#carmy berzatto imagines

[laiiaaa]

CINNAMON SUGAR — CARMEN BERZATTO

summary Carmen comes home to you late at night. Luckily, you manage to stay awake.

length 2k

contents absolutely zero plot, literally just a sweet n cute n sappy moment existing in a vacuum, holy shit so much fluff i might die (got the idea for this while listening to margaret & let the light in by lana del rey n it's realllll obvious), too many kisses to count, this is what he'd be like after intensive therapy i reckon, not proofread so be nice

Carmen opens the door to the bedroom carefully, minding the creaky hinge in the middle of the night. Moonlight peeks through the window, caught at the right time when the city doesn’t block its path into the apartment, giving just enough glow to the room to see you fast asleep in bed. It’s late, he realizes, even later than usual. He needs to work on that.

He makes his way to the bed, stopping at your side to kneel beside you and simply adore you: the curve of your nose, the plush of your lips in that pout you wear only when you’re asleep, the eyelashes laid against your cheeks.

You stir when he presses his lips to your temple, a soft groan pulled from your lips. “…Bear?”

“Yeah, ‘s me, baby.” Even at a whisper, he thinks he’s too loud, and with his rough and tired hand he brushes over the top of your head just light enough to keep you sleepy.

A drowsy hand reaches out from under the covers to smooth over the contours of his face, tracing along shadows made hazy by a few hours’ rest. “You coming to bed soon?”

“Almost,” he murmurs, smoothing a palm up your exposed arm to hold your hand steady. He pulls ever so slightly away from your palm, only to turn to land gentle kisses against its soft skin, worshiping the pieces of you that treat him with more care than he thinks he’s worthy of. “Needa take a shower first, alright? But I’ll be right back.” 

He could’ve done that much by now—could’ve cleaned himself, rid himself of a day's work before seeing you—but truthfully, waiting any longer would’ve driven him mad. He would’ve been itchy in the shower, skin aflame knowing he could’ve felt your touch by then, arms and hands jittering to have your curves beneath them. His lips trail down to your wrist before he turns over your hand to kiss the backs of your fingers.

“Okay,” you answer, muffled by the blankets and pillow and the squeak of the floorboard as Carmen stands back up.

He makes his trip quick and quiet. He brushes his teeth and swipes up a towel while the water heats up, leaving just enough time to hang it on the hook and strip before hopping in. There’s a beat where he closes his eyes and just breathes, clears his mind of the day’s stress, lets warm water saturate his hair and cascade down his back. He lathers his hair with shampoo—the one you bought for him once to free him from the chains of 3-in-1 and that he’s been purchasing ever since to keep you happy—before cleaning the rest of his body, all while thinking about how much better it’d feel, how much more relief he’d get if it were you beside him under the stream instead of just his thoughts. But with the shampoo and soap down the drain goes that idea, much like the fleeting thought of using conditioner. You’ve yet to get to him on that one, especially at a moment like this, when time is of the essence and you’re waiting on him. Maybe another night, when you take your own product and swirl it around his curls; if it gives him an excuse to stay with you just a few minutes more, he’ll do it.

He hops out of the water like it’s acid and wraps the towel around his waist after drying himself to avoid trouble in the morning (you hate when the floor gets wet, and even if it wastes time, he’ll be sure to prevent that). Out goes the light again as he walks into the hall, sneaking back into the bedroom to get dressed into briefs and nothing more—you’ll keep him warm enough under the blankets.

It’s only then—when he peels back those final layers—that he realizes he’s been smiling the whole time.

Once he’s settled into the grooves of the mattress, chest to your back, you’re turning around to curl into his torso, like a magnetic field brought you there. 

“Hey,” he coos, “Y’don’t have to move f’me, yeah? Just sleep, baby.” Moved by your eagerness, his arms curl around you, one along your waist as the other nicely fits comfortably into the space between your neck and shoulder. 

And yet you shift a little more to cast an arm against his chest, his heart beating beneath your palm, head on his shoulder with a leg hooked onto his hip, split halfway between mattress and his body. “ ‘S more comfy this way, Carm.” You sigh and breathe deep into his skin. “You smell good, too.”

He can’t even lie well enough to convince himself his heart doesn’t run a million miles faster when you cozy up to him like this, caught in a space part fatigue and part love, with your hums ringing in his ear. “ ‘S that shampoo you got me a while ago…Sometime this week—” he yawns, and if he weren’t dying to hear your voice a few more times, he’d be a little more thankful for sleep coming so easily— “Sometime this week we can go t’the store, you can pick out another body wash f’me to try, too.”

“Mm, I’d like that.” You smooth your hand from his chest to his neck and shoulder, massaging there gently where he gets sore as a barely-there kiss lands to the skin beneath you. “How was it today?” The restaurant. His headaches. Richie’s mood lately. The flow of the kitchen. The strain in his back.

“Was alright,” he answers, as honestly as he can, soothing himself by brushing a hand up along your spine. “Real busy, so I didn’t get to leave ‘till late, ‘m sorry.”

“ ‘S alright, I stayed in and just relaxed for the night.” You snuggle into him a little deeper, and he thinks he could melt. “I was gonna ask you to bring something home, but it’s a weekend, so I didn’t wanna bother you in a rush.”

“What’d you want?”

From your lips comes a light and airy giggle, milliseconds of the best sounds he’s ever heard. “I just wanted some fries, honestly…didn’t feel like going out.”

“Heh,” he laughs, smiling while his eyes stay glued to the ceiling—as if looking at you would make the moment disappear. “I would’ve picked ‘em up for you, ‘r at least had Fak get ‘em to you.”

You yawn in tandem with the tailend of his thought, so your answer’s a bit softer. “Uh-uh, I like them better when you make ‘em.”

“Yeah? ‘ve I been pampering you too much?” He teases you, adds on a kiss to the top of your head as he squeezes you a bit tighter, but it’s all a ruse to cover up how much faster his pulse is when you say those words, like all the work he’s put in—all the love he has for you—makes its way to the table for not just anyone, but for you, the one person he’s sure matters more than the rest. More than those fucking stars, more than Chef of the Year, more than any critic’s review, more than he can wrap his head around; he feels it in his chest and that’s enough.

“Of course you have,” you agree, peeking up at him and craning your neck to plant your lips to his jaw, savoring it long enough to leave a smirk against his skin. “You’re always so sweet to me, Bear—” one more quick peck just beneath his ear— “love when you cook for me.”

He thinks he could pass out like this, with the last thing he hears being those words, but his fatigue seems to serve as an anesthetic that lets him soak it in for a bit longer, running his free hand through damp curls while a heavy, giddy sigh leaving his lips that lets you know he hears you, that he loves telling you he loves you through his art, that he lives for the smile on your face when he stays home for a few hours longer to make you breakfast. Yet with all the time spent having his shell soften for you, he can’t always find the right words, so he settles for the next best thing: “Y’know, uh…Marcus’s been playing around with recipes…”

He feels you smile against his chest, knowing what’s to come. “Yeah?”

“Mhm, an’ I’d never let ‘im serve ‘em, ‘cause, y’know…” He loses himself for a moment in the lull of your fingertips tracing mindless shapes into his chest. “They don’t fit the menu…but uh, he made these…these rolls today…”

“Mhm? ‘M listening…”

Carmen knew that, of course, from the faint kisses you peppered between breaths. He lets the fan whir through the gaps in his thoughts. “I think you’d like ‘em, he had some classic cinnamon, ‘n…a blueberry lemon goin’…”

“That sounds really good,” you whisper, the syllables lengthened from a shared lack of sleep.

“I know,” he drawls, and he’s a little too proud of himself for once when he adds, “Which is why I said I’d let ‘im fix up the lemon recipe a few more times if he made a batch for you.”

“Did you really?” The dazed smile comes through in your voice, a bubbliness to it that tells him he made the right call. 

He figures that’s why he’s so drawn to you—all the right calls come easy to him, the effort feels natural and unpracticed, unlike the tar that builds in his throat when it comes to so many other people. With you, being good is anything but demanding. “ ‘F course, baby…” 

It turns him to a puddle, the sweetness that drips from your fingertips, so he cradles your wrist carefully in his hand and lifts it to his lips to show it the love it deserves before urging the hand to busy itself with the tufts of hair behind his hear, to which you happily oblige. You twirl a lock around your finger, performing a methodical spiral, and even though he knows by the time it dries it’ll stick out from the mess like a sore thumb, he’d stop breathing before pulling your hand away. It’s soothing, that pattern. It stokes the fire in his gut that makes him feel a little less lonely when you’re not around.

“I brought…” He yawns again, his eyelids growing heavy. “I brought you some of the cinnamon rolls…Sugar liked ‘em…they’re on the counter for you tomorrow mornin'…” He’s not sure whether it’s your doing or the hours of stress endured throughout the day, but he knows this is the most relaxed he’s ever been, laying with you and doing little else other than indulging in your tender touches and shy kisses.

“Thank you, my love,” slips away with breath, sotto voce, as Carmen leaves brief kisses to your hairline. 

And he thanks God for being able to do it even with such an intense fatigue washing over him—at least part of him does, the part that’s still awake—because the movement lets you tilt your head and graze your fingertips by his jaw, bringing his lips kindly to yours for the first and last time tonight. Somewhere in that beautiful tangle there’s a mutual agreement: an unspoken Goodnight, I love you, in the mix, a finality in his offering and your gracious thanks that doesn’t warrant anything more than your head tucked neatly into his neck, left to bask in the comfort of his arms wrapped around you.

Just like any other night with you, he can sleep peacefully with the unconscious push and pull of your bodies intertwined. He knows that by morning, you’ll still be in his arms, in the bed you share, waiting on your good morning kiss from under the covers.

And he’ll still be beneath your warmth, his mind fuzzy and full of tenderness, every part of him dying to marry you.

[nolita-fairytale]

carmen 'carmy' berzatto masterlist

Thee Carmy x Reader 'Make My Heart Surrender' Universe (In Chronological Order):

comfort & chaos (prequel to make my heart surrender)

a series of vignettes: the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you. (completed)

october 2019 | covid & carbonara | heat waves | 2/22/22** | called you again | home**

the phone call (blurb - the phone call that gets reader to chicago in the first place)

make my heart surrender

after quitting your job at the restaurant you both used to work at, carmy asks you to come in and work with his pastry chef at his new spot, the bear. only, the longer you stick around, it becomes clear that you have unfinished business. will one week in chicago change your life, and his, forever? (completed)

tuesday | wednesday | thursday | friday (**18+ for smut) | saturday/sunday | monday | tuesday, again | the playlist

home (final chapter from comfort & chaos - **smut)

try a little tenderness (fluff & angst blurb)

cigarettes & coffee (fluffy blurb)

strawberries & cigarettes (fluffy blurb)

j is for james beard... and for jealousy (**smut oneshot | 18+ only)

your past and mine are parallel lines (fluff oneshot)

pov: carmy makes people magazine's sexiest chef alive list (fluff blurb)

bad moon rising (what if/angst-shot -- guest starring mikey berzatto)

sister-in-law (fluff oneshot -- guest starring natalie berzatto)

still into you (sequel to make my heart surrender)

you, syd, marcus, and carmy return to where it all began: new york city, prompting you and carmy to think a lot about your past... and your future together. (completed)

thursday | **bonus smut scene | friday | saturday | sunday | it's perfect, chef (**bonus smut scene)

don't want to walk alone

the long awaited wedding fic for carmy x reader in the make my heart surrender universe. this six part series chronicles the wedding planning, your (not) bachelorette party, the wedding, and the honeymoon as you build a life with your husband-to-be. (completed)

june/july | august | september | the honeymoon pt 1 | the honeymoon pt 2 | epilogue: november

granola blurb

carmy as your baby daddy

a social media au & headcanon series detailing your first pregnancy with carmy. created for the make my heart surrender universe, but can be read as a standalone work. this has been created in collaboration with @carmensberzattos & @allthefandomstogether , the graphic goddess. (completed)

part one | part two | part three | part four | give you my wild, give you a child (**smut-shot) | part five | part six | part seven

the social media au

scenes from the relationship & this story depicted as social media posts. won't always align with my other social media/moodboards.

part one | part two: first year of dating | part three |

extras/moodboards/headcanons/imagines:

your life as a pastry chef in chicago while dating carmy (moodboard & headcanon)

meeting mikey in another lifetime (headcanon)

pov: you're marrying carmen berzatto (moodboard)

honeymoon lingerie moodboard

christmas with carmy moodboard & blurb

The Bear: Unrelated to Make My Heart Surrender:

(nothing here YET but working on it)

so my darling | sydney adamu x male!chef oc

jealous!carmy & jealous!luca headcanon

stargazing with marcus brooks (blurb)

sneaking around with carmy (blurb)

[eucalyptus-lvs]

Your Girl? - Carmen Berzatto x Reader

When I first started writing this it was going to be a stand-alone, but I could also see it as a pt. 2 to Good Luck Charm. Either way, I hope you enjoy it. If you have any thoughts or constructive criticism it's always appreciated. May not be the most canon portrayal of Carmy, but after S3 I need some happy moments. - Elli <3

TW: None. Maybe a suggestive comment or two.

Walking into The Beef you’re immediately hit with the smell of fresh bread and cooked meat. Before you can even make it to the counter Richie's face breaks into a bright smile as he spots you. "You're not supposed to be in today. Couldn't stay away from me, sweetheart?"

Most people found him to be rough around the edges, maybe even misogynistic, but you preferred to think of him as old-fashioned. 

The two of you grew close in the time you spent working together.

Although you started as a dishwasher, Mikey had switched you to the front after two weeks of working there when Richie almost made a kid cry for trying to order a hotdog with ketchup. You quickly learned that your new job was about keeping the peace and making things run as smoothly as the people around you would allow. 

Regardless, it was hard to see the man in front of you as a bad guy after watching him get on his knees to put a Hello Kitty bandaid on Eva's hand at a time when she was adamant about being “champion of the monkey bars”.

"Oh, I never wanna be away from you, honey." You share a laugh. "I just came by to drop something off for the boss. Then I'll be on my way."

"He's in the back if you wanna go on through."

"So I can get sucked into the vortex of chaos on my day off? I don't think so." The fighting has slowed down a bit at the restaurant, but it was still pretty busy. Guaranteeing that the energy level was always high. 

"Good point. I’ll tell him you're here." 

“Thanks, Rich.” You move to stand off to the side in a less crowded part of the restaurant. Taking out your phone, you check the time as you watch him retreat into the back. 

If you make this quick you can still get to the coffee place a couple blocks over before it closes for the day.

After a moment you see them both enter from the kitchen. Richie goes back to the register to attend to the customers, while Carmy heads your way.

"Hey. Richie said you had somethin' for me?" Wiping his hands on a towel and tossing it over his shoulder as he approached you. “Everything okay?”

"Yeah. I was getting ready this morning and saw this on the bathroom counter." You reach into your pocket to pull out a gold chain.

His gold chain.

Dangling between you both from your fingers.

"Shit, I don't even remember takin' it off." Grasping it from your hand to undo the clasp and put it on.

"That's because I did right before we got in the shower. I'm surprised it's still together with all the wear and tear you put it through."

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks for droppin’ it off. I coulda stopped by tonight though. After I close up?" The phrasing of his statement sounding more like a question.

"I was close by. I wanted to try that coffee shop down the street I was telling you about." You took a step toward him and whispered, "As for tonight, you know I want you over, but we're gonna have to make an effort to get some actual rest before we both develop a sleeping disorder."

"You seem to be doin’ just fine.” A grin broke out on his face.

"Did you forget the part where I told you I have to go get coffee?" You reminded disapprovingly.

"Okay, I get it. Sleep sounds really fuckin' good right now actually." He ran a hand through his hair as he paused. "You eat somethin' already?"

You break eye contact to look around the room aimlessly and avoid the question until your eyes land back on him. “....Huh?”

“We talked about this. You can’t starve yourself all day and then do your fuckin’ girl dinner shit when you get home.”

“First of all, you will never know the joys of girl dinner because you refuse to participate. It's the most well-balanced meal I'm capable of. Second, I've been running around all day and I forgot.”

“First of all, the fact that you call a plate with butter noodles, kimchi, a hard-boiled egg, and some red cherries ‘the most well-balanced meal you're capable of’ is scary. It's really fuckin’ scary. Second, I know you're busy. I'm a chef! What kinda asshole do I look like lettin’ my girl eat like that because you refuse to let me cook you somethin’?” He shot back, growing exasperated with the topic at hand.

“It literally covers all the major food groups! Wait-” You paused, tilting your head. Only just processing his full statement. “your girl?”

You can see the exact moment he processes it too. His eyes widened in panic. “Uh I-I meant, I mean we’ve kinda been-”

“Oh my god, you poor baby boy. You're blushing.” A smirk grows on your face.

“Fuck off” His eyes focusing on the floor, shaking his head. The heavy blush spread up his neck as well as his face.

“I'm afraid I can't do that at this particular moment, but maybe we both will later after you ask me to be your girlfriend.” You replied in a sing-songy voice. “Yknow for future reference you typically ask someone when you want to be exclusive with them.”

He leaned closer to you, eyebrows furrowing as he lowered his tone so he wouldn't be overheard. “I-I thought we've been exclusive. I haven't seen anyone else since you.” 

“I haven't either, but I guess if you want it to stay that way you're gonna have to ask me and make this official. Unless,” You lean away, kissing your teeth as you cross your arms. “you're too scared?”

“You know what? I'm not gonna ask.”

“Wow, you've already backed out. You sure there's not some other girl I should know about?” You mocked, knowing he barely had the time and energy to keep up with you. 

Even if he did, you knew there was no one else. Spending most of your nights at each other's place testing new recipes or wrapped up together in the early hours of the morning before the restaurant needed attending. 

That's why it never occurred to you to define what this is. He was making an active effort to have a life outside of the restaurant and he was doing it with you. 

That doesn't mean you couldn't enjoy making him sweat a little though.

“What?! No. I'm not asking because you're gonna ask me.”

“I’m gonna ask you to be my girlfriend?”

“No, smart-ass.” He let out a breathy chuckle, gesturing vaguely. “Your yknow- boyfriend.”

“Well, that's never gonna happen.” You stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why not?”

“Because you're right. I should get a boyfriend that’ll take care of me and all my food-related needs.” Shrugging your shoulders you wave a hand in the direction of the register. Shouting, “RICH-”

“Stop.” He cut you off, raising his hand. “That's not even funny.”

“Oh, come on. It's a little funny.” You giggle, nudging his arm with your hand.

Shaking his head, he leads you to a table to sit down. “I've gotta get back in there.” Leaning close to your ear he whispers, “Sit tight while I make somethin’ for my girl.” Cupping the underside of your jaw with his calloused hand, he places a quick kiss on your cheek before walking off. 

You smile as you watch him disappear past the doors and back into the kitchen. 

You weren't gonna make it to the coffee shop today, but that was okay. Maybe you could go together on your way to work tomorrow.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Richie came up and put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing. “You call for me?”

You put your hand over his and squeezed back. Looking up at him you replied, “Just fuckin’ with Carm.”

“Good girl.”

[thatone-brightstar]

someone i saw in a dream once...| C. Berzatto x fem!reader oneshot

a/n: creds to the lovely @thebearer bc i love her dad!carm blurbs and wanted to try it out myself... loved it btw. happy holidays and happy new year to you all 🎄✨🧸

ps. I was actually gonna call this "a very merry hoe-liday special" lol

WARNINGS: smut, piv unprotected sex, dirty talk, reader is on birth control but isn't mentioned (wrap it up IRL tho), minors DNI but you'll do what you want so don't say I didn't warn you

“Yours?” He asked lazily.

“Uh… no.” A nervous laugh escaped your chest from your space on the warm bed, one of his arms wrapped around you as the other played with your hand above the covers. “I don’t wanna argue about why we haven’t baptized her yet, again.”

“That’s fair.” He responded with a chuckle. 

“Yours?” You asked back.

Carmy shook his head immediately. “Fuck no.” 

“Y’know, she’s gonna ask why we’ve never been to her Grams when she’s older…” 

“And when she’s older. I’ll tell her ‘bout the time her ‘Grams’ ran the car through the living room on Christmas Eve.” He stayed silent for a little longer and you moved your gaze from your intertwined hands to his creased brows. 

As best as you could, you pulled your other arm from under the covers and up to caress the side of his jaw, drawing his eyes back to you.

“I don’t wanna put her through that shit.” 

You nodded and offered a thin smile “No- I know.” then dropped your head back over his warm chest. “We don’t have to do anything. We’ll just stay here, watch somethin’ make breakfast… and maybe see the lights when it’s not so cold out.”

“You think she’ll like that?”

“Oh yeah,” You reassured. “Pjs all day, presents and The Grinch? She’s gonna eat that shit up.” Your words made Carmy chuckle again, the sour memory buried back as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. 

“I dunno why she likes that movie…” He murmured, adding kiss after kiss around your beaming face. “Fuckin’ green thing’s creepy.”

You laughed and slid your arms around his neck while he dropped slowly over your laying body. “Probably reminds her of you, you grinch.”

“Oh yeah? You think I’m a grinch?” Carmy teased, smiling as he continued to drag his lips along your skin, down the side of your jaw and to the little spot against your neck that drew shaky breaths.

One of his hands pushed against the plush mattress to hold himself up while the other began to rake smoothly up your naked thigh. You nodded in agreement, giggling when the soft curls tickled the side of your cheek.

“Save it for naptime-” You reminded him. “Your kid’s got the best timing-”

Almost like clockwork, three little knocks barely rattled the door and you raised your brows up at Carmy.  ‘Told ya’ you mouth at him then asked teasingly “Who is it?”.

A little giggle made it past the wood, followed by a tiny voice. “Me mamma!” And another three hurried knocks.

“Come in!” You sang back again as Carmy pushed himself off you and you leaned up just in time to hear the door creak and catch the tiny human hurling herself into the unmade bed. “Omf!”

“Merry Christmas!” She shouted with extended arms once she managed to balance herself over the duvet on her knees. 

She threw her tiny arms around both of your necks and pulled you in for a hug as tight as her little strength allowed her. You corresponded the embrace, one arm circling her, while the other hugged Carmy. 

“Oh merry Christmas, pretty girl! Did you go see what Santa brought you?” You asked, pushing back the wild hairs she had inherited from her father. She shook her head no. 

“Aren’t you curious?” Carmy asked and she nodded. “Cause I think I heard a little bell last night…”

That was enough to rattle her excitement even more, a gasp obvious over her flushed cheeks and before you could say anything else, she dragged herself off the bed and onto the floor. 

“C’mon Daddy!” The little girl ordered, taking his hand and dragging him out the room with her. 

Your smile beamed as you waved a teasing goodbye at him, then threw yourself back, stretching your limbs into the bed. 

“Mommy hurry up!” You heard travel through the hallway and sighed out a short laugh.

“Comin’!”

**********

“Vale, baby, not so close to the tv, okay?” You reminded the toddler from your space by the kitchen counter, slicing up fruit for breakfast.

“I don’t get it…” Carmy continued muttering by your side while whisking the batter. 

You sniggered at his tone and shrugged. The theme song to the movie played through the speakers again and you could hear her little voice sing along as the stuffy in her hands danced to the tune. 

“I mean, what even is he?”

“a who…” You answered obviously and he furrowed his brows again.

“a what?”

“No daddy-“ She turned around and pushed herself up on the back of the couch to try and appear bigger, stuffed grinch hanging loosely from one of her hands. “a who!”

You laughed as Carmen nodded jokingly, mouth trapped in an obvious ‘oh’ shape and the sound of your laugh made her giggle even harder, before carefully crawling off the couch and padding her way into the kitchen beside him.

“What’cha making?” She asked curiously, standing on her socked toes beside him but barely reaching the top of the counter with her nose.

“Pancakes. You wanna help?” He asked and she nodded excitedly. 

Carmy turned to you with a small smile while wiping his hands on his rag, then moved down to pick up the awaiting child, who wrapped her tiny legs as much as she could around his torso.

“Alright chef Valentina,” He began, making her giggle and curl up against his side. “ wanna pour the chips in?”

He sat her on the edge by the bowl and handed her the cup filled to the brim with chocolate chips. It took both of her little hands to hold it and with slightly clumsy movements, she poured them in slowly. 

“Atta girl…” He whispered, holding the bowl steady so she could whisk them in, and something about the sweetness in his tone warmed your heart.

You eyed them every few seconds, an ever present smile on your face. It really did warm your heart to see him that way, sweet and nurturing and kind. Carmy was what you always hoped to find in a partner one day, the kind of person you dreamed about but always assumed you’d never have; yet there he was, perfectly present as he helped your daughter flip pancakes for christmas breakfast. 

“Mommy look!” She called towards you, making your smile grow twice as big, if that was even possible.

“I see baby, good job!” You praised too and moved to their side.

She stood on her step stool over the pan, at a careful distance from the fire, while you and Carmy guarded her sides. A kiss was placed on her wild hair as you brushed your hand over her back then laced in into Carmy’s arm, leaning your head on his shoulder. A pleasant feeling of contentment washed over you.

**********

Breakfast took up most of your morning, between batter stains and sticky blueberry maple syrup, it was as if the tiring action of flipping a couple pancakes had worn your daughter out and before her plate was finished, her head had begun tipping into it every few seconds. 

Carmy chuckled as he watched her chew herself to sleep for the third time while he got up to start clearing out the table. 

“I got it.” You whispered, afraid to wake her up, though she was already out like a light against her high chair. “You go put her to bed.”

“Alright little grinch,” He cooed and as soon as he pulled her up from her chair, her limp body draped over his chest. “how does a nap sound?” 

Carmy kept mumbling sweet words and rubbing her back in a soothing manner as he carried her into the room. You would have joined them, but he was always the better one to put her to sleep. Something about him gave her a calming and safe sensation. 

While Carmy took his time in your daughter’s room, you began to tidy up the kitchen. The ending scenes of the grinch passed through and the last songs served as ambience while you worked. You hummed along to the soundtrack, washing the last few dishes, when an arm gingerly circled your waist and the warmth of his chest pressed to your back. 

“Merry Christmas.” He whispered beside your ear, pressing a kiss to your flushed cheek as a beautifully wrapped box appeared in front of you.

You half turned to him with a soft smile pushing up against your cheeks. “Carm, we said no presents…”

“Just open it… you’re gonna love it.” Carmy said with his characteristic shy smile as he took the soapy dish from you and handed you a drying rag.

You dried your palms and took the small box with caution. After undoing the ribbon and slowly pulling off the lid, a beautiful heart locket shone back at you, taking your breath away. With a slow finger you traced the soft ridges and the delicate designs, as if a piece of lace had been dipped in molten gold then shaped into the small work of art

“Oh Bear, it's beautiful…” 

“And you can open it too” He added and unhooked his arm from around your hip to take the box back in his hands. 

Carefully, he picked  it up and pinched the sides open to reveal a tiny photo inside. It was from a few months back, you remembered the day. The Bear had just received its second star and Carmy and Syd had decided to close that day to offer another friends & family dinner. Richie had taken it outside the restaurant just before service. Carmy stood in the middle, with his pristine chef’s whites slightly unbuttoned, Val sat on his shoulders in her best dress and full of glee and you leaned onto his side, left hand cupping his cheek and glowing engagement ring full on display.

You sucked in your bottom lip to avoid the tears threatening to spill out, then turned to him fully and beamed with joy up at him. “You’re right, I love it.” 

His proud smile reached the little creases decorating the sides of his eyes before he leaned down to kiss you with adoration. 

Before he could go any further, Carmy blindly placed the necklace back into its box, then slid his fingers past your jaw, burying them in your hair. The movement of his desperate lips over yours left you breathless and despite not wanting to, you moved your face to the side to inhale a few deep and shaky breaths. He stayed glued to your skin, peppering wet kisses over your cheek, jaw and holding your hair up above your neck to grant him greater access into the area.

His other hand roamed down the side of your curves until it reached your hips, then it slid under the thin fabric of your shirt and up again, where it found your naked chest. His thumb skimmed over the tender skin of your nipple, making your hands tighten their grasp around the nape of his neck and sigh out another breath.

“Is she…” You tried to ask but failed as he continued his soft movements. 

“Asleep? Yeah.” He answered in a deep tone and hungry searched your lips once more.

With each stroke of his thumb and pull on your hair, you could feel him grow harder against your abdomen and the images crossing your mind didn’t help calm the arousal in your gut either.

“Good.” You smiled against his kiss and pulled him in deeper. “Room. Now.”

That’s all it took before he nodded rapidly and began taking quick steps forward, guiding you through the short hallway and into your bedroom, shutting the door lightly. Once at the foot of the bed, Carmy pulled your shirt off in one swift movement and dumped it somewhere on the floor. Now both of his hands held you by your ribcage, both palms massaging your chest and pulling little moans from your joined mouths.

“Fuck- I love you so much.” He groaned, slowly dropping you against the mattress and without daring to detach from your kiss, followed close behind.

Your hands found their own way to his hips, desperately pulling at the hem of his shirt until it was over his head in seconds, disheveling his hair even more. “I love you so much.” You mumbled back. 

Your clothes laid discarded around the room in a few seconds, leaving you buried in between the covers and him. A long sigh parted your chest when you finally felt the sweet relief of his cock inside you, matching his tempo with the strokes of his tongue against yours. Your legs parted even deeper to make space for his thrusts, one thigh wrapped around his hips to accentuate them even harder.

“Fuck- Carm-” You moaned close to his face, trying to be as quiet as you could with him slamming into you.

“Shh, shh- you’re doin’ so good baby-” He praised as he adjusted his weight on his arm and wrapped the other around your thigh, pulling it higher up. “God, you feel so- fuuck”

His movements faltered for a second and he gave a soft breathy laugh that fanned the side of your face, then he placed another kiss over your collar bone and began to slam even faster into you. 

Your soft cries vibrated against his skin and fueled his pace, almost rocking the headboard against the wall. Carmy rested his forehead against yours, looking directly into your eyes as he pulled your other leg up and spaced them both beside your elbows. The new change in position had you feeling him so deep in your core you could almost taste him and the way your eyes started to lose focus plastered a grin across his face.

“You love it when I fuck you like that, huh?” He asked in a breathless tone, but all you could do was nod frantically. “So fuckin’ beautiful…” He mumbled over and over.

Each stroke felt deeper than the last, the only indication of your upcoming orgasm was the brows screwed over your face and the trembling of your thighs. Carmy rocked himself continuously into you until you couldn’t take it anymore. A thousand little lights exploded behind your eyes, making your back arch away from the bed and your nails dig into his sturdy shoulders. Your walls contracted against his thick cock as he pushed in a few more strokes, before his chest shuttered with a contained groan and he let himself fall carefully over your panting chest.

Carmy pushed himself off you with effort and rolled to your side, then hooked his arm under your shoulders and pulled you to rest over his still rapidly beating heart.

“How does a nap sound?” He whispered over your head after a few silent minutes.

You chuckled at his tone but nodded in agreement, tracing little shapes over his chest until his beats took a more relaxed tempo and the breaths fanning over your hair grew longer and heavier.

**********

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne , @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha , @yum-yahgurt , @pussy-f41ry , @kirakombat , @redsakura101 , @hobisunshine13 , @feyhunter78, @xeneth99 and that's it lmao

[cantstoptheimagines]

Hunger (Carmy Berzatto | The Bear)

Summary — Things boil over between you and Carmy.

Warnings & Other Tags ➳ Smut (including a lowkey ‘Chef’ kink, Reader being referred to as ‘good girl’, also like one mention of birth control); Carmy mentions never having a girlfriend, so I’m rolling with that (aka Never-Been-Kissed!Virgin!Carmy is upon us!!); a little bit of angst on the side; mentions of childhood trauma and resulting body insecurities (Carmy); cursing (especially the canon-typical ‘Fuck!’); coworkers to lovers with a touch of idiots in love; some typical Original Beef arguments in the kitchen (including Carmy getting put in his place after being extremely mean); Reader accidentally gets burned by hot food; Reader is a waitress with an attitude; my attempts at casual, non-flowery, awkward, quiet conversation between Carmy and the Reader, so please don’t come after me if it sucks, lmao.

Notes ➳ Word Count is 7,942. This is a slow, slow, slow burn! Enjoy it, baby! ➳ Reader uses feminine pronouns (she/her). ➳ This is slightly inspired by the chaos of Season 1, Episode 7. I also want to add that this draft was started before the release of Season 2, so absolutely no spoilers in this one!

FAQ | Masterlist | Fandoms | Requests | Coming Soon | Schedule  

Everything was a complete mess. An expected lunch rush had sent everything and everyone at The Beef into chaos.

You had a line of customers waiting on takeout orders while others were hoping for a table to open up. Some had immediately turned around at the door after seeing the crowd.

Richie stood behind the counter, trying his best to keep up. He gave you a nod as you cleared another table. The fake, ‘customer service’ smile on your face fell as soon as you left the dining room and entered the kitchen. Angel and Manny were both instantly by your side, taking the dishes from your arms. 

Your sigh of relief, however, didn’t last long. As soon as you turned, you were met by Sydney, who shoved a dish at you, shouting, “Hands! Once that’s out, I need you to come back for a sandwich and a salad!”

You barely caught the plate, replying, “Heard!” 

The plate was warm against your hands. The food, however, was burning hot when it flew off the dish and onto your exposed skin as someone interrupted your cry of, “Corner—!”

The plate shattered once it hit the floor, covering the tile in a mess of food. Sauce dripped down your clothes and practically seared your flesh. Amidst the hectic kitchen, only Sydney seemed to notice. She stared at you with a shocked expression as tears welled up in your eyes from the pain.

“—fucking going?!”

You blinked, clutching your blistering hand. You could already feel your skin becoming overly tender. Tears began to slide down your cheeks. Nearby, Tina had paused to see what the commotion was about with concerned eyes.

In front of you stood Carmy. Out of everyone who worked at The Beef, he was the person you were closest to. However, that didn’t mean he wasn’t an asshole sometimes, especially when the restaurant was busy like today.

Your eyebrows furrowed, and then you quietly asked, “What?”

The flaring pain you were feeling made it almost impossible to focus on what anyone was saying or doing. Carmy’s words, on the other hand, were loud and clear as he took a step closer and shouted, “I asked if you can watch where you’re fucking going?!” 

Your cheeks were wet with tears, which you couldn’t stop from falling, no matter how hard you blinked. Carmy was toe-to-toe with you. He was so close that you could see the sweat on his skin and the red flush of his cheeks. His teeth were gritted as he stared at you with fiery eyes. 

“Carmy,” you took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment, “don’t yell at me.”

He came even closer, shoes nearly slipping on the sauce that covered the tile. You avoided meeting his gaze as you continued holding your injured hand. Thankfully, the other one wasn’t as bad, though it still ached. 

“Why the fuck not, huh?!” he continued. “Open your damn eyes next time—!”

“Carmy, stop!” you demanded. “I’m hurting right now and you’re not helping—!”

“Maybe you wouldn’t be if you used your fucking brain!” he snapped, taking two fingers and harshly tapping them against your temple.

You tried to take a step back, only for him to follow. You pressed your lips together in an effort to contain yourself. Sure, you were used to Carmy’s regular outbursts, but this was on a whole other level.

His nose brushed against yours with how close he was standing. Sydney reached out, placing an arm between the two of you, though it wasn’t much help. Tina was slowly coming closer. Everyone else in the kitchen had stopped working to cautiously watch the scene. Even Richie had paused service in the front to stand in the kitchen doorway, ready to step in if he needed to.

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that, Carmy—!”

“I’ll do whatever I fucking want—!”

Richie finally spoke up, “Hey, cousin, leave ‘er alone, alright—?”

“I’m gonna fuck you up if don’t get outta my face—!”

Sydney was beginning to sweat, “Chef! Please calm down—!”

“If you can’t handle the heat, stay out of my fucking kitchen—!”

SLAP!

“¡Ay, mierda!” exclaimed Tina, mouth agape as your uninjured hand suddenly struck Carmy’s cheek.

The silence that took over was almost deadly. Carmy licked his lips and clenched his jaw. His cheek was already turning bright red with your handprint. A million thoughts ran through his mind as he stared at you.

“If you don’t have anything nice to say to me,” you glared, “then don’t fucking talk, Carmen! You can fuck off instead!”

Carmy kissed his teeth, refusing to open his mouth. Instead, he watched as you whipped around and stormed away from him. You were once again holding your injured hand, in which the pain was only growing worse by the second, as you disappeared around a corner without looking back.

Carmy closed his eyes and ran his hands over his face. He didn’t even need to look at the expressions of his coworkers’ faces to know that he had fucked up big time.

His eyes met Sydney’s as he tugged at his thick hair. She, however, only turned away and returned to calling out orders after shaking her head. Richie, meanwhile, gave him the finger before going back to the front to continue lunch service. Everyone else in the kitchen either gave him harsh glares or stares of disappointment.

“Chef!” he called out, gaining Sydney’s attention. “I’ll be back in a few!”

Sydney slowly nodded, “Heard!” 

Carmy glanced down, looking at the mess that covered the kitchen tile, along with his work shoes. Pieces of the shattered plate were spread about as well.

“I’ll clean this up when I get back,” he said, gesturing to the floor.

“Heard!” repeated Sydney, though Carmy could tell she wished he would just leave already.

“Thank you, Chef,” he muttered.

As he passed by Marcus, the usually kind pastry chef glared at him, “You’re a real mess, Berzatto.”

Carmy sighed, slowly making his way around the same corner you disappeared behind only moments ago, “Tell me about it.”

Ebra shouted after him with a bark of laughter, “We don’t have to! You’re gonna find out when you go back there!”

Carmy rolled his eyes, turning the knob on the door that led to the back lot. That was where everyone, including you, disappeared whenever they needed to be alone.

He immediately spotted you sitting on the ground with the restaurant’s first aid kit in front of you. The injury on your hand was now covered with some burn relief gel.

You barely even glanced in his direction when the door closed behind him. The air outside was rather cold and Carmy could see the chills that covered your skin.

He nervously wrapped his hands in the hem of his apron, and then cleared his throat, “I’m sorry.” 

“Whatever,” you shook your head.

He paused, unsure of what he should say next as he blinked a few times. Finally, he licked his lips and stared down at his shoes, “Are you—uh—are you okay? I mean, you’re good?”

You scoffed quietly, shaking your head with a sardonic smile as you finished wrapping your injury with some gauze, “No, Carmy, I’m not good. Fucking asshole.”

Carmy took a deep breath, nodding slowly, “Yeah, yeah, alright. I deserve that. You—uh—gonna go early? Home, I mean? Go home early?”

You slammed the first aid kit closed, the latch snapping into place with a click! Standing up, you shoved it into Carmy’s arms, causing him to grunt at the impact against his chest. 

“Yes,” you said, “I’m going fucking home early.” 

He groaned as you pushed past him to go back inside. He slowly trailed behind you, watching you collect your coat and keys. He grimaced at the loud SLAM! of your employee locker. He knew everyone in the kitchen secretly had their ears open, each of them trying to figure out how badly Carmy had messed things up with you.

As you tried to slip past him once more, he reached out to place an arm across your front. He remained facing the empty room of employee lockers while you were facing the kitchen, forced to endure the cautious eyes of your coworkers.

With a sigh, you finally turned your gaze to him, unsure of what to make of his actions, “What?”

“Go to the doctor, alright?” he muttered, eyes gliding over your features.

Everything was much calmer now. Everyone in the kitchen seemed to have finally cleared out some of the crowd, leaving only a few stragglers. Each of them took an occasional glance at the two of you.

You bit your bottom lip. You couldn’t help but be fully aware of the way Carmy’s startling blue eyes suddenly dropped to focus on your mouth. And you definitely couldn’t stop your own gaze from doing the same, admiring the soft pink shade of his lips.

Maybe it was wrong to be so attracted to your boss. But when your boss was Carmy, you didn’t really care. And there were times, like now, when it felt as though he didn’t care either.

Sure, he could be a real asshole sometimes, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t easy on the eyes. Your eyes, more specifically.

“Yo, cousin, we’ve got—! Oh!”

Carmy finally tore his stare away from you, and said, “Just a sec, Richie.”

“Yeah,” nodded Richie, tossing his hands into the air. “Yeah, sure. Didn’t mean to interrupt... whatever this is.”

Carmy rolled his eyes before finally returning his attention to you. His stare softened and his fingers dug into the clothing that covered your hip with a gentle squeeze.

“Doctor,” he whispered, “‘kay?”

You finally muttered, “Okay, Bear.”

Carmy gave you a nod, heart pounding when he heard his nickname fall from your lips. Your hip received a few pats and a gentle rub before his arm disappeared from your path. As you walked away, he finally turned to face everyone in the kitchen, all of whom had their eyes on him.

“Well,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “get back to fucking work!”

At the same time, he could hear you ordering Richie, who had followed you to the front, to ‘shut his fucking mouth’.

You unlocked the back entrance of The Beef. It was way past closing time and each of your coworkers had already gone home. In fact, you had only come back to get the tips you had left behind after your argument and semi-reconciliation with Carmy.

You flicked on one set of smaller lights before making your way through the kitchen and into the front room. Richie always cashed out your tips for you before his shift over and tonight was no different. On the counter, right next to the register, you found a wad of cash and a sticky note with your name on it.

Unfortunately, you were too focused on counting out the money to notice someone appear in the doorway. That is, until they spoke, “Hey.”

You gasped in surprise, clutching at your chest in a failed attempt to stop your pounding heart, “Fuck! Are you trying to kill me?!”

Carmy smiled down at his feet as he leaned against the kitchen’s door frame. He watched you shove your tips into the pocket of your heavy coat. He nodded towards your hand, and asked, “Rent due?”

You nodded back, “Yeah. Tomorrow morning.”

He hummed quietly, “See a doctor?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “Gave me some stuff to put on it. They said it should be good in a week or two. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was gonna be.” 

“Right,” he said, twisting the hem of his apron around his hands.

He watched your eyes drift to where his fingers wrapped themselves in the blue fabric. The realization that the two of you were alone, without the stress of your loud coworkers or a line of customers, overwhelmed him.

“You do that a lot, ya know,” you said, gesturing to his hands, “when you’re nervous and stuff.”

He shuffled awkwardly, shook his head, and then shrugged, “Hard not to be. We cool?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. One of Carmy’s hands rose to his lips, allowing him to anxiously bite his nails, while the other disappeared into his pocket. The soft glow coming from the back of the kitchen made him look like an angel.

A tired, fidgety, nervous wreck of an angel.

It was hard for him to breathe when you suddenly moved closer and closer until you stood mere inches away from him. He stared at your hand that untucked itself from your coat pocket. Yet, it wasn’t until you gently wrapped your fingers around his forearm, tugging his hand away from his nail-biting habit, that he knew it was over for him. 

“Carmy?”

Fuck.

“Yeah?”

His mind flashed back to all the times Richie had caught him staring at you and made fun of him for doing so.

And how after Sydney had first met you, she turned to him after you had walked away and quietly asked if you were his girlfriend.

And the way Tina almost beat his ass earlier for shouting at you so viciously after everyone else had left for the night, leaving him to wallow alone in his office.

Or the way he couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting to your lips while your hand gently rubbed his arm, listening closely as you whispered, “We’re cool.” 

“Good,” he muttered.

Your lips parted with a soft, shuddering gasp. Slowly, Carmy had tilted his head and began leaning in. Your grip on him tightened just as his free hand untucked itself from his pocket. His palm slid under your coat and landed on the same hip he had held earlier that day.

His nose brushed against yours. His fingers dug into you, splayed out against your clothed waist. His eyes slowly fell shut as did yours. After that, it didn’t take long before your lips met his.

You could feel the warmth of his cheeks when you placed your palms against them. You pulled him closer until you could wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, intertwining your fingers in his hair.

Carmy’s lips moved against yours tentatively. His other hand slowly slipped beneath your coat to caress your back. He groaned at the feeling of you gently scratching his scalp as your fingers ran through his hair.

Slowly, he pulled away, but only slightly. Your hands dropped to his shoulders and then traveled along his strong arms before finally wrapping around his waist. His apron loosened when you tugged at the strings.

Carmy felt his cheeks warm as he allowed you to remove the blue fabric from his body. He watched it fall to the floor and then made an effort to copy your movements, gently pushing your coat off your shoulders before letting it join his apron.

He sighed softly when you pressed your lips against his in a series of short, gentle kisses, “I’ve—uh—I’ve never…”

He trailed off quietly, feeling slightly embarrassed. Richie had always given him shit for being a virgin. But Carmy had gone through life without friends, let alone girlfriends.

“Carmy?”

His lip quivered when his eyes met yours again. He was surprised to find your gaze void of judgment. Instead, you gave him a small smile and gently pressed your hands into his lower back. He hummed quietly when you repeated his name.

Glancing at his lips, you murmured, “Do you want to?”

Despite the millions of thoughts running through his mind, he was still very clear, albeit quiet, with his answer, “With you? Yeah.”

You nodded silently. One of your hands gently pushed some of his thick, messy hair behind his ear. His eyes fell closed at the feeling.

“Was that your first kiss?”

“You gonna laugh at me if it was?” he asked.

You smiled at the way his cheeks flushed with red, and replied, “‘Course not. It’s like that for lots of people.”

He licked his lips, opening his eyes. His fingertips went deeper into your hips. Fuck, you were being so nice to him.

“It was,” he confessed. “That was my first kiss. I’ve never done any of it. Dates, girlfriends, none of it.”

“Okay,” you said, still allowing your fingers to trace through his hair. “You still want to?”

He paused, eyes exploring your features, “Yeah.”

“We can stop any time you want,” you said. “Don’t be afraid to tell me if you’re uncomfortable.” 

Carmy licked his lips again, hooded eyes drifting to your mouth. Slowly, he nodded and pressed his forehead against yours. His eyes closed and your noses brushed. He could his heart pounding in his chest, briefly wondering if you could as well as he collided his lips with yours once again. 

His fingers delved deeper into your hips. Your hands, meanwhile, tugged at his thick hair, forcing a grunt out of him. He was surprised by how much he liked the feeling. 

Pulling away, though not far enough to avoid the kisses that were now being pressed onto his jaw, Carmy quietly gasped for air, head tilting back as he asked, “Can we go to my office?”

He felt you nod against him in response. He then tugged you along in the direction of his office, biting his lip at the feeling of your mouth on his warm skin. He turned the two of you so that he could see where he was going. Not that doing so was much help since his eyes began fluttering at the feeling of a gentle bite sinking into the flesh of his neck.

One of his hands left your hip momentarily. His palm gripped at one of the metal counters in the kitchen, barely steadying himself. He was nearly tripping over his own feet, distracted by the pleasure you were already sending throughout his body. 

His hand quickly left the countertop. It found a new place on the back of your neck, but only after the two of you finally made it into his office, where he immediately pulled you into another kiss.

Slowly, your hands disappeared from his hair, opting to slip beneath the fabric of his shirt and gently scratch his back instead. You smiled against his lips, nearly breaking the kiss, upon noticing him shiver at the feeling. He practically arched into you, both of his hands moving to your cheeks in order to deepen the kiss.

His white shirt complimented the golden chain around his neck. It was something you had seen him wear plenty of times. And for Carmy, he wasn’t sure if he wanted that to change just yet.

He paused when you began to slide his shirt up, obviously preparing to remove it from his body. He gently wrapped his hands around your forearms to stop you. His lips then moved away from yours. His head ducked as he cleared his throat, avoiding your concerned gaze. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, eyes beginning to burn. “I’m—uh—It’s just—I don’t—I don’t think—! Shit, I’m sorry! Sorry! Sorry—!” 

“Hey, hey, hey,” you interrupted, gently wiping away any tears that had started to make an appearance on his cheeks. “It’s okay. You’re okay, Carmy.” 

He sniffled, cheeks warming with embarrassment, upon having felt your hands withdraw from underneath his shirt. His breathing had quickened, along with his heartbeat.

Carmy hid his face against your neck when one of your arms wrapped around him. You softly rubbed the space between his shoulders. Your other hand gently stroked the back of his head, fingers running through his hair once more. Meanwhile, his hands had dropped to your ribs in an effort to steady himself again. 

“We can stop—”

He interrupted you within seconds, shaking his head as he finally met your eyes, “No. I don’t want to. I—uh—I’m just—my childhood wasn’t the best, ya know? Parents were always fightin’ over stupid shit. And sometimes, my dad—well, he—uh—he’d take some of it out on us—”

“Oh, Carmy,” you whispered, leaning your forehead against his.

He continued, caressing your ribs with his thumbs, “He didn’t do it a lot, but, ya know, my back’s kinda, like, got scars and stuff.”

Pulling him closer, you nodded, still allowing him to lead the conversation, “Okay. Okay.” 

“I promise I wanna do this,” he sniffled again before taking a deep sigh, “but I wanna keep my shirt on. For now anyway. For this time.” 

You nodded again, giving him a small smile and lightly tracing the variety of small freckles on his cheeks, “Of course. Anything you want.”

Carmy hesitantly met your eyes. The startling ocean blue sent chills down your spine, especially when he muttered, “God, you’re so fucking sweet.” 

He didn’t give you a chance to reply. Instead, his hands traveled to your back and pushed you against him in a quick, unwavering motion. He groaned at the feeling of your fingertips imprinting themselves into the fabric of his shirt. His lips moved against yours in yet another heated kiss, though this one was much more desperate than the others had been. 

In that moment, as your hands wandered along his clothed back, venturing to the waistband of his pants, Carmy could picture himself falling in love with you.

In the space between your kisses, gasps of air escaped your throat, “Let me make you feel good, Bear.”

Carmy nodded. His lower back gently collided with the edge of his desk. He watched as you slowly undid his pants. He groaned and his cheeks flushed red at the sight of you lowering to your knees. One of his hands shifted to grip his desk while the other raked through his hair.

Before he knew it, his pants were pooling around his ankles and his hard-on was showing prominently through his briefs. His head tilted back and his gaze met the ceiling as your fingers delved into the waistband of the fabric covering his throbbing cock.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, closing his eyes.

“Carmy?” your quiet voice cut through the tension. “You still okay?”

“I’m fucking perfect,” he whispered. “Please keep going.”

Your amusement was obvious. Carmy hissed when your smiling lips met the flesh of his stomach. He slightly tugged up the hem of his shirt in order to give you more access to his briefs, trying to prepare himself for his first blowjob ever.

The hand that had been in his hair quickly entangled itself in your own. His briefs were slowly being removed with every kiss you gave his skin, your movements trailing lower and lower with every passing second. You stopped at the last possible moment, pulling away and giving a final tug at his briefs.

At last, they fell, finding their place around Carmy’s ankles, alongside his pants. He couldn’t help but watch as his cock sprang free, nearly slapping against his stomach. You eyed it for a moment, licking your lips at the sight of the dark vein on the side and the way it curved slightly to the left. 

Carmy took your pause for negativity. His thumb softly caressed your temple as he murmured, “You alright—? Oh, shit!”

He was suddenly on cloud nine. Fire burned in his chest. Both of his hands moved to tightly grip the back of your neck. One of your hands grasped onto his tense forearm while the other held his cock. Your tongue traced over the vein that you had been admiring. 

His eyes closed and his head tilted back. He could feel you smiling as you pressed a kiss against his cock’s mushroom-shaped head. Your lips trailed along his length until you reached his balls. 

“Fuck!” he groaned, mouth falling open.

The way your tongue lapped at his balls while your hand stroked his swollen length set his stomach on fire. He could feel a layer of sweat beginning to appear on his forehead.

You were a fucking god. And Carmy felt ready to worship you.

Suddenly, you were at the head of his cock again, slowly taking him into your warm mouth. Carmy looked down to watch it happen and nearly came at the sight of you.

Your lips stretched around him. His hands moved to be on either side of your face, gently caressing your temples with the pads of his thumbs. Both of your palms wrapped around his bare thighs.

Carmy hissed at the feeling of his cock disappearing into your mouth as you began bobbing your head along his length. Though when he felt you fondle his balls with a sudden squeeze, he couldn’t stop an abrupt buck of his hips. 

You gagged when the head of his cock hit the back of your throat. He furrowed his eyebrows, concerned, as you pulled away, gasping for air. He wiped away the saliva that had built up at the corners of your lips, “Shit! You okay? I didn’t—I didn’t mean to do that!” 

You sniffed, laughing as you brushed off the small tears that came from your eyes, “Yeah, I’m good.” 

Unsure of what to say, Carmy nodded silently. He continued tracing your temples in an effort to comfort you, trying to ignore his cock, which continued to throb between his legs. Meanwhile, you rubbed at his thighs, still trying to catch your breath. 

“Hey, hey,” he muttered, tilting your head upwards to meet his gaze, “you sure you’re alright?” 

Your eyebrows rose, your fingertips dug into his flesh, and then you smiled, “I’m fine. But Carm?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re fucking huge.” 

And in yet another wave of shyness, Carmy couldn’t stop the blush that appeared on his face. You chuckled, leaning forward to kiss the space above his pelvis, slowly wrapping a hand around his cock once more. Your eyes remained on him as his lips fell open and moans escaped his chest.

“Hey?” you muttered. 

He watched as you leaned against his stomach, resting your chin atop the fabric of his shirt to stare up at him. He shivered at the way your pupils grew. They nearly overtook your irises, leaving only a sliver of their nature shade. 

“Yeah?”

Your teeth dug into your lower lip. Carmy admired the glow that had overwhelmed your skin. He shuddered when your hand tugged particularly hard at his cock.

“Can you fuck my face, Chef?” you whispered. “I want your cock down my throat ‘til I can’t breathe.” 

“Fuck,” he muttered, thumbs softly caressing your cheeks. “You sure? I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you breathed. “I want you to feel good, Carmy.” 

He hissed at the sudden feeling of your tongue once again tracing over his length. The head of his cock was then repeatedly kissed in a soothing pattern. One of his hands moved to tightly grip the edge of his desk. The other continued smoothing over the skin of your cheek as you took him back into your mouth.

With a hand on his thigh and the other shifting to wrap around his forearm, you slowly dragged his hand to the back of your neck. Carmy panted heavily at the feeling of his hard cock sinking deeper into your throat. He successfully held back his quivering hips, not wanting to accidentally choke you a second time. 

His fingers dug into your skin, his mouth fell open, and heat rose beneath his skin. He looked down to find you with nearly his entire cock in your mouth. The sensation of your tongue swirling around him made him want to cum on the spot. And he nearly did so when your lips finally met the base of his cock. 

Your nose dug into his pelvis. He then felt the mushroom-shaped head of his cock reach the back of your throat, only you didn’t pull away for a fresh burst of air this time. He caressed the back of your neck in an effort to ease the tension. 

Tears welled in the corners of your eyes, soaking your eyelashes. You were doing your best to breathe through your nose. His grip on you tightened when your eyes suddenly looked up at him.

The sight of you staring at him with tear-filled eyes and your lips stretched around his cock made him curse. Both hands quickly returned to your face so he could brush away the glistening tears. After admiring your flushed appearance, he muttered, “You ready?” 

He took the moan you let out around his length as confirmation. The vibrations of it, along with the way your fingers were now tightly grasping at the backs of his thighs in preparation, made him hiss with pleasure. 

He groaned at the wet sounds of your mouth as he began gently thrusting in and out of your throat. He cursed repeatedly, especially when you continued to moan around him. Upon seeing you shut your eyes, however, he patted your cheek to bring your focus back to him.

He smiled down at you when you met his gaze, “Eyes on me, alright? You’re makin’ me feel so—ah!—good right now. Oh, fuck! You’re fucking amazing, ya know that? Oh!” 

Heat was growing in the pit of your stomach when you realized how much pleasure you were giving him. You could feel yourself becoming wetter and wetter by the second. 

You couldn’t help but gag around him when he suddenly gave a rough thrust. You were sure his thighs would have finger-shaped bruises by the end of the night with how strong your grip on him was. 

Carmy’s thrusts were picking up pace. He tossed his head back, eyes shut tight and his mouth agape with silent moans. You wanted him to fuck your face? Then he would do exactly that. 

He repeatedly shoved you down to the base of his cock. With every thrust of his hips, he felt his balls slap against you. The sounds of you practically gasping for air as you choked on his length made him shiver with a blissful expression.

“Fuck!” he groaned. “So fucking good! You’re perfect, ya know?”

His moans continued. The echoes of his cock pumping in and out of your mouth caused warmth to slowly build up within the pit of his stomach. With a few final thrusts, he pressed himself as deep as he could into your throat.

You choked around the sudden release of cum that flooded your mouth. Your eyes squeezed shut as Carmy pressed you further onto his length. Your nose dug into the skin of his pelvis and you were slowly losing the ability to breathe.

Carmy grunted, now gazing down at you with heavily lidded eyes, as his cock released thick, white ropes of his cum. He huffed in an effort to regain his breath. You, however, made that difficult with each and every time you swallowed around him, taking in all of his cum without a second thought. 

His cock was still hard when you finally pulled away. Your tongue ran over the tip while one of your hands moved to stroke his length. Before you could send him tumbling into overstimulation, Carmy tugged you upwards. 

His lips met yours in a searing kiss, barely able to keep hold of you between heavy pants. You could practically feel his confidence finally starting to bloom within him. 

Twirling in order to switch your positions, you tugged him closer, urging him to help you onto his messy desk. He quickly did so after reaching out to shove aside what seemed like a million unorganized papers. They fell to the floor, some even crumpling beneath his shoes as he stepped on them. 

His large, tattooed hands slipped beneath your shirt as he moaned at the feeling of your lips against his neck. He grasped onto the back of your bra and tugged... to no avail. Thankfully, you didn’t seem to notice. 

His face flushed red, especially when your clothed thighs squeezed closer to his hips. His cock began to throb as it met the covered space between your legs, desperate and eager for what was to come. 

Carmy furrowed his eyebrows and tried a second time to unclasp your bra. When it refused to budge, he couldn’t help but curse. And he nearly let out another when your affections came to a pause. 

Your kisses slowed. Pressing one against his ear, you whispered, “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied. 

You tried not to laugh when you felt another tug, “Carm? D’you need help?” 

He cursed a little louder. You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to conceal a grin as you tucked your face into the crevice of his shoulder. When he confirmed your suspicions, you leaned away and did your best to give him a warm, comforting smile. You unhooked your bra and removed it from beneath your shirt with ease, tossing it aside. 

Carmy’s expression shifted into one of frustration, though his eyes shined with a bit of awe, “How the fuck did you do that?” 

Your hands ran over his shoulders as you asked, “Really wanna have that conversation right now?” 

He paused for a moment, seemingly taking some time to think over your words, “Fuck no.” 

You allowed yourself to laugh that time, “Then come here.” 

Carmy found it difficult to breathe when you tugged him closer. The scent of your shampoo fogged his mind as he hid your face against your neck. Your hands guided his, leading them beneath your shirt. He let out a deep sigh when his palms met the warmth of your skin. 

As his hands began tentatively exploring your breasts, he tried to ease his nerves by layering a series of open-mouthed kisses against the column of your throat. Meanwhile, you busied yourself with undoing your pants. 

“You have big hands, Carm,” you muttered, leaning your cheek against his messy head of hair as he indulged him in his affections. 

Big, warm, tattooed hands. His thumbs ran over your nipples occasionally as he gently squeezed you. His fingers dug into the plush of your skin. 

Despite having little room with the way Carmy was leaning against you, you managed to push your pants off your waist, shifting your hips in order to do so. As he continued palming at your breasts, he flushed a deeper shade of red, thankful his face was still hidden from your view. 

“Is that a good thing?” he questioned. “Big hands?” 

He felt you nod in response, “It’s hot.” 

In more ways than one, he believed, due to the heat building up in his stomach. His forehead had developed a thin layer of sweat as well. He followed your lead when you directed his hands to your hips instead. When his fingertips met the hem of your underwear, he inhaled sharply. 

“Think you can get these off without any help?” 

He stopped pressing warm kisses against your neck to meet your gaze. With narrowed eyes, he tilted his head at your teasing tone, licking his lips with an amused grin, “Shut up. What happened to the nice, sweet, good girl from before?” 

Holy shit. 

His comment made you pause. Your semi-arrogant smile fell, becoming one of shyness instead. Carmy’s, on the other hand, brightened. He had somehow managed to turn the tables. Seems like it was your turn to be embarrassed. 

He ran his hands over your thighs, gently pulling you closer. He continued to smile as you avoided his gaze. 

“Hey,” he muttered, placing a hand on your cheek and encouraging your eyes to meet his, “d’you like it when I call you that?” 

His smile was softer now. His body language, however, was giving off a newfound confidence, something you didn’t get to see very often. But with the way he caressed your skin, palms rubbing you soothingly in a steady pattern, you could tell he genuinely wanted to know. 

He furrowed his eyebrows when you offered a mumbled reply, “Hmm?” 

With shivers running along your spine and an affirming nod, you repeated yourself, “I do. Yes.”

“Yes, who?” he asked, cursing himself only seconds later for the question.

You couldn’t stop yourself from taking a deep breath in surprise. Your eyes fell to his lips, thinking about feeling them on yours again. Carmy watched you carefully when they did so. His cock throbbed heavily between his legs as the head gently bumped against your clothed entrance with every move he made. 

You met his eyes again when his fingers delved into the flesh of your thigh. Admiring his blown pupils, you answered, “Yes, Chef.” 

Both of his hands came to your hips. His fingers sunk into the hem of your underwear as he whispered, “Can I?” 

He slowly slid the fabric down your legs when you gave him a whispered confirmation. Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, you pulled him closer. His lips hovered over yours with a groan as your free hand wrapped around his cock.

“Are you sure?” 

Carmy’s eyes, which had been squeezed shut, slowly fluttered open. They flew over your features before he finally nodded, “Yeah.” 

Your lips met his in a soft kiss before your forehead came to rest against his. With your hand gently stroking his length, Carmy couldn’t stop himself from letting out a gasp. He looked down to watch your movements with desperate, hooded eyes. 

You ran the mushroom head through your wet folds. Carmy would’ve been embarrassed by his fascination at the way his cock glistened with your wetness if he wasn’t too busy groaning in pleasure. 

“Gotta go slow, okay? I’ll have to adjust,” you said, and then a quiet laugh filled the air between the two of you. “Like I told you, you’re big.”  

Carmy was sure his skin was cherry red by now, due to a combination of the growing heat in his stomach and your compliments. His mouth fell open and his eyebrows furrowed when your hand eased the head of his cock into your entrance. He couldn’t stop his fingers dug into your skin, creating indents on your thighs. 

Arms encasing your lower back, he pressed himself closer, furthering the reach of his cock. His chest met yours, both of your shirts rubbing against the other. He could both see and feel your hardened nipples through the fabric. 

Your hand that had been guiding him moved upwards, threading through his thick, unruly hair. He didn’t even need to move for you to start letting out a series of gasping moans. The sheer size of him was enough. 

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you nudged him as close as you could. His warmth melted into yours. His skin was aglow with heat, effort, and sweat. His length sinks deeper, stretching you wide and open for him. You hiss at the feeling. 

Oh, yeah. He’s definitely the biggest you’ve ever had. 

You kiss the bridge of his nose as you adjust to his size. Carmy quickly raises his head so his lips can meet yours. It’s a struggle, given how difficult it is for either of you to properly breathe at the moment. 

Carmy’s cheeks are flushed red entirely. He’s burning on the inside with a newfound desperation for you. His cock throbs inside your walls and he feels as though he’s being drowned in your body by the pressure. Meanwhile, you can hardly focus on anything besides the noises he continuously lets out. 

He hisses and groans with every shift, not expecting the feeling to be so tight. You’re dripping with so much arousal that it’s nearly soaking his pelvis and thighs. As his hands traveled under the fabric of your shirt to practically claw at your back, he can’t help but think about how the feeling of you around him is infinitely better than that of his own fist. 

In that moment, Carmy knew you had ruined him for anyone else. He was completely, without any doubt in his mind, yours. And fucking proud of it too. 

“You can move,” you whispered, strengthening your grip around his shoulders and tugging at his hair. 

One of his arms curled further around you. His palm landed between your shoulder blades, slowly gliding over your skin that was hidden beneath your shirt. The other wrapped around your lower back. 

His cheek leaned against yours as he gasped heavily into your ear after the first roll of his hips. Your hand continued to pull at his dark strands of hair, the other tangling itself in his shirt. 

Slowly, he rocked into you, the pace starting off easy and unhurried. Given his size, you could already feel the head of Carmy’s cock gently bumping against your cervix. You gasped heavily with each of his movements. Your body writhed against him. 

“Faster,” you muttered. “Carmy, go faster. Oh, fuck, please.” 

Carmy melted at the way your moans echoed throughout his office. He huffed repeatedly with effort as his thrusts steadily increased. The slapping of skin, along with the slick sounds of your wet entrance, filled the room. Carmy couldn’t help but curse when your teeth suddenly sunk into the crevice of his neck. 

“Shit!” he exclaimed. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good! Could stay inside you forever! Damn it! Wanna stay, wanna stay!”  

Your mind felt empty of anything besides Carmy. His warm breath hitting your skin as he rambled on and on. The way he clawed at you desperately, trying to bring you impossibly closer. How his balls were repeatedly slapping against your dripping arousal. 

“Carmy!” you whined, trying your best to redirect his grip on you, which was rather difficult due to his lightning pace. “Here! Touch me here! Make me cum! Make me let go on your cock! Oh, shit, you’re—ah!” 

You guided his fingers against your clit. Despite his state of pleasured delirium, Carmy seemed to understand what you wanted from him. He massaged the bundle of nerves, sending shockwaves down your spine. 

The tightly wound cord within you finally snaps. You cry out, gripping onto Carmy in order to gain at least some sense of stability. He continues to rut in and out of you like no tomorrow.

The only inclination that he knows you’ve finally cum is the pitchy moan he lets out when your walls constrict his cock with every wave of release. His hand is covered in your cum and he can’t stop himself from pulling his face out of hiding.

With one arm still around you and his hips still slapping loudly, he’s quite the vision when he suddenly brings his fingers to his mouth. It’s then, as he gets a taste of you, that he decides you’re his new favorite meal. In just one night, you’ve made him insatiable.

His hand goes for another round, trying to collect more of your wetness on his fingertips. Meanwhile, you’re beginning to collapse into overstimulation. You take to pressing your forehead against Carmy’s shoulder, panting and huffing as his throbbing length continues to delve deep into your dripping hole. 

Carmy’s trying his best to take in every bit of you that he can, repeatedly collecting your release to press against his tongue as he pounds into you. He rubs at your clit with reckless abandon, craving more of the taste. 

“Please, please,” he begged, distressed at the very idea that you might not cum again. “Wanna keep tasting you! You’re so fucking good!” 

He’s unaware that your moans are no longer coherent. The only thing that continues to tumble from your lips is the sound of your uncontrollable gasps for air and an occasional curse.

Given it was his first time, you hadn’t expected him to have so much stamina. His thrusts seemed impossibly fast, pistoning in and out of you at lightning speed without a second thought. 

Sinking against him, another orgasm washed over you as your mouth fell open in a silent scream. Carmy groaned at the feeling of your walls tightening around his cock, “Fuck, I can’t—! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum, fuck, oh—!” 

His entire lower half rolls into you. He can feel crescents forming in his skin with how deep your nails are digging into him. He thrusts again, once, twice, and then a third time before he’s spilling into you. His cum seeps out around his cock, forming a white ring at the base. 

Despite hardly being able to breathe, he pulls you into a kiss. His lips move against yours in gentle movements. It’s a stark contrast to the way he had been pounding into you only seconds ago. His length is beginning to soften inside you, which you’re slightly grateful for. You weren’t entirely sure you’d make it through another round of that. 

“Are you okay?” he muttered, lips haphazardly meeting yours as his cock leaves you. “Shit, I didn’t mean to cum inside. I’m sorry.” 

You shook your head, “I’m on birth control. And I can get a morning-after pill.” 

He nods in response and then his eyebrows scrunch up. You almost laugh, wanting nothing more than to smooth out the ridges between them. Your hands glide over the fabric of his shirt, tracing over his chest absentmindedly. 

Pressing another kiss against his jaw, you ask him just to make sure, “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded, hands slipping beneath your shirt in order to rub your back. “It’s just—uh—I don’t know, it’s stupid—”

“I’m sure it’s not,” you interrupted, not wanting him to lose the confidence you had seen in him only minutes prior. “What is it? You can tell me anything.” 

His eyes quickly darted to the side. Although they only did so for a split second, you still noticed. Following the direction of his glance, your gaze lands on your discarded bra.

Carmy lets out a quiet curse as he zips up his pants, realizing that he had been caught. He ignores your smirk while he pulls you off his desk and helps you do the same. Even though helping you put your clothes back on is something no one else had ever done for you after sex before, you knew it was at least partially meant to distract you from your new revelation.

You quickly decide, however, that you can’t help yourself. With a smile, you quietly say his name in an effort to bring his attention back to you. 

“Hmm?” he muttered, trying to ignore the way your hands trace gently over his shoulders while he rebuttons your pants. 

You slowly tilt his head, leaving him with no choice but to meet your eyes. You repeat his name in a sing-song voice, “Carmy!” 

He grasped your hands in his and pulled them away from his face. He quickly distracts himself by playing with your fingers. After a moment, he sighed before looking at you with softened eyes. 

“Can you teach me the bra thing now?” 

Your face brightens with an amused laugh. Carmy instantly groans in embarrassment, throwing his head back and swatting gently at your backside with a muttered, “Stop that! I told you it was fucking dumb!” 

“No, no,” you shook your head, still chuckling as he rolled his eyes. “Pass it here, Berzatto. Then you can keep it as a homework assignment.” 

He muttered a curse under his breath, which only made you fall into another fit of laughter. He then picked your bra up from the floor and handed it over. With an arm on either side of your hips, he rests his palms on his desk that sat behind you. All his weight leans onto them and you can’t help but smile at how close he is while he stares intently at your hands, waiting for you to begin your lesson.

[butchcarmy]

Blood Orange (Ch 2: The Bathroom)

Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18, MDNI)

Rating: E (5.7k)

links: fic playlist, pinterest board, ao3 link, ch 1

Chapter Summary: No more fucking your boss. That’s what you’ve been telling yourself, but he doesn’t make it easy, even as you find yourself wanting to scream. Somehow it all falls away when you lower yourself to your knees before him. You don’t know if there’s any stopping this anymore. 

Content Tags: work sex, blow jobs, mouth fucking, CUM PLAY, dom/bossy carmy, coworkers with benefits, carmy being difficult, mental illness, they/them reader, gender neutral reader, the usual

A/N: WHEW. It’s here! Thanks for waiting y’all. I think I embarrassed myself writing this one (flushed emoji). It’s ramping up. Next chapter is gonna be big one. Let me know what you guys think, and enjoy! <3

Before you go to work the next morning, you make yourself come on your fingers. It would've been twice if you had more time. 

You open your eyes waking from a dream with his ghostly blue eyes and low voice, and you already know you're wet before you even touch yourself. The pads of your reaching fingers chase the tender spot Carmy stroked inside of you, but they don't quite make it. Of course they don't. 

Fingering yourself eases the ache for a little while. On the early morning transit with headphones over your ears, you still manage to find yourself aching for him. The music doesn't cover up the sound of his voice, and you catch yourself grimacing in the faint reflection of the dirty metro windows. 

This is not a good way to start your second day at work.

Since you left the walk-in yesterday, Carmy's been following you around like a mosquito in the summer, whizzing around your head, buzzing in your ears. You can't rid your thoughts of him. When you close your eyes, you're trapped in the fridge with him, again, and his fingers are deep inside you. 

Fuck. You're standing in front of the restaurant, willing yourself to go in. Just stop it, you think to yourself. 

You really should be more mad at him. He technically never apologized for insulting you, but you suppose you didn't expect him to in the first place. You didn't usually get apologies at places like this, from people like him. You don't want to get in the bad habit of expecting good things from broken people.

No more fucking your boss, you think resolutely to yourself, and that's the thought you meditate on as you open the door. 

By this time yesterday, there were already a couple of people floating around the kitchen. Today, you find dim lights and silence. Your footsteps feel too loud on the white linoleum as you walk to the lockers to drop off your stuff. You can’t pretend to understand the schedule yet.

“Carmen?” You pace around again as you secure your apron with a tie. No response. Surely he's here, at least. Someone had to open the place. 

You take a couple more steps when you hear his voice. 

“No, I'm not—that's not what I was sayin’.” The direction of his voice sounds like it's coming from his office. “Of course I miss him. Sugar—” A pause. “I know. Yeah. It's bullshit.” He laughs then, you think. You can't measure how genuine it is. “You're bullshit. Look, I'll call you back later, okay? And I'll—yeah, I'll look at it. Promise. Yeah. Bye.”

It's quiet after that. You're standing there, not sure what to do with yourself when you hear footsteps. Sure enough, Carmy pops out of the office, and you catch just a glimpse of something haunted in him before surprise takes over.

“Hi,” you say at the same time he says, “Jesus Christ.”

“How long have you been here,” he asks, as you go, “That's an interesting way to pronounce my name.”

“Um,” you start, and he stares at you blankly, unreactive to your joke. Too early, you guess. “I just got here.”

“Okay. Cool. Uh…” Anxiety radiates off of him, making his hands fidget and run through untamed hair. Not that you were looking at his hands at all. “You’ll be doin’ prep again.”

“Alright.” You expected as such. You’ll probably be on prep for the rest of the week, if not the month. That’s how most places go, but this isn’t most places. 

“Your station was dirty when you left yesterday.” You walk up to your station, and it’s spotless. “I had to clean it before I left.”

“Ah. I’m sorry about that,” you apologize quickly. I was preoccupied with other things, you think bitterly to yourself, thinking of locked doors and heated kisses. Not that you’ll mention it. “I’ll make sure to clean it this time.”

“Prep’s gonna be a bit different today,” he says, completely ignoring your apology. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from snapping. “You’re gonna inspect produce, and then you’ll prep the stock again. Correctly this time.”

“It was nearly perfect, I just misplaced it,” you mutter under your breath.

“Yeah, nearly.” Looks like he heard you this time. Asshole. He places a box of onions on your station, rattling the table slightly. “Do I have to tell you how to sort out the bad ones from the good ones?” You’re honestly not sure if he means that as a jab, but the way he says it makes your insides sizzle with irritation.

Don’t take it personally, you remind yourself. Don’t. Take. It. Personally. 

“How about you show me just in case? Just so we’re on the same page.” It’s a wonder how calm you keep your voice. To your surprise, Carmy doesn’t roll his eyes, doesn’t sigh, he just nods and proceeds. Every time you think you’ll predict him properly, he does the opposite. 

You follow the line of his callused finger pointing to brown splotches on some of the onions. Intently, studiously, you examine the dark spots (indicative of mold), the sprouts (initial stages of deterioration), and the mushy areas (a sign of decreasing freshness). He’s talking about details as he seems to do when it comes to food, even elaborating on the farming process, but you don’t quite pick up that part. You just pay attention to the parameters you need to follow.

No more fucking your boss, you remind yourself again, because you catch yourself aching at the sight of his fingers. Your eyes have a hunger of their own, flickering up and down his muscular arms. God damnit. Maybe there’s another reason you can’t quite pay attention today. 

“Are you listening?” Carmy’s pointed question snaps you out of it. Fuck. You hope he didn’t catch you staring at his fingers again.

“If I can save it and just chop off the bad parts, then I should,” you regurgitate on instinct. “Those are the best ones to use for the stock. Otherwise, I should just toss it.”

For a split second, all he does is fix you with his focused stare. You feel the intensity of it in your chest, your beating heart fluttering with its weight. No matter how many times you scold yourself for finding him attractive, your eyes can’t ignore what’s right in front of them. You find yourself counting his moles. 

“I caught you staring,” he murmurs, “for real this time.”

“I—uh—” Your eyebrows are so raised you’re sure they’re bound to shoot off your warmed face. He’s smiling like he knows something you don’t. You weren’t going to mention yesterday, and after your first interaction this morning, you were sure he wasn’t going to, either. Guess you were wrong again.

“I’ll be in the back if you need help. The others should be here soon.” He’s moving on without giving you a chance to recover. Your brain can’t process the shock. “Just call if you need anything."

Before you get a chance to scrounge up anything to say, you’re alone in the kitchen again. 

This time I'm really gonna do it, you fume internally. Because you have a healthy amount of anger management, you don’t let yourself continue that thought.

Sydney is the third person to show up after you and Carmy. You give her a nod and a thin smile as she walks in, and she waves back. Soon after she arrives, the others trickle in one by one. As you're learning to expect, the quiet never lasts for long. 

There are tasks circling you just like yesterday that you don't fully grasp yet. Everyone seems to be instinctively following their own schedule, their circadian rhythm matched to the chaotic ecosystem of the kitchen. It’s just as suffocating as it was yesterday. You remind yourself that as a new hire, you don't need to understand the madness yet. Nonetheless, an invisible pressure presses down on you. 

“Hey, d'you mind telling me where this produce goes?” A triple stack of filled containers sits heavy in your arms. With Sydney out of the kitchen, Marcus is your next safest option in terms of coworkers. His head flicks up from where he was focused on kneading dough. A streak of white flour is across his nose. 

“Oh, that one's bottom shelf, near the back.” He claps his dusty hands together, flour falling between them like snow. “Here, I'll just show you. You know where the walk-in is?”

With Marcus, it doesn't feel like there are any stupid questions. It's a gift you don't take for granted, especially around here. You let him lead you to the fridge again, even though you remember where it is. It doesn't hurt. 

“Thanks. I'm, uh, still having a hard time figuring out where stuff goes,” you say after you put the produce away. 

“It’s cool. It's only your second day, right?” You nod. “Just takes time. Don't sweat it. You ever work in a restaurant before?”

“Yeah, a couple of times.”

“Then you know what you're gettin’ into.” That makes you laugh. 

“Sorta.” You shrug. “To be honest with you, I just need money, and I like cooking enough, so…now I'm here.” You're not quite as honest with how desperate your situation was on the verge of coming, but it's fine. Not really the time and place for it anyway. 

“I gotcha. That's how it was for me too, actually.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. Well, that's how I started at McDonald’s. That was a while ago now.”

“I see. It's better here, I hope.”

“Hard to say,” he says, but there's a little smile on his face. “For the most part, Michael was cool, but—”

“Michael!” You blurt out, startling the both of you. “Holy shit, I'm sorry. I've just been trying to remember the name of the previous owner for forever now and—wow, sorry. I didn't mean to shout.”

“It's fine.” Marcus has this amused expression, but it dissolves quickly. “You met him?”

“I did. I came here a couple of years ago when I first moved. Just once, but—anyway, what's his deal?”

“His deal?”

“Yeah, like, why'd he give the restaurant away? Carmy said he didn't want it anymore.”

“Oh.” You can't read the way Marcus’ face shifts. “That's what he said?”

“...Yeah?”

“I see. Okay. Uh…” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, I know how this sounds, but just try not to bring Mike up for now. It's still kind of a sore subject.”

“Ah, my bad.” Your brain instantly supplies stories of estranged families, sibling spats, and stolen money. You suppose it's a sour sort of relationship—something you're intimately familiar with. “Can I ask what happened, or…?”

“I'll tell you later,” he replies evasively. “You know what else they got you training on today?”

“No idea,” you answer honestly. The nosy part of you wants to hear more about the Berzatto family, but the responsible part of you reminds you to cool your jets. “Carmy just told me I was on produce. Know where he's at? I peeked into his office, but he wasn't there.”

“Oh, he just left.” Your blank stare makes him elaborate. “He's off doing Carmy things.”

“Doing Carmy things?” Looks like the person in charge has abandoned you yet again.

“Business stuff, probably.” Marcus shrugs. “He does that sometimes. He probably won't be back for a while, so I can help you with training for now if you want.”

“That would be great.” There's a remark on the tip of your tongue about poor management, but you hold it. “Is Carmy a better boss, at least?”

“Compared to Michael?” You recognize sadness in Marcus’ pinched brows, even if it's only momentary. “I dunno. It hasn't been long, but this place has been running more smoothly since he started doing things.” Your shocked expression makes him laugh briefly. “I know, it used to be worse if you can believe it.”

“I'm not sure that I can,” you admit. 

. . . . .

The next several days at work continue to test your patience. While Carmy keeps you on prep, keeping your tasks simple, he continues to find ways to keep you on edge. You stiffen up every time he enters the kitchen, waiting for him to point out yet another mistake. 

Chef, this cut's too uneven. Chef, you're taking too much time on this. Chef, you should’ve cut this part off. Chef, you’re creating too much waste. 

Yes, Chef, you always reply, even as his comments become more and more grating. A childish part of you wants to do a worse job out of spite, but another part of you is hungry for his approval far more than you would ever admit. You wonder if he's this tough on everyone. 

The incident in the walk-in does not get mentioned again. A childish voice in you wonders if Carmy has forgotten about it. Of course he hasn’t, but every time he critiques you, you wonder about the Carmy who kissed you. You wonder what that Carmy's thinking, because you have no clue. 

Has he been thinking of you, too?

This is how things should be, you remind yourself after you touch yourself for the fourth night in a row to the thought of him. Your fingers are wet, and your wrist is embarrassingly sore. I can't have sex with my boss again. I just can't. 

Would it be different if he also touched himself to thoughts of you?

You desperately suck your own cum off your fingers, and you wish it were his fingers instead. It doesn't taste the same. 

The bright lights are irritatingly bright when you come in this morning. It looks like you're the first person here again, other than Carmy. You hear his irritated voice as soon as you enter, which is clearly a good sign. 

“I appreciate you thinking of me, I do. I do. It's just—” He sighs. Looks like he's having another phone call. “I can't come back. Not right now.” Silence. “No, uh, won't happen for a while, I think. The place's fucked.” A shaky breath. “What? What did you say?

“The head chef asked about me?” Carmy's voice has gone tight. “I see. Of course he said that. No, it's fine.” Pause. “...I know what they've been saying. I figured they'd look down on me.” His laugh is hollow and painful. “Look, I got shit to do. Thanks for asking me, but it's a no. I can't.” Another pause, drawn out and tense. “Sure. Bye.”

After he hangs up, you hear him muttering to himself. You can't pick out any of the words other than the curses, but it sounds bad. As you put your things away, you silently pray to the abstract idea of a god to give you both strength of patience. Seems like you'll need it today. 

“Morning,” you tentatively greet him when he sees you. He's not surprised by your presence today, it seems. He nods back. 

“Morning.” His eyebags are dark with a lack of sleep. Upon closer inspection, his whole everything screams sleep deprivation, perhaps a bit more so than usual. His messy hair seems particularly unkempt today. “You're doing prep again today.”

“I figured.” 

“You need to get better about cleaning your station.” His words are full to the brim with irritation. “I keep having to clean it after you.”

“I thought I was—” You stop. Calm down, you think, but it's getting harder and harder to repeat. “Sorry. I didn't realize.”

“I told you the other day that it was dirty. Were you even paying attention?”

“Of course I was!” Annoyance bubbles over inside of you, potent and unbridled. Carmy barely reacts to your raised voice. Somehow, that pisses you off more.  The cap on your contained anger has popped off, and there's no fitting it back on. “Are you always like this towards your employees?”

“Like what?”

“Like an asshole?” You're too irritated to hold yourself back. 

“Depends. Are you always like this with your boss?” He retorts immediately. 

“I don't usually have sex with my boss, so no, I suppose not,” you respond stupidly, and that makes him go dead silent. He narrows his eyes, fixes you with his gaze. Like you're a new problem that needs solving or something like that.

God damnit, you think to yourself. Why'd you have to say that?

“You've been thinking about it.” The air feels thicker, suddenly.

“I never said that.”

“Then why did you mention it?” Shit. “You said you were going to do better.”

“And I have been. I've been trying to do everything you've been telling me to do.” You don't know why you take a step towards him. “You said you were gonna be nicer.”

“And I have been,” he echoes, and his sincerity makes you roll your eyes. 

“Bullshit! You've been nit-picking me all week!”

“We have standards here, and you need to learn how to follow them. That's all.”

“You're right! I'm learning,” you argue, throwing exasperated hands up in the air. “Cut me some fucking slack!”

“Then learn. Improve.” He slams a hand down on the aluminum surface next to you, enclosing you partially in. Being this close to him, you can really see how dark his dark circles are. You could easily move to the side if you wanted to, but something in you stays put. “There's no excuse for a dirty workspace in a kitchen. I thought you would know that already.”

“I'm so fucking sorry, chef,” you spit back with about as much venom as you can muster. Which, right now, is a lot. 

That shifts something inside him. You see it flash across his face—surprise, anger, and then…something else.

“Dirty work station and a dirty mouth,” he murmurs. His voice is lower, quieter, and it sounds just like how it did in the walk-in. You hate how that change instantly makes your heart pick up speed. “You think you get a pass to act like this because of what happened in the walk-in?”

“You motherfucker,” you hiss, meeting his glare with your own. “So now you're going to acknowledge it? And for the record, I get to act however the fuck I want. Especially with someone like you.”

“Someone like me.” He doesn't ask you to elaborate. He just laughs, breathy and condescending, and he's so close you can feel his breath fan across your face. “You think you're above all this, don't you?”

“What?” The question takes you so off guard that it almost dissipates the strange mix of anger and arousal simmering in your gut. 

“I know it doesn't feel good to have to take orders from someone you hate, but here's the thing. You have to.” He's not smiling, but you swear he's getting some sort of sick satisfaction from all this. Why else would he be saying any of this shit?

“I could leave right now if I wanted to,” you threaten him. “You won't be able to find anyone else that wants to work in this shithole of a place.”

“You're right. You could leave if you really wanted to.” His eyes narrow curiously at you. “Then why haven't you?”

You’re well within your right to leave already—it checks all the boxes. Chaotic work environment. Awful management. General workplace misconduct. Unprofessionalism between coworkers. You suppose you're partially to blame for that last one, but still. 

If it's bad, I'll just find another job, you told yourself. You're not sure why you're not listening to your own advice. The simple truth of the matter, though, is that other jobs won't have him. They won't have the man that's been keeping you up at night, the man that you want to simultaneously devour and destroy. They won't have Carmen Berzatto, and for some reason, that's all it's going to take.

You don't understand yourself. It scares you, but not enough. Not enough to leave.

“...I don't know why I haven't left yet,” you say quietly after a while. “I have no clue.”

“I see.” If he's dissatisfied with your answer, he doesn't show it. “Then for the time you're here, let's make one thing clear.”

“What is it now?” You sigh.

“I'm in charge here,” he whispers. His other hand is on the counter now. You're completely blocked in. “I'm the one who runs this place, so you're going to be good and listen to me when I speak.”

“You're not really giving me a lot of incentive, chef.” You lower your gaze to the counters next to you. “Maybe if you gave me something to work with.” You don't mean for it to come out as suggestive as it does, but with him surrounding you like this… 

“Incentive?” He brings a hand to your face, tucking his fingers under your chin to pull your gaze back to him. His touch is achingly gentle, but it forces it to look straight into his eyes. Your fidgety gaze catches glances of the dark blue speckles that border his pale iris. “Hey,” he whispers, “look at me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Your heart's pounding like sprinting feet thudding on concrete. You can't place what feelings are excitement or anxiety or both, but maybe no separation exists. Shutting your eyes was a weak attempt to temporarily block him out, but now all you can focus on is the sensation of his rough hand on your hot face. 

Hesitantly, you open your eyes to face him. Ice blue and dark circles. His intense stare is difficult to match, but you try. 

“What do you want from me?” You ask quietly. 

“I want you to clean your station. Think you can do that?”

“Don't patronize me. Of course I can. I just—happened to forget.”

“Hm.” He smiles briefly. It's just a bit mocking. “You don't have a good track record so far, so you'll have to prove it to me.”

“...And how would I do that?”

“Depends,” he replies vaguely. “Depends on what you want.”

“What I want? I thought you were supposed to be in charge.”

“When I touched you, you told me you wanted to touch me.” The realization clicks in your head. “Do you still want that?”

You hesitate. Memories of the walk-in flood in. You remember the silhouette of his tight jeans over his bulge, and you ache. You shouldn't say yes. You really shouldn't. A distant voice says, you don't want to do this. What have you been telling yourself? This is a bad idea.

Unfortunately, it's far past a matter of want anymore. It's a matter of need.

“Yes,” you whisper back. Your fate is sealed. “I do.”

That's how you find yourself in the cramped bathroom with him. It's dark with one of the lightbulbs having gone out, making it feel even smaller. An eerie green cast coats the room. 

“You're going to show me that you can listen. That you can clean up after your messes.” He's leaned up against the wall, broad hands unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes shamelessly zero in on the motion. “Think you can do that much?”

“Of course I can,” you reply, but it comes out a lot softer than intended. 

“Good.” You force your eyes away from the outline of his bulge in his boxers to look at his face. His darkened eyes are trained on you. “Get on your knees.”

Oh, you think. So this is how it's gonna go.

You wish you could say that you hesitate even a little bit, that there’s even a shred of contemplation left in you. However, there isn't any of that remaining. Obediently, you fall to your knees, resting them against the cold, hard bathroom floor. You're at eye level with his unbuttoned jeans. Slowly, you raise your eyes to look at him. 

His downturned face is framed by wild strands of hair. Looking down at you casts darker shadows across his face, but not enough to hide his expression. It's an odd mix of hunger and what you think to be admiration. Surely not, but that's immediately the thought that comes to mind. 

“Waiting for directions, chef,” you murmur. 

“Mm. Right,” he says, like he was lost in thought. “You look better like this.”

“Watch it,” you warn him. “I could still bite your dick off.” To that, he just briefly smiles, and then it's gone.

He's pulled his black pants down just enough to let his clothed bulge hang over the waistband. The sight of it goes straight to the simmer starting in your gut. You watch his veined hand disappear into his boxers. He's doing this far too slowly for your taste. 

Finally, he pulls out his cock, nearly completely stiffened, and you can't deny the way you begin to salivate. 

You were right. It's big, though not just in length. His cock is thick. You immediately know you won't be able to take the full length of him into your mouth, but what fits is going to be a stretch. You're already imagining how those bulging veins are going to feel against the flat of your tongue. 

“Use your mouth for something other than talking back to me. Make me come,” Carmy orders quietly. “Enough direction for you?”

“Shut the hell up,” you mutter, ignoring the feeling of the growing heat inside you, and you pull the reddened, shiny tip of his cock between your lips. 

His pre-come mixes with the saliva on your tongue. You savor the taste of his salty musk, suckling slowly, and you hear him exhale shakily above you. Looks like you've been given something of an opportunity to get him back for the walk-in. Not repayment—payback. The distinction is important. 

When you pull back, thin strings of spit connect the pink head to your glistening lips. One of your hands moves to hold the base of his cock as you close the gap again. You drag your tongue down the side of his length, licking the thick vein you were eyeing earlier. You feel him twitch. 

“Do that again,” he breathes. Without question, your tongue retraces its path, running back over the line of spit it created. That gets you a quiet, strangled moan, and it's music to your ears. 

“Is this part sensitive?” You ask as you stroke the vein with your thumb. You suck your way down the vein again, making small, wet seals of pleasure. 

“Somewhat.” He sounds good like this, breathless and flustered. A smile twitches on your lips. You lick across the inside of your hand, wetting it before lazily curling it around his cock. He slides effortlessly in your grasp. 

“You gonna come already?” You can't help but tease. He's surprisingly reactive, more so than you would've thought. It's not that you're complaining—it's not that at all. The sound of his low groans is making you drip. 

“Hah—no. You'll have to work harder than that.” You feel a hand pushing back your hair, and that makes you raise your head towards him. His touch is surprisingly gentle. You watch the movement of his lips when he speaks. “Open your mouth, and stick out your tongue.”

You can't quite figure out what it is about all of this that makes you submit. Just moments ago, you wanted to wring your hands around his throat. It was far too easy to abandon your anger and kneel in front of him. Maybe it's the incomprehensibly part of you that undeniably needs his validation. Maybe it's the soft, low tone of his voice, gentle yet commanding. Either way, it has you obeying with a thought in your mind. 

You do as he says. You part your lips and extend your tongue. As your eyes flutter upwards towards him, you're struck with the impression that you must look obscene. 

“Perfect,” he whispers, and just the one word sends something of a euphoric rush through you. “Doin’ so good for me.” 

You soak up the praise, basking in the warmth of it. Then, Carmy spits onto your tongue, and his saliva slides towards the back of your mouth. 

You can't hide your surprise. Your breath hitches, but you don't say anything. Fuck, that should've made you angry, but it just made your clit throb painfully hard. 

He drags his thumb down your tongue, slow and sensual. You have half the mind to suck on it until he glides the head of his cock on your tongue, leading it into the heat of your mouth. 

“Ah—” You lose the words you were going to say, along with the empty space in your mouth. The tip of his cock's nearing the back of your throat. You breathe shakily through your nose. You were right again—you can't take him fully in. It's enough of a stretch as it is. 

“Fuck, that's it…” Carmy sighs. “Just like that…”

His hand holding your hair turns into a tighter grip as you begin sucking up and down his cock. It's an awful mess, the size of him forcing spit to drip down your chin. It's not just that, though. He's thrusting his cock back into your mouth quicker and quicker. You wish he would slow down so you could lean back and suck on his dribbling tip, but his hand has you anchored. 

Time slows as he starts fucking your mouth. Your hands fall to your hands. Your knees are starting to hurt. You care surprisingly little about that fact, instead opting to care about rubbing your clit as quickly as possible. When you get your hands under your underwear, you find your whole pussy already smeared in wetness. You've seeped through the fabric. 

When he pulls his cock out of your mouth (or rather, when he tugs you off), you think he's going to give you a new order. Or that he's going to say something. You don't realize what's really happening until it's too late. 

You watch him bring a hand to his cock. He strokes it twice, keeping his hand tight in your hair, and with a low groan, he comes.

With his hand on you, you can't move away. Not that you try. When the first glob of cum streaks your cheek, you freeze. All you can do is pause as he comes on your face. Even your hand under your pants has frozen, your palm pressed up tight against your pulsing clit. 

With each rope of cum across your face, you feel yourself throb. Carmy is a sight to behold as he comes, long-lashed eyes falling shut with his parted, gasping mouth. He's jaggedly fisting his cock as he just keeps coming. You feel the cum starting to drip down the slopes of your skin, even your lips. 

By the time he's come down, he's left your face an absolute mess. Your jaw feels heavy, and his cum is hot against your swollen lips. You've come down as well, and it's left you with the irate realization that he just came all over your face without asking.

“You could've at least told me you were gonna come on my face,” you snap. Your cheeks are burning. Your argument feels weak with how worked up you feel over watching and feeling him come, but the irritation is still very real. 

“Clean your station, chef,” he responds, infuriatingly smug even as he catches your breath. “Practice makes perfect.”

“Are you kidding me?” Of course. That's what this all was. A fucked up lesson, a twisted sort of discipline. 

“I'm not.” He uncurls his fist from your hair. “Stand up—your knees must hurt.”

You pause for a second before you shakily get back up on your legs. One minute he's messily fucking your mouth, and the other, he's worrying over your sore knees. He continues to become more and more confusing. 

“You're gonna make me clean up your mess.” You catch your face in the small, shitty rectangular mirror hanging on the wall. God, are you a filthy sight, cum and spit all over your face. 

“I had to clean up yours for the past week, so yeah.” He's zipped himself back up. He's clean, not a drop of anything on him. Unlike the mess parading itself on your face. At least there's not any in your hair. 

“This is not the same. This is—” You frustratedly search for the right words. He's remaining as stoic as ever. “You didn't even kiss me,” you blurt out, and as soon as you say it, you regret it. 

Carmy stills. You can't tell what he's thinking with his unmoving expression. You're sure he's about to insult you again, but then he’s leaning in and sealing his lips against yours. 

You're stunned. A small noise escapes you as he kisses you deeply, thoroughly. His tongue drags up a trail of cum and spit up your chin and back into your mouth. Or back into his. You're unsure, with the way they're all blending together. 

“There,” Carmy murmurs against your lips. When he pulls back, you see his tongue running across his lips, collecting the pearlescent sheen that was on them. 

“Um—” You start and immediately stop. You’re speechless. 

“Now clean up.” You hear the sound of distant company. Your other coworkers must be arriving now. “I expect improvement now, chef. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” you reply bitterly. “I suppose I met your expectations, then?”

“Sure. Closely enough, anyway.” Potent aggravation hits you like a cast iron pan. He drags his thumb in one last infuriating line across your cheek. He sucks it into his mouth and cleans it off. “Don't take too long. I have a lot planned for you today.”

Without waiting for a response, Carmy leaves. He leaves you alone in the shitty bathroom with a now flickering lightbulb, left to clean his cum on your face with water, hand soap, and thin paper towels. You don't know if you've ever been so angry before. 

The anger doesn't make the arousal go away. You rub your needy clit to orgasm, your back pressed up against the wall like Carmy's just a moment ago.

As you come with Carmy's cum slowly trailing on your face, you wonder if there is any coming back from this. If there's anything left to be done to stop whatever's happening. You can't come up with any solutions or suggestions. Only one thing is undeniably clear:

You hate Carmen Berzatto, and you're already thinking of ways to get his cock in your mouth again soon. 

~

taglist: @zorrasucia @carmenberzattosgf @thehouseofevangelista @alastorssimp @talas-starlight @jmamas92

[jadeittic]

MUSE.

“Your words are my food, your breath my wine. You are everything to me.”

Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto + Artist!Fem!Reader

note : a small blurb for my favorite boy again cuz i cant get him out of my mind. lmk if u have any reqs! :)

In a bustling city, where creativity and gastronomy intertwined, there existed a love story that transcended the boundaries of personality. YN, an artist with a whirlwind of emotions, and Carmy, a stoic, introverted chef with an unyielding passion for food, found their lives intertwined in the most unexpected way.

YN’s vibrant art studio was a haven of color and inspiration. Her days were filled with laughter, conversations with her friends, and the rhythmic strokes of her brush. Her artwork, an extension of her expressive soul, captivated the hearts of art enthusiasts from near and far. She reveled in the joy of sharing her passion, breathing life into her canvases with every stroke of her paintbrush.

Carmy, on the other hand, found solace in the realm of flavors and ingredients. His restaurant, The Bear, became a sanctuary where he could let his culinary genius thrive. With unwavering determination, he crafted dishes that were unparalleled in taste and presentation. He poured his heart and soul into every recipe, channeling his stubbornness into creating gastronomic masterpieces.

Their paths crossed one evening at a charity event, where YN’s vibrant artwork adorned the walls, and Carmy’s delectable creations adorned the plates. Drawn to the energy of YN’s presence, Carmy found himself captivated by her contagious laughter and genuine enthusiasm. Despite his introverted nature, he couldn't resist the magnetic pull she had on him.

Intrigued by Carmy’s stoic demeanor and the unwavering confidence in his culinary skills, YN saw beyond his silence. She sensed the passion and dedication radiating from him, much like the flames that danced beneath his pots and pans. YN, with her boundless energy, brought colors to Carmy’s monochromatic world, and he found himself enchanted by her unfiltered comfort for life.

As their love story unfolded, they discovered a beautiful balance in their differences. YN’s enthusiasm coaxed Carmy out of his shell, encouraging him to share his culinary expertise with the world. Meanwhile, Carmy’s calmness and introspection grounded YN’s allowing her to channel her creative energy with focus and purpose.

Together, they embarked on a journey of culinary and artistic exploration. YN’s paintings adorned the walls of The Bear, creating an ambiance that resonated with patrons. In turn, Carmy’s mouthwatering creations became a muse for YN, inspiring her to infuse her art with the flavors and emotions that his dishes had.

Their love grew like a symphony, with each passing day revealing new harmonies and melodies. The pair celebrated each other's successes, finding solace and comfort in their shared devotion to their crafts. Their relationship became a tapestry of passion, understanding, and unwavering support, each embracing the other's uniqueness.

In a city where artistry and culinary genius thrived, YN and Carmy’s love story stood as an evidence to the power of connection beyond personality types. Their journey proved that love can blossom in the unlikeliest of places, uniting two souls whose passions complemented each other, painting a picture of a love story that transcended all boundaries.

[allbark-no-bite]

kiss me and apologize || Carmen Berzatto x reader

summary: from private chef to working in a rundown restaurant in Chicago, your life does a 180 as you try to fit into the world that is the Beef. Richie isn’t helping and Carmen just can’t figure you out

word count: 3.7k

warnings: swearing, mentions of michael’s death/suicide

author’s note: so um i guess i write for the Bear now?? official obsessed with the show and was inspired by all of the great writers that write for Carmy on here :)

"Carmen? The door?"

"What—? Oh yeah, yeah. Sorry."

He turns towards the door, fumbling for the key with numb fingers, his face burning hot.

He wasn't used to anyone else besides himself showing up to the restaurant so early in the morning, and he definitely wasn't used to you and your pink cheeks and and warm smile greeting him at the door. You were a new hire to the Beef, a godforsaken miracle dressed in oversized overalls who had shown up two weeks ago and been hired by Sydney on the spot.

She had been smitten with you from the start, dead set on hiring you without so much as a second interview.

"—studied in Copenhagen, worked at multiple Michelins in New York. I mean look at this, Carmen. She's a private chef in the Hamptons. We would be stupid not to hired her."

And you were great. You are great. Except for the fact that you're really fucking distracting.

"You sure you got it, chef?"

Carmen can't even blame the heat rising from his cheeks from the cold at this point because his hands are sweating as he jiggles the door knob that somehow always seems to get jammed at the worst possible moments. This is one of those moments.

Finally, he hefts his weight against the door while twisting the knob and it busts open. A muffled snort escapes you from behind him. Carmen steps inside, holding the door open for you with a small wave of his hand. "Sorry. I'm sure this crap isn't what you were expecting when you applied here—"

He's rambling, stomach twisting in knots. His nerves always screw up his stomach—maybe he'll pop a few Tums before—

"It's fine, Camren," you assure him, stepping in from the cold, body pressing against his in the small entry way. "I like it here."

I like you.

"Yo, am I interrupting something, cousin? You and the princess wanna take that shit somewhere else?" Richie's shout can be heard from all the way across the parking lot, and it makes Carmen visibly cringe.

"Fuck off, cousin," Carmen mutters, reluctantly breaking away from you.

Still standing in the doorway, you huff, whatever moment you and Carmen had shared broken by Richie's arrival. The taller man stomps up the front steps, shaking snow from his boots.

So far, he had been the only staff member you found unbearable. Even Tina had warmed to you after a few weeks and now took great pleasure in listening to your elaborate stories as a private chef. Richie, on the other hand, hated your guts.

"You just gonna stand there and let all the fuckin' cold air in? I'll let Sugar know to take the heating outta your paycheck."

"Fuck off, Richie."

The morning is only the beginning of his wrath.

——

"Richie, you fucking imbecile—"

"Every single time you open your mouth, all I hear is this fuckin' bullshit. Jesus, you're so fuckin' high and mighty with your fancy ass college degree," he sneers, looming over you. If he stepped any closer you would have lacked the self control not to hit him. "You wanna come in here, act like you know everything because daddy sent you to school—"

"You don't have to fucking like me, Richie, but what you're not going to do is push me around and be an egotistical misogynist just because you have a set of balls. So give me my fucking knife."

Richie's hand is in the air beside your head, waving about in wild gesticulation that he does not have your knife, or any fucking knife for that matter. "I don't have your shit!"

With your jaw clenched together, you breathe in deeply through your nose and take in the taller man through narrowed, disbelieving eyes. "Fine." You turn on your heals and storm off. "CARMEN."

Richie throws his hands up and scoffs at your retreating back, yelling after you. "Ohh go ahead, fuckin' call mommy. Like I'm scared of him," he snorts.

"CARMEN!" Your fury only fueled by Richie's taunts, your stride quickens as you shove your way through the chaos of the kitchen, dodging both Sydney and Marcus.

"Woah, chef. What's the matter?" Sydney asks as you whip past her, her hands busy with mashing potatoes, but you don't stop to answer, instead rounding the corner like a woman on a mission.

"CARMEN—"

"—What?!" At the third sound of his name, Carmen finally jerks his head up from his prep station, only to be met with you head on. "What's going on, chef?" he repeats, looking back down to his station after taking in your vexed disposition and gathering that no one's dying. He puts on these sort of metaphorical blinders once he's in the kitchen and nothing, not even you, is going to distract him from what he does best. He becomes an entirely different animal in the kitchen.

"That fucking dickwad has my knife and he won't give it back. How am I supposed to—"

Still urgently chopping carrots, Carmen cuts you off. "Chef, just get another knife," he instructs, stepping around you to dump a pile of sliced carrots into the bin.

His dismissal throws you for a loop and leaves you open mouthed, protest caught in your throat. Just this morning he had been stuttering nervously, cheeks flushed as you stood waiting for him to unlock the staff door. Now he's biting and abrasive, domineering in the way he takes control of the kitchen. You know he's just doing his job, doing whatever it takes to keep his head above the water—keep everyone's head above the water, but right now you want to scream at him. "Just tell him to—"

"Yes, Chef," he provides, indicating that he's done refereeing yours and Richie's squabble. He moves across the station so that you have to step sideways to avoid being in his way.

"But I—"

"Yes, Chef?" Carmen effectively cuts you off with a hard stare, momentarily stopping his urgent chopping. His blue eyes are fixating despite their look of wild urgency.

When it becomes obvious that arguing your point further is going to get you nowhere, you nod, growling a reluctant, 'Yes, Chef.'

If Carmen notices your attitude, he either pointedly ignores it or is too busy shouting at Tina about onions to care. You grab a knife laid out at one of the empty stations, purposefully shoving Richie as you round the corner.

"What's the matter, sweetheart? Mommy didn't take your side?" he calls from the expo station "Didn't fuckin' see that coming."

You ignore him, deciding that he's not worth anymore of your energy for the time being. There's an entire rack of ribs that needs to be sliced and it's going to take you twice as long with this poor excuse of a knife.

"Chef, how are those ribs coming?" Sydney calls amidst the kitchen chaos. "Doors open in fifteen minutes."

Glancing at the digital kitchen clock, panic sets into you as you realize just how much time you've lost. "Fuck," you mutter, more to yourself than anyone. "Ahh—I'm going to need at least twenty," you shout back.

"What? What's taking so long?" Sydney asks. You can hear her moving behind you, finishing up with her own prep.

"Yeah, what's takin' so fuckin' long?" Richie chimes in.

Your grip on the knife's handle tightens, but you don't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his words. "I'm working on it, Syd," you promise her, praying you can somehow speak that confidence into existence.

Richie is still running his mouth behind you. "Y'know, maybe you just aren't cut out for this. It's not too late to go back to makin' your fancy little hors d'oeuvres up in New York."

"Screw you, Richie," you mutter, your brow furrowed as you concentrate on cutting through the ribs. The knife is hardly cutting and it's taking everything in you not to just start hacking away and be done with it.

"This ain't a cocktail party. This is a real fuckin' business, and we don't need you over here messin' us up and screwin' around—"

"Screw. You. Richie."

"What was that? Can't hear you, princess," he taunts.

Just as you turn to open your mouth, ready to snap at him, the knife hits a dull spot and slips against your grip, catching your fingers along the way. Immediately you jerk your hand back, biting back a cry. The knife clatters to the ground at your feet.

"Fucking dammit!" you exclaim, clutching your bleeding fingers with your other hand.

"Oh now you've really fuckin' done it," Richie laughs, shaking his head.

You only glare at him before muttering, "Move," as you shove past him. To his credit, he doesn't say anymore as you shoulder him out of the way.

By the time you get to the back sink, there's blood seeping from between your gloved fingers and onto the floor. You have to fight back a whimper as you peal away the latex from your skin.

"Woah, woah— what the hell??"

Hands appear beside you, grabbing your own bloody hand and wrapping it tightly in a clean kitchen rag. You close your eyes, willing yourself not to faint. The pressure stings but serves to staunch the blood flow and relieve some of your dizziness.

When you open your eyes, Carmen's blue ones are staring at you worriedly. "You good, chef?"

You close your eyes again, this time not because you're dizzy, but rather to avoid the intensity of his stare. "Yeah," you manage hoarsely, finding your voice. "Yeah. Just bandage me up okay? I've still got prep to do."

Even with your eyes closed you can still feel his eyes on you. He's so close that you can feel the brush of his body against yours.

"Yeah, okay," he finally says, but you can hear the hesitation in his voice. Immediate loss fills your body as he pulls away, but then he's pressed up against you again, holding your fingers steady as he wraps them up.

It hurts and you want so badly to just let go of the cry of pain and frustration that you're holding back. But instead you bite the inside of your cheek and watch Carmen bandage your fingers like he's done it a hundred times before. When he's done, he draws your hand up to his mouth and tears the tape with his teeth. You force back a swallow when his lips brush your skin.

"This okay, Chef?" he asks, looking up at you with those ridiculously anxious blue eyes—anxious like he's always got somewhere to be, something to do, something on his mind. Now they're focused entirely on you.

Somehow you find your voice. "Y-yeah—yeah, thank you." You pause, still staring at him, not moving. "I, um—I should go finish prep..."

"Okay," he answers softly.

"Okay."

"—Hey." Before you turn to slip out of his office, Carmen calls after you. He raises a fist to his chest, tracing it clockwise over his heart.

I'm sorry.

Your brows furrow at his apology. "Carmen, it wasn't your—"

"Yes. It was," he clarifies, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back against the desk. "I blew you off earlier and you got hurt because of it... So I'm sorry."

From the doorframe, you offer him a half smile.

"Apology accepted, Chef." And then you leave him before he can say anymore, slipping back out into the chaos of rush hour.

——

You do end up finishing you prep before opening. Your fingers hurt like a bitch, and you may need to visit a 24 hour clinic on your way home for a few stitches, but you make it though. Rush hour was hell, your head hurts from both screaming and being screamed at, but now the Beef is closed, the kitchen is quiet, and you can just breathe.

Slowly but surely, everyone files out of the kitchen once they finish their end of the day tasks, bidding you goodbyes and see you tomorrows as they leave—except for Richie, who you flip off once his back is turned.

The bell above the front door chimes, announcing Tina's departure, and then it's just you left tending to your station. Sydney had offered to take care of it for you, seeing as you were down a hand, but cleaning your space at the end of the day gives you peace of mind and time to cool down after all the chaos.

At some point, the lights in the back office click off and heavy foot steps make their way towards the kitchen. Carmen appears beside you, arms crossed as he watches you clean. He's quiet, observing the way you scrub the already pristine table top over and over and over. You don't learn that kind of precision from working in a place like this.

You're an anomaly to him and he doesn't know what to do with you

You certainly don't fit in here with your perfectly refined private school vocabulary and your Michelin star palette and your fucking expensive gold chain necklace that's probably worth more than the rent for his apartment.

"What're you doing here?" he finally asks.

"Wiping my station?" Your voice is leaning on the defensive side and he figures that probably has to do with Richie.

"Exactly," he concedes. "So what are you doing here? Because six months ago you were making fuckin' soufflés in the Hamptons."

This time you actually kind of laugh because that statement is not too far off from the truth. "I don't know, Carmen. I was bored?"

"You don't give up the Hamptons because you're bored."

You look up at him for the first time since he's walked up. There's no bristling anger in your eyes like there was earlier when Richie took your knife—he did and you both know it. You just look at him, really look at him, and then you set down the rag and you nod. "Just like you don't give up Noma?"

Carmen holds your heavy gaze for a while. It's as if some sort of unspoken understanding passes between the two of you and eventually he sighs, nodding. "Right."

You look around at the restaurant surrounding you, the stained floors, the rundown kitchen appliances, the framed 'let it rip' note. "Natalie, uh she told me about him—Micheal... I'm really sorry. He seemed like a good guy."

His eyes follow yours to the note, and he doesn't say anything for a minute, which isn't unusual, Carmen has always been decently shy since you met him, but it makes you wonder if it was a mistake bringing it up.

Strangely enough, this is the first time that someone's brought up Michael and he hasn't wanted to slam a door in their face. Normally, he would just nod and say something like, 'yeah, he was a good guy' and that would be his way of wiggling out of another unwelcome conversation, but he doesn't. Instead, he stares at the note and wonders for the first time since Micheal died if he should have gone to the funeral.

It made him feel like a fucking asshole for not going, but he couldn't listen to all those people saying how good it was to have him back—how happy Micheal would have been to have him back—because if Micheal hadn't gone and killed himself, he wouldn't be here anyhow. He'd still be in New York. He'd still be angry at Micheal like he is now.

Carmen sighs. "I—I wish that I had talked to him more instead of just fucking off to New York. Because after that I just hated coming back too all of this... y'know? And then it was like even when I was here, he kinda just knew that I didn't want to be here, and so we spent that time just fuckin'... at each other's throats.." He trails off, sniffing to clear the choked up feeling from his throat. "Just—who the fuck does that?"

He's asking you. Who shoots themself and doesn't even leave a note? Who shoots themself and leaves their little brother to pick up the remains of their shithole restaurant?

"Well," you begin, laughing a little at the absurdity of it all. "You're talking to a girl who decided to quit her job after three years as a private chef and is now slicing spare ribs in Chicago for just over minimum wage."

The unseriousness of the confession makes him crack a smile and now he's fighting a grin off of his face. "Yeah, that was uh..." He's still chuckling, shaking his head. "That was really stupid of you. Why would you do that?"

You're fighting a smile too now, heart pumping in your chest because he's really fucking pretty when he laughs. His cheeks are flushed and his curly hair is a disheveled mess and you just want to reach over and smooth a hand through it.

Your tongue wets your bottom lip and his blue eyes don't miss the nervous habit. "Well, there's this guy..."

"Yeah?" Carmen's smiling, the tired expression on his face softened by the twinkle in his eyes.

"Yeah, there's this guy. And I've looked up to him my entire life. He's brilliant—like really fucking brilliant. And I promised myself that if I ever got the opportunity to work for him, I would do it."

Carmen snorts softly, glancing down at the white tile floor a bit bashfully before looking back to you again. "And now you know what a freaking psycho I am, huh?"

You can see it, him retreating back into the mellow, unsure person he becomes when he's not manning an overflowing expo station, a broken freezer, and an entire staff of chefs. It's endearing how timid he is, like he almost doesn't really know himself or how he fits in anywhere outside the kitchen. "I don't think you're a psycho, Carm. I mean, I would be a little crazy too if I had what you have on my plate."

He just nods, still a little sheepish at your praise. Just like this morning, when you had caught him at the back door before opening, he doesn't know what to do with himself when you're around.

You break the silence by turning back towards your station. "I'm going to finish up here. I don't mind locking up if you don't want to stay."

Carmen watches as you lean forward onto the toes of your beat up sneakers to grab the paper towels off the overhead shelf and the hem of your hand cropped t-shirt rides up. His first instinct is to look away because the exposed flesh of your rib cage feels like something he shouldn't be seeing, much less staring at, but it's like he freezes out of panic and now he's looking at the tattoo just under your breast.

He stands there, mouth partially open to reply back to you, but it's like his tongue is numb in his mouth and he doesn't even remember what he was going to say anymore. And then it's gone, concealed again by the hem of your white t-shirt.

When you walked into the Beef two weeks ago, your tattoos had been strangely surprising to him at first. He hadn't pictured you like that in his mind—bronzed skin and tatted forearms and cherry glossed lips—just grunge enough to make anyone who passes you look twice. Now you're all he thinks about.

"Carmy. Carmy?"

You're staring at him, head cocked to the side, brows furrowed in confusion and—God, he wants to kiss you.

"Are you oka—"

"Can I kiss you?" He blurts out the question as if he won't be able to finish it if he doesn't get it all out in one breath. Like he knows that if he doesn't ask now he's never going to have the courage to do it again, and he'll be stuck shoving down these feelings for you for the rest of his life.

When you stare at him, eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights, he knows he screwed up. His stomach drops and—fuck, he really needs a Tums right now. He looks away, hand reaching to his hair, eyes darting to the ceiling because he can't take the embarrassment of looking at you.

"I—fuck, I'm sorry. That was totally—um. I shouldn't have—"

"Shut up, Carmen."

"No, that was stupid of me. I—"

"Shut up so I can kiss you, you moron."

Stepping forward, your hand curls around the back of his neck, drawing him down to close the gap between the two of you. Even then you have to stand on your toes to reach him. Although the tense, anticipatory stiffness of his body against yours is screaming wait, you press your lips to his before he has the chance to back down.

It's everything that a first kiss should be—hot and sweet and a bit awkwardly reserved. You can tell he’s nervous. Nevertheless, you can't help the hum that escapes you at the feeling of his plush bottom lip pressed between your own. If given the choice, you’d never pull away from the warm taste of his mouth.

Carmen's breathing heavy, heart pounding in his chest, hand pressing into your back, pulling you closer as he kisses you impossibly harder. He's never kissed a girl before and he decides then and there that he never wants to kiss any girl that's not you.

It’s not clear which of you pulls away first—coming up for air more than anything—but it leaves you both nose to nose, mouths still inches from each other, still sharing the same air that you would had your mouths been connected.

“Carmen?” you ask softly, nose brushing his as you speak. You can feel his heart beating against his chest.

“Yeah?” he replies in same breathy tone.

“Did I mention I really like it here?”

[berzatoe]

hi! just thinking about carmy and the reader having a heated argument and then just ending up making out while in the middle of discussing

thank you <3

Hiiii thanks for this!! Sorry I’m just now getting around to it xo

He’d be such a little shit constantly.

Wether it’d be taking it out on you when things got too busy and hectic in the kitchen, or getting overwhelmed and throwing a fit, screaming his lungs out, chewing your head off if you were in his way, he was a absolute nuisance. You hated Carmy on bad days.

But on good days, he was really good. He’d take extra time to explain things to you, run you through recipes and cooking techniques. You’d stay late and have deep conversations, muse about the future of the restaurant together. It always made your heart beat fast and your cheeks flush when you’d see him the next day. He had a gentleness that was almost no where to be found under high-stress situations.

Today was one of those. It was a bad day. It was busy. The truck came in late and half empty. And you kept upsetting Carmy.

Strike one: you’d ripped the green tape like an asshole.

Carmy came storming into the kitchen holding it up for all to see, “Who the fuck does this? Chefs? How many times do I have to tell you to stop. Ripping. Tape. Like. Assholes!” He punctuated each word.

“My bad, chef.” You responded, barely paying him a glance as you busied yourself with work.

He came over to you then, as everyone went back to work, and sternly spoke; “I expect more from you chef, really.”

“Sorry, chef.” You responded, still staring down at your hands chopping scallions.

“Look at me… please.” The way his voice sounded when he said the last word drew you in, for some reason.

You looked up and met his icy eyes. “It won’t happen again, chef.”

He simply nodded and walked away, getting back to his own work and unsettling you for the rest of the day.

Strike two: walking out during rush.

You just had to get out of there. You were sweating so much you were almost convinced you had heat exhaustion. Your head was pounding and the general noise of the restaurant and kitchen along with the staff was making you dizzy.

Not to mention Carmy’s yelling. Jesus Christ, he had a set of lungs. Each passing minute of this day, you were getting more and more fed up with him. He had a mean streak in that kitchen, likely, you assumed, something he’d picked up in New York from the big shots.

Or maybe his parents, or maybe his clear inability to confront his emotions, you didn’t know and you were desperately trying to get your mind off of him.

In the heart of the kitchen, the bell ringing, the printer spitting out countless receipts, dishes clattering, and above all, Carmy’s angry voice booming, you felt like you were going to pass out. Feeling your mouth go dry and fingers go numb, you sprinted out of the restaurant, leant against the back alley and finally breathed.

When you collected yourself and returned to the kitchen 5 minutes later, Carmy was pissed.

“Where the fuck were you, chef? I needed you!” He shouted once he saw you walk through the back.

“I needed a minute, chef.” You responded calmly. He got close to you again.

“Are you blind, chef? Do you not see how swamped we are? Hmm? You didn’t even want to let me know?” You were thankful he wasn’t shouting anymore, but his voice was still venomous, shooting to kill.

You turned around in looked him in the eyes, a silent plead to let the moment go.

“What is it?” He asked, confused.

“I just got really overwhelmed, Carmy…. I needed a second, okay? I’m here to help now.” You said the words gently.

Carmy straightened up, nodded, and rubbed his fist in circles against his chest. That was that.

You thought you were finally done with fighting him for the day, until close.

Strike 3: the corner

It was late. You were tired. Everyone had gone home. You were quickly wrapping up your closing duties and sprinting around the restaurant so you could get home and cuddled up in your bed as soon as possible.

You weren’t paying attention, and you had your earbuds in, listening to music to help you get in your closing groove.

You were rounding a corner when you crashed straight into Carmy. You recoiled back and rubbed your nose as he rubbed his head. Pulling one earbud out, you glanced down. At your feet were 3 broken cans of red sauce, spilled onto the newly mopped floor.

You looked up to see Carmy glaring at you.

“CORNER! I said fuckin’ corner….” He groaned.

You shot down and began picking up the cans.

“Those earbuds… take ‘em out, right now.” He reached out and opened his palm.

“Are you serious?” You began prepping the mop.

“Yes, chef.” With the tone he took, the title almost sounded degrading.

You grit your teeth and placed them in his out-stretched hand.

“Great, now I have to be here another 30 minutes so we can get that cleaned and dry.”

“Fine, Go home, Carmy. I can lockup. I’ll manage. Please, leave.” You said.

He looked taken aback.

“No. I can’t leave the premises until every employee is gone.”

“Who made that rule?” It sounded like he had made it up on the spot.

“I did…. You gotta get home safe, it’s the city.”

You rolled your eyes at this and he looked at you confused.

“What?”

“Nothing, chef.” You shrugged your shoulders.

“No, tell me.”

“I’ll be fine. I want you to go. I can take care of myself”

“Im not sure you can, chef.” He said it with a mocking chuckle that made you clench your fists.

“You underestimate me carmy. That’s all you do. Since I started, you don’t think I can do anything right.”

“Because you can’t!” He shouted exasperatedly.

“Yes I can! You don’t give me the chance! You have no faith in me!”

“It was our busiest day in a month and you were a mess the entire time!” He prickled

“I was a mess? I ripped tape wrong, yeah. I took a 5 minute break because your damn-near verbal abuse of the staff was overwhelming me, and I’m sorry I ran into you, but seriously Carmy, get a hold of yourself. How are you gonna run a restaurant if you can’t even regulate your own stupid emotions?” You huffed at the end of your little speech, slightly pleased for sticking up for yourself.

Carmy was not pleased. In fact he looked kinda scary right now. You couldn’t read him, but you could tell what you said affected him.

“Leave. You’re cut.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re cut.”

“You’re firing me?” You scoffed

“Leave your apron on the counter I’ll email your last check.”

You were flabbergasted. You searched his eyes, hoping he was bluffing.

“Go home, Chef.” He repeated.

“You know Carmy, I really don’t think you’re a bad person. You’re not a bad person.”

“Shut up.” He interrupted you.

“You get overwhelmed like me.”

“Stop”

“And it pushes you until you’re at a breaking point before you can check yourself. But you’re a good boss. And you’ve changed this restaurant. And you’re a good person.”

He doesn’t protest to this statement, he doesn’t say anything.

You begin to turn around to leave, mustering a goodbye;

“Thanks for the opportunity, Chef Car—” you’re suddenly pulled back around by a hand latched to your elbow. You’re now flush to Carmy’s chest, noses touching.

And all at once, your lips are touching. At first you’re confused, trying to understand if this is really happening, if Carmy Berzatto was really kissing you. You could sense the same sort of anxious stiffness from him. You were still so mad.

But his lips were smooth and gentle, and your stomach filled with butterflies even though a minute ago you could’ve stabbed him.

At first it was more like a short peck. The two of you pulled apart and looked into each others eyes, scanning scared and eager faces.

You wrapped an arm around the back of his neck and placed your hand in his hair, urging him to come closer. He obliged, returning and deepening the kiss with fervor.

His strong arm came around to hold the small of your back, his other resting at the nape of your neck, hand stretching out and thumb brushing against your jaw.

You softly licked into his mouth, earning a guttural sound from him in response.

After that, he was everywhere, pulling you close, hands gingerly traveling the expanses of your clothed body. You smelled his cologne and sweat after the work day, you tasted a bit of the cigarette left on his tongue from his smoke break, your hands twisted around his soft curls. Every sense was filled with Carmy.

The kiss was incredible, you had to admit. You never imagined Carmy could kiss like this, could give you this much of himself, all of this raw emotion. He was so tender with every beginning brush of his lips, before slowly becoming ravenous and desperate for more. Your stomach was in knots and you were getting antsy, wanting more too and knowing you should put an end to it.

Luckily, he pulled away for air first, saving you the chore. He pressed his forehead against yours, breathing rapidly.

“That was…” he began, slightly speechless.

“A one time thing.” You finished quickly, pulling away.

Carmy met your panicked gaze and just fuckin’ smirked at you, as if he knew how severely you were lying to yourself.

You grabbed your bag in a hurry and began walking towards the door.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Carmy asked.

“That depends. Am I fired?”

“Obviously not.”

“Then yeah, I guess. In like… a purely professional work way, yes you will see me tomorrow.”

“Yeah, uh-huh.” He smiled and opened the door for you, starting to walk out along side you.

“Um.. what are you doing?”

“Walking you to your car,” Carmy replied, “company policy.”

He winked at you and you turned your head, blushing into the night sky.

[once-upon-an-imagine]

I think I have finally lost it 😂 yesterday, while I was falling asleep, I had an idea for a story for...

The Bear!

Yes, a fandom that I don't even write for 😂😂😂😂 I love the show but I haven't seen the second season yet and here I am having a sweet idea for Carmen Berzatto simply because I am in love with Jeremy Allen

[natti-ice]

being completely obsessed with him stretching you out

18+ mdni

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated<3

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

he’s always been very well endowed, when you first started hooking up you realized he’s much bigger than anyone you’ve ever been with before- at first it was intimidating, until you found out how much you love being filled up by him. He gently runs his tip up and down your slit, making you whimper as it gently grazes your clit, he lets out a pleased hum as he watches your reaction. “Easy baby, I’ll be gentle I promise- stay still for me” you try so hard to ground yourself, gripping onto the bed sheets as you anticipate his entry, you could feel your arousal dripping down to your ass. He lines himself up with your entrance and slowly slips the tip in, immediately his girth starts to stretch you, you always gasp softly no matter how many times you’ve done this it still feels like the first.

A deep groan rumbles through his chest “shit, you’re so fucking wet for me sweetheart.” your eyes shut as the pleasure washes over you, he slowly pumps into you adding a little bit more of his length with each stroke until he’s all the way in. You can feel every detail of his cock against your walls, you’ve never known such bliss before- you didn’t even want to cum, you wanted to stay in this moment forever.

[laiiaaa]

Carmy with a stressed cranky gf getting her degree and he’s just so good to her ughhhhhhh (so self-indulgent)

“Carmen, could you—could you just, fuckin’—…watch where you’re going?”

He freezes where he took a misstep, leaving your laptop’s charger dangling near the floor after accidentally unplugging it. A simple little thing, a dumb mistake made while caught up in something else mentally. A matter of a charger extended beyond its comfortable reach. It’d be fixed in seconds, but you weren’t having it.

A confused look washes over him. “I-I’m sorry, baby—” He knows you’re in one of those moods—he always knows—and lowers to pick up the cord. “Lemme plug it back in for you—”

“Or you could just not walk right into it,” you snap, fingers tapping away at your keyboard, face illuminated in a blueish hue from the screen.

“Hey.” He perks right back up after fixing the charger, but you don’t look back at him. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t start that w’me, c’mon.” He comes a little closer, perched at the end of the couch right beside you. “You’re in a mood.”

“I’m not.” You definitely are.

“Baby.” Instinctively, his hand comes to rub your shoulder, his thumb presses just a little firmer along the crook of your neck. “Take a break for the night.”

“I need to finish up with this—”

“‘M not asking.” He gives you that look, with his hands extended to silently demand you hand over your computer. “It’s a Friday night. C’mon.”

You pout, and you huff, and you give him those eyes that tell him you don’t want to, but you save your document and hand it over anyway, quickly curling into the end of the couch and not making a move when he sits next to you.

“You mad at me?” he asks, looping his arm over your shoulder, a little hurt when you don’t melt into his touch like you usually do.

You keep your eyes glued to the wall, not paying him any mind. “No.”

“Then why’re you always workin’, huh?” He squeezes you a little tighter, bringing you deeper into his embrace as he cups your jaw—with those firm, strong hands of his that somehow always have you pliant—and turns you to look up at him. “Every time I come home you’re on the computer with that look on your face.”

“I don’t have a look.”

Smiling, he presses his lips to your forehead. “Yeah you do.” Then to the furrow in your brow. “But it’s cute.”

He scatters slow, gentle kisses across your face, from your temples, to your cheeks, to your jaw, until he finds your lips and takes them carefully, relishing in your act of apology when your hands circle around his forearms and kiss him a little deeper. And slowly, he feels the tenseness in your body begin to dissipate, feels you turn into him more.

Pulling away, still intent on figuring out your rut, he rests his forehead to yours. “Talk to me, baby. What’s got you actin’ all mean, hm?” His hands hold you close, and his thumbs graze your cheekbones. “Somethin’ I do you wanna talk about?”

“No—”

“No?” He’d be lying if he said a wave of relief washed over him. “What’s goin’ on then?”

“I’m—it’s just that—…” You sigh.

He waits patiently, knowing that by now he’s cracking open that shell. “‘S alright, hon, we can work it out.”

“Carmen, I just—” And your lip quivers, and your throat gets sore, and your vision gets bleary from tears emerging. “I have so much to do, and—…”

“For school?”

You nod against him. “It’s just—I get behind on one thing, and then there’s five other things I need to do, and I try to get ahead but then I don’t sleep, and—I-I’m just stressed, is all.”

“I know.” He coos gently at you and thumbs away your tears. “I know, ‘n you’ve been workin’ so hard, baby.”

“Well I’m still not getting anywhere.” Your throat tightens, and tears keep falling, and you feel your resolve crumbling, the last of your strength dissolving now that Carmen’s handling you so gently. “And I just feel so stupid all the time—”

“Uh-uh,” he nudges his nose against yours, “You don’t get to say that, you’re the smartest person I know.”

He pulls you away carefully, just to look you in the eye—and his gut wrenches, seeing you like this, all pouty and wet with tears, your lips salty when he kisses them slowly to mellow the racing of your heart.

With a calm hand he urges your head to rest against his chest, his lips lending a kiss to your temple. “So fuckin’ smart ‘n you don’t even know it.” Naturally, the rest of you follows, with his arms keeping you close, one wrapped around your waist to hold you tight as the other hand rests with on the back of your neck to soothe you, scratching gently at the nape of it. “Always blowin’ me away, baby, you’re so smart. So hardworkin’, too—”

“But Carm—” Your sobs choke you up then, and there’s a throb in your forehead that has you almost begging for sleep.

“Shhh, what is it?” His hand smooths up and down your back, his voice becomes gentler than ever. “Take a breath, c’mon, take a deep breath.”

You push yourself away from his chest, seeing the tears staining his white tee before you look up at him. “I’m sorry, Bear. All the stress, it’s—I’ve been so mean to you lately—” you don’t even process the vigorous shake of his head— “I’m sorry, Bear—”

“Hey, hey, baby, stop—” He wipes tears from your eyes before they get the chance to spill onto your cheeks. “Stop with that, would ya?” Another kiss to your forehead has you melting. “You’re okay. We’re okay.” Another kiss, slower, to your sob-bitten lips, like he wants you to taste his forgiveness.

“But I was mean to you, and I’m sorry—”

His chest physically aches because he knows there’s only so much he can do for you. “I know,” he tells you, “I know, baby, I got you. It’s okay.”

“I promise don’t mean it, Carmen—”

“Yeah, I know that, hon.” Pulling you tight to his chest again, his strong arms wrap around you fully, and he presses kisses to the skin where he’s nuzzled into your neck. “You’re workin’ yourself to the bone, y’know that?”

“Mhm,” you hum, just happy to be held, to be swallowed whole by his warmth.

“You promise to rest up from now on?”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah? Not even listenin’, huh?”

“Mhm.” You burrow into him just a little deeper, eyes slipping shut.

He scoffs, but it’s full of love. “It’s gettin’ late now.” He shuffles you closer to him with little effort, hooking his hands beneath your thighs to encourage them around his hips. “Let’s get you t’bed, hm? C’mon—” he hoists you to his hip with a subtle grunt— “Up you go, baby, that’s it—”

And in the brief minute or two it takes for him to turn out the lights in your shared apartment, and the twenty-some paces to the bedroom, you’re lulled off to sleep in his embrace, stoking that fire in his chest that keeps him going—because knowing you feel safe with him, secure with him, is all he really needs.

[nolita-fairytale]

give you my wild, give you a child | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x pregnant fem!reader oneshot

summary: your second trimester while pregnant with baby bear is way sexier than you expected.

warnings: smut, breeding kink, language, 18+ only, barely proofread.

word count: 3.7k

a/n: hi it's me with the second trimester sexapalooza smut i promised @starbritestarlite and @carmensberzattos. and with this new season, let me know if you want to be added to my carmy taglist!! i wrote this as a companion piece to the 'make my heart heart surrender' universe, specifically for the 'carmy as your baby daddy' headcanon/social media au series. anyways, i've been thoroughly enjoying season 2 and am sitting into the fact that i've created my own universe inside of their universe. god we love fanfic. anyways... this is nsfw so 18+ only.

Today 2:21 pm

Carmy “my baby daddy” Berzatto: On the way home for lunch. 

You: Hurry, baby. 

Carmy “my baby daddy” Berzatto: You good, sweet girl?

Your reply is almost instant, and Carmy wonders what could possibly come next as he sees the three dots appear below your message, indicating that you’re still typing. 

It’s a link, his eyes widening as soon as it appears in his iMessage history with you. 

You: Hottest Sex Positions For Pregnant Women | Cosmopolitan 

Before he can notice that it feels ten degrees hotter in the room, that his face has turned cherry red, that his pants are beginning to feel unbearably tighter, he’s interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice. 

“You good, chef?” Marcus asks, as he passes by, noticing the red tones that have risen to Carmy’s cheeks. 

“Wh-, oh yeah!” Carmy answers, almost too quickly, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. 

Marcus shoots him a strange look, examining his boss’ face. 

“Just uh… gotta go home for lunch.”

*

3:03 pm

“What took you so long?” you practically growl as soon as Carmy gets through the door. 

He hasn’t even had a chance to close it properly before you’re on him like a moth to a flame. Dressed in the cutest pair of white shortalls, you’ve been working from home all day – or rather, mindlessly clicking through your e-mail while waiting for Carmy to come home all day, your mind preoccupied with the fact that Carmy hasn’t been home to give you exactly what you want. 

What you need, may be the better description. 

It’s as if the spirit of Eros himself has taken you over, unable to focus properly as your rapidly changing body needs is practically screaming out for one thing and one thing only: 

To be properly and thoroughly fucked by the man that got you here in the first place. 

“I-,” he begins, attempting to explain that he was running a little behind and got caught up giving feedback to one of his new line cooks before your mouth is on his in an all-consuming kiss. 

Now that he’s here, you regret even asking him, careless for the why when it feels this good to have him pressed up against your body. Your lips are desperate, hungry, intense, as you tangle yourself into him. It’s as if you can finally relax, like you can finally take a breath, now that your husband is finally here. 

He lets out a little groan of surprise against your mouth, as if you’ve charged towards him like the sexual equivalent of a tasmanian devil. 

And in his defense, you have.

“Baby,” he whispers against your lips. “Should we-, can we even-, shouldn’t you be working?”

He’s not wrong. 

You should be working. 

But the unbelievable and insatiable need for sex – for sex with Carmy – is the only thing driving you these days, holding you hostage to its unbelievable and all-encompassing power. You’re like a woman possessed as you reluctantly pull away from him to put his mind at ease. Your lust-filled eyes look him over, his curls already wild from a long day at the restaurant, as you shake your head ‘no.’

“I finished all my work for the day and signed off early. Perks of being a start-up sellout,” your well-kissed lips inform him. 

Carmy’s head spins in response to your answer.

Maybe it’s the prospect of the sex. 

Maybe it’s the way it’s the way your mouth feels against him as you kiss down his jawline and his neck.

“Okay, but I gotta be back at the restaurant at 4:15,” he smiles in agreement, more than happy to oblige.

“That’s plenty of time,” you coo, nibbling on his earlobe.

This time it’s Carmy who initiates, using both of his hands to cradle your face before his mouth is over yours again. The kiss starts slowly this time as he inhales deeply, taking you in. You shift closer, pressing your slightly-rounder-these-days belly against his body once more. He moans, his hands immediately traveling down your body, to your hips as he breathes you in again, wanting nothing more than to stay like this with you forever. His touch ignites something in you and you allow yourself to surrender, lost in the feel of his hands against you. His hands are everywhere – your hips, traveling up your belly, dancing across your fuller-than-normal breasts – and finally the drawn-out unrest of your mind can finally find peace.

He’s starting to get used to this. 

And he’ll admit that he really, really likes it. 

Carmy changes positions with you so that he can press you up against the front door as you continue your passionate makeout. 

Your first trimester had been hell – mornings spent on the bathroom floor together while you hurled the contents of your stomach into the toilet, days where you barely had the energy to get out of bed, nights where you were too hot to sleep that all you could do was lay on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, frustrated tears pouring out of the corners of your eyes – your body undergoing the hardest reset of your life. 

So when the fog and tumultuousness of your first trimester subsided, it was a more than welcomed change – and in so many ways. You’ve traded mornings of flat ginger ale, saltines, and sympathetic back rubs, with mornings spent tugging on Carmy’s perfect curls while you cried out his name.

“You smell like sandwiches,” you giggle in between kisses. 

“Ah shit. I should shower,” he sighs, reluctantly. 

He knows your sense of smell has been heightened lately, and he can’t imagine that smelling like a spicy Italian sandwich would be much of a turn on for you. He begins to pull away, but there’s now way in hell you’re letting him go as you grab his hands in yours. 

"No, Carmy, I can't wait,” you whine, the sound of your voice the most needy, beautiful thing Carmy’s ever heard in his life. 

“You could join me,” he offers with a raise of an eyebrow, presenting a solution you can absolutely get behind. 

“Uh huh. Yes please,” you nod eagerly, a girlishness to the way you answer him. 

Please.

Your usage of the word’s got him harder than a rock and he loves this side of you. Your sex life had been great before the pregnancy, but there’s something different about it now. Something about how needy you’ve been – the only thing that can possibly quell the fire inside of you being him – has him unraveling at the seams. 

How could he possibly say no when he’s more than eager to give you exactly (and then some, if it’s up to him) what you want? 

Your fingers are still tangled in his, licking your lips as you add, “My baby daddy thinks of everything.”

Carmy shakes his head, tugging at your hands as he leads you towards the bathroom, mentioning that he still can’t get over the fact that you’ve chosen to call him that in front of everyone you’ve ever known. You remind him that it’s cute, and though he’s not sure he gets it, he lets you do it anyway because it makes you happy.

As you both reach the bathroom, you patiently wait as Carmy turns on the shower, running a hand through the stream of water to check the temperature. One minute he’s focused on the cool water coming down from the showerhead, and then next he’s caging you in between his body and the bathroom sink. 

“You miss me this much, pretty girl?” he murmurs dreamily, his hand trailing up your inner thigh. 

You nod, taking note of how perfectly his top lip fits in between yours. 

“Yes, baby. Thanks for coming home for lunch,” you manage to get out, in between desperate kisses. 

“No need to thank me,” he smirks, a newly-found confidence in his voice. 

His hands are tugging at the hem of your shorts, as if he could slide the overalls down your body this way, a small pang of frustration welling deep in his stomach as he realizes that’s not going to happen. He kisses you with a fervor that makes you dizzy, as Carmy fumbles with the straps of your overalls. Trying his best to unclasp one side, he tosses the strap over your back, a clang sounding out within the four walls of the small room as the metal of the claps hits the porcelain of the sink. 

Carmy lets out a groan as he tugs at the second strap, causing you to giggle. 

“These stupid things,” he huffs, a look of embarrassment running through his brilliant blues. 

“Here, baby,” you say, slipping one of your arms out of the tangled strap. 

He groans as soon as his eyes meet yours again, more than happy to help you out of these damn things.

He pulls the overalls down with a rigor that stops right as the overalls drop to your waist, revealing your white tank top – one that you’re not wearing a bra underneath. 

“Sweetheart,” he groans, his hands ghosting over where your nipples stand erect against the fullness of your breasts. 

“You been like this all day?” he mutters against your skin, leaning down to drag his mouth over your still-clothed breasts. 

“Mmmmhm. Needed you,” you moan, your eyes closing as you lose yourself in the pleasure he’s giving you. 

He’s so incredibly hard right now it’s not even funny. 

“Yeah?”

By the time you open your eyes again, Carmy’s on his knees, so gentle, so tender with the way he slides the rest of the piece of clothing over the bump that’s been growing inside of your belly.

“Yeah,” you confirm. 

You shimmy out of your overalls as Carmy jumps back to his feet, removing your tank so that the only thing you have left is the pair of panties you’re still wearing. Before he can kiss you again, you’re tugging off his shirt, a sacrifice, an offering to the bathroom floor. 

“Should be warm enough, yeah?” you ask, gesturing towards the shower. 

“Yeah,” he agrees with a nod, removing his shorts. 

You feel all the blood in your body rush south as you see how hard he is already, swallowing hard. Carmy helps you into the shower, like the gentlemen he is, and you hope that’s where the gentleness ends. 

Before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you towards him, wrapping one of your legs around his waist as the warm water begins to wash over the both of you. 

“I’m so sorry, pretty girl,” he hums as his nimble fingers slip between your legs. He groans as soon as he feels how goddamn wet you are. 

“Fuck, honey.”

“See? I told you I needed you, Carm,” you pant, letting out a high keening moan as he draws lazy circles around your clit. You’re already bucking your hips into his hand and he’s barely started touching you. 

"You're so sensitive. So responsive, sweet girl,” he teases you, as he drags his fingers through your folds. You are so unbelievably wet that he’s not sure how he managed to get so damn lucky. 

"I just want you to fuck me, Carm. I’ve needed it all day. I need you to make me feel good," you beg, completely lost in the way his fingers feel as he slides two into you already. 

It’s like his touch sets fireworks off in your brain, setting your nerves on fire as you cry out. 

"Yeah?” he taunts you, an almost amused tone in his voice as he sets the slowest rhythm. “Think that’s how we got here in the first place, pretty girl.”

"I know,” you whimper, moving your hips against his fingers for any kind of friction. For something more. For something faster. For something deeper. But at this rate, with how much he seems to enjoy teasing you, with how horny you are, you’ll take anything. 

“But nothing feels as good as you, Carm.”

Your words go straight to his dick and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to leave you alone ever again – might as well quit his day job in exchange for this all-day never-ending second trimester sexapalooza you both seem to be caught inside of. 

He’s practically choking on his words as he manages to ask you:

"What’s that, baby? Did you touch yourself while I was gone?" 

You nod pathetically, moaning as he buries his thick fingers deep inside of you. He pauses, feeling the way your walls pulse around him as he stays inside of you, wanting to memorize this moment forever. 

In any other circumstance, he’d make you fall apart on his fingers, and then his tongue before you even went there, but with your recent admission, he’s decided that he has to have you now. In one swift motion, Carmy pulls his fingers from you, releasing his grip on your leg, eliciting a whine at the loss of him. 

Before you can even protest, he’s turning you around in the shower, and you can feel his hard-on pressing against your backside as he pulls you close.

“Sweetheart, you can’t just say things like this,” he taunts you, playfully, as he drags his cock through your folds a few times. 

“Carm,” you whimper, bracing your hands against the shower wall. “Don’t tease.”

“What’s that?” he coos, pressing his thick tip against your clit. 

“I don’t think I can take it. Please, baby,” you whine, so desperate for him to be inside of you. You push your ass back against him, offering your body to him for the taking. 

“Fuck!” he grunts out, because he just can’t resist you like this. 

You let out a sharp cry, as Carmy pushes himself inside of you, finally giving the thing you’ve wanted all day long. 

Carmy sets a slow pace at first, burying himself all the way to the hilt, so that you can feel all of him – every single ridge, every single vein of his cock with each thrust – and with how sensitive, how turned on you are, you’re already seeing stars. His hands hold onto your waist, controlling the speed of your lovemaking, as you press your hands against the shower wall, bracing yourself. You want him everywhere, all around you, consuming you with every fiber of his being, as if all you can do is hold yourself up and let him know how good he’s making you feel. 

Carmy’s lips are on your neck, leaving love bites across your shoulders, murmuring sweet nothings about how well you take him and how good you feel. And then he’s speeding up the pace of each thrust, pulling you back towards him. His hands are all over you: pressing you back against his chest, squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples as he takes care of you. 

His wife. 

The mother of his child. 

The love of his life. 

You turn your head just enough so that you can kiss him as Carmy’s hand reaches up to cup your face, making sure that he can kiss you properly too. This time you’re standing up taller, grinding against him, wanting to touch your husband more than you need to hold yourself up against the wall. Your hand slips behind you, grabbing at whatever parts of him that you can, bracing yourself against him, as if you could get Carmy even closer to you, while the other is guiding his across your body, your fingers tangled together. 

He’s perfect. 

This is perfect. 

It’s what you’ve been aching for all damn day. 

“I need you, Carm,” you moan into his mouth, as the consistent feel of him thrusting in and out of you has you delirious. 

"You have all of me, baby,” he reassures you in the tenderest tone of voice he can muster, his other hand resting just underneath your breasts as he fucks you. 

"More." 

"More?" 

He’s not sure what ‘more’ could mean at this moment, but the dirty talk is so hot that he’s more than willing to find out. He slows down his pace, dragging his cock in and out of you and the most delicious pace. 

"Yes,” you pant, pulling away from the searing kiss, your head hanging low. Your hands return to the shower wall as you arch your back, bending at the hips so that you can take him deeper as you add:

“I want to make you a daddy." 

His hips stutter for a second, caught off guard by what you’ve just said. 

"You-you are, sweetheart,” he chuckles, slowing his pace down for a moment as he watches himself disappear inside of you over and over again. 

“Carmy,” you groan, in response to his change pace. 

You’re grinding your ass against him, begging him to speed up, but his hands return to your hips, stopping you. 

The sight alone, and what you’ve just said, he thinks to himself, might kill him. 

You whine as Carmy brings his movements to a halt, trying to get him to fuck you again. But he can’t let what you’ve just said go unrecognized as he stills your hips. 

"What was that? You like walking around like this, hmm? Everyone knowing what I've done to you?" he asks you, holding your hips so that you can’t move.

You’ll give him anything to get what you want. 

Even if it means saying it again. 

“Yes, baby,” you sigh, and Carmy lets out another moan as you squeeze around him. 

“I want to make you a daddy. Just fuck me. Please.”

“Oh fuck,” Carmy mutters, knowing he’s not going to last much longer if you keep that up. 

He pulls out of you, and before you can protest, he’s slamming back into you in a way that makes you sob. He sets a brilliant pace this time, and you're arching your back, pressing your hands against the wall even harder – and all you can do, all you want to do, is take it. Hearing you chant his name over and over takes over him. He’s a man determined, with a single-minded focus on giving you exactly what you want. 

He’s reduced you to a moaning, mumbling mess, as you chase both of your orgasms. 

“Touch me, Carmy,” escapes your lips, and he’s more than happy to oblige, his fingers immediately coming to your clit. 

He’s so goddamn talented, using his cock and his hands to make you fall apart. 

You feel a familiar coil in your belly, and with the way you’re squeezing around him, Carmy can tell your close. 

“Come on, sweet girl. Go ahead and let go for me,” his voice sturdy, confident, strong. 

And seconds later, your eyes slam shut as you’re crying out his name, falling over the edge as your husband pulls the most delicious orgasm from your body. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it.”

He’s right behind you – literally and figuratively – as Carmy’s thrusts become more erratic, finally letting go after exercising an impossible level of self control. He spills inside of you with a grunt, holding you against him as he pauses. 

Breathless, you throw your head back, grateful that his shoulder is there to catch you. With the slightest turn of your head, you’re able to kiss him, placing the gentlest kiss against the corner of his mouth before Carmy’s hand comes up to lift your chin towards him again, so that he can kiss you properly. 

“Holy shit, Bear,” you sigh, a sense of relief washing over you. 

“Yeah,” he pants, trying to catch his breath with you. 

You both take a beat, a moment to let your brains catch up with your bodies, just holding onto each other – savoring the way it feels to be in each others’ arms. 

“I should uh… I should probably still shower,” Carmy starts, beginning to come back down to earth. 

You turn back towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck, entertaining him with slow, lazy kisses in between words. 

“But why don’t you dry off and get into bed?” Carmy suggests, using a quiet yet direct tone, almost as if it’s an order. 

It’s as if he knows that, though the last orgasm he’d just given you had been world-rocking, there’s no way in hell you’ll be satiated today with just one. 

“Really?” you ask, hopefully with a giggle. 

“Yeah,” he nods. 

“Heard, chef,” you tease him, eliciting a playful eye roll from him. 

He releases you, giving you the time and space to wring out your hair and step out of the shower. 

And as you do what he says, he rewards you for it, spending the rest of the afternoon with his face buried between your legs until he’s ready to go again. 

*

“And we’ve got a special tonight. Lemon chicken piccata. We’re talkin’ major Berzatto family recipe, ok? So let’s make sure we’re talkin’ up, alright?” Richie announces, following it up with a reminder to all of his servers of the main talking point during tonight’s pre-shift meeting. 

Carmy thinks he’s been stealthy as he attempts to sneak back into the restaurant, considering he’s thirty minutes late. He feels lucky that since everyone is preoccupied with the pre-shift meeting that they couldn’t possibly notice him slipping in this late. He hears the meeting end, making a mental note that tonight’s mise has been done right, praying that tonight’s service goes smoothly. 

He has, afterall, been using up a lot of extra energy lately…. 

“Hey, Jeffrey. We were wondering when you’d be in tonight,” Tina comments, as she returns to the kitchen, ready to lead service tonight. 

“Oh uh, yeah. Sorry, got caught up with some stuff,” he mumbles, avoiding her gaze as he doesn’t have an excuse or a cover story. 

“Mmmhhhmmmm,” she sounds, passing him by, because it’s no secret what Carmen Berzatto’s been up to lately. 

“Yo, cousin!” Carmy calls out, in search of Richie. 

Carmy makes his way into the dining room, and as soon as Richie sees him, knowing what time it is – knowing that Carmy’s running late – he smirks. A blush runs over Carmy’s cheeks as Richie shakes his head with a laugh. 

It’s as if Richie can see right through him, and suddenly, Carmy’s feeling incredibly exposed.

Richie wags a finger at his cousin, his laugh beginning to build. 

“Ahhhh man, cousin,” he sighs, an amused look on his face as he continues. “No one warned ya, huh?”

“I-,” Carmy starts, searching for any and all excuses he could make up on the spot, to no avail. 

“Men can’t resist a pregnant woman. Sheesh. Enjoy it while you can, jagoff.”

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

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.

[thatone-brightstar]

The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Bear meet Fox

Words: 5.2k

Summary: Out of everyone in the vast city of Chicago, Carmen was glad it was you who stumbled into his rundown restaurant.

a/n: I'm too in love with this man to not write about him, so I'm contributing to our shared obsession with my silly little ficcc.

Also reader is Latina in this and yes it's partially self indulgence.

You couldn't believe you were about to do it.

Not due to  excitement but mostly dread, and a bit of self loathing, that the lowest point in your life had brought you here of all places in the city. Might as well call it point Nemo because there was no way you could get any further away.

Pulling your phone from the back pocket of your jeans, you kept your eyes still on the rundown building across the deserted street, afraid it would dissipate and take with it your only chance of employment in a 200 mile radius. The phone screen lit up with the last message from your brother a few days ago and you wanted to punch him square in the face at the way he worded his stupid attempt at “helping” you find a job.

‘So you stop moping around the house cuz its getting pathetic’

Read the text under a picture of a ‘HELP WANTED’ sign, poorly taped to the inside of a surprisingly clean window, stark contrast to the grimy brick that surrounded it. A second text had also been left on read, with a maps link to the location where you stood, balancing on your feet out of nerves. You contemplated your options, as if you had any; turn around, head home and lay in bed until you withered and died of misery. God, your brother was right, you were getting pathetic.

You took a very deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then blew it out into the cold surroundings. ‘You can do it. It’s just another interview, you've done those before. More in the past month than your whole life sure, but who cares? This is the good one.’ You tried psyching yourself up. It could always be worse, you remembered, though lately it seemed more true everyday.

You forced your feet to move from their petrified state and walked towards the building, made sure that the sign was the same one your brother sent, then stood with an outstretched hand about to pull the door open when a voice coming from the left side of the building called your attention.

“Yo, sweetheart! We open at noon!” A man wearing gray joggers and an over washed shirt stood with his head peeking against the corner of the building. If it weren’t for the apron tied around his waist, you’d assume he’s some stranger sticking his nose in other people’s business, but with the bags under his eyes and the cigarette hanging from his mouth, you recognized the trademark of a tired restaurant worker.

“I’m here for the help wanted ad?” You said more like a question, raising a manila folder and shaking it so he could see that you weren’t there for sandwiches, or whatever it was they sold.

“Why?” He asked skeptically, scanning you from head to toe and taking a drag from his cigarette without using his hands. Show off.

You couldn’t come up with an answer on the spot, out of nervousness and intimidation, so you chose to shrug. You could have said you needed the job or literally anything else, but that answer seemed to be enough for him. The guy took another drag then gestured with his head for you to follow him around the corner. With a doubtful turn to the glass door, you moved to the left and followed the man into the parking spot between buildings where, you hoped, another entrance to the restaurant would be waiting for you.

You moved slowly over the gravel, making your way deeper into the empty space. A breath you didn’t know you were holding left your lips at the sight of a long metal door opened ajar, with the man finishing his cig keeping it from closing. He made a circular impatient motion with his hand while staring at you and that was enough for you to quicken your pace towards him.

“Hurry up babe, we ain’t got all day” He said with a loud voice despite being less than three feet away. “C’mon, I’ll see if I can find my asshole cousin. He’s the one who put that stupid sign up anyway.”

You fully entered the building and were immediately welcomed by the familiar scent of roasted meats and sauteed vegetables, the buzz of old vent pipes and the scraping of metal pans against the burners slightly numbed the anxiety growing in your stomach. This was familiar, this you knew. Down to the Bachata beat playing somewhere inside from an overworked radio and the blinding white lights reflecting off the even whiter tiled walls.

The man seemed to have disappeared somewhere past the kitchen, leaving you stranded in the middle of the Steward station with nothing but a half assed ‘wait here’. You clutched your folder containing your resumé near your chest and tried to make yourself as small as it was possible in the already tiny space, so as to not interfere with anyone who were to pass by in a hurry. It felt like minutes had passed and the guy had not returned. You tried to keep yourself entertained by counting the stained steel pots hanging from the hooks above the sinks, then moved to count the beat up escoffier containers that rested on the rack in front of you. When that was done, you checked your surroundings in search of someone else to help you, as the asshole had been gone for some time and it didn’t seem like he’d be back soon.

About to give up hope and ready to push the exit door, you hear a loud ‘Corner!’ headed your way and turned just in time to see a mountain of pots and pans being carried to the sinks by a faceless body. His head was turned to the other side, probably doing his best to keep an eye on the path ahead. You tried to say something but the words were stuck in your throat, so instead you stepped back out of his way and waited until he dropped the cookware. The faceless person dropped everything inside with a loud bang, then rested his arms against the metal edge, sighed and let his head hang low. From your position, scooted by the door in silence, you waited expectantly for him to turn around so you could say something; maybe explaining why you’re there would be a good way to start. But it took him some time to move. All you saw is the flexing of strained muscle on his arms as he gripped the sink like a lifeline. The movement of his tensed back as he breathed under the thin white shirt he wore brought a warmth to your cheeks and you knew you’re starting to be creepy so you forced yourself to talk.

“Hi-” Is all you get to say before he jumped back startled, wide blue eyes with a wild expression and a hand clutching over his blue apron where his heart was.

“Jesus fuck! Don’t fuckin’ do that!” He shouted at you with a hand raking through his hair. 

“Sorry!” You yelled back. Your heartbeat pounded in your throat and ears and the warmth from a few seconds ago had turned scorching hot over all your skin.

He leaned forward and rested his hands over his knees trying to calm his pulse, then chuckled lightly and regained his composure. “No no you’re good, I-uh I didn’t mean to yell like that but you scared the shit outta me.”

He passed his hand over his face then left it over his mouth, contemplating you for a solid minute. He looked over at you unsure of what to say as you stood holding your folder to your chest and balancing on your feet. 

“Right… so'' He leaned against the sink. “Who are you?”

“Yeah sorry, I saw you were asking for help up front and wanted to see if it was still available.” You said pointing to where you assumed was front of house. In the small space, you couldn’t really make out the layout of the place. “Some asshole guy let me in but then left me here.”

“Fuckin’ Richie” He says under his breath. “Yeah, yeah it still is. You got any papers on you?”

You hand him the folder you had been clutching to your chest. He looked at you one last time then opened it to find your wrinkled resume inside. While he analyzed the information you peeked another look at him. Ashy blond hair framed a strong jaw and nose. He had a broad back and strong arms, likely from all the physical effort it took to work in a kitchen, and even though he took up some space, it seemed like he tried to shrink into himself. The  pale skin on his arms was littered with designs that you couldn’t make out from the distance, but you could see the hyper pigmentation of a few scars.

“Oven?” You ask, pointing to a small angry red mark across his forearm.

“What? Oh fuuuck.” He said as he turned his arm. “That’s the first time I see it, honestly.” 

You laughed lightly under your breath, before he turned to you with a small smile.

“C’mon.” He guided you out the Steward section and you assumed he’d take you to whoever was in charge of the place.

Your nerves had settled due to the familiar ambiance, as he conducted you through the different sections where a few cooks turned curiously, then settled by the expo  that stood tall facing the small window opening into the dining area.

“Mind if we check it here? The office is a shit hole right now.” He looked down at you with expectant eyes.

You swallowed dryly, you weren’t expecting him to be the one in charge. Does that mean you were checking out your future boss? Fuck. You nodded, afraid to trust your own voice. He nodded back then looked at the worn out paper.

“You have a pretty cool resume.” He started. “You’ve been all over the place. Hostess, service, line cook. Private chef for two years, where was that?”

“Uhm, some rich folks up in Lincoln Park. Just dinner and meal prep.” You said as nonchalant as possible.

“Well listen, I don’t think I can pay you as well as they did.” He joked. “We’re not that big of a place and in all honesty, business’ a little tight right now.” 

And there it was, the last rejection you were expecting. You looked down at your hands and did your best to calm the bile climbing up your throat.

“But we could really use the help, so maybe I can offer you to help out up front and once we’re back on our feet, you can move back here. The pay’s not the best and the hours are crazy long but it’s just in the meantime.” He stayed quiet waiting for an answer.

Your head snapped up to look at him after the first half, still surprised it wasn’t a rejection. You didn’t notice you had been quietly staring until he raised his brows expectantly.

“Wait, so that means I’m hired?” You questioned, still cautious.

“Yeah, you think you can start today?”

“Yes, yes thank you so much!” You cleared your throat to hide the too obvious excitement. “Yeah, I’ll just need a place to drop off my things.”

“Great, well we gave Sydney our last empty locker, but you can keep your bag in the office. It’s pretty safe.” He pointed to a closet sized door to the left and asked you to follow him while he explained that family was served before opening and that he’d introduce everyone then.

After dropping your bag inside the dimly lit room, that was indeed a shit hole, he guided you back to the kitchen, then through a white door that pushed into the front of house. You saw the asshole leaning against the long counter separated from the tables, telling a very engaging story to a shorter man in a backwards cap who appeared to just want to finish fixing a broken tap. When the door slammed behind you, they both turned towards you and the chef, who you had yet to know the name of. The taller of the two’s eyes grew in realization and his hand flew to his mouth in a fist to try and hide his laugh.

“Shiiit, my bad doll. I swear I went lookin’ for ‘em but fuckin’ Fak here couldn’t keep his pipe shut and started talking!” He said, using the back of his other hand to slap at the chest of the other man who turned offended to him.

“I didn’t say shit!  You came running to me talkin’ about the pretty girl you had in the bac-” 

“Both of you shut the fuck up and listen” The man behind you interrupted impatient, he placed his hand lightly on your lower back and pushed you further into the room. The placement of his hand did nothing to subside the growing shade of pink in your cheeks from the comment. “This is… shit sorry, I never asked your name.” He turned to you, hand still on your back.

A quiet ‘it’s okay’ left your lips and you introduced yourself to the group of men. The chef repeated your name to himself as a way of memorizing it, then spoke back to the group.

“Richie, she’ll be helping you up front.” 

“Fuck you, I’m not babysitting!” He turns to you. “No offense sweetheart, but this,” He said signaling the bar, “is a one man symphony, okay? I can’t have you screwing with my system.”

You did your best not to roll your eyes at him, because of course you expected him to be defensive about it. Enough experience in the service industry had shown you that older people tended to be quite resistant towards change, especially if the change came in the form of barely 5’3 and female. Sure you were young, you had barely graduated culinary school two years ago during the pandemic, but you had been working since your third year so you were more than familiar with the business.

“Well you have a shitty system.” Said Fak under his breath as he finished unscrewing something.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Richie said, offended. 

“I’m just saying man, you could use the help. I saw you jump at a customer the other day cause he was asking for ketchup.”

“Cause only idiots ask for ketchup with a sandwich!” He threw his hands in the air and turned his back to Fak.

“He was ten!” He shouted back.

“Look, I don’t have time to argue! Richie, you imbecile, take the help cause you need it and stop jumping on people before you catch a case, all right?!” He turned to you, rubbed your back with his hand still there and smiled slightly. “You’ll do great.” He says finally before turning to Richie and pointing up at him while walking back. “Don’t fuckin’ scare her off.”

And he was gone out the door. Richie made a gesture with both his hands pushing from under his chin to where the chef had disappeared then turned to you. He stayed silent, one hand on the bar and another on his hips as he stared at you in intimidation. You held his gaze, not cowarring now that you knew he wasn’t going to murder you. An ‘Aha!’ from Fak brought him back and he slapped his hand on the bar.

“Alright c'mon. I’m gonna need you to organize back here while I sweep around the tables. We open at 12 so we got enough time. Got it? ” He finished.

You salute with your right hand, rolled up your sleeves and walked behind the bar to start working on the task. “Yes, chef.” You mumbled out of habit.

“Nah, don’t fuckin’ start with that ‘chef’ thing with me, I’m already up to my balls with Carmy sayin’ it all the time.” He replied exasperated.

“Fine. Yes, asshole. Whatever.” You respond, rolling your eyes and starting to take things out from the fridge at the bottom of the counter.

You heard a snicker from Fak a few feet away, followed by a smacking sound and an ‘Ow! Fuck you!’ before Richie’s sneakers squeaked away into the other room. What you didn’t see was the small smirk on his face as he started walking away. You had balls, he’d give you that.

You powered through the absolute rat’s nest the bottom of the counter was. An empty jar of pickles, two moldy sausages and a single slab of cheese without the wrapper were only a couple of things you found while trying to clean the mess. You took anything useless and dumped it into a black trash bag Fak was nice enough to get you, before showing you where they kept all the cleaning supplies so you weren’t in the dark. It took you two trips to the supply shelf, a sponge, a rag and half a bottle of dish soap to ultimately get rid of the stale grease that gave the impression to have been there since the opening of the place. Once you were satisfied with the way you organized the station, you moved to scrub the top of all the counters and even give a little swipe with the rag on all the stools.

You had baby hairs sticking to your forehead and cheeks by the time you were done, even your jacket had been discarded and thrown under the now clean bar, but a satisfied smile rested on your face despite all that. God, you really missed working. You finally took some time to admire all the framed pictures littering the surrounding walls. Most were of sports players you weren’t familiar with; one, because you really weren’t a fan of any sport, and two, because the pictures looked so old that most of the specific features had been erased from too much exposure to the sun. There were also football jerseys hanging by a corner near the unlit menu and a big ‘Beef Deli’ sign on the wall behind you. You saw a couple cooks moving around behind the window under the sign and a little knot formed in your stomach at the thought of having to introduce yourself in a while.

You checked your wristwatch on your left hand while you wiped the sweat from your forehead with your right, hoping you still had some time to kill. But before you could look down, a voice by the door called your name. You looked up to see the chef, Carmy you had learned his name was, looking at you with a small smile.

“Front of house looks good, chef.” He complemented, clear blue eyes scanning the counters as he leaned against the door, hands playing with a spoon.

You took a deep breath and smiled back, holding onto your wrists behind your back, “Thanks, chef. I-uhm hope you don’t mind that I took some Fabuloso to wipe down the counter by the window. It smelled like shit.” You finish, pointing at the purple liquid in the spray bottle beside you.

“Yeah, no that’s fine.” He answers, a small laugh stuck in his throat. “But that was actually Tina’s so don’t let her see you used it.”

Your mouth opened slightly as your eyes grew, and you were afraid to ask how bad it would be if she found out. He straightened up with a smirk and tapped his spoon twice on the metal counter before signaling for you to follow him with his head.

“C’mon, family’s up.”

You turned on your heel to follow him into the other room, but jogged back, jumped over the counter high enough to slap the spray bottle with sufficient force for it to fall and roll under the counter. You did not know Tina, but you were sure as hell you also didn’t want to get your shit rocked on your first day on the job. 

You tried tidying up your hair back into a less messy ponytail and combed all the stray baby hairs before entering the adjacent room where the other workers were getting ready for family. Some faces stared from their seats, questioning the presence of the stranger invading their space. A few you had met on the rush while taking the garbage bags out or crossing the kitchen to the supply shelf. Marcus, the pastry chef, waved with a simple smile and pointed to an empty space beside him. The simple action brought a wave of relief over your shoulders as you advanced towards him, hands interlocked in nerves. You mumbled a ‘Thanks.’ and served yourself a glass of water from the pitcher in front of you.

Once everyone was sitting with a container of food in front, the chef introduced you to the table and let everyone know you’d be helping out up front with the service and that if they had any questions, they could ask you directly. The first one to jump at the opportunity was an older man with dark skin, asking you in a thick accent if you were related to Tina. There was a burst of laughter around the table, but he seemed to be serious about his question.

“Ebra, not all latinos are related you racist fucker.” Responded a small woman sitting beside him with a slap to his arm. Okay, so that’s Tina, you thought. “That’s like me saying you and Marcus are related cause you’re both black.” She finished pointing at the tall man sitting beside you.

“We are related.” Ebra responded with a teasing smile, staring at Marcus and you immediately knew where this was going. “I am his grandfather- his mom called me daddy last night!”

Another roar of laughter shattered along the table and you had to stick a spoonful of rice in your mouth to hide your smile. You heard a ‘C’mon man, that’s not right.’ from Marcus as he shook his head, but the creeping grin let you know that it was all in fun. The conversation flowed between comments on the food and stories they all recounted, glad to have a fresh pair of ears to hear them.

One of Richie’s was from a few weeks ago, when they had set up a video game tournament at the restaurant to make some extra cash and the nerds in line had gone so bat shit crazy, that one punched Carmy on the jaw and he had to go out and ‘beat their asses into shape’. You slowly swallowed the bite you had taken and stared at Richie sitting at the end by Carmy.

“Was he dressed like a giant carrot… By any chance?” You ask mortified. 

“No shit! You know the fucker?!” He yelled, slamming his hands on the table. Everyone turned to you like you were holding a new piece to a worthy puzzle.

You covered your face with your hands then crossed them in front of your chin. “Yeah… I think that fucker’s my 19 year old brother.” You affirmed scrunching your face in disgust. Fuckin’ Joshua.

The table went wild with jokes about how Carmy had almost gotten knocked out by a teen and through the hysterics you could still make out Richie’s voice saying “Oh my god, sweetheart. Thank you, really. You just made my WEEK!”  All you could do was pick around your container as heat crept up your neck.

You peered up through your lashes at Carmen sitting with a mortifying look and mouthed a heartfelt ‘Sorry’ for what felt like the tenth time that day. He was leaning back with his arms crossed, smiled with an ‘it’s okay’ and let everyone take a jab with their jokes. You looked back down to your food and did your best to drown out the teasing noises from everyone, but were unaware of how the chef raised his brows and swallowed dryly with his gaze still on you.

After minutes of teasing, everyone picked up their empty dishes and separated into their areas. You stayed in the dining room wiping down the tables that were left to clean before opening service and a couple of ideas came to mind on how you could decorate them to reduce the depressing feeling. At least for now, napkins and holders would do, the rest would have to wait. You power walked to the front where you remembered seeing a packet that looked to be from napkins, but once you reached inside all you found were a bunch of wrinkled brown pieces of paper.

“Richie!” You yelled from your crouched position.

“Yo!” He yelled back, head popping above you over the counter.

“I can’t seem to find any napkins.” You spoke while still searching hopefully in the space.

“You’re holdin’ em.” He stated, matter-of-factly. 

You stand fully and shake the supposed napkins in front of you. “Richie, these are stained and say Starbucks on em!” 

His grin grew wide on his face as he walked back with extended arms. “Welcome to The Beef, kid!” He laughed, then leaned down to unlock the glass door where you could already see some people forming a line.

You quickly dropped the napkins, grabbed the blue half apron you had been given and tied it around your waist as fast as possible. Fuck, fuck, fuck. A fuckin’ heads up would’ve been nice, you thought as you plastered on a soft smile for the clients.

“Alright, fuckos! We’re open!” He shouted into the restaurant and wiggled his brows towards you. “Goodluck.”

Fuck.

*****

He was worried for you for the first fifteen minutes after opening. Afraid you’d see the mess you had stumbled upon or that his idiot cousin would say something that would have you grabbing your bag and leaving without as much as a goodbye. He wouldn’t blame you, hell, he would’ve even done the same if his name wasn’t in the lease  now instead of his brother’s.

He stopped worrying however, when he saw the way you managed yourself around the floor and customers. Empty plates were picked up with ease and replaced with warm ones that spent less than five minutes on the counter, the orders were taken within minutes and served with a kind smile. He was even surprised when you walked away from the other side of the expo with three plated sandwiches balancing in one hand and a forth plate in the other.

“Can you manage, chef?” He even asked when he saw you trying to find the perfect space between your fingers that could balance the plate, your lip caught in concentration.

You looked at him with your head still bowed and a breathy smile. “Yeah, thanks.” Then turned your back to deliver the dishes. 

It wasn’t his intention for his gaze to linger longer than it did as your hips swayed naturally with every step, or when despite the hectic sound of the kitchen he could still hear you laugh politely at a joke from one of their regulars. But it was only until Syd elbowed him in the side that he noticed he was being a bit creepy. Jesus, it’s like your 14 again, he thought.

“You’re worried Richie’s gonna scare her off but you’re the one giving me the creeps with all the staring.” She said after reading the printed ticket for another order.

“Heard, chef.” Was all he said, cleared his throat and went back to work, doing his best not to look up every time you walked to receive a new order.

It was only when the lunch rush died down and he was in desperate need of a cigarette, that he saw you sitting down with your head resting against the cold bricks of the adjacent building and eyes closed peacefully. He didn’t want to bother you, but he also didn’t want to waste the opportunity of telling you how well you had done in the first half of the day. Besides, the heavy door behind him slammed closed and startled you slightly, so there was no going back now.

“Hey.” You smiled softly, stretching your arms above your head and your legs straight forward, then relaxed altogether. 

“You smoke?” Carmy asked, offering you a cig as he sat on the empty crate a few feet away from you, elbows resting on his knees.

You shook your head no, but thanked him anyway. “I quit a few months ago.” You said just as he flicked his lighter on and the tip grew bright orange.

“Shit, sorry. If it bothers you I can turn it off.” He offered. He wanted to say ‘I can go somewhere else’ but he didn’t want to give you the idea that he didn’t wanna be there.

You shook your head no again still smiling and pulled one of your legs to your chest, turning to him. “So…” You asked curious. “How’d I do for my first half?”

Carmy chuckled lightly as he exhaled smoke into the air. He turned to you from his crouched position and for the fifth time that day, he took a good look at your face. Jesus fuck, how could someone as beautiful as you end up in his dump of all places? Despite your overworked expression and a few small bags beneath your eyes, he was sure he had never seen anyone’s face glow with such brightness as yours did now. His eyes danced around your face, taking in every single freckle he could before he tore them away after what to him felt like an eternity of staring- no- admiring your features.

“You did way better than I expected. Truly, chef. Thank you.” He whispered and, despite the noisy Chicago surroundings, you heard every word.

Your smile beamed brighter for what felt like the first time in months and the fist that had been constricting your heart for a while now seemed to give you some much needed space to breathe. 

Carmy finished his cigarette in comfortable silence, now laying back against the cold brick wall that helped ease the rising temperature in his body, while you played with the aquamarine ring on your pointer finger that reminded you too much of the chef’s specific shade of blue eyes.

“What’s Carmy short for?” You asked all of a sudden, pulling him out of his internal thoughts.

It took him a couple of seconds to process the question, then smiled down to the gravel under his feet. “Uhm- it’s short for Carmen. It’s a family name. " He responded.

“Oh.” Was all you said, nodding your head. “It's nice. I have a cousin named Carmen.” You continue with a smile on your lips.

“Yeah?” He asked, turning down towards you, only to see you stand up and  clean off the dust from the back of your black jeans and readjust the apron around your waist.

You stood with your hands on your hips and stared down at him for another second before smiling and making your way to the tall door. “Yeah, but she’s a girl.” You reply without turning back and push your way into the restaurant, leaving the chef with a snickering grin and a lightheaded feeling he wished wasn’t just from the nicotine.

Chapter 2.

[lovebugism]

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.