#carmy berzatto x y/n

[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]

change my mind

carmen berzatto x fem!reader

gif by @emziess

word count: 1,876

warnings: swearing, sugar is still pregnant for the sake of this fic, some playful shouting/sibling behavior, clingy and petty carmy, smooching, barely proofread cuz i’m lazy lol

synopsis: carmy takes it personally when you tell him he has separation anxiety. he just wants you to stay with him all the time. since when is that a problem?

a/n: yes, this is absolutely a fic inspired by and named after a one direction song. i’m healing my inner child and this song just never, ever gets old, lemme’ tell you. with my winter break getting closer, i desperately need some clingy carmy.

————

“Natalie!” You practically screech, embracing the woman, arms strong around her shoulders but going easy with how close you bring yourself to her growing belly. She smiles and laughs into your hair. You both sway back and forth, secretly thinking how good it is to be in another sane person's presence. 

Sugar says your name in the sweetest tone, the kind that, even though she’s hugging you, gives away the grin on her face. “I’m so glad you’re here! I’ve been dying to have some girl time, I swear.”

You both turn at the sound of the door slamming shut, as though someone has kicked it closed with their heel. 

Carmy holds a tray of food up above yours and his sisters head. “Good to see you too, Sug. I’m okay with being chopped liver, it’s fine.”

You hear Pete’s voice from behind you. It echoes a little with the windows open, allowing the cool air to seep in. “It’s that girl bond, am I right?” 

Natalie pulls away and covers her hand with her mouth. Carmy snorts, patting Pete on the back. “Yeah, man. Sure is.”

Then he makes eye contact with his sister. “You know, you could’ve just invited one of us, seeing as all I’m good for is dropping off food.”

Sugar’s socked feet pad across the floor, the squishy spheres of gel sticking and unsticking with each step she takes. Her arms come up around Carmen’s neck and she pulls him into a hug before smacking him on the head. 

“What the fuck, dude?”

Nat gives him an extra squeeze and clears her throat, taking on her worst, but best, male voice. “What the fuck, dude? How could you hit me like that?”

He shoves her away, but you catch how gentle it is, considering she is carrying his niece. “I do not sound like that. And why are you wearing fuckin’ hospital socks around the house?”

“Pete suggested they’d be good while I’m pregnant since I’m so clumsy.”

“They’ve worked pretty well so far,” he chimes in, peeking into one of the trays of food you brought. You go over to him and open it fully, whispering that he can go ahead and eat, if he’s ready. To Pete, if you said it’s alright, it’s like nothing else can touch him. 

“I can get you some, Bear,” you say. “All you gotta do is ask, they’re like a dollar at Walmart.”

“Okay, let’s just eat, alright?” He fusses, though there’s that telltale dimple appearing on his face. He drags a tense hand through his hair. 

“Yes, chef.”

You’re in the first year of your masters program, and when you called Carmy a few weeks ago to tell him the dates for your fall break, you both decided you didn’t feel up to a stereotypical Thanksgiving this time around. Spending a day with Natalie and Pete seemed much more appealing than waiting for an inevitable panic attack from Carm and a full-on fight, political or not, from any given Berzatto or uncle on your mother’s side of the family. 

You’ve spent the past three nights in Carmy’s apartment, but you’re heading back to campus tomorrow morning so that you can focus on submitting your finals and tying up any loose ends. You told him ahead of time that you only planned to stay for a few days, knowing yourself and knowing that the longer you let yourself stay, the harder it would be to head back and finish up the fall semester. 

Besides, it would only be a bit longer until you could settle in with him for winter break. 

Nevertheless, Carmy was grumpy. He was trying to hide it from you because of course your decision was logical, but he is a selfish man. If it was up to him, you’d stay with him every day of the year and let him treat you like a princess. 

Each time you catch him frowning, you remind him that you’ll be coming home to him again in a matter of days. There’s a miniature whiteboard on his refrigerator that you found in the dollar section at Target. It was meant to hang on the wall, but you hot glued little circle magnets on the back four corners. Carmy laughs every time he sees it because he’s splashed something on the fridge door and needs to wipe it clean. You took the lone, failing dry-erase marker from the kitchen drawer and doodled a little calendar on it.

You drew two slightly uneven squares for your countdown. Currently each block has a number, but you know he’ll feel better when the left spot loses any number higher than 0. 

All throughout dinner, Carmy’s hand is at the small of your back, your knee, your bicep, the nape of your neck, resting on your wrist so he can feel your pulse. Like he’s afraid you are about to slip out of his grasp, only to be swept away by the current and never seen again. 

Sugar clears her throat, tucking a chunk of hair behind her ear and wiping her mouth on a paper napkin. “Someone piss in your cornflakes, Carm?”

He blinks over at her, practically jumping at being noticed. You can see his fingertips glistening with sweat under the fluorescent dining room lights. 

You have a forkful of pasta in your mouth, but you begin to chew with haste, shaking your head to try and redirect the conversation. 

You swallow, “It was me, Nat.”

“What?” she asks, voice raising a tinge. “Are you guys having a fight or something? Oh god, should I have said I was sick tonight?”

Pete coughs, his cheeks red as he fights his body’s urge to choke on the food he’s shoving in his mouth to avoid anything slightly awkward. 

The knees of Carmen’s jeans rub together when he sits back further in the dining chair, the sound of the denim, scratchy and rough, communicating his pouty demeanor as he crosses his arms.

“She’s leaving me,” he deadpans.

Forks clatter across plates. “What the fuck, Carm? Are you serious?” He laughs to himself because that vein is protruding from Natalie’s forehead. You elbow him in the ribs. 

You exhale hard enough that Pete feels it on the other side of the table.

“I am not leaving him. He’s pitching a fit because I’m going back to campus tomorrow so that I can focus on finals.”

Natalie’s eyes swing back and forth between the two of you like she’s watching a tennis match. 

“She thinks I’m a distraction,” Carmy says. 

“No duh,” Sugar laughs. “You’re the ultimate distraction. Hell, you’re made of distractions, what with all that unmedicated ADHD.”

“No duh? What are we, five? Y-you think I’m incapable of supporting my girlfriend’s ambitions because I’m some deranged, like fucking—some koala bear?”

Sugar nods once, affirmatively. 

“Yes.”

Carmy scoffs. 

You throw back the rest of your wine and put out a hand like a cop directing traffic would. “Alright, that’s enough. Let’s finish eating, okay? I’ll deal with Carmy’s separation anxiety later tonight.”

He looks at you like he’s been slapped, that crinkle between his brows forming, followed shortly by the appearance of his frown lines. “I do not have separatio—”

“Good garlic bread, huh?” Pete says, crunching loudly. “There fancy butter in this?” 

————

“I can’t believe you think I have separation anxiety!”

“You do have separation anxiety, baby.”

Carmen shrugs off his coat and tosses it at the arm of the couch, but he misses and it slides right off. What a perfect metaphor for his life right now. 

“Just because I’m sad that you’re leaving me?”

“I’m not leaving you, Bear. I’m going to campus so I can ensure I get all my shit done.”

“And you can’t do that here? You already told me you don’t have any in-person finals. You’re submitting everything online, so you don’t have to go back—not really. I must really be a bother, huh?”

He regrets it already, but his petty, pitiful brain quit thinking logically about half an hour ago. 

“Carmen. Anthony. Berzatto.”

He winces. The day Sugar told you his middle name was his last day of peace. He’d had you half-convinced he just didn’t have one because he was the baby and Donna was tired of coming up with names. 

You take his face in your hands, your grip on his cheeks much gentler than the look you’re giving him. 

“Carmen. Listen to me, alright? When I’m here with you, I’m in a state of like, pure bliss. I don’t want to think about my assignments because you make me so content and happy, and you’re so stupidly cute that I just want to look at you all day and I know I won’t be productive because of it.”

Carmy’s eyes flash. His cheek twitches under your thumb where the muscles around his mouth are fighting an involuntary smile. 

His gaze flickers down to your lips when you start grinning as you speak.

“I just want to do really well on my finals, Carm. I’ve worked so hard this semester, and I want to give it my all and finish strong, you know? It’s the fact that I have no self control and would have to pull myself away from you to get work done.”

Carmy blinks at you. “I promise I can keep from distracting you. I’ll even set you up a workspace and bring you lunch or somethin’. So you can do your shit and not be bothered. We could make Richie buy you coffee.”

You laugh. 

“I’m serious,” Carmen continues. “I can be accommodating.”

You take your hands away from his face and step back, setting your fingers against your hips like that’s going to help you think better. He’s already winning you over, but you still want to do all the responsible things. 

There’s a kind of humorous tension in the room. 

Carmy is waiting for you to speak, and you’re trying to pretend like it’s a hard decision to make. If he’s serious about helping you stay focused, there’s no reason you couldn’t just go ahead and stay. 

You inhale, just to make Carmy cringe and brace himself. 

“Baby…if you say you want me to stay, I’ll change my mind.”

“I want you to stay!” Carmy blurts. “Please. I’ll get down on my fuckin’ knees if you really want me to. Stay. I promise I’ll keep out of your hair and help you be productive.” 

You giggle, soft and slow, and it reaches Carmy’s ears, enchanting him like you’re made of some love potion, whatever ingredients you’d need for that sort of thing running through your veins. 

“I’d already pretty much decided on staying right after we left Nat’s.”

Carmy swats you playfully on the hip. “Oh, fuck off! Maybe you should go back, if you’re gonna be so mean to me.” He turns to walk towards the kitchen, glancing at you over his shoulder. 

You move quickly, launching yourself off the floor and landing on his back. He hoists you up, bursts of laughter leaving his throat. 

“You love it when I’m mean to you,” you say, and you press a kiss to the side of his neck, all warm and sickly sweet. 

————

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!

[moonstruckme]

Hiya love, I’ve got a little Carmy idea? If it makes it out the gulag, then brilliant. If not, then at least it’s a nice little thought for us, eh? So I was thinking, maybe it’s set in season one and the reader worked at the bear back when it was the beef. So when Carmy joins, the reader could be on holiday leave or time off to grieve Mikey or something, and when Carmy’s changing everything up Richie can be all ‘big dog won’t like this’ and everyone, even Tina keeps making comments about big dog (the reader). Then! Like a week later or something, the reader comes back to work and she’s all meek and mellow and lovely, and Carmy’s just petrified of her because she’s ’the big dog’ but it turns out everyone just calls her that because she quite literally just has a big dog? Feel absolutely free to ignore the ramble, but if it sparks any creative flow at all, I’d be barking like dog for ya (pun intended this time lol). Hope you’re well, love you lots, have a great day :)

Thank you angel, hope you have a great day too! <3

cw: mention of past death, grief kinda skimmed over but there

Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 932 words

Carmy is ready for a fight. He’s had to be ready every day since he started running The Beef, really, a fight always crops up whether he’s ready or not, but today he’s extra prepared. He hears the back door open as he’s doing inventory, and he gets all geared up. 

This is his restaurant now. His shitshow. Carmy can run it into the ground if he wants to—and he doesn’t want to, but he could, that’s basically what was happening anyway, and the point is that now it’s his. No matter what anybody fucking says, no matter how the back of the house rags on him, he’s—

“Oh. Hi.” 

You look surprised to see him. And Carmy thought he was ready for you, but he’s surprised too. You don’t…maybe he’s about to eat his words, but you don’t look like a Big Dog. You’re not what he was expecting. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“You must be Carmy.” He can see your eyes roving his face, looking for Mikey. A lot of people have been doing that lately. 

Carmy never thought they looked much like brothers. Some people said it was in their mouths, though Mikey’s smiled more. Some people said they sounded the exact same, but only when they were angry. Whatever you find, you offer a faint smile at the end. It’s confusing. 

“Yeah,” Carmy says awkwardly. “You’re early.” 

“I like to come in a little early,” you say by way of explanation. Feet taking you to your station as if by muscle memory, your eyes still on Carmy’s. “Used to be the only one. Is there anything I can help with?” 

“Uh, sure. Four cups of cheese.” 

“Oh it, chef.” You salute, heading towards the pantry. 

Carmy eyes you as you walk back to your station and start shredding. He was ready for a fight, but he doesn’t know what he’s getting into now. Is this some kind of fucking psychological warfare? 

All week, it’s been ooh, Big Dog won’t like that. Just wait ‘til Big Dog gets back. You really wanna fuck with Big Dog’s system? Digging your own grave, Jeff. Big Dog, Big Dog, Big Dog. Carmy doesn’t know exactly what he was anticipating, but it wasn’t you. He guesses appearances don’t mean everything. Tina can be fucking terrifying when she wants to, too. 

“So,” you say, shredding calmly, “how are you?” 

Carmy frowns. “Huh?” 

You look up. Something in his expression puts a worried pinch between your brows. “Sorry, was that too personal?” you ask, and though Carmy waits for the mocking tone he doesn’t hear it. “I just mean, with everything with your brother, and then taking on this place, and the total restructuring, it has to be a lot. I’m sure…” You look at him again, biting your tongue. “But, sorry, we don’t even know each other. I don’t mean to pry.” 

“It’s fine,” he finds himself saying. Which, it’s not really, but you keep fucking apologizing. It’s making him squirm. “Yeah, it’s…it’s been a fucking trip.” 

You nod compassionately. “I’m sure. Listen, I know it’s not the same, but Mikey was like family to a lot of us.” It’s something Carmy’s heard a lot recently. Sometimes in accusatory tones, usually making jealousy rise like bile in his throat, but something about the way you say it sounds different. It’s sincere, like an offering. Like company. 

“If there’s anything you need,” you go on, “you can let me know. I mean, it seems like you’ve already got this place running better than it ever did.” You look around the room appreciatively. Admiring the clean kitchen, which used to be spotted everywhere with rust stains and globs of old food. “But I’m always happy to take on more if you’ve got stuff.” 

Carmy looks at you. Your lips are curved in a faint smile, eyes soft and warm. He can’t find one thing about you that looks insincere. 

He’s about to say sure, the s a breath on his tongue, when the door bangs open. 

“Big Dog!” Richie shouts. 

“Hey!” Your grin widens. You allow yourself to be pulled roughly into a side hug. “Good to see you, Rich. How’re you holding up?” 

“Eh.” Richie shrugs, false insouciance twisting his expression. But his eyes are tender for you. “You know.” 

“Yeah.” You bump his shoulder lightly, careful to keep your hands clean. “I get it.” 

“Why Big Dog?” Carmy blurts. 

You and Richie both look at him in confusion. 

“What?” Richie asks. 

“Why…” Carmy shakes his head, baffled. “Why does everyone call you Big Dog?” 

“Oh.” You laugh. It’s maybe the best thing Carmy’s heard all week, which is just fucking disorienting. “You mean because of Gladys?” 

“Gladys?” Carmy echoes. 

“Fucking rottweiler, cousin,” says Richie. “Big fucking dog.” 

“I know what a rottweiler is,” Carmy nearly snaps. His gaze whips to you. It’s a common enough tone for him—Richie always brings it out—but he finds he doesn’t want to raise his voice so much with you around to hear. If you notice, though, you don’t seem to think much of it. “You aren’t a rottweiler.” 

“But she has a rottweiler, man.” Richie slaps him on the shoulder, scoffing. “Get over it. It’s a nickname!” 

“It’s a fucking stupid nickname.” Carmy does snap this time, regretting it when your eyebrows raise. 

He’s about to backtrack—you’re not stupid, obviously you’re not stupid, but Richie is the stupidest motherfucker Carmy ever had the misfortune of meeting—when he sees the smile playing on your lips. 

You shrug, light as anything. “Guess you’ll have to give me a new one then.”

[dearpyramus]

Carmy picking up his baby mid panic attack because being with them just calms him down

He’s just rocking him against his chest and his own breathing steadies

(a/n: I’m so sorry this took so long!! hope u enjoy!!)

tags: nightmare, fluff, light angst ig, domestic

another night, another grueling nightmare.

he was all too familiar with jolting awake in a code sweat, hair sticking to his forehead and eyes practically blood shot. the routine of trying to quell rising sobs, like a dam holding together by a thread. not wanting to disturb your slumber, no matter how many times you reassured him that it was okay.

now, however, it was different.

it was almost primal, the urge he felt. as if this was unconsciously conditioned as soon as he became a father. all he knew was that he needed to see his baby. he needed to know that she was okay. as if something could have happened to her between the time he was briefly asleep.

he quietly made his way to the nursery, which he helped decorate in various flowers.

he let out a sigh he didn’t realize he was holding when he saw her fast asleep. at least, it appeared like she was asleep. upon further inspection he noticed her looking at him with those wide eyes, those eyes that reminded him of you.

“heyyy there. watcha doin up, hm?”

he cringed at how hoarse his voice sounded. he gently picked up the baby girl, holding her tightly. as if he was afraid she could drop.

he made his way to the rocking chair and sigh as he plopped down, exhaustion consuming him whole. he didn’t want to go back to sleep. not yet. not when his heart was still pounding in his chest. not when he was still shaking like a leaf.

as if she could sense her father’s distress, the baby squirmed a bit and let out a noise. this caused his heart to drop, the last thing he wanted was to upset her.

“hey hey hey, s’okay. daddy’s here. daddy’s gotcha. shhhhh”

he cradled her head which fit perfectly in his hand. his thumb rubbed soothing circles on her tufts of hair. he continued these motions as he began to calm down and continued to murmur to her.

she didn’t know it, but she helped him a lot that night

[rayhalloffame]

Silent Apologies

I think it would be cute if Carmy and reader had their own "I'm sorry" gesture like he does with Syd. I saw a couple on TikTok have a slow dance as a way to break the ice and thought it was so sweet, so here's a little something about nonverbal apologies with Carmen.

I personally have been in love with The Few Things by JP Saxe and listened while writing. Comment some of your favorite slow songs so I can add it to my “Slow Dancing and Sautéing” album :)

The fight had been silly, really. You’re not even sure why it’s gone on as long as it has. Maybe because you’re equally as stubborn as Carmen. You both walk around the apartment as if the other doesn’t exist, passing each other in the living room and barely sparing a glance. It’s a game of chicken at this point; someone has to break first. This time, Carmen does.

You’re sitting on the couch after dinner, in your pajamas and scrolling your phone before bed. You can hear Carmy clinking dishes around in the kitchen in the background. Suddenly the kitchen goes silent, and a moment later, the beginning cords of a song you know all too well filter through the apartment. You heave a sigh, pull yourself to your feet, and follow the music.

Carmen is waiting for you. He’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed and head bowed until he hears the creak of the floorboard that announces your presence. Your gaze meets his when he lifts his head. A tattooed hand reaches toward you, palm up: a peace offering. I’m sorry.

You can’t help the grin that twitches at the corners of your mouth. Without another moment’s hesitation, you slide your smooth palm over his calloused one and Carmy feels like he can breathe again. He pushes himself from the counter at the same time he reels you against his chest, other hand settling warmly over your waist. You rest your free hand on the back of his shoulder and begin to sway.

The music fills the silence before he breeches it, nose rubbing along yours. “M’sorry” he mumbles, voice barely above a whisper. “Shouldn’t’ve snapped at you.” You hum in acknowledgement, enjoying the warmth seeping from his chest to yours. The kitchen light is dimmed from the dinner you both begrudgingly ate together, window ajar because you nearly set the kitchen on fire while cooking. It’s a quiet night in the city, as if it knew you and Carmy needed to hear each other.

You inhale a deep breath, smelling the residual scent of the meal and Carmen’s cologne. He’s already looking at you when your eyes dance over his face. “I shouldn’t have gotten so defensive,” you finally respond, “I’m sorry, too.” He hums, releasing your hand which you drop to rest on his side. His hand, big and strong, strokes down the side of your face, tucking stray hairs away. His eyes flit over the contours of your eyebrows, nose, mouth, like he’s missed looking at you. It makes your cheeks warm from his attention.

Carmen settles his hand on your jaw, traces his thumb along your bottom lip, kisses you sweetly, tries not to lose pace with the music. When he pulls away, he doesn’t go far, just rests his forehead on yours. “You know I love you, right?”

Your heart swells. Of course you know. “Yeah,” you whisper in the small space between you, “you know I love you, right?” His chuckle vibrates through him, goes right to your fingertips along his ribs. Carmy creates space to kiss your forehead, your cheek, your jaw. He knows.

[zablife]

Good Company

Carmen Berzatto x reader

Summary: You've injured yourself on the line and though you try to hide the pain, Carm's there to console you.

A/N: It's been a minute since I wrote for Carm, but this was requested by a lovely anon and I couldn't resist writing it first out of all my new requests. Prompt: "Sit down, you're looking very pale."

Warnings: mention of blood

Carm slouched forward, his aching shoulders rolling forward in repose as he took a long drag. Instantly comforted by the warm smoke filling his lungs, he closed his eyes for a moment, forgetting where he was. The bustling atmosphere of the kitchen could wait, he told himself, forgetting the chaos on the line for a minute of peace.

That is until he heard the heavy metal door slam shut behind him, alerting him to someone likely bearing news of a new crisis. Exhaling a stream of smoke into the starless sky, he crushed his unfinished smoke beneath the toe of his boot and pushed himself up off the ground. "What the fuck is it now?" he spat.

The toss of his head and roll of his eyes caused you to gulp and cautioned you to keep your problems to yourself. Suddenly realizing how insignificant it seemed, you did your best to hide the issue from him.

Just then Carm registered your ashen face in profile. It might have gone unnoticed by anyone else, your features partially hidden in shadow, but Carm noticed everything about you. Since you'd begun working for him two months ago, he'd become so enamored of you, he couldn't help but watch your every movement.

"Wait a second," he blurted, the words barely pushing past his lips. He deeply regretted his bad tempered response, the sharp reply meant for Ritchie had kept you from confiding in him and that wasn't what he wanted. "You...um,...you, okay, Y/n?" he asked, knowing you weren't.

"I'm fine," you mumbled, hand throbbing even as you spoke. You tried to conceal the evidence of your injury in the folds of your apron, but Carm spotted your movement with hawk like precision.

"What happened to your hand?" he asked, craning his neck to see the mess you'd tried to hide.

"It's just a cut, chef. I can handle it," you promised, a dulcet tone belying the fear clutching your heart as you grew woozy. Legs buckling slightly beneath you, Carm rushed to hold you up.

"Sit down, you're looking very pale," he informed you, the gentle tone of his voice soothing you. His strong arms encased you before you fell head first into the bins and he gently guided you to sit on the overturned milk crates. The empathetic expression radiating from his blue eyes told you all would be well, but your disquieted mind refused to accept it.

Carm only needed a single glance at your unfocused eyes to realize you could be going into shock. He sprung into action, fumbling for your arm until the trickles of blood ran over his hands in silent admission. "M gonna get you to a doctor, okay? This needs stitches," he informed you with as much calm as he could muster. "Is that okay?"

You nodded, but didn't speak as he worked to compress the wound.

"Whatsa matter? Never seen a little blood before?" he joked with a lopsided grin.

"Never cut myself," you confessed, biting your lip anxiously.

"Not through school or nothin'?" Carm asked incredulously.

"Guess I've been lucky," you answered, returning his warmth with a weak smile.

"This shit happens all the time," he assured you, holding up his left hand to reveal a long scar carved into his palm. "Welcome to the club," he chuckled.

"Then I'm in good company," you agreed, leaning against his broad shoulder as he ushered you to his car.

-----------------------------

TAG LIST:

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@reader-hes

[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.”

[flightlessworm]

carmy body worship sex when reader is postpartum and feeling very insecure about their body

[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.

[luveline]

carmy! i have a request, it’s so basic but everything you write is golden. him and r are pining coworkers, and maybe someone else yells at her or upsets her or whatever and he’s like but i’m the only one allowed to shout at you and he hugs her (because you know… arms 👀)

—Carmy tries to make you feel better after a customer upsets you. fem, 1.5k 

“Fucking asshole,” Richie mutters as the door swings closed. 

Carmy would cringe if he had the energy, or a lack of self-awareness —it’s not as though he doesn’t swear like a starved sailor every other sentence. 

“Who’s the asshole?” he asks, feeling down his side for the bump of a box of cigarettes he doesn’t find. 

He’s taken to hiding them in the office. He’d love to pretend it was an act of lent, but in actuality, he never told Ritchie that the box of cigarettes left near the burner, that gave them their C-army rating, wasn’t Richie’s at all, but Carmy’s. He isn’t ever planning on having that conversation, so he’s trying not to carry a box around and leave it somewhere stupid again. 

“Fucking– you didn’t just hear that guy?” Richie asks, scowling. 

Carmy scowls back. “Yeah, that’s why I’m asking. What the fuck do you think?” 

It’s slightly too much aggression off the cuff, but Richie brings it out of him. “Some asshole just came in here and started shouting like a motherfucker because he forgot his stupid napkins. I thought Sunshine was gonna cry her eyes out.” 

Carmy clocks back in fully. “What?” 

Sunshine is the mildly sarcastic nickname Richie gave you before Carmy ever step foot in The Beef. It’s not that you’re moody, but you’re always tired, and you give these little shy smiles out to anyone who asks how you are. I’m fine, you say every time, followed by something deflective like, I’m just tired. Lack of vitamin D from working in this place. 

“Where do scumbags get off, making girls cry like that?” 

Carmy's eyes widen. “She’s crying?” 

Richie is capable of seriousness, despite himself. “Yeah,” he says, his anger swapped out for a low remorse, “I told her to go sit in the office until she’s feeling better.” 

Carmy pauses. “Should I go look in?” he asks. 

“Duh, Carmen. You’re the only one who can make her feel better. Which I resent!” He brings a rag end from his shoulder to wipe his forehead, which is gross, but whatever. “I’m fucking excellent at being a shoulder to cry on.” 

Carmy doesn’t know what that means. Richie says it like it’s obvious, but since when is Carmy the only person who can make you feel better? You’ve known everybody here far longer than you’ve known him, and sometimes Carmy thinks you probably don’t want a thing to do with him, does anybody in the kitchen? You’re smart, and you’ve been working here as long as anybody, started when you were genuinely too young and learning everything you know from the other. You have potential, like everybody here. You just didn’t get the right training, and you’re defensive (again, like everybody here). 

Carmy’s almost positive you’re gonna tell him to fuck off when he knocks the office door. He doesn’t know why he does it, nobody knocks in this shithole, but he does. Maybe he’s buying time; you’ll be feeling better when he pushes the door fully open, and he won’t have to navigate the treacherous depths of his feelings for you while he’s so busy trying to work himself out.

You sniff, muffled, like  a sleeve is held over your face. “Hello?” you ask. 

Carmy gets a burst of energy and doesn’t ask before stepping into the room. You can’t say no if he doesn’t ask, and you don’t, looking at him from the rickety office chair with distrust, and then sheepishness. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be in here.” 

“No, no, you can come in here,” he says. He has a bad habit of pausing too long and looking too close, hands clenched in front of himself. “You can come in here. Some asshole made you cry?” 

You shake your head with tears still wet on your cheek. You’re at home in the office, all the chaos and posters and paper trails a match for you dishevelled appearance. You’ve pulled your foot onto the chair, showcasing a shoe that’s falling apart and two pairs of socks pulled to uneven heights. Your hands are a riot, none of your jewellery but a mismatch of different coloured band-aids over a multitude of wounds. And your face glows with tears, shitty light of the desk lamp casting yellow onto your teary cheeks, your lips bitten raw. 

“I’m fine,” you say. 

Carmy doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he was hoping for a better confession. “Over napkins?” 

“Said I’m s’posed to put napkins in the bag,” you say, a monotony to your voice that’s forced and weak at once. “‘Cos I’m a fucking idiot, right, who doesn’t put napkins in the bag?” You sniffle. “Whatever. Richie said he can’t come back.” 

“He can’t,” Carmy says quickly. 

He fails to follow it up. There’s an idiot in the office, for sure, and it’s not you. 

Your mouth crumples and you look away from him, something achy about you as another tear falls down your cheek to curve into the skin above your top lip, making a home at your cupid’s bow. “I’m fine.” 

“You can be upset,” he says. “This job’s… hard enough, without people making you feel like shit for shit you didn’t do.”

You respond to his warm(ish) tone with a small smile. Your tear slips down your lip. Carmy wants to wipe it off. 

“What can I do?” he asks finally.

He wishes he could make you feel better without asking, and there are parts of him that want to turn tail and run, too, but Carmy stays standing in front of the half-open door watching as tears make their way to your chin. He doesn’t know why you’re still crying. 

Maybe he does. Carmy doesn’t usually cry. He just watches things go wrong without stopping them, or keels over in the alley for long, too fast minutes as his heart pumps a bruising rhythm against his ribs. 

“I’m fine, Carmy,” you say, wiping your face roughly as you stand from the chair.  

He scratches a hand through his hair. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” 

“You don’t have to anything.” 

“Richie said I’m the only person who can make you feel better.” 

“You’re just the only guy who ever shouts at me,” you tease, sniffling softly as you do. 

Carmy shouldn’t yell at anyone, but he does. You’ve never cried. He wouldn’t yell at anybody if he thought it would make them upset like that, it’s just that yelling’s like talking where he comes from, and the kitchen doesn’t help. 

“So what? Am I supposed to beat that guy up?” Carmy asks. 

You laugh through what he hopes to be the last of your tears, scrubbing at your cheeks ineffectually. “Like you could beat somebody up. You’re all bark and no bite, Berzatto.” 

Sure. And he’s a loser, he’s more than aware of it; Carmy knows fifty seven different ways to prepare corn for eating and he doesn’t know a single way to make girls feel better, so he tries something he saw on TV. 

“Come here,” he says, holding his arm out insistently. “C’mere.” 

He leans in to grab you. You hold your arms out, but you still when he touches you like you're shocked. He’s a little shocked too. 

“Richie knew the guy, right?” Carmy asks. 

“He said he’s banned for life.” 

“Okay, great.” Carmy feels up your back slowly. Your arms are hesitant behind him. He’s the braver one for once, feeling at the dips and slopes of you with a greedy hand.

You smell… really good. He has a good sense of smell, can pick apart a meal's ingredients by scent alone if he’s awake enough, so he can tell you’re wearing that little solid perfume you keep in your cubby, gentle enough to not bother anybody in the kitchen, ever so slightly milky and sweet. He can also smell the salt on your cheeks. So weird to be able to smell your tears. 

Carmy pats your back and leans away. Your hands fall to your side. 

He wipes your face hesitantly, pinky to your soft cheek, until your tear stains are dry and you’re looking at him steadily.

“That was really weird,” you say. 

He panics, stepping away from you, “Fuck. Fuck, sorry.” 

You shake your head. “No, I’m just kidding. Thanks, Carmy.” 

“Dick,” he says. 

You smile brightly. Okay, his heart fell into his ass when you said it was weird, but you can tease him all day if it makes you feel better. 

“I better go tell Richie I’m okay,” you say. “Don’t you have a stock to reduce?” 

“Oh, you mean your stock?” he asks. 

Your smile makes him wanna grab your wrist, and it makes him wanna chase after you. You slink out of the office, waving a quick goodbye with your fingers, and Carmy stares at the place you’d been sitting while you cried for a couple of seconds to get a grip.  

He puts his hand on his chest and feels his pulse racing. 

“Fucking asshole,” he mutters, not sure if he means the customer or himself.

[bookshelf-dust]

gentle fingers, gentler boy

carmen berzatto x fem!hairdresser!reader

gif by @hotch-girl

word count: 3,589

warnings: swearing, joking mentions of arson, one donna mention, i don’t think anything else??

synopsis: carmy needs a haircut—desperately. or so natalie tells him. she sends him to you, and it’s safe to say carmy never would’ve expected a trim would turn into the best date he’s ever had in his life.

a/n: hello, my loves! don’t even ask my why this fic has taken me so long to write because i couldn’t tell you. but i do imagine it has something to do with the fact that i have the attention span of a goldfish these days. anyhow, i wrote this as a kind of predecessor to this fic, because something about carmy and his hairdresser gf is so special to me. let me know what you think!! happy reading <33

————

“You really do need a haircut, Bear.”

Sugar leans up against the office door frame. Her younger brother is hunched over the desk, an Igor incarnate, flipping through a pile of papers Cicero left for him. 

Richie’s voice booms throughout the kitchen. “I been tellin’ him that, Sug! It needs a wash, too. He’s startin’ to look like Jack…Jack…” He snaps his fingers, searching for a name. “The psycho asshole from The Shining!”

“Jack Torrence,” Marcus chirps.

“Jack Torrence!” Richie claps, making Sugar roll her eyes. She moves closer to Carmen, leaning against the corner of the desk. She crosses her arms. 

“I told you, Carm, you can go see my girl. She’s never done me wrong.” 

That small, gentle smile she has grows on her lips. Natalie gently pushes her brother’s shoulder. “And hey, she stopped me from getting bangs again a few weeks ago.”

Richie’s hands fly upward, pressing together in a prayer pose. “Thank fuck. Bangs were never your look, babe.”

“Shut up, Richie!” Sugar and Carmen’s voices ring out simultaneously, as if they’d rehearsed for this very moment of synchronization.

Carmy’s clogs drag against the tile floor as he braces his palms against the desktop and pushes himself backwards. He scrubs his face with his hands, leaving it tinged red when he finally relents.

He looks up at his sister, a firm wrinkle formed between her brows. Carmen huffs.

“What did you say her name was?” Carmy asks, eyes darting to the clock, searching for the time only to realize no one ever fixed the damn thing. “Hey, Richie! Can you get some fuckin’ batteries in here?”

Sugar’s eyes squeeze shut at the volume Carm’s voice has just reached. But nevertheless, she pinches her nose and says your name. 

“She’s like, fifteen minutes down the road. She went to school for it, she respects shy people, and I promise–she’s not gonna cut your ear off.”

Richie rounds the corner at that exact moment, a pile of double A’s shoved in his pocket. He pulls the analog clock off the wall and pries open the back panel. “Oh, you mean like that time Mikey snipped the tip of his ear clean–”

“Oh my god, enough, Richard!” Sugar’s hands fly around in front of her face. Unfortunately it only encourages Richie further, laughing to himself as he snaps four batteries into place. He’s still laughing—clapping his hands together because he’s so tickled—when he walks back toward the front of the house. 

Carmen’s fist covers his mouth. He’s tempted to laugh himself, but he at least knows better by now. Natalie sighs loud enough for the people across the street to hear. 

“Look, Carm. I’ll even make the appointment for you if that would help, but it’s gotta happen. You look like shit.”

Carmy snorts, standing up from the wonky office chair. “Thanks, Nat.”

Sugar’s phone is already in her hand. 

“So that’s a yes? What time would be best? Actually, I’ll just tell you when you’re going. Settled.”

————

“You getting off, Leigh?”

Your coworker ties her hair up in an artfully messy bun. “Yeah, babe. I took a half day because it’s date night tonight.” She wiggles her eyebrows at you, shimmying her way across the floor so she can plant a sweet kiss on your cheek.

“Your mom got the kids?” You ask, laughing to yourself as you rinse the leftover conditioner from your sink. 

Leigh claps her hands. “All weekend, girl!” 

You toss your gloves in the trash, letting her hug you and bounce up and down in glee. She deserves this. She hasn’t gotten a night out with her husband in months, their three-year-old twins keeping them more than occupied.

“I hope you have fun tonight. Drink something with Irish cream in it for me, will you?” 

Leigh’s hands pat your cheeks gently. “Oh, you know I will. Just wish you were getting out there too.”

You wave her away, and she’s quick to hold up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Is Natalie’s brother still coming in today?”

Your eyes dart to the clock over her head. “Should be here in like, five minutes.”

The doorbell chimes. 

Both yours and Leigh’s heads snap in that direction. 

“Or…now.”

“Oh, fucking Christ.”

Your eyes flick back to each other immediately, having spoken at the exact same time. Leigh is not gonna let your outburst go. 

There’s already a devilish grin growing across her face. “You think he’s hot, don’t you?”

You dart around her. “No. Those words never left my mouth.”

She catches you by the belt loop. “You’re right, I believe your exact words were ‘Oh fucking Christ, he could bend me over right here.’” Leigh’s laughter bubbles up and you fear she might keel over. 

“That is an exaggeration,” you huff. 

Leigh slings her worn out, bright red purse over her shoulder. “Bet you were thinking it though.” She risks a glance over her shoulder. “You’re not wrong though. His arms are huge. And you better go help him before we get a bad Yelp review.”

You start to wave her away. “Yeah, alright.” You follow her towards the front desk. “Have fun tonight,” you shout, “and remember to make sure you have meds for tomorrow’s hangover.”

She fake gasps, pausing just beside where Carmen is standing. “Me? Hungover? Never.” Leigh lowers her sunglasses just slightly and directs her next few words at the man in front of her. “She’ll take real good care of you, youngest Berzatto.”

The doorbell chimes as Leigh makes her way out to her beat up Mustang, leaving you and Carmy alone out front. 

He laughs awkwardly, shuffling towards the front counter to meet you.

“Sorry about her,” you say. “She’s full of it. Anyway, Carmen, right? Natalie told me you’d try and come by today.”

Carmy’s cheeks burn with embarrassment from being put on the spot. But also because you’re so…pretty. He manages to pull together a few coherent words. 

“She really said try?” he asks, the barest of smiles gracing his lips.

You cross your arms and walk over to your station. “No. It was more of ‘He’ll be there at 4:30 tomorrow or else I’m going to burn down The Bear and keep the insurance money for myself.’”

Carmen scratches at his curls. “Yeah, that I believe.”

You gently pat the back of your leather chair. “You can sit whenever you’re ready. I realize I never really introduced myself.” You say your name, and even if it’s a name Carm has heard a hundred times before, it somehow sounds hypnotizing falling off your lips. 

The leather backing is cold through Carmy’s t-shirt. He hopes the shiver that moves down his spine when you thread your fingers through his hair passes off as the coinciding goosebumps. 

“So, what are we thinking today, Carmen?”

His big blue eyes blink at you through the mirror. “Carmy,” he says.

“Hm?” you hum, running a wide-toothed comb carefully through his curls so that nothing snags. 

“You don’t have to call me Carmen. Makes me feel like I’m in trouble.” A low laugh tumbles over his lips. “Carmy is fine.”

You smile at him. “Okay, Carmy. What would you like me to do with your hair today? Buzz cut? Mohawk?” You walk around to face him head on. “Extensions?”

You notice how nervously he plays with his hands. But you get it. You’re hoping to make him as comfortable as you can, and not just for that good Google review.

Carmy runs a hand over his mouth, hiding the sweet smile that’s growing there. The crinkles by his eyes give it away. You’re so fucking charming he can’t stand it. 

He clears his throat. “I was thinking just a trim? It’s kinda long over my eyes, and sometimes it’s good to see things.” You giggle. 

Good god, how’s he gonna get through this?

“Maybe a little shorter on the sides, too.”

“Like a mullet?” You quip.

He snorts. “Nah, not a full mullet. Maybe where it’s barely noticeable that it’s shorter there? I’m also shit at taking care of it, so if you could help with that…”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth. Carmy has to clear his throat, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. “How ‘bout this. I’ll take you to the sink and give it a wash, and then we’ll trim it, and I can have you help me style it so it’s easier when you’re at home?”

Carmy nods. “Yeah, that’d be great, thank you.” 

Your hand slides across the back of his shoulders as you move away and towards the back room full of head-sized basins. “Come on then, Mr. Berzatto. Let’s wash that pretty head of yours.”

————

“That feels so good,” Carmen says, the words leaving his mouth before he has a moment to think them over. “Wait—is that a weird thing to say?”

You laugh from your place behind him. “No, not at all. That’s why I keep my nails a little longer, because my clients always tell me this is the best part.” Your hands are covered in a lavender-scented shampoo, your fingertips massaging the foam into his scalp. “A good head scratch does wonders for the soul.”

You watch Carmy’s lips lift at the corners. His eyes are closed, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he dozed off. You’re always happy to keep a conversation going with clients, but the silence is just as well.

The sounds of foils getting folded in place by your coworker out front, the air conditioner, the radio—it’s all oddly soothing. The radio station Leigh always sets it on has the oddest selection of music choices for one given channel. Not that you mind that either. 

You rinse Carmen’s hair out and apply conditioner to the mids and ends of his curls. You blindly grab a comb, muscle memory putting it in your grasp in seconds.

Carmy swears he’s gonna knock out. He’s trying about as hard as he did in school when he knew he should be paying attention to whatever math lesson but couldn’t keep his eyes open. And when your words reach his ears, he thinks you’ve just read his mind. Sensed the sleep pricking at his eyelids. 

“You do have really nice hair, Carmy. Anyone else in your family have curls?”

You watch the way his brows knit together. “I think my mom? You’d never know it though. She’s straightened it every day since I was a teenager, like even when we weren’t leaving the house.”

You focus on your final rinse of his hair, allowing him to continue. “When I was a kid though, if she showered before bed and I needed her, her hair would be all wet and curly. That’s the only time I saw it like that.”

Carmy sits up when you wrap a thin towel around his head, holding it secure as he follows you back to your station. 

“Leigh, the woman leaving when you came in? She has lots of clients like that. A lot of people weren’t taught how to take care of their curly hair.”

“Is that a hint?” Carmen quips. It makes you snort. 

“Just a gentle one.”

Carmy watches while you cut his hair. Every once in a while your tongue will poke out, or you’ll wiggle your hips to a song on the radio. When you’re almost finished, what Carmen thinks is a Madonna song comes on. 

You start humming, and Carmy knows he’s done for. Richie would call him whipped. He probably will tomorrow morning, just by reading Carm’s face. 

“Out of the sky, I close my eyes…heaven help me.”

Carmy lets out a little laugh because you’re doing this little dance as you sift through his curls. You hear it, and it only encourages you more. 

“Big Madonna fan?” he asks, his hand rubbing over his mouth to hide the boyish grin there. The tattoo on his hand catches your eye. 

“She’s good for the soul.”

You crouch in front of him, rummaging through a cabinet for he doesn’t know what. “Your tattoos are pretty, by the way,” you say. It takes him by surprise. 

“Oh. Thanks.”

You emerge with two bottles. “Do people not usually compliment them?” You spray his hair down with cool water, getting it to the stage of damp you need for the products to work. 

Carmy laughs lowly. Maybe with a little hint of embarrassment. “Nah, they usually ask me what the hell they are or if I was drunk when I got ‘em.”

“Were you?”

He meets your playful gaze. “Only for a few.” Your smile is downright gleeful. 

“M’kay, Carm. Let me give you the rundown.” He straightens and you get a glimpse of the chef he left at The Bear to visit you today. “So this is a leave-in conditioner. After you shower, you put just a little of this in your hands—like this—and kinda run it through your hair all over. Just so it’s in there well.”

You demonstrate, and for the first time, Carmy finally understands how people can look at him and question his ability to cook so seamlessly. That’s the way you do hair. Like it’s as easy as breathing for you. 

“And this is a gel. It’s super lightweight, so it won’t feel gross or anything, and it’s not expensive either. You wanna use a little more of this, but not by much. You can do the same sort of thing, because your hair takes shape really easily since it’s not damaged any. And once that’s distributed, I want you to scrunch it some, just to get any excess product, but also to help any curls that need encouragement.”

You bite your lip because Carmy is nodding along, giving you his complete attention and it’s fucking adorable. 

“And if there’s any curls by your face or anything, you can use your fingers to define them so they look how you want. You think you can do all that?”

Carmy laughs. “Not a chance.” Then you’re both laughing, and it feels so comfortable anyone would think you’d known each other for years. 

“It takes practice. I’m gonna give you these to take home and use.” Your hand disappears in your back pocket for just a moment. “But if you want to put your number in my phone, I can always send you instructions if you need help…”

Carmy pauses. Freezes, even. You look at him nervously, afraid that maybe your ability to read the room has evaporated. Luckily, he proves you wrong. 

“Wow. That was smooth.”

You exhale and laugh into the back of your hand. “I’m never that smooth, I don’t know how I managed that,” you chuckle. Carmy’s fingers fly over your keyboard. 

“Thank you for today, really. I usually avoid the hairdresser at all costs.”

“Sugar did tell me that,” you grin. 

“M-maybe I could make you dinner or something, for putting up with me…?”

Your face warms. “I’d like that, yeah.”

Carmy blinks. His phone goes off where you’ve shot him a text with just your name and a smiley face. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

He rubs his hands together. “Okay, cool. Alright, yeah. What do you like?”

“I wouldn’t say no to pasta. Pasta is good in all forms.”

————

“You can tell me if you hate it. I won’t be offended.”

“I think you might have a nervous breakdown though, and you’re too pretty for that.”

Carmy blushes, shaking his head at you. 

“What?” you laugh. “It’s true.” Your voice has a sing-song lilt to it. Over the past few weeks you’ve gotten to know Carmy a bit better. He’s been busy though, so it’s taken longer than expected to have dinner together. 

He made up for it by providing you with pasta and cheesecake for dessert. He’s wearing this thick sweater, your eyes locking on his forearms where he’s rolled up the sleeves. 

Sugar was so excited when you texted her after his hair appointment. 

Natalie B: How’d it go? Was he a total pain in the ass?

You: it went well! got him all sorted out. he offered me dinner as a thank you (after he paid, of course). would that weird you out??

Natalie B: OMG NO!! He’s got such a giant stick up his ass, maybe your charm pulled it out! Go have fun. Leigh was telling me you hadn’t been on a date in forever last time I was in anyhow.

You: brb blocking both of you shitheads ♥️

You hadn’t expected a haircut to lead to any of this, but sitting here, in Carmy’s sparsely furnished apartment, looking at the soft smile on his face and the nervous way he’s fussing with his fingers as you eat the dinner he made you, you’re grateful.

Not that you’ll tell Natalie that. Or Leigh. They don’t need that ego boost. 

You wipe your mouth on a napkin and look up to see that Carmy is gazing at you expectantly. You laugh, his eye contact making you a little nervous. 

“It’s good, Carm. Really good. You can eat.”

He swipes his hand down his face, but when it comes down to grab his fork, he lets you see his smile. “I’m glad you like it. Not too much parsley or anything? I didn’t add lemon because Sugar mentioned you saying you didn’t like pasta with too much lemon juice in it.”

Your mouth drops open. That’s such a small, easy to forget thing. Maybe you will have to give Nat a hug. 

You reach out to touch his hand. Tentatively, just in case it’s too far. “That’s so sweet, Carmy. It’s perfect, really. And honestly the lemon thing is from one very overpowering pasta experience. Maybe whatever you make me will be better.”

Carmen takes a big bite of pasta and a swig of beer so he has time to collect himself. “Maybe we can fix your lemon-related trauma.”

“As long as there’s a backup snack in case the lemon PTSD can’t be fixed.”

You both burst into a fit of giggles. The rest of dinner goes by, filled with conversation about everything and nothing—Carmy’s lack of knowledge about current television, your love of reading and need for someone to share the plots with. 

Carmen is making you a plate to take home with you when he’s finally psyched himself up to ask his question. He says your name and you peer at him from your spot against the counter. 

“I-uh…I’ve been trying to do my hair the way you taught me, but I can’t get it right. I was wonderin’ if you’d show me? Maybe? You don’t have to—”

“Of course I can. All you had to do was ask.” You push off the counter and beam at him. “Come on, I’ll help you.”

You’re lucky you already learned the way to his bathroom so that your streak of confidence would continue working so well. And when you squeeze out some of the hair gel into Carmy’s hands, you know he just needed an excuse. He’s got it down pat. 

He runs his hands through his hair, scrunching clumps together every now and then, finger-curling the pieces up front and by his ears. Now you’re just waiting to see what he really wanted to say. 

You cross your arms, attempting to look serious, but you can’t hold back the grin spreading across your face. 

Carmen looks over at you, drying his hands now that they’re free of product. He’s never been great at reading people, but that look in your eye tells him he’s a shit actor. 

“So, that didn’t fool you, huh?”

You giggle. “Not at all, Berzatto. You couldn’t even fake how well you’ve learned to do your hair.”

Carmy takes a step closer to you, rubbing his nose self-consciously. “I’m very bad at saying what I’m thinking. Or saying what I want.”

“I can see that.”

He squints at you, his lips ticking up just slightly. 

“So what is it you want but are too scared to say?” you start. “Do we need to play hangman?” 

That would normally get a laugh out of him, but he’s too on edge. Inhale. Exhale. Oh, just fucking say it, Carm. 

“I wanna kiss you.”

Your ears burn. You release your bottom lip from where it was pinned between your teeth. “I was hoping you’d say that. Please do.”

You push up on your tiptoes, suddenly bursting with excitement and hoping that’ll convey to Carmen that he doesn’t need to be nervous because you want this just as bad. 

It works. 

You put your hands on Carmy’s collarbones the second his fingers slip into your hair. Your nervous system lights on fire, thoughts of how much surface area his palms cover racing through your mind. He kisses you all shy and hesitant at first, like he’s nervous he won’t do what you’re hoping. 

His lips are warm, and you can feel the spots where he’s chewed them raw. You can’t help but think that kissing him might be a good way to break that habit. His nose presses into your cheek, tickling you and making you giggle.

Carmen pulls away, smiling at you. “What’s so funny?”

“Your nose was tickilin’ my cheek.”

“Oh? Like this?” He starts dragging his nose across your face and then down to your neck when he feels you start to laugh harder. He thinks he’s finally cracked the code. It seems like pasta and nose tickles are the proper way into your heart. 

————

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!

rb banner from @steph-speaks

[moonstruckme]

dare i say carmy coming home to ur shared apartment and you’re napping so he starts on dinner for u but you wake up and feel immensely guilty that he’s just come home from hours of cooking only to cook some more…(i want to kiss him so bad it’s embarrassing)

Thank you for requesting lovely!

Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 544 words

You wake to the sound of sizzling in the kitchen. 

A groan tears from your throat as you untangle yourself from your blanket, searching for your slippers underneath the couch. Your apartment darkened without you noticing, the only light an orange glow coming from above the stove. 

“Carmy,” you croak, coming up behind him to wrap your arms around his middle. He jolts a little but relaxes once he realizes it's you. He still smells like the restaurant, like focaccia and a dozen herbs you could never identify on your own. 

“Hey.” He settles one hand over where your wrists cross on his abdomen. Calloused and intimate. “You good?” 

You rest your cheek on his shoulder, the ends of his hair tickling your nose. Your head hurts. “I’m sorry.” 

“What?” Whatever’s on the stove sizzles and pops. You hear his wooden spoon scrape through it. “Why, what’re you sorry for?” 

“I was supposed to do dinner.” 

“What?” Carmy asks again. He half turns his head, trying to see you. “Did we say that?” 

“No,” you mope, “but I was gonna. I was just taking a nap after work, and then I was gonna get up and make dinner. I didn’t mean to make you come home and cook after you just left the restaurant.” 

Your boyfriend makes a short, derisive sound. “You’re not making me do shit. It’s fine, I don’t care.” 

You sigh against the back of his shirt, your body heavy with misery. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t—quit saying that.” Carmy flicks down the heat on the stove, turns in the circle of your arms so that he’s facing you. He takes your face in his hands, grip firm. “You’re sick. It’s fine. I don’t expect you to make me dinner even when you’re not sick.” His brow wrinkles. “That’d be kind of fucked up and misogynist, right?” 

You feel a tug on your lips. “Yeah, I guess. But you cook all night anyway. And I’m not that sick anymore.” 

Carmy frowns. “Your face is still hot.” You think it probably goes a tad hotter at his notice, a tickle of shyness skittering across your skin where his thumbs rest on your cheeks. “Anyway, I don’t need you contaminating our food. It’s gross.” 

“Faulty logic,” you say, voice softening, “considering we share a bed and all that.” 

Now Carmy’s face is heating. You can tell from the pink splotches blooming by his nose. “It still feels grosser when it’s food. I don’t want your snot or whatever in there.” His expression softens slightly. “I’m not trying to be mean.” 

“I know.” You wrap your arms around him more tightly, your face to his chest. “Okay. Thank you.” 

He palms the back of your head. “You’re still fucking sick,” he mutters, but keeps you close as he rotates you both back towards the stove, pushing things around in his pan. 

“Yeah, maybe. My head hurts. Thanks for making dinner.” 

“It’s nothing fancy.” 

“What’re we having, Chef?”

“Now I feel like you’re gonna be disappointed.” 

You smile against Carmy’s front. “Never. What is it?” 

He lets his hand slip down from your head, petting down your hair to rest between your shoulder blades. “Uh, tomato soup. From the can.” 

You sigh blissfully. “You read my mind.”

[dearpyramus]

Bear Cub: A Dad!Carmy oneshot

tags: dad!carmy, afab!reader, soft carmy, comfort and lots of it, minor self doubt and insecurity for carmy

The sound of his daughter sobbing was something Carmy would never get used to, even though she was already a couple months old. It broke his heart every single time. He wished there were a way to take all the pain from his child, even though he knew it was her way of communicating right now. He was quick to jump out of the bed yet still tried to make sure not to disturb you. He winced as you stirred and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. He hummed as you mumbled and made sure to keep his voice low.  

“S’ok you can go back to sleep. I got’er,” his voice was gruff from the sleep that hadn’t escaped him.  

You had always mentioned how much you liked his sleepy voice. You found it very sexy. He chuckled at the thought. He could never understand why. 

He stroked your hair for a second as you snuggled back into the covers. God, you were so beautiful. To this day he can’t comprehend how lucky he is. He still doubted if he even deserved it. Regardless of the truth, he’d do anything for them. He’d do anything to return the happiness they continue to give.  

Seeing the fresh tears streaming down her face twisted the knife as he entered the nursery. She was decked out in a brown bear onesie. You had picked it out and, although cheesy, he couldn’t help but admit how adorable it was. Now it’s his favorite thing to dress her in. His little bear cub.  

He gently lifted her and cradled her into his arms. It was as if she was made of porcelain. He still was terrified of dropping her, even though you reassured him that he wouldn’t. She was so tiny.  

She nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck and that made him melt into a giant puddle. She was seeking out comfort from him. From him of all people. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t mess this up.  

He knew well enough by now she liked the sound of his voice. He learned of it the first time she kicked; the first time he even felt her presence. He made a point to talk to her all the time, even if she didn’t quite understand it yet. He also didn’t miss the grin on your face whenever he did.  

“Heyyy, sweat pea. Shhh shhh shhh shhh. I know, I know. It’s okay. Daddy’s here...” 

Bouncing her softly. Rubbing her back that was tinier than his hand. Kissing her soft head. Doing anything he could to make her feel safe. He made his way to the rocking chair as he continued his cooing to the wailing infant.  

Normally, he’d be caught dead doing this. But he was alone, and he hoped it would work. Each cry tugged at his heartstrings. He had also seen you doing this at times to her. Maybe she’d like it from him. He didn’t think he was nowhere near as nurturing as you but he wanted to try. For you and her.  

He took a deep breath before softly humming a tune to the baby. The sound of his gentle voice and the vibrations from his chest soon caused her sobs to subside. He was almost too in the moment of the song to register this. He smiled wide before planting a kiss on the tufts of her hair. He resumed his humming as this lulled her to sleep. 

“Sweet dreams. I love you so much” 

What he didn’t know was you were watching the baby monitor in absolute awe and love.  

[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.

Good Company - Carmy x reader

You've injured yourself on the line and though you try to hide the pain, Carm's there to console you.

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.