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l4long-winded · 3 months

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mad carmy with sassy reader that doesn’t take his shit!!! (smut!)

ask and you shall receive (happy valentine's day, love)

o.s. fire in the freezer

summary: it's opening night and you're stuck inside the walk-in with your boss, carmen. can the night get any worse? (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

reflection: this took me embarrassingly long. i had a lot to get through these past weeks. i still have a busy schedule with college and life, but i want to do more of these. i have about 3 or 4 prompts i need to get to, but i think i'll be able to manage. also, this might be ooc for some people? idk, it's fiction. please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

warnings: cursing, longwinded descriptions, angry!carmy, angry!reader, takes place during the season 2 finale (pretending claire doesn't exist), implied enemies to lovers, reader's pov, reader is a line cook(?), arguing, surprise kissing, walk-in shenanigans, dirty talk, mention of fridge guy, use of the word "slutty," walk-in p in v, unprotected (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 2,140

( this work has been cross-posted to ao3 )

“What the fuck did you just say?”

It’s alarming how crimson his face appears considering the walk-in’s cold air biting at both your limbs, how you imagine the rising heat of his breath combats the freezer’s chill, puffs relaying the steam building within him. It’s a miracle it doesn’t fume from his ears. Fifteen minutes have passed, fifteen minutes of remaining silent as Carmen mouthed off about the unfairness of the situation, how his cell phone doesn’t have service, how he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on out there when your coworkers have seemingly abandoned the both of you to fend for yourselves. You don’t blame him. You don’t want to be in here any more than he does, but there’s this wretched thing about Carmen that he does when tensions are high and his temper flies off the handle. He gets mean. He becomes hurtful. You’ve worked with him long enough to see it occur, the venomous speech he mutters at a high volume as a tendon in his neck protrudes and the person being yelled at flinches in shock. Though such poison’s never been doused over your head, he’s never directed that anger towards you.

Until now. He inadvertently called you an idiot along with the coworkers busying themselves outside the walk-in. There’s not much they can do about the freezer’s handle breaking, and you both know that, but he’s not calming himself down, nor is he making this easier on you when you’re stuck in the same situation as him. You two are prideful and confident in your actions in the kitchen. Sure, you’ve butted heads a few times and stared each other down from afar, but your relationship’s been tame for the most part.

“I said, ‘Stop acting like a fucking cunt.’” You bark back. So much for being tame. You couldn’t stop the words from spilling from your mouth. Everyone has the grace and privilege of being able to ignore him since he’s locked away here with you, but unfortunately, you’re not as lucky. You don’t appreciate being talked down to and you won’t take it from your boss just because he’s irate and the world is crumbling beneath your feet. You want to head out there and contribute to the restaurant as he does, but you’re also not spewing hateful soliloquies to the one person who could possibly understand what you’re going through. That, and it’s fucking cold in here, you’re irritated by the temperature frosting over your skin. It’s opening night and you’re stuck with your least favorite person in the kitchen—your least favorite person possibly in Chicago. The last thing you’re going to do is sulk near the stored ingredients while he shouts and pounds away at the freezer’s door.

This is his fucking fault. How fucking dare he? Why are you paying for his sin?

Just as it did the first time, the second time renders him, miraculously, speechless. It’s not because he doesn’t have anything to reply back, this is evident in how he purses his lips together and clenches his jaw. You notice it flex as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, previously hidden by the collar he’s now unbuttoned. He stares at you with a pointed gaze, eyebrows ever so slightly knitted inwards. Neither of you has to utter a single word to understand how much you can’t fucking stand each other, how Carmen is purposely holding back since you’ve caught his petulant tantrum and condescended him for it. The absence of sound between you two is grim as if he’s waiting for the apology, but fuck him, you’re not apologizing for shit. Instead, you mimic his facial expression like he’s staring into a mirror, crossing your arms against your chest for good measure to illustrate the guard he won’t be breaking through anytime soon.

Carmen steps forward. It’s a singular step. There’s only backwards to go before you end up meeting the shelves, so you remain where you are. His body heat radiates, prominent not because you’re that close, but because the freezer’s becoming more unforgiving the longer you’re both in here.

“Say it again,” he breathes.

You blink rapidly as if he’s a mirage, as if he’ll disappear, and as if he’s grown two other heads. He wants you to say it again? Is this some kind of a test? It has to be. There aren’t many other options, besides how he steps even closer within your vicinity and away from the locked palisade ahead. The temperature rises, and the fucked part about it is that your body’s instinctual need to survive urges you to collide into his frame to share feverish flames instead of standing in the chilled atmosphere on your lonesome. Carmen’s mandibles buckle, a sign of his bottled intentions, of what he really wants to say. You wish he’d just spit it out rather than goad you into the unemployment line.

“Call me a cunt again,” he dares and confirms your previous thoughts. He’s standing so close, proximity lacking to the point where his hot breath ghosts your nose and cheeks. Again, your instincts urge, and again, you will them to shut the fuck up and let me handle this. How convoluted and capricious you are. Arguing with innate impulses on the inside while arguing with your superior on the outside, fastened to him inside an icy cage as your coworkers take advantage of the kitchen’s liberating space without you. Fuck them too, they haven’t told either of you shit in what feels like forever and Carmen’s acting out of character. He’s not supposed to be with you like this. He’s not supposed to be gazing at you like he’s about to blow up. He’s not supposed to be challenging you into an impossible situation. You’ve called him a cunt twice. Twice. Three times symbolize the three strikes before you’re out.

Well, if you’re going out, you’re going down swinging your bat as hard as you can, spins and all, dirt flying and wind ricocheting. He’s thrown his virulence. Now, it’s your turn.

“Cun—nnnmph,” is not what you expected to utter, but before you could punctuate that final phoneme, Carmen’s mouth swallowed it greedily, and transitioned it into an astonished noise muffled by his lips. Your eyes flutter, searching his face for a way to explain why the hell this is happening, but suddenly, Carmen shifts his head, the kiss he’s sprung on you deepening, and an accidental swipe of his tongue shuts your eyes. All in a matter of two conflicted seconds.

“Thought you,” you murmur between his stifling, repeated connections, “wanted me to,” he’s practically shoving his tongue against yours, “call you a–”

He grunts in frustration. Seemingly towards you. His hands grasp your biceps, forcing your eyes onto his as his breathing shallows out. “Believe me, it won’t be the only time you put a cunt in my mouth tonight,” he says sharply. You don’t know why your thighs tremor. You fault the near-hypothermia.

“Shit, you’re cold,” he states the obvious as his attention turns to his palms on your arms, as if he didn’t just plant such a filthy image in your mind’s eye. His thumbs stroke over your goosebumps, examining your skin with careful scrutiny. If you didn’t know any better, you swear you see worry cross his visage for a moment. His hands aren’t any better, but they’re warmer than your flesh, and skin-to-skin makes this situation a little more bearable. You won’t tell him that, but he seems to have an idea of how you’re not flinching away from his touch. In fact… you’re leaning into it.

“Of course I am. It’s the walk-in,” you say sarcastically. “Wouldn’t be here if you had just called Tommy,” you add, but he exhales a heavy breath through his nose. He shrugs off his jacket to his Chef’s Whites, rolling his eyes, muttering something to himself about Tony, Terry, and Tommy, fucking fuck it all.

“Shut the fuck up, put this on, and turn around,” he hands you the jacket. He had the prerogative of wearing sleeves in here, so he’s not as frigid as you are (temperature-wise, anyway).

“It’ll keep you warm while I fuck you,” he promises, hard gaze on your eyes. You gulp, a desire within you to tell him off for being so presumptive of what’s happening here. Yet, that desire is viciously censored in favor of the desire to do as he says, or more so, the idea of being railed to distract you from how cold you are.

You slip his jacket on, pivoting on your heel, biting your tongue as you lean forward and grasp the metal belonging to the shelves ahead. The inside of his sleeves are already snug and cozy on your arms because of how long he wore it. You hate it. The smug bastard’s not supposed to be right.

You gulp as Carmen’s knuckles graze your lower back, lifting his jacket out of his way for a moment to tug at the waistband of your pants. You hear his breathing stutter, his hand skimming down the sensitive flesh of your ass as his eyes trace over the thin fabric of the panties you chose today.

“Is your underwear always this slutty?” He asks, his voice lower than you’ve ever heard it. To be fair, you didn’t know this would be happening today.

“Find out tomorrow,” you settle for. It seems to be the appropriate response because he groans and kneads at the flesh gathered at your hip as an appreciative gesture. This won’t be the last time this happens. It can’t be.

There’s rustling behind you. You hear the sound of Carmen’s belt before you feel the cold metal prod at the meat of your posterior, sent forward since he’s not fully tugging the leather material from the loops of his pants. It’s just enough for him to get at his zipper, the noise causing your hands to grip the shelves ahead of you even tighter. Carmen’s thumbnail slides along your skin as he tucks his thumb under your panties to position them to the side. The blunt head of him strokes at your entrance, his opposite hand pushing between your shoulder blades to exacerbate the bend at your hips and the pretty dip in your spine.

“You’re really hard for a man who’s surrounded by this much cold,” you mutter smugly. It’s all your doing, revving up his engine through simply challenging him amid his grizzly attack.

However, the smugness dies on your tongue once Carmen pushes in. He didn’t offer you a smartass response, instead offering you the breach of his length, the swollen head of him prying at your soaked walls up until his hips are flush with yours. Your trembling returns and it’s no longer because of the cool air, but because Carmen begins to thrust the second your cunt gives to him. Wrath fades from your mouth, and a moan replaces it, indicating your lust and enjoyment from this, much to your own dismay.

“M’this hard because I was thinking about how fucking warm you’d be around me,” he grunts, leaning over you and jostling you with his strong movements. His pace isn’t brutal, but the pressure of each of his thrusts is. He pulls back and then buries himself as deep as he could go, the sounds of his effort being in the way his hips collide with the flesh of your ass, a smack every time he hits it just right. And fuck, does he hit it just right. The horrible thing is it’ll stroke his massive ego. The great, amazing, toe-curling thing is that it feels like nirvana. The tip of his cock becomes acquainted with a pivotal point within you that has your vision blurred, unable to make out a single label of the cans and containers in front of your face.

“H-how warm is it?” You manage. Somehow. Conversation isn’t your prerogative while you’re bent over and being receptive, gasping for air every time you attempt to shift your hips back into him and he surpasses another inch inside of you. But you’re curious.

“Like a damn furnace,” he answers quickly, increasing his pace just as fast as the sentence leaves his mouth. “Tighter than I imagined,” he confesses, his forehead pressing into your shoulder. Your feet shuffle apart, legs spreading further for him as you pant and do your best not to whine. You can’t give him that satisfaction.

But it’s no use. His name shoots off your tongue like a prayer, a Freudian slip, his middle finger stroking along your clit in time with his bruising plunges.

“Wet, so, so fucking wet,” he continues, “drenching me and setting me on fire at the same fucking time.”

Fuck, you hope they never open that door.

#l4l.writes #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #jeremy allen white #the bear fic #the bear #fire in the freezer #l4l.oneshot

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softquietsteadylove · 1 year

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Hello Darling! Love your Thenamesh Pokémon AU and I have a prompt request :)

let’s say Thenas entire Pokémon team gets poisoned because something is wrong with the pokefood (let’s say team rocket is doing some dumb shit again). So Thena ask Gil if he can help because all the Pokémon healing centers are filled with poisoned Pokémon.

And Gil being a absolutely sweet man helps and cares for her Pokémon as well as the others at the ranger station.

Some soft moment where Thena watches Gil how caring and sweet he is! Maybe some fluff in the end between them?

It was in the water, it was determined. The ranger centre - and every pokemon centre for half a region's distance - was overrun with poisoned pokemon.

It was an environmental pollution case, and poised for a huge class action lawsuit, from what the news was reporting. A few major companies, from Silph Co. to the Devon Corporation, were expected to face massive backlash from it.

The Pokemon Ranger Association was expected to head the actions taken against them. Even then, the rangers on active duty were running around with their heads cut off trying to keep up with the mass poisoning. Luckily it was a relatively light condition, nothing that antidote supplies and pecha berries couldn't help. Curing would just take a little time--and a lot of pokemon centre help.

Gil was supposed to be out there helping, too. And he had, through his standard shift. He had been herding poisoned pokemon all morning, having called on every steel type they could find, as well as any ground type willing to simply help them out. He had been working tirelessly.

And still he came right over to Thena's after work to help with her pokemon.

She had called him in a panic at the first signs of the toxicity in them. She used such specialised home blends for their pokechow, she couldn't fathom how they had all gotten the signs of mild poisoning. Gil had told her that they were investigating it, but the likely cause was the water. He told her to shut off her water main, run all her taps dry, order some bottled water for delivery and wait for him.

"How are they doing?" he whispered as he closed the door behind him.

It was quite a scene.

Gallade was laid on the couch, curled on his side with a blanket and a cool cloth on his forehead for the reactionary fever. Ninetales was curled up as tight as she could go on her bed, all of her tails draped over her body like an extra blanket. She also had a blanket laid over her.

He had to assume that the freezer door was open because Froslass was either hovering right in front of it or inside the freezer itself.

"I gave them each a pecha berry every half hour, and I already used all the antidotes in the house," Thena sighed, rocking a miserable little Teddiursa in her arms with a frown. "I ordered more but, well, I'm sure you know."

There was about to be a region wide supply shortage. They were already in the midst of it, most likely. He set down his bag and took his hat off.

"How's Dragonite?" she whispered, rubbing Teddiursa's forehead while he was swaddled up in a blanket of his own.

"Good, actually," Gil managed to smile amidst the misery around them. "We generally use the bottled water from the machines while we're out in the field, so we got off pretty easy."

"Thank Arceus," Thena sighed, although she was looking down at her whiny little cub with misty eyes. "I just wish I could do more for them."

"I know," Gil whispered, putting a hand on her shoulder. She had called him specifically because she knew the pokemon centres would all be completely overrun. And with her very specific team, she was just as equipped to handle them here at home as any care unit.

Teddiursa pried his glassy eyes open, "Ursa."

"I know, buddy," Gil sighed, also ruffling their little bear's fur between his droopy ears. "Your tummy hurts, huh?"

The cub curled into Thena, as he did when he was a baby first getting used to the world outside Thena's house.

Gil picked up his bag and set it on the counter, "I was asking some Tropius how they were handling things, and they offered some knowledge about the berries that might help. They said that cherri and pecha berries mixed might provide some comfort."

"Cherri?--for paralysis?" Thena asked as Gil dumped out the collection of berries. "Pecha must be hard to come by too, I imagine."

"Well," Gil smiled at her gently, "a group of Quagsire from the lower caves remembered a very nice trainer who came to their aid not too long ago and shared their stash with me."

Thena sniffled.

"Okay," Gil whispered, cutting up the berries and mixing them as Thena pulled out a pot and poured in water they both knew they didn't exactly have to spare. "This should help you guys feel a little better.

"Froslass," the ghost pokemon apparated, just to see what was going on.

"I'm sorry," Thena whispered to her poor ice type, patting the spot between her little icicle-horns on her head. "We're just going to cook up a little soup. I'll chill yours for you."

"Fross," the pokemon muttered before disappearing from sight again, curling up in the freezer to try and endure her symptoms.

"I hate to think about how some of the other pokemon are doing with this," Thena frowned as Gil stirred around the soup, cutting up a few oran berries as well, just to give them back a little energy.

"This morning was rough, but when I was getting off we were just starting to get our heads above water."

Thena rocked Teddiursa against her as Gil tasted the berry mixture before adding a few vitamins for good measure. Once they were incorporated he ladled out a few bowls, handing one to Thena to put in the fridge before giving it to Froslass.

"Here we go," Gil whispered as he held up a bowl to Teddiursa's muzzle, tipping it to him gently. "I know it doesn't taste as good as Mama's pokechow, but it'll help your tummy."

"Teddi," the little bear whimpered before accepting the medicine. He knew better than to refuse it in Thena's presence.

"Good work," she whispered, kissing the fur between his ears as he drank up. She accepted the bowl from Gil smoothly as he went to her other pokemon with theirs.

"Think you can sit up, bud?" Gil asked Gallade, who groaned but pulled himself up to lean against the armrest of the couch. Gil handed him the bowl. "There's some HP Up, in there--just a little, though."

"Gallade," the pokemon uttered its thanks. No matter its opinions on Ranger Gil and his relationship to its trainer, Gallade had to admit that the human man was nothing if not reliable.

Gil patted his shoulder, leaving him to feed himself. He was sure that the viciously independent pokemon wouldn't have accepted being fed - by anyone but Thena - anyway. He moved on to Ninetales, "c'mere, sweetie."

"Nine," she whined, barely emerging from her little knot of tails to peek at him.

"I know, girl," Gil assuaged the poor fire type. "You're not made for this. But I've got something that'll help, okay?"

Thena watched as Gil held the bowl just off the ground, tilted so Ninetales could eat from it without having to stand. He really got off an exhausting shift of taking care of everyone else's pokemon just to come here and hand feed hers.

"Teddi?"

"Is that a little better?" Thena whispered down to her poor little baby bear. He snuggled back into his blanket cocoon and turned his head in against her shoulder.

She would take that as a reluctant 'yes'.

She opened the fridge, testing the temperature of the sweet and sour soup before holding it up. "It's nice and cool, just how you like it."

"Froslass," the ghost appeared, accepting it with a miserable nod of thanks before digging in.

That was the sign that things really were bad. Froslass never let anyone watch it eat--it wasn't in its nature to allow such a vulnerability, even in its own home.

Gil looked up as Thena took a seat on the floor next to him, leaning against his shoulder as he let Ninetales finish her serving. He set the bowl down, petting their fox pokemon on the snout before nudging Thena lightly. "Hey."

"Hey," she whispered back, looking intently at Teddiursa's restless sleeping face. But he was sleeping, and she was grateful.

Gil nudged her again, asking her to look at him. She was exhausted, obviously having been awake since she caught the first signs in her poor team. Her eyes were bloodshot and misty, her skin was pale, he could tell she had cried a little here or there. He pressed his forehead to hers. "How are you doing?"

"I hate seeing them like this," she whispered, inhaling gently as she let Gil's warmth seep into her. "Battling is one thing. Injuries, status conditions--I know how to handle those. But this-"

"I know," he comforted, moving to press his lips to her forehead. She moved closer, tucking her head under his against his shoulder. "How are you feeling? Did you drink anything from the tap this morning?"

"Barely," she sighed. "I saw on the news that humans are less likely to be affected based on volume per mass. I wish I could take it on for them."

Gil nodded, smiling at Ninetales, whose tails perked up to wag just a little. Thena was a good trainer, and they could ask for no one more caring and loyal to have by their sides.

"Gallade."

Thena puffed out a little breath as she felt Gallade drape a blanket over her shoulders from behind her. "Don't you dare get up off that couch, mister."

"Gal," he sighed, already lying back down and pulling the blanket off the back of the couch for himself again.

"Y'know," Gil yawned, "maybe we should try out some sleep powder on 'em. Could help them sleep off some of the symptoms."

"That's a-" Thena paused, the contagious nature of Gil's yawn catching her in her own, "good idea."

"I'll ask Dragonite," Gil mumbled, turning over his watch gear to send a message to his partner, who had offered to work a double to help out with the situation (and free up Gil to help Thena).

"Altaria," Thena mumbled, bringing up her beloved pokemon who was officially retired from battling and released into the wild. It stopped in regularly between migration seasons, though. "It might still know Sing."

Gil nodded, feeling Thena's fatigue seeping into him. "You should get some sleep."

"Speak for yourself," Thena mumbled right back, already slipping further and further into sleep.

Teddiursa snuggled against her as she laid down. She instinctively pulled him closer to her, as she did when he slept in her bed for the first few months of his life with her.

Ninetales and Gallade, with their combined psychic abilities, expended what energy they had to lie Gil and Thena down to rest. Thena sighed into the softness of Ninetales' fur, as she often did when they were camping in Victory Road. The fire type kindly let Gil also rest his head against her plush tails as well, since his arms were wrapped around Thena (and Teddi).

Gallade mustered enough effort to spread Thena's blanket out over the ranger as well. It would demand a thank you from him later, it determined before lying down again. "Lade."

"Tales," Ninetales yawned in agreement, also settling down to rest again.

Froslass floated over with the extra blanket Gil had brought in his pack, spreading it out over them before closing the freezer and going to settle itself in the cool of the bathtub.

The three - fully grown - pokemon could at least agree that maybe, just this once, they really did owe their trainer's mate.

#Thenamesh Pokemon AU #Gil is best husband #because of course he gets off a long shift #of listening to crying campers #and wailing pokemon #and looking for resources and offering first aid treatment #and goes my wife needs me #and runs back home to hand feed her pokemon with her #Thena in her house #half freezing from having the freezer open for Froslass #and sweating from having the fire going for Ninetales all day #and constantly checking on Gallade's fever and changing out his cool cloth #because she's a good Mama #Dragonite arrives #pokes his head in the door #although he has to squeeze through the sliding doors just off the kitchen to actually fit in #but he arrives to everyone sleeping #Gil and Thena on the floor #cuddled up together with Teddiursa between them #Dragonite takes a pic with his tablet #(like a dad at a graduation)#and leaves a pack of lum berries #which for the record are hard to find but will cure any status condition #Dragonite had to to go flying for them but he is best boy

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