pour straight from the big bottle, but that sometimes requires three hands, the big jugs are that heavy.

“Despite what you might think, Carm, I’ve thought it through.”

“You sure?”

You could get defensive. When Carmy first took over the restaurant, you thought, What the fuck, Mikey. Leave your shithole restaurant to your world class brother and get your entire roster of staff fired in one fell swoop. But Carmy never fired you, hasn’t cut your hours, doesn’t treat you like an asshole. He is a jerk, that much is certain during busy dinner service, but he has yet to take it too far. (Ish.)

So you won’t defend your laziness, or expect him to like it. You get up from your stool and turn the cap right side up, tapping what’s yet to drip through the spout into the bottle. You set the cap aside, and you uncap the big ketchup to decant sauce until the bottle is full.

Carmy glances at you from the corner of your eye. He looks at you, looks away again.

You think he might like you. In the don’t have a choice, grown on him like moss way. He gets cagey when you and Richie are having fun, and he stares altogether too much, but he can be pretty when he’s smiling (or really yelling) and he has nice hands, and nice arms. He has a nice way of saying things. You don’t mind his attention.

There have been worse bosses to want to push you up against a wall.

Not that you think Carmy could. He whines like a bitch at you for stupid shit, but Carmen Berzatto shoving you into a wall for a rough kiss? That’s never gonna happen.

And yet… his frown tells a different story.

“Why do you get so weird about me and Richie?” you ask.

“I don’t get weird about you and Richie.”

You open the mayonnaise bottle and set the cap aside. “He’s nicer than you think.”

“Yeah?” He sounds vaguely depressed, which isn’t uncharacteristic. Seriousness colours his voice with a strange charm. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“He is, he makes me laugh. He makes sure I eat, he shouts at guys when they’re mean to me.”

“Who’s mean to you?”

“Carmy.” You give up on the mayonnaise and wipe your hands down your apron, to his ire. You’d prefer not to smell like egg and oil during this conversation, but it’s better than smelling like burnt chicken, sort of. “Richie’s a nice guy, whether you agree or not.”

“That’s great, I’m glad he’s so nice to you.” He sounds angry now, but he’s stuck as you are —walking away is losing.

You really don’t get it. “Is he not supposed to be nice to me?” you ask.

“He can do what he wants. You can do what you want.”

You laugh, and hope to diffuse the situation with a joke, “Okay, thanks for your permission, Chef.”

“Fuck off.”

He sounds less tense, but not fixed. And you might find it harder to keep up with him, constantly wanting to impress him, knowing you can’t, but you’re not out of touch. You aren’t a huge dick.

Carmy beats you to it. “I was kidding, about the bottles. You can do it how you want.”

“I wasn’t offended.”

“But you don’t– with Richie, you– I don’t know what I’m doing wrong with you.”

You look him up and down, lengths of his arms, tattoos and the cut over his elbow. His clean t-shirt, his neck, the strong line of his nose and his bright eyes.

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” you say, smiling at him, knowing your expression says lots of weird stuff.

Working here in the kitchen makes a busy atmosphere normal. Richie’s telling a story at the top of his lungs, Angel’s swearing about a dropped plate, knives scratch on boards and ovens hum. Being overwhelmed is something you’re good at, and big feelings don’t scare you.

“You’re jealous of Richie?” you ask, playfully pitying. “Get it together.”

“Fuck off,” he says again.

“Seriously? Richie Jerimovich. He’s telling Tina a story right now about how the last date he went on ended with her asking if he’d ever been abducted by aliens.”

“I’m not jealous of Richie.”

“No, I don’t think you are,” you say, taking a step too close, and refusing to take the step back.

Carmy doesn’t look mad anymore.

You wonder if anybody’s ever held his hand. You used to think he must’ve had a ton of girlfriends, he got so famous everywhere he went, but… He looks like he’s never been this close to someone before. Like you’re making him nervous.

“Me and Richie are friends,” you say quietly. “Is that what you want us to be?”

His hand twitches at his side.

“There, cousin, I cut the fucking onions. You happy?” Richie asks, and laughs as he steps back out to the front of house, unaware of the tension. “That’d be the day, right?”

“Yes, Richie, I’m happy you did your job. Thank you.”

“Was that hard for you, baby?” you ask Richie with a pout. “Here, let me kiss your poor hands.”

Richie gives you the bird with both of them.

You look to Carmy. Making fun of Richie together isn’t quite as good as holding hands, but you hope it’s a start.

Carmy catches on, can’t hide his grin, “There’s tylenol in the office if you need it, cousin.”

“Are your wrists feeling tender?” you prompt. “Or is that motion one you’re used to?”

Carmy laughs and the sound takes on the shape of his smile, nearly giddy.

“Fuck both of you.”

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alisonsfics · 26 days

Text

take care of you

pairing: carmy berzatto x reader

summary: carmy obviously cares about the wellbeing of everybody who works at the bear, but it’s different with you. everyone realizes how crazy he is about you when almost loses his mind when you cut your hand.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: mentions of blood, stitches, and needles, but not too graphic

“Everybody still good and focused?” Carmy called out to the kitchen. “Yes, chef,” the room echoed. The Bear was doing a test run for a special event. And a brand new menu always meant chaos at the Bear.

You were chopping away at vegetables, continuously looking up at the clock to stay on time.

You glanced up to check the time and got distracted by Richie bumping a container onto the floor. Only looking away for a second, the knife in your hand slipped and cut the palm of your hand.

“Oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” you mumbled to yourself, in instant pain. Carmy heard you swearing over his shoulder and glanced over at you. First, he saw your face and could tell you were in pain. Then, he caught a glimpse of the red that was spreading on your hand. “Ow, fuck. Carmy?” You called out, having no idea that he had already noticed.

“Oh, shit,” he said, immediately turning off the stove and abandoning his station. He raced to your side, grabbing a towel and quickly wrapping it around your hand.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he assured you. He grabbed your arm and started guiding you towards the big sink. “Out of the way, please. Give us some space, guys,” Carmy said, urgently.

He removed the towel from your hand. He turned on the water and stuck your hand under it. “Syd, I need the first aid kit quickly, please.” He called out. You saw Sydney quickly run towards the office.

Carmy noticed that you’d started breathing faster. “Hey hey hey, look at me. Don’t look at that. Just focus on me,” he said, noticing how frantic you looked. He knew that you were freaking out, and he could only calm you down if he remained relaxed.

“Carmy, it really fucking hurts.” You said, your voice cracking and tears welling up in your eyes. It almost broke Carmy to see you upset. He cared about you so much and hated seeing you in pain. “I know it does, but you’re doing great. You’re probably gonna need some stitches, but I’ll take you after we get this cleaned and bandaged up, okay?” He told you.

You nodded your head, trying to focus on Carmy and not the throbbing pain in your hand. “Don’t worry. Just take some deep breathes, okay? We can’t have you passing out.” He instructed you. You started taking deep breaths, but you were still wincing in pain.

Carmy noticed the way your whole face tensed up. He grabbed your other hand and placed it on his forearm. “Go ahead. You can hold onto me and squeeze my arm if you need to. I’ve got ya,” he assured you. You felt calmer in Carmy’s presence.

Sydney returned with the first aid kit. Carmy quickly flipped it open and grabbed the supplies he needed. “I have to clean this before I bandage it. It might hurt a little, but just keep squeezin’ my arm.” He told you, grabbing some wipes.

You winced as he wiped your hand. “Tell me about that book you were reading this morning.” Carmy suggested, trying to get your mind off the pain. You started talking to him, and you were much less focused on how much the wipes stung.

After, he bandaged your hand up, making sure it was secure. “Is your coat in your locker? I’ll go grab it.” He said, going over to your locker and grabbing your coat and bag for you.

“Just keep your hand still. I can do this.” He said, carefully slipping your coat over one arm and then the other. He threw your backpack over his shoulder because it had all your important things in it, like your phone, wallet, etc.

“You don’t have to carry that. I can do it.” You protested. Carmy shook his head. He wasn’t going to let you lift a finger. “Let me take care of you.” He said, smiling at you. He looked genuinely happy to be able to take care of you.

He rested his hand on the small of your back. Richie tossed Carmy his car keys, and Carmy guided you back towards the parking lot. Carmy ran ahead of you, opening your car door for you.

“Thank you, Carmy,” you said, smiling at him as you carefully got into the car. Before you could reach for the seatbelt, Carmy stopped you. “I got it.” He said, grabbing your seatbelt and clicking it into place.

He put your backpack into the back seat, and then got in the car. He quickly started the car and started to drive towards the hospital.

“You still doing okay?” He asked after a few minute, looking over at you with a concerned expression. You quickly nodded your head. “You’re doing so great.” He said, smiling at you and reaching over to hold your free hand.

“Thank you for driving me and taking care of me back there.” You thanked him, sincerely. He looked over at you with a pure smile, giving your hand a quick squeeze. “Of course. I’m always here for you. No matter what you need,” he told you. You felt so grateful to have Carmy watch your back. There was nothing Carmy would rather do more.

Once you got to the hospital, Carmy helped you out of the car and brought you inside. There was a long line to check in, so you both stood waiting. “This fucking sucks, Carmy.” You said, resting your head on his shoulder.

He chuckled at your impatience. “I know. It shouldn’t be that much longer. When we get out of here, I’ll bring you to the new ice cream place I was telling you about.” He told you, rubbing your back.

He watched how fast your expression changed once he mentioned ice cream. “I mean, I do think I deserve a treat after this.” You joked, making Carmy laugh.

You both finally got to the front of the line and checked in. The front desk worker handed you a clipboard with forms on it. “Just fill this out for us. Since that’s the hand you write with, your boyfriend can fill these out for you.” They told you, handing the clipboard to Carmy.

You froze for a second, trying to process what they meant. “Thank you,” Carmy said quickly, after noticing your surprise. He put his hand back on your back and guided you towards a chair to sit down in.

Carmy started filling out the forms for you with the information that he knew. “You seemed pretty offended they thought I was your boyfriend.” Carmy teased, smirking at you.

“I was just surprised. I’m sure you’d be a great boyfriend.” You said, trying to pretend like your heart hadn’t skipped a beat when you heard the word boyfriend. You’d had a not-so-subtle crush on Carmy for a while. You were genuinely surprised he hadn’t noticed yet.

You both sat in the waiting room for a while. Carmy kept texting everyone at the Bear and updating them. Then, he played silly brain games with you to keep you distracted from the pain.

Finally, a nurse brought you back to a room. “Somebody should be right in here to get you stitched up.” The nurse told you and left.

“You ever had stitches before?” Carmy asked you.

“I think I’ll seem more mysterious to you if I refuse to tell you.” You teased him. At this point, you both were pretty tired and therefore, getting pretty giggly. “Oh, you’re going for mysterious now?” He asked you, chuckling.

You nodded your head, trying to hide your smile. “Has that not been coming across?” You joked.

The door flung open. “Hi, I’m Claire. I’m gonna be your— oh…hey, you guys,” you both were met with a stunned Claire standing in the doorway. You could almost hear the way that Carmy was mentally cursing himself.

“Oh hey, Claire,” you said, dragging out the words. Getting stitched up by your crush and boss’ ex-girlfriend was not how you thought you’d be spending your night.

She turned away from you both and set down her laptop on the counter. You glanced over at Carmy, trying to read his expression. “It’s fine,” he mouthed to you, giving you a fake smile.

Carmy sat down in the chair beside you, focusing all his attention on you and not Claire. She sat down on her stool and rolled towards you, putting on her gloves. “How’ve you been, Carm?” She asked, nervously looking at him.

He sheepishly nodded. “Yeah…I’ve been good.” He quickly replied.

You all were very aware of how awkward the situation was, so you all opted for silence. “You did a great job bandaging this up.” Claire told you, as she unwrapped all the gauze.

Your gaze met Carmy’s. He waited for you to correct her and tell her he did it. You smirked at him, letting him know you weren’t going to say a word. He jokingly made an offended face.

Claire missed the completely nonverbal conversation between the two of you.

She started cleaning your hand, and you winced. Carmy quickly grabbed your other hand and let you squeeze his hand. “Sorry, that might sting a little.” Claire apologized.

Once she got to the actual stitches, you were in lots of pain. You tried to distract yourself. You looked around the room. You noticed the small lingering glances where Claire would look at Carmy. But his eyes never strayed from you.

“Oh, fuck,” you swore under your breath as you felt a sharp pain. A tear rolled down your cheek. “It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re doing so good.” Carmy quickly praised you, kissing the back of your hand and wiping the tears off your cheek.

Claire stalled for a second. She realized that this was more than just a boss bringing one of his employees to the E.R. She noticed the way Carmy jumped to comfort you.

“I didn’t know that you guys were together.” Claire said. Carmy didn’t make any move to correct her. “No no, we’re not.” You said.

“Doing it again? It really sounds like you’re offended at the idea of being my girlfriend?” Carmy whispered to you, teasing you. You rolled your eyes at his teasing.

After Claire finished your stitches, she practically ran out of the room, not being able to handle the awkwardness anymore.

“The stitches are definitely helping with the mysterious vibe. It suits you.” Carmy smirked at you.

“I know. I’m really boosting your street cred by letting you hang out with me.” You returned the teasing. You felt more butterflies every time Carmy laughed at one of your jokes.

“So, you still want to stop and get a little treat on the way home?” He asked, picking up your coat for you.

“I think I have a better idea for a treat.” You said. You used your one hand to cup Carmy’s face and pull him closer to you. You closed the distance and kissed him. He quickly kissed you back. Your coat fell out of his hands and as he rushed to wrap his arms around your waist.

You could feel Carmy smile against your lips. “Quit smiling and kiss me, Berzatto.” You teased him, earning a chuckle from Carmy as he leaned back in.

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