#carmy berzatto x y/n

[moonstruckme]

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

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

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

I’m overwhelmed with affection for you babe <3

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

cw: alcohol

Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 902 words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

“Nothing.” 

“No, what?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you say softly. 

“I’ll keep my shit separate.” 

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

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

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

[luveline]

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

ty for requesting <3 fem, 1.4k

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not like that,” she says. 

Well, what is it like? you think. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?” you ask. 

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

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

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

“No. He’s stressing me out.” 

“Which one?” 

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

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

Sydney just frowns. 

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

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

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

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

“Carmy?” you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cookie.” 

“I don’t want this.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure?” 

“No.” 

“That one’s my favourite.” 

“What?” 

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

“My least pretentious,” he guesses. 

“Something like that.” 

He tips his head back. 

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

“You always do,” he says. 

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

“Fuck off,” he laughs. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” 

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

He laughs again. “Sorry.” 

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

“What’s that about?” 

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

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

“Can I change my mind about the tattoo?” 

“The flowers not your favourite?” 

“No. You know which one I like best?” 

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

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

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

[bookshelf-dust]

the art of dancing in the kitchen

carmy berzatto x fem!hairdresser!reader

gif by @hotch-girl

word count: 3,479

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

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

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

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ha, ha. So funny.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure do, Carmy.”

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————

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

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

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

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

“What now, Bear?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carmen snorts. “Yeah, maybe, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why wouldn’t he dance with you? 

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

“Rick Astley,” you whisper. 

Carmy blinks. 

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

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

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

“Oh my god, Bear.”

“Yeah, baby. We’re stupid in love.”

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

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

————

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

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

[mouseymilkovich]

Can I request "did you eat today?" With carmy? I think it would be his way of trying to make amends if you’re angry with each other, or at least starting to.

i like the way you think anon. i like the way you think

"Did you eat today?" Carmy muttered softly. He'd just come home from work, seeing you basically in the same position on the couch he'd left you in hours prior.

You didn't answer, you just shrugged. That was really the only response he needed.

Carmy sighed deeply, going to the kitchen. You kept absentmindedly watching the TV. After a little bit, he brought you a bowl of your favourite pasta. It made you look up in surprise.

"You need to eat, baby." He reminded as he knelt down to be eye level with you, gently brushing some hair out of your face. "I'm sorry. I've been a dick lately, I know I have. The restaurant is stressing me the fuck out-"

You cut him off with a gentle kiss on the lips. "I'm sorry too... you're not the only difficult person in this relationship, Bear."

That made him crack a little smile. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, then stood back up. "Gonna go take a shower, at least half of that better be eaten by the time I'm back."

You laughed a little bit, watching him walk off towards the bathroom. Then you sighed, looking down at the pasta before you started to eat. Forgetting to eat when you were upset was such a nasty habit, you hated it... it made you grateful that your boyfriend's love language was food.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Here’s one I don’t see enough of is Carmy using toys on his partner 🥵👀 like imagine him using a clit toy whilst fucking

ohhhhhh yeah.

smut warning!!

“Stop fuckin’ squirmin’.”

You look up at Carmy, his usually bright blue eyes turned all dark and stormy.

“I can’t-”

“Yes you can, honey. Yes you can.”

His hips glide back into yours so the two of you are pressed together fully. He reaches over to the nightstand, picking up your toy and pressing it to your clit. He doesn’t turn it on, just lets it sit there as he thrusts out and back in again.

“You want me to turn it on? Hmm?”

You shake your head, then nod, then shake your head again.

“Use your words, babe.”

“Yeah, Carmy - please.”

He chuckles, pressing the button to kick the toy to life. You try and wriggle away but he anchors your hips to the mattress with a heavy hand, pressing down firmly.

“You wanted this, honey. You’ll take it like I know you can.”

You’re overwhelmed in the best way. There’s so many sensations happening, your mind in overdrive as the room spins. You take a deep breath, focusing on the feeling of your boyfriend’s warm body against yours.

After you’ve adjusted, Carmen starts moving his hips again, laughing when you whine.

“Come on, bratty girl. You’ve been running your mouth all day, haven’t you? Where are all those fighting words now, hmm?”

You so desperately want to backchat him, to put him back in his place. But you can’t.

Not when he’s hinging his hips into yours, pressing the button on the toy to increase its vibrations. The pressure and the angle is all so perfect, he’s got you on the edge already.

“You close, baby? Yeah, atta girl.”

The praise throws you over the edge, back arching as you tighten around him.

“Count it, honey,” he murmurs against your lips.

You blink up at him, trying to process what he said.

“Count it.”

“One,” you whimper.

“Good girl. One down. Four to go.”

[dearpyramus]

BIGGEST CONGRATS EVER ON 100 FOLLOWERS MY FRIEND!!!!

Can I get “wiping off a food stain near their lip” and “comparing hand sizes” with Carmy? 🫶🏻🫶🏻

a/n: IM SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO GET TO U OLIVE BESTIE. also apologies this isn't the best, band camp destroyed my motivation but im trying. hope u enjoyed though <33

You were in bed with Carly, sleepy after a nice meal made by him. These were your favorite days. It was just you guys. So simple yet so domestic. You hoped there were more days like these to come.

You were lying on your side, cradling part of his chest. You were rambling about your day while he played with your hand, fingers tracing the lines of your palms as if to memorize them. At one point he placed his large palm against yours and chuckled at the size difference.

"Cute..." he murmured, his voice gruff with sleep.

He didn't notice how red your face got. Normally you didn't get flustered easily. There was something about him that could always get you red as a tomato. Instead, you opted to roll your eyes and playfully nudge him.

"Shut up", you chuckled, secretly meaning the exact opposite.

You could feel his chest shake with a small laugh. It caused your heart to swell, the sound of his laugh was always like music to your ears.

You turned your face to his. He smiled at you with sleepy eyes. God, he looked so precious right now. You wouldn't say that out loud though.

His expression changed when he saw your furrowed brows. Before he could speak, you reached out to his face. You cradled his cheek and rubbed your thumb at the corner of his mouth, swiping away a food stain from dinner. The action was so simple yet so intimate.

A calloused hand cradled yours, gently taking it to plant a kiss on your palm. You were just about ready to melt into a puddle. Who knew Carmen Berzatto was such a softie?

[collecting-stories]

Peaches & Cream - Carmen Berzatto

Summary: Carmy talks the reader into making family and their relationship takes a turn.

A/N: I don't know if I like this installment as much as the other two but I'm running with it. Also, the actual dessert made is from Carolina Gelen and it's fucking delicious!

The Bear Masterlist

✰✰✰✰

You shook your head slowly back and forth, with what you were almost completely positive was a look of abject horror plastered across your face as your eyes met Carmy's blue ones. If there was one thing, anything, that you absolutely did not under any circumstances want to do it was cook in The Beef's kitchen. 

"No."

"It's not like you haven't cooked for everyone out there before," Carmy replied, leaning against the door and crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Yeah, but like...at my place...not like, seriously," you mirrored his image, leaning back in the office chair and crossing your arms. 

Carmy smiled, "family isn't serious." He said it in that way that suggested he'd caught you out. Like you were trying to pull one over on him but he found a loophole at the last second. He looked too triumphant for his own good. 

"Cars..." You groaned, there was no way you wanted to do family. When Syd did family it looked like some fucking five star gourmet meal. Even Ebra cooked up some really wonderful food for family. You had cooked at home, sure, but not in Carmy's kitchen. "Fine...but when it's shit-"

"It won't be," he replied and you practically felt the air knocked out of you. As if those three simple words had the power to truly dictate what sort of cook, chef, you were. And maybe they did because you felt ridiculously confident after he said it. 

You abandoned the paperwork to the office and followed Carmy into the kitchen. His attention didn't last long, immediately pulled to something else as Tina called him over to taste the potatoes she was working on. Your unexpected entrance into the kitchen didn't go unnoticed by Marcus or Syd or Tina, all three of whom followed you with their eyes as you went to the family shelf. You were positive you looked a little more than unsure of yourself as you pulled ingredients off the shelf, trying to think of a recipe that you could accomplish, that would taste good, and that might impress Carmy. 

-

"What?" 

"What?"

"People don't usually make that face after someone kisses them...unless like, I read the room wrong and I wasn't, or you didn't want me to kiss you," you stammered, eyebrow quirking as you stared at Carmy. Ever since the first Sunday Night Dinner you'd been thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. Probably ever since he first walked in The Beef and introduced himself to you. And maybe he hadn't been thinking about kissing you for that long but you thought maybe he was thinking about kissing you lately. Or not and you were atrocious at reading what vibe other people were projecting. 

"No, no...I mean, I, no, I wanted you to...I wanted to kiss you. I liked it. Ah..." Carmy inhaled, held his breath for a second and then exhaled. "I uh, you taste like peaches. It's like, really fucking wild, just like straight up peaches...like, not like chapstick shit or something but like actual fucking peaches." 

"Oh," you stopped yourself from laughing, "I uh, I ate like frozen peaches before you came over." You tried to explain. It was the most bizarre semi-compliment anyone had ever offered after a kiss. Probably in the history of the world. 

"Yeah?"

"I was trying this recipe-"

"What was it?" He looked over the back of the couch toward the kitchen as if a plate would be waiting there on the island for him to sample. 

"It's nothing fancy," you promised, a regular disclaimer whenever you made something new and let Carmy try it. You got up from the couch as you explained the recipe you'd seen online and had attempted to recreate in your own kitchen before Carmy had come over. Aside from the peach, which was frozen in your freezer, everything else was assembled. 

Whipped cream went in the bowl first, then the peach shavings, scrapped off a whole frozen peach like you were zesting a lemon, and then brown sugar syrup that you'd made earlier. In the short time it took you to assemble the dessert, Carmy came over to the island, leaning against the counter and watching you walk. 

"Here," you slid the bowl over and handed him a spoon from the utensil holder that sat in the middle of the island. He took it from you, his focus already zeroed in on the dessert sitting before him. The assembly was no five-star NOMA dish but you thought it tasted pretty good earlier and hoped you'd made it just as nicely the second time. 

The first time Carmy tried anything you made him your whole body had felt like it was on fire. Burning with nervous anxiety eating at your stomach. Now, you thought you should probably still be nervous but you weren't. Somehow you didn't have any of those nerves anymore. Or at least, they weren't turning over your stomach anymore. Instead it was just excitement, watching him taste the food that you prepared for him. 

"Well?"

With little actual warning, Carmy laid his spoon on the counter and leaned forward, kissing you this time instead of the other way around. You kissed him back, your hand moving to hold his face, fingers brushing the curls at the back of his neck. You'd be lying if you said you weren't a little dazed as he pulled away from the kiss, blue eyes shining with amusement as he smiled. Like really smiled, you noted. 

"Yeah, that's the peach I was tasting." He finally said, taking another bite of the dessert, "fire, by the way."

"Awesome," you stumbled over the word, not entirely sure it was the correct one to encapsulate the moment. 

-

You knew Marcus was hovering over you without needing to turn around, but you did anyway, twisting away from the focaccia bread that you were kneading onto the sheet pan to look up at him. "What?" You asked, unable to stop yourself from smiling when you caught the amused look on his face, "what?"

"You're doing family?" 

"Yeah, why...you have a problem with that?" You asked, trying to sound confident. 

"No...this looks good," Marcus replied, checking on the focaccia once more before stepping away from you. "What're you making?"

"Chicken parm sandwiches?" You replied, more as a question than a statement. As you slid the pan into the oven Marcus took a once over of the other ingredients on the counter. 

"You making your own mozzarella too?" He asked, sounding impressed that you were going to tackle something that complicated. 

"I am," you said, pulling a 'can you believe it' face, "Carmy showed me how to a couple weeks ago-"

"Carmy showed you how to?" He replied, the tone of the question teasing. 

"Don't you have like...something to do?" You asked, looking back at his station. 

You might've spent most of your shift in the back office but you knew that everyone in the kitchen was talking. It started with Richie, way before you and Carmy had kissed. He'd come into the office when you and Carmy were sitting in there and however you both were acting Richie had interpreted it as flirting (which was impressive considering how awkward you and Carmy flirting was). Richie being Richie, spread the news to Tina and Ebra and Sweeps, then Marcus heard about it and Sydney. Even Fak got filled in on the apparent 'romance' that was happening. You suffered through embarrassing comments every time you were remotely close to Carmy in the kitchen until finally everyone pretty much got used to the fact that you were pinning and probably never going to make a move. 

Or at least, you hadn't expected to ever make a move. He just looked so good sitting there on your couch and you'd been thinking about him for a long time and you were positive (at least 99% so) that recently he'd been thinking about you the same way. It was a long shot probably, cause Carmy was almost impossible to read unless he was yelling about food, but it worked out. 

"Are you doing family?" Syd asked. She was doing checks, purposely saving Marcus for last so she could see what you were up to. She'd seen you come out of the office with Carmy and go over to the family shelf, surprised since you never seemed eager to be anywhere near the kitchen during work hours. (Syd had come back for her headphones once and seen you and Carmy in the kitchen together, generally being cute...which she pointed out to you later on). 

"Yeah?" You felt even more unsure of yourself when she asked than you had when Marcus had asked before. 

She nodded, looking over the ingredients you had out. "Dope."

"Thanks," you laughed. 

You weren't surprised, considering how hectic you knew the kitchen could get, that you didn't actually see Carmy again (aside from glimpses as he moved back and forth from the kitchen to the counter and back) until family. And technically, once you'd plated family and called everyone out to eat, he was nowhere to be found. Richie told you he was having a cigarette around a mouthful of chicken parm sandwich so you plated some for him and carried it outside into the back alley. 

Carmy was sitting against the back wall, a plastic container of water in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He had his head tilted back and his eyes closed like he was maybe trying to catch a few seconds of rest before dinner rush. 

"Hey," you tapped his shoulder and Carmy started, opening his eyes and looking up at you. 

"Hey," he replied, laying down his container of water and taking the plate from you. He balanced it on his knees and picked up the sandwich to look it over. "What've we got?"

"Chicken parm sandwich on pistachio focaccia bread." You replied, "Richie said I was 'going all out'."

Carmy took a bite and you watched as his face change from neutral to slightly pleased. The look you knew meant that he liked something. "This is good, this is really good." He replied earnestly, taking another bite. "Did you make the mozzarella?"

"Does it taste bad?"

"No," he shook his head, looking away from the sandwich and up to you, "you could've kneaded it one more time, it's a little soft."

"I wasn't sure," you admitted, "you'll have to make me mozzarella and tomatoes again and show me how to make it." 

He'd shown you last week, when you were at his apartment for a change. He was in the middle of making dinner when he realized he didn't have mozzarella so he decided to make it, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to do. Or at least the most normal thing in Carmy's. 

"You heading back inside?" He asked as you reached for the door handle. 

"Back to the office, where I belong." You replied. 

He waved you back over, tilting his head back to look up at you when you were standing in front of him again. You took the silent invitation and leaned down to kiss him. "I won't taste like peaches this time." 

"It's not a stipulation," he joked and you smiled into the kiss. 

Eventually, sooner rather than later, you knew everyone in the kitchen would find out that you were dating. Probably everyone outside of the kitchen too, once Fak knew that you were together it was only a matter of time before everyone Carmy had ever met found out that he had someone in his life. 

"Okay," you sighed, reluctant to pull away but knowing there was a stack of invoices you needed to look through, "eat your too shitty sandwich and get back to work chef."

"You bossing me around now?" He laughed, stubbing out his cigarette and following you back through the door into the kitchen. 

Everyone else had finished eating and were back to their stations. Tina looked over first when the two of you came in and you smiled, "Carmy said it was awful and I'm never allowed in the kitchen again."

"I didn't say it was awful-"

"The mozz was a little soft but the focaccia was insane," Syd pipped up in your defense.

"I didn't say it was awful," Carmy repeated, nudging you with his elbow when you smiled at him.

"He didn't say it was awful," you admitted, "he did say the mozzarella was soft." 

"Why you being a fucking hardass about some cheese?" Richie called from the counter, coming over and throwing an arm over your shoulders, "I'm fucking shocked as it is you got this one to go out with you, now you're gonna be insulting?"

Carmy flushed red, whether because of Richie or because of the whistle Sweeps gave at the previously unconfirmed news that the two of you might be something, "can we get back to work chefs?" He finally said, moving away from you and over to one of the stations, grabbing his knife to start prep. 

"Guess that's my cue to get back to the office," you joked, slipping out from Richie's arm.

[madwomansapologist]

Carmy + come back be here

Taylor Swift Writing Challenge: Come Back... Be Here

Masterlist | Rules | Taglist | Library | More Carmy Berzartto | #taylor swift writing challenge | AO3

synopsis: You spent months telling yourself "Don't get attached." But when the feeling sinks in you realize: you don't wanna miss Carmy Berzatto.

warnings: a bit of smut. then a lot of angst because... i guess i am to mood to...?

Colors shimmered on your closed lids. A groan was hushed by your left hand, you didn't want to make too much noise, while your right held him by the hair. You didn't guide him, you just needed support. The tongue sliding against your insides, the caloused hands that squeezed your thighs so hard that will leave marks on them, the way you could felt his gaze burning your skin.

"Look at me," Carmy stopped fucking you with his mouth. He bit your inner thighs, licking it after. Anything, maybe everything, made your womb throb. "I wanna see those pretty eyes."

Carmy wanted to look into your eyes, so he requested it. But he wanted to hear you, and he wouldn't waste the time he could spent between your legs with that. Carmy grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and dive back into you.

You squeezed his finger, moaning without fear or embarrassement, and Carmy squeezed back. He devoured you with his eyes like you were a delicacy of the gods. Carmy ate you, get drunk on you, and he held you.

Carmy only pulled away when you were too sensitive. It's been a few hours since you both started, none kept count. All anyone would be able to hear was you both trying to catch your breath, still absorted in pleasure and exhaustion.

The Carmy said it. In such a simple way. Like it was nothing. Right when you were just about to fall. "I'm going to New York tomorrow."

Your silence could be heard as indifference, you sure hope he understand it this way, but it wasn't. You silence was a reflection of your pain.

You got back into your clothes, grabbed your phone and got near his side of the bed. His? Even your thoughts were pathetic. Of course it was his, it was his bed, his home, his live. You bent down and kissed him goodbye. "Take care."

During all the way to the front door you imagined how you would reject Carmy if he asked you to stay. Stuck in the elevator, you repeated to yourself: don't get attached. But riding your car, moving further and further away from Carmy and all his bullshit, you let the feeling sinks in.

You already miss him.

All you want was to ask him to just be here. To finally give up on being so nonchalant. But for that you would need to come back. And to want him, to need him this way, was embarrassing enough.

Driving on those streets that wouldn't get him back to you, imagining when Carmy would come back, you almost didn't feel the vibration coming from your bag. But you noticed it, and with time to grab it and read the name shining on your screen.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

THE BEAR: @flowercrowns-goodvibes @notanalienindisguiseblink @vyctorya

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[zablife]

Carmy Berzatto

Chocolate Chip Pancakes

Richie goes to jail and leaves Carmy to watch Eva.

Favorite Ex - Carmy x gf reader

When Carmy’s stress and anxiety rise to unprecedented levels, he shuts down and pushes you away. However, you can’t stop thinking about each other.

[citrusandcyanide]

Hi, I hope everything is fine. Do you accept requests? I kind of didn't see anything in the pin and I was confused, sorry for the bad english 😭😭😭

Yes absolutely I do! As of rn I don’t write anything NSFW, but happy to take any other requests.

[moonstruckme]

Omg yay I love that slightly dirty man!! I was wondering if you’d be willing to do something along the lines of a flower shop au situation, where Carmy is obv still a chef but reader works/owns a place nearby and they end up seeing each other a lot and so on and so forth but also I will devour literally anything about that man so wherever your heart takes you I’m 100% on board <3

He is perfectly dirty! Thanks for requesting babe <3

Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 831 words

It’s peak hours, and your shop is completely empty. You’re leaning against the counter by the register, mashing your fingers into your temples and praying to whoever will listen for the noise next door to stop. 

It’s some sort of fire alarm, blaring from the shitshow construction zone you’re lucky enough to neighbor. It’s been going since nine this morning. It’s after noon now. No customers will stay long enough to buy anything, not even your regulars who come in looking for a specific book. At this point, you need to either get out of here or get a lobotomy. You head for the side door. 

It’s a bad idea. The noise is worse outside, but you’re committed now. You walk paces up and down the alley, blowing puffs of air that cloud in the cold and rubbing your arms because you left your coat inside. You’ve already walked the alley twice when you see him, bare-armed as you but smoking a cigarette like this temperature is just right. 

“Hey,” you say, too irritated to be embarrassed, “what the hell is going on in there?”

Carmy shrugs, taking the cig from the corner of his mouth. “The fire alarm won’t stop going off.” Smoke rises into the air as he talks. 

“I know. Are you going to do anything about it?” 

“We’ve got people on it.” 

That’ll mean the Faks, you suppose. You wish this was something you could rage about, but Neil’s a nice guy. He came over to help you board up your window when it broke during a hailstorm last year, and when you brought him a coffee he acted like the beans came from the Garden of Eden. 

You take a breath, trying to chill out. “So, are you guys all losing your shit in there?” 

Carmy shrugs again. He never really looks at you, you’ve noticed, just sort of near you as if that’s as close as his eyes can get. “Some more than others,” he says. “I don’t mind it.” 

“You don’t mind?” you laugh, incredulous. “You must be insane.” 

He turns his head to the side, something unidentifiable passing over his expression as he takes a drag. “I know.” 

You get the feeling you’ve taken a misstep. You need to say something nice, remind him you’re on the same team. You kick the overflowing dumpster next to you lamely. “Can you believe this shit? They’ve skipped us for two weeks straight now.” 

Carmy nods, relaxing somewhat. “It’s bullshit.”

“If they miss us again, I’m gonna have to start bringing our trash to other dumpsters or something. I don’t even know.” 

“They won’t miss us again. I’ve got someone making a call.” 

You grin. “What are you, part of the mob or something?” 

Carmy looks almost like he might be thinking about smiling. You have the urge to take a picture. “My family is Italian,” he says. 

“Oh, I know. Richie’s definitely brought it up.” 

Carmy blows smoke out, shaking his head in a way you suspect might be fond. “Richie’s not even Italian.” 

“Seriously?” A laugh stutters out of you. The wailing siren has faded into the background. You feel lighter than you have all day. “He’s the most Italian guy I’ve ever met.” 

“Yeah, he definitely thinks he is.” 

You look at Carmy for a moment. There’s always this tautness about him, like he’s perpetually ready to run or punch someone. Right now he’s as close to casual as he ever gets, hunched against the alley wall, but however he’s acting you can see the raised hairs of goosebumps on his biceps. His tattooed, very large biceps. You look away before you can get swept away by that line of thinking. 

“Well, even though the noise doesn’t bother you, do you wanna get away from it for a sec?” you ask casually. “It’s not so loud in here. You can barely hear it in the back room.” 

“Seriously?” Carmy’s looking at you as though this may be some sort of trap. He’s looking at you, and without explanation the world seems to sharpen into startling clarity. You’re suddenly conscious of your heartbeat. “Uh, yeah.” He glances behind him, seemingly wary of one of his coworkers coming out to stop him. “That’d be cool.” 

“Okay.” You open the door, nodding to his cigarette. “You can’t bring that in here, though. I don’t need it smelling up my books.” 

“Right, yeah.” He snuffs it half-smoked on the alley wall. There’s a slightly awkward moment where it seems like he’s trying to grab the door for you even though you’re already holding it open, but after a second he ducks inside, something that might be embarrassment stiffening his shoulders. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” You let the door swing shut behind you, leading him towards one of the plush couches in the back room. “We’ve got to do what we can to keep each other sane around here, right? A crazy neighbor would be bad for business.”

[luveline]

Oooooo carmy request: him being jealous of readers friendship w richie cos they re like buddys and he thinks she doesn't like him cos shes not like that w him

—you realise what Carmy wants from you. fem, 1.4k

Richie isn’t technically an upstanding citizen, but he’s a good guy. 

“I’m telling you, sweetheart, you just need to be more aggressive.” 

You’re sitting on a stool behind the counter filling the ketchup and mayonnaise bottles with the huge ones from the walk-in. Richie isn’t doing much of anything, which is fine by you; he’s good entertainment for a shitty job. 

“I don’t want to be more aggressive, I want people to be nicer.” 

“We don’t get what we want,” he mutters. 

You frown expressively. “Aw, baby, we don’t get what we want. You don’t get what you want, huh?” 

“What’s your problem?” he asks, though he laughs brightly. “You’re the fucking baby. You’re not doing that right.” 

You point at your extremely slow drip of ketchup. “No, you think? I know I’m doing it wrong, Richie. Doing it right is a lot of arm effort. Have you seen my arms?” 

“You’ve got muscle.” Richie lifts your arm up by the wrist. “Flex. Flex your arm.” 

“I’m flexing. You can’t see that?” 

“What are you guys doing?” Carmy asks. 

He comes up behind Richie and they’re almost twins. Not in appearance —Carmy’s lighter facially and broader physically— but in stance, their mussed up aprons and the rags on their shoulders a uniform. 

You flex. “Weight training.” 

Richie drops your arm. “I’m showing her how to fill the sauce bottles.” 

“And you didn’t know how to do that?” Carmy asks you. 

“I’m the one that taught Richie.” You absolutely didn’t teach Richie how to do it, that much is obvious. Richie laughs heartily, and Carmy frowns, and you realise that Richie thinks you’re both laughing at Carmy, which isn’t what was happening. Not totally. 

It’s hard to navigate The Beef without Mikey; Carmy is nothing like his brother, and Richie’s an asshole. 

Carmy nods at you. You’re worried his lip is gonna curl like it does when he’s mad and you’re gonna get told to do something you’re uninterested in, but it’s Richie who gets punished. “Can you finish Sydney’s prep?” 

“Why can’t she do it?” 

“Her stomach thing. It’s just onions.” 

Richie wants to argue, but can’t. He’s paid a wage to work. “Fine. But tell Syd I’m not her gopher.” 

Richie saunters away. 

“He’s not her gopher,” you tease when he’s out of earshot, to Carmy’s surprised delight. “God, Carm, don’t you know anything?” 

Your Richie impression isn’t your best. Carmy must enjoy it, still smiling to himself as his attention is turned to the register, where he begins wiping down the keys. 

“Is that really the way to do that?” he asks, gesturing to your sauce bottles. 

You’ve turned the cap upside down, feeding sauce into the bottle one drip at a time. It would be quicker to remove the cap entirely and pour straight from the big bottle, but that sometimes requires three hands, the big jugs are that heavy. 

“Despite what you might think, Carm, I’ve thought it through.” 

“You sure?” 

You could get defensive. When Carmy first took over the restaurant, you thought, What the fuck, Mikey. Leave your shithole restaurant to your world class brother and get your entire roster of staff fired in one fell swoop. But Carmy never fired you, hasn’t cut your hours, doesn’t treat you like an asshole. He is a jerk, that much is certain during busy dinner service, but he has yet to take it too far. (Ish.)

So you won’t defend your laziness, or expect him to like it. You get up from your stool and turn the cap right side up, tapping what’s yet to drip through the spout into the bottle. You set the cap aside, and you uncap the big ketchup to decant sauce until the bottle is full. 

Carmy glances at you from the corner of your eye. He looks at you, looks away again. 

You think he might like you. In the don’t have a choice, grown on him like moss way. He gets cagey when you and Richie are having fun, and he stares altogether too much, but he can be pretty when he’s smiling (or really yelling) and he has nice hands, and nice arms. He has a nice way of saying things. You don’t mind his attention.

There have been worse bosses to want to push you up against a wall. 

Not that you think Carmy could. He whines like a bitch at you for stupid shit, but Carmen Berzatto shoving you into a wall for a rough kiss? That’s never gonna happen. 

And yet… his frown tells a different story. 

“Why do you get so weird about me and Richie?” you ask. 

“I don’t get weird about you and Richie.” 

You open the mayonnaise bottle and set the cap aside. “He’s nicer than you think.” 

“Yeah?” He sounds vaguely depressed, which isn’t uncharacteristic. Seriousness colours his voice with a strange charm. “I’ll take your word for it.” 

“He is, he makes me laugh. He makes sure I eat, he shouts at guys when they’re mean to me.” 

“Who’s mean to you?” 

“Carmy.” You give up on the mayonnaise and wipe your hands down your apron, to his ire. You’d prefer not to smell like egg and oil during this conversation, but it’s better than smelling like burnt chicken, sort of. “Richie’s a nice guy, whether you agree or not.” 

“That’s great, I’m glad he’s so nice to you.” He sounds angry now, but he’s stuck as you are —walking away is losing. 

You really don’t get it. “Is he not supposed to be nice to me?” you ask. 

“He can do what he wants. You can do what you want.”

You laugh, and hope to diffuse the situation with a joke, “Okay, thanks for your permission, Chef.” 

“Fuck off.” 

He sounds less tense, but not fixed. And you might find it harder to keep up with him, constantly wanting to impress him, knowing you can’t, but you’re not out of touch. You aren’t a huge dick. 

Carmy beats you to it. “I was kidding, about the bottles. You can do it how you want.” 

“I wasn’t offended.” 

“But you don’t– with Richie, you– I don’t know what I’m doing wrong with you.” 

You look him up and down, lengths of his arms, tattoos and the cut over his elbow. His clean t-shirt, his neck, the strong line of his nose and his bright eyes. 

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” you say, smiling at him, knowing your expression says lots of weird stuff. 

Working here in the kitchen makes a busy atmosphere normal. Richie’s telling a story at the top of his lungs, Angel’s swearing about a dropped plate, knives scratch on boards and ovens hum. Being overwhelmed is something you’re good at, and big feelings don’t scare you. 

“You’re jealous of Richie?” you ask, playfully pitying. “Get it together.” 

“Fuck off,” he says again. 

“Seriously? Richie Jerimovich. He’s telling Tina a story right now about how the last date he went on ended with her asking if he’d ever been abducted by aliens.” 

“I’m not jealous of Richie.” 

“No, I don’t think you are,” you say, taking a step too close, and refusing to take the step back. 

Carmy doesn’t look mad anymore. 

You wonder if anybody’s ever held his hand. You used to think he must’ve had a ton of girlfriends, he got so famous everywhere he went, but… He looks like he’s never been this close to someone before. Like you’re making him nervous. 

“Me and Richie are friends,” you say quietly. “Is that what you want us to be?” 

His hand twitches at his side. 

“There, cousin, I cut the fucking onions. You happy?” Richie asks, and laughs as he steps back out to the front of house, unaware of the tension. “That’d be the day, right?” 

“Yes, Richie, I’m happy you did your job. Thank you.” 

“Was that hard for you, baby?” you ask Richie with a pout. “Here, let me kiss your poor hands.” 

Richie gives you the bird with both of them. 

You look to Carmy. Making fun of Richie together isn’t quite as good as holding hands, but you hope it’s a start. 

Carmy catches on, can’t hide his grin, “There’s tylenol in the office if you need it, cousin.”  

“Are your wrists feeling tender?” you prompt. “Or is that motion one you’re used to?” 

Carmy laughs and the sound takes on the shape of his smile, nearly giddy. 

“Fuck both of you.” 

[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.

[mouseymilkovich]

“I know, baby, I know. I’m right here, just breathe.” + “Look how good you take it” from the smut prompts with carmy + somno? if ur into that? if not u can ignore this

anon you've awoken something feral in me . i am SOOO down for some somno

65. “I know, baby, I know. I’m right here, just breathe.” + 22. “Look how good you take it.” ; from 100 nsfw/smut prompts

Content Tags: Somnophilia (but obv it's consensual I would never write anything otherwise!)

come request something → 💌 100 follower special

You groaned a little as you stirred, feeling Carmy prodding at your nude thighs under your blanket. You whined softly, feeling his fingers gently caressing your cunt.

“I know, baby, I know. ’m right here, just breathe.” He hummed softly in your ear.

Somno was something you guys had agreed to; you definitely both had a safe word if either of you weren't in the mood, but the way he touched you always put you in the mood.

You were still a little groggy, somewhat half asleep as you felt his fingers be replaced by his cock. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer into him.

"Doin' s'good, baby. Takin' me so well."

The praises made a smile creep onto your lips as you let out another moan. One of his hands lifted one of your thighs, so he could get himself balls deep.

“Look how good you take it.” He muttered softly, breath hot against your ear. "Feels s'good, doesn't it, baby?"

He fucked you wide awake as he hit that spongy spot inside of you, you letting out a soft cry.

"C-Carm, fuck- 'm gonna cum-" You whimpered softly.

[wannabeschyulersister]

lovelorn and nobody knows

Sometimes it felt like you had the words “I’m in love with my boss” written on your forehead in big capital letters.

As much as you tried to hide it, you couldn’t help but marvel at him. He was truly amazing at his craft and seeing him so passionate made you want to do it as well.

There were times that he acted a little like a jerk but he’d redeemed himself recently. Thanks to Sydney.

And to Claire.

You were surprised when you learned he was seeing someone. He brought Claire around when the restaurant was practically falling apart. It was such a weird moment. You physically could feel the awkwardness in the air.

She seemed really nice but part of you still disliked her just because she could call Carmy hers.

You avoided being around them as much as possible. It hurt just looking at the way he smiled at her.

Every part of your being wished that were you.

You wished you were the one he confided in after a long day at the Bear. You wished that you were the one he walked around the city with hand in hand. You wished you were the one that had his heart.

You felt like a lovesick fool.

Instead of subjecting yourself to seeing the happy couple, you started to back out of any group activities unless it was absolutely necessary.

The group would often go and get drinks at a nearby bar at least once a week. You stopped going as soon as you heard Claire was a regular now. People would ask if you were going and you always had a lie ready to go.

As much as you loved working at The Bear, you knew that it would probably be best if you removed yourself from the situation. It hurt every time you had to be around Carmen and Claire. You didn’t want to constantly put yourself in heartache.

There was a popular Italian restaurant across town that needed a sous. You had a friend of a friend that recommended you. It was the fresh start that you needed.

When you got the job, it was bittersweet. You should’ve been happier than you were.

So, you drafted up a letter of resignation, took a deep breath, and walked into Carmen’s office after closing. He was busy looking at an invoice when you knocked softly on the doorframe to make yourself known.

He looked at you and smiled a little, “Hey, stranger. We missed you last night.”

“Yeah, sorry I missed it. I uh- have something to give you.” You wanted to get this part over with.

“Yeah? What’s that?” He reached over and grabbed the letter that you handed him. You hoped he didn’t notice the slight shakiness of your hand.

You didn’t answer him because you didn’t trust your voice in that moment. Carmen quickly read through your letter and you watched the expression change on his face.

“What the hell is this? You’re leavin’?” Carmen stood up from his seat and placed your letter down.

“I got a job opportunity that I couldn’t say no too. I’m sorry that this puts you in a situation where you are short staffed but I’m giving you a two weeks notice.” You explained to him.

“I don’t understand. You’re happy here, aren’t you? D-did something happen’ that I’m not aware of?” Carmen questioned.

Yeah, you fell in love with someone else.

You shook your head, “No, nothing happened. I just think I’m ready for a new challenge.”

Carmen didn’t look like he bought your lie. “(Y/n), you don’t think that I’ve noticed that you’re distant and-and you haven’t been coming out with all of us?”

Shit.

You’d hoped that maybe he was so busy with Claire that he hadn’t noticed you slipping away from the group at all.

“I’ve just been busy with other things.” You lied again.

“What’s going on?” He questioned.

“Nothing is going on, Carmen.”

He crossed his arms against his chest and it took everything in you not to stare and drool. Even when you tried to be strong, his biceps made you feel weak.

“I don’t believe you.” He stated.

“That’s fine. I just wanted to do the respectable thing and give you an adequate notice.”

Carmen stared at you and it made you feel like he could read your mind. Like he knew the exact reason on why you were leaving.

“I don’t want you to leave, (Y/n). I think you’re amazing and- and you have a bright future in this industry. I think it’s a mistake.”

Your chest ached at his kind words. “I’m just ready for something new.”

He sighed and looked away from you as someone knocked on the door. You turned and saw Claire holding a takeout bag, “Thought I’d surprise you with dinner.”

“Now isn’t a good time, Claire.” Carmen told her.

She looked disappointed, “Am I interrupting something?”

You quickly shook your head, “No, the conversation is over. Have a good night.”

“(Y/n), wait!” Carmen called out to you but you left his office without another look back.

Even thought it killed you to walk away from him, you had to put yourself first.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Can I request a cermy berzatto x reader ? Like the reader came to the restaurant many times and carmy look pretty flustered or something. So everyone one tries to make him have a date with the reader. Hope it’s okayyyy :))

I luv this! I’m so sorry this took a while babes ): this was so buried under my drafts

Hundred times better

“Jesus- okay, you work the kitchen, and- and I guess I’ll work the register for a little.” He told his cousin, who had managed to fuck something up while working the register. How does that even happen?

Carmy attempted to fix it, grunting in annoyance when it didn’t work. You walked in quietly, he didn’t even hear you, just saw you in the corner of his eyes.

He glanced up, mouth falling open to say something. But when he looked at you, his movements paused and his mouth stayed open. You gave him a sweet smile, and a blush came over his face.

He snapped out of it, nodding and stuttering. “Uh- sorry, I’m just… having a bit of…” the cash register popped open, he sighed. “Trouble. What can I get for you?”

“You’re fine! you got it or…?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, no, I’ll… fix this later.” He waved it off, looking back up at you, hands on his hips as he waited for your order. He listened, ringing it up.

“Alright, uhm… your total is 18.45.” He said, his eyes looking you up and down, his hands went over his face, giving you a small smile when he took your money.

“Thank you!” You told him, and even your voice had him weak in the knees. It was like honey, sweet.

You sat down, waiting for it to be brought out as you read through your book. You ignored the noises that came from the men.

“You fix it yet?” Richie yelled from inside the kitchen, looking at Carmy.

“Yes I f- yes!” He shouted, rolling his eyes as he entered the kitchen again. You glanced up, a small smile gracing your features. He was cute, you thought, watching him open the door, watching his muscles flex and his veins pop out his head. Angry, but cute.

You make it your life’s goal to come in often, so often that some of them learn your name. You know Richie, Sydney, Carmen, and a nice woman named Tina.

Carmen- or Carmy as most of them called him, was the one that intrigued you the most of all. He was the cute one- the one who smiled at no one but you, the one who complimented you every so often. You learned he was the owner.

And after a while, his chefs got tired of seeing Carmy angry and pissed off- more than he usually was. They quickly figured out what was wrong. He had a giant, fat, crush on you.

He didn’t want to accept it, but he knew the truth. In his heart.

He was packing up one day, cleaning up as Richie came up to him. He pat him on the back, Carmy jolted and shoved his hands off of him, glaring at him and beginning to walk towards the door.

“What?” He snapped finally, turning to Richie when he felt eyes burning in the back of his skull. They were outside, cars racing by.

“You should ask her out.”

“ What are you talking about, dude?” He furrowed an eyebrow.

“Y/n.”

Carmy rolled his eyes, letting out a huff and turning around.

“I’m serious! Think she seriously likes you. I catch her starin’ at you a lot when you’re not looking.” He told Carmy, wrapping an arm around him.

“No.” He grumbled out.

“Dude. Just ask her out. Sugar agrees.”

“I’m not asking her out while I’m working.”

“Then do it on your break or something.” He said, glancing over at his car. “But for real, tomorrow, I’m excepting to hear about a date.” He pointed, Carmy rolling his eyes and waving him off as he walked away and got into his car.

—-

The next day, it came naturally to the boy. He was sitting outside, a cigarette in between his lips, he blew out the smoke when he saw you form the corner of his eyes.

You were next to the alley, petting a little dog you have found, abandoned on the side of the road.

You didn’t even notice him until he came up.

“Uh, hey.” He spoke casually, throwing his cigarette onto the ground, smashing it with his foot. You looked up and over at him, smiling.

“Hey, Carmen. You on your break?”

“Yeah. Yeah. What uh.. who’s this little guy?”

“I don’t know. Saw him on the side of the road and I felt bad.” You told him, standing up, looking down at the dog and back at hjm.

“Oh.” He didn’t know how to respond.

“Yeah, might take him to the vet or something. But, how was your day? I was actually just about to come in.” You said with a giggle.

“It’s been going…” he told you, scratching the back of his neck and nodding. “How was yours?”

“It’s been okay.” You shrugged. “Well, I don’t wanna take up your time, and I should probably-“ you glanced down at the dog. “Get him in and stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah of course.”

You began to walk away, the dog following you before he called your name again.

“Uh- y/n?” He stuttered out.

“Yeah?” You turned around.

“Would you… wanna go out with me? Like… any time?”

You smiled at him again. “I would love that, Carmy.” You told him. And with his words, your day got a hundred times better.