Carmy Berzatto Fic - Tumblr Posts
CINNAMON SUGAR — CARMEN BERZATTO
summary Carmen comes home to you late at night. Luckily, you manage to stay awake.
length 2k
contents absolutely zero plot, literally just a sweet n cute n sappy moment existing in a vacuum, holy shit so much fluff i might die (got the idea for this while listening to margaret & let the light in by lana del rey n it's realllll obvious), too many kisses to count, this is what he'd be like after intensive therapy i reckon, not proofread so be nice
Carmen opens the door to the bedroom carefully, minding the creaky hinge in the middle of the night. Moonlight peeks through the window, caught at the right time when the city doesn’t block its path into the apartment, giving just enough glow to the room to see you fast asleep in bed. It’s late, he realizes, even later than usual. He needs to work on that.
He makes his way to the bed, stopping at your side to kneel beside you and simply adore you: the curve of your nose, the plush of your lips in that pout you wear only when you’re asleep, the eyelashes laid against your cheeks.
You stir when he presses his lips to your temple, a soft groan pulled from your lips. “…Bear?”
“Yeah, ‘s me, baby.” Even at a whisper, he thinks he’s too loud, and with his rough and tired hand he brushes over the top of your head just light enough to keep you sleepy.
A drowsy hand reaches out from under the covers to smooth over the contours of his face, tracing along shadows made hazy by a few hours’ rest. “You coming to bed soon?”
“Almost,” he murmurs, smoothing a palm up your exposed arm to hold your hand steady. He pulls ever so slightly away from your palm, only to turn to land gentle kisses against its soft skin, worshiping the pieces of you that treat him with more care than he thinks he’s worthy of. “Needa take a shower first, alright? But I’ll be right back.”
He could’ve done that much by now—could’ve cleaned himself, rid himself of a day's work before seeing you—but truthfully, waiting any longer would’ve driven him mad. He would’ve been itchy in the shower, skin aflame knowing he could’ve felt your touch by then, arms and hands jittering to have your curves beneath them. His lips trail down to your wrist before he turns over your hand to kiss the backs of your fingers.
“Okay,” you answer, muffled by the blankets and pillow and the squeak of the floorboard as Carmen stands back up.
He makes his trip quick and quiet. He brushes his teeth and swipes up a towel while the water heats up, leaving just enough time to hang it on the hook and strip before hopping in. There’s a beat where he closes his eyes and just breathes, clears his mind of the day’s stress, lets warm water saturate his hair and cascade down his back. He lathers his hair with shampoo—the one you bought for him once to free him from the chains of 3-in-1 and that he’s been purchasing ever since to keep you happy—before cleaning the rest of his body, all while thinking about how much better it’d feel, how much more relief he’d get if it were you beside him under the stream instead of just his thoughts. But with the shampoo and soap down the drain goes that idea, much like the fleeting thought of using conditioner. You’ve yet to get to him on that one, especially at a moment like this, when time is of the essence and you’re waiting on him. Maybe another night, when you take your own product and swirl it around his curls; if it gives him an excuse to stay with you just a few minutes more, he’ll do it.
He hops out of the water like it’s acid and wraps the towel around his waist after drying himself to avoid trouble in the morning (you hate when the floor gets wet, and even if it wastes time, he’ll be sure to prevent that). Out goes the light again as he walks into the hall, sneaking back into the bedroom to get dressed into briefs and nothing more—you’ll keep him warm enough under the blankets.
It’s only then—when he peels back those final layers—that he realizes he’s been smiling the whole time.
Once he’s settled into the grooves of the mattress, chest to your back, you’re turning around to curl into his torso, like a magnetic field brought you there.
“Hey,” he coos, “Y’don’t have to move f’me, yeah? Just sleep, baby.” Moved by your eagerness, his arms curl around you, one along your waist as the other nicely fits comfortably into the space between your neck and shoulder.
And yet you shift a little more to cast an arm against his chest, his heart beating beneath your palm, head on his shoulder with a leg hooked onto his hip, split halfway between mattress and his body. “ ‘S more comfy this way, Carm.” You sigh and breathe deep into his skin. “You smell good, too.”
He can’t even lie well enough to convince himself his heart doesn’t run a million miles faster when you cozy up to him like this, caught in a space part fatigue and part love, with your hums ringing in his ear. “ ‘S that shampoo you got me a while ago…Sometime this week—” he yawns, and if he weren’t dying to hear your voice a few more times, he’d be a little more thankful for sleep coming so easily— “Sometime this week we can go t’the store, you can pick out another body wash f’me to try, too.”
“Mm, I’d like that.” You smooth your hand from his chest to his neck and shoulder, massaging there gently where he gets sore as a barely-there kiss lands to the skin beneath you. “How was it today?” The restaurant. His headaches. Richie’s mood lately. The flow of the kitchen. The strain in his back.
“Was alright,” he answers, as honestly as he can, soothing himself by brushing a hand up along your spine. “Real busy, so I didn’t get to leave ‘till late, ‘m sorry.”
“ ‘S alright, I stayed in and just relaxed for the night.” You snuggle into him a little deeper, and he thinks he could melt. “I was gonna ask you to bring something home, but it’s a weekend, so I didn’t wanna bother you in a rush.”
“What’d you want?”
From your lips comes a light and airy giggle, milliseconds of the best sounds he’s ever heard. “I just wanted some fries, honestly…didn’t feel like going out.”
“Heh,” he laughs, smiling while his eyes stay glued to the ceiling—as if looking at you would make the moment disappear. “I would’ve picked ‘em up for you, ‘r at least had Fak get ‘em to you.”
You yawn in tandem with the tailend of his thought, so your answer’s a bit softer. “Uh-uh, I like them better when you make ‘em.”
“Yeah? ‘ve I been pampering you too much?” He teases you, adds on a kiss to the top of your head as he squeezes you a bit tighter, but it’s all a ruse to cover up how much faster his pulse is when you say those words, like all the work he’s put in—all the love he has for you—makes its way to the table for not just anyone, but for you, the one person he’s sure matters more than the rest. More than those fucking stars, more than Chef of the Year, more than any critic’s review, more than he can wrap his head around; he feels it in his chest and that’s enough.
“Of course you have,” you agree, peeking up at him and craning your neck to plant your lips to his jaw, savoring it long enough to leave a smirk against his skin. “You’re always so sweet to me, Bear—” one more quick peck just beneath his ear— “love when you cook for me.”
He thinks he could pass out like this, with the last thing he hears being those words, but his fatigue seems to serve as an anesthetic that lets him soak it in for a bit longer, running his free hand through damp curls while a heavy, giddy sigh leaving his lips that lets you know he hears you, that he loves telling you he loves you through his art, that he lives for the smile on your face when he stays home for a few hours longer to make you breakfast. Yet with all the time spent having his shell soften for you, he can’t always find the right words, so he settles for the next best thing: “Y’know, uh…Marcus’s been playing around with recipes…”
He feels you smile against his chest, knowing what’s to come. “Yeah?”
“Mhm, an’ I’d never let ‘im serve ‘em, ‘cause, y’know…” He loses himself for a moment in the lull of your fingertips tracing mindless shapes into his chest. “They don’t fit the menu…but uh, he made these…these rolls today…”
“Mhm? ‘M listening…”
Carmen knew that, of course, from the faint kisses you peppered between breaths. He lets the fan whir through the gaps in his thoughts. “I think you’d like ‘em, he had some classic cinnamon, ‘n…a blueberry lemon goin’…”
“That sounds really good,” you whisper, the syllables lengthened from a shared lack of sleep.
“I know,” he drawls, and he’s a little too proud of himself for once when he adds, “Which is why I said I’d let ‘im fix up the lemon recipe a few more times if he made a batch for you.”
“Did you really?” The dazed smile comes through in your voice, a bubbliness to it that tells him he made the right call.
He figures that’s why he’s so drawn to you—all the right calls come easy to him, the effort feels natural and unpracticed, unlike the tar that builds in his throat when it comes to so many other people. With you, being good is anything but demanding. “ ‘F course, baby…”
It turns him to a puddle, the sweetness that drips from your fingertips, so he cradles your wrist carefully in his hand and lifts it to his lips to show it the love it deserves before urging the hand to busy itself with the tufts of hair behind his hear, to which you happily oblige. You twirl a lock around your finger, performing a methodical spiral, and even though he knows by the time it dries it’ll stick out from the mess like a sore thumb, he’d stop breathing before pulling your hand away. It’s soothing, that pattern. It stokes the fire in his gut that makes him feel a little less lonely when you’re not around.
“I brought…” He yawns again, his eyelids growing heavy. “I brought you some of the cinnamon rolls…Sugar liked ‘em…they’re on the counter for you tomorrow mornin'…” He’s not sure whether it’s your doing or the hours of stress endured throughout the day, but he knows this is the most relaxed he’s ever been, laying with you and doing little else other than indulging in your tender touches and shy kisses.
“Thank you, my love,” slips away with breath, sotto voce, as Carmen leaves brief kisses to your hairline.
And he thanks God for being able to do it even with such an intense fatigue washing over him—at least part of him does, the part that’s still awake—because the movement lets you tilt your head and graze your fingertips by his jaw, bringing his lips kindly to yours for the first and last time tonight. Somewhere in that beautiful tangle there’s a mutual agreement: an unspoken Goodnight, I love you, in the mix, a finality in his offering and your gracious thanks that doesn’t warrant anything more than your head tucked neatly into his neck, left to bask in the comfort of his arms wrapped around you.
Just like any other night with you, he can sleep peacefully with the unconscious push and pull of your bodies intertwined. He knows that by morning, you’ll still be in his arms, in the bed you share, waiting on your good morning kiss from under the covers.
And he’ll still be beneath your warmth, his mind fuzzy and full of tenderness, every part of him dying to marry you.
CINNAMON SUGAR — CARMEN BERZATTO
summary Carmen comes home to you late at night. Luckily, you manage to stay awake.
length 2k
contents absolutely zero plot, literally just a sweet n cute n sappy moment existing in a vacuum, holy shit so much fluff i might die (got the idea for this while listening to margaret & let the light in by lana del rey n it's realllll obvious), too many kisses to count, this is what he'd be like after intensive therapy i reckon, not proofread so be nice
Carmen opens the door to the bedroom carefully, minding the creaky hinge in the middle of the night. Moonlight peeks through the window, caught at the right time when the city doesn’t block its path into the apartment, giving just enough glow to the room to see you fast asleep in bed. It’s late, he realizes, even later than usual. He needs to work on that.
He makes his way to the bed, stopping at your side to kneel beside you and simply adore you: the curve of your nose, the plush of your lips in that pout you wear only when you’re asleep, the eyelashes laid against your cheeks.
You stir when he presses his lips to your temple, a soft groan pulled from your lips. “…Bear?”
“Yeah, ‘s me, baby.” Even at a whisper, he thinks he’s too loud, and with his rough and tired hand he brushes over the top of your head just light enough to keep you sleepy.
A drowsy hand reaches out from under the covers to smooth over the contours of his face, tracing along shadows made hazy by a few hours’ rest. “You coming to bed soon?”
“Almost,” he murmurs, smoothing a palm up your exposed arm to hold your hand steady. He pulls ever so slightly away from your palm, only to turn to land gentle kisses against its soft skin, worshiping the pieces of you that treat him with more care than he thinks he’s worthy of. “Needa take a shower first, alright? But I’ll be right back.”
He could’ve done that much by now—could’ve cleaned himself, rid himself of a day's work before seeing you—but truthfully, waiting any longer would’ve driven him mad. He would’ve been itchy in the shower, skin aflame knowing he could’ve felt your touch by then, arms and hands jittering to have your curves beneath them. His lips trail down to your wrist before he turns over your hand to kiss the backs of your fingers.
“Okay,” you answer, muffled by the blankets and pillow and the squeak of the floorboard as Carmen stands back up.
He makes his trip quick and quiet. He brushes his teeth and swipes up a towel while the water heats up, leaving just enough time to hang it on the hook and strip before hopping in. There’s a beat where he closes his eyes and just breathes, clears his mind of the day’s stress, lets warm water saturate his hair and cascade down his back. He lathers his hair with shampoo—the one you bought for him once to free him from the chains of 3-in-1 and that he’s been purchasing ever since to keep you happy—before cleaning the rest of his body, all while thinking about how much better it’d feel, how much more relief he’d get if it were you beside him under the stream instead of just his thoughts. But with the shampoo and soap down the drain goes that idea, much like the fleeting thought of using conditioner. You’ve yet to get to him on that one, especially at a moment like this, when time is of the essence and you’re waiting on him. Maybe another night, when you take your own product and swirl it around his curls; if it gives him an excuse to stay with you just a few minutes more, he’ll do it.
He hops out of the water like it’s acid and wraps the towel around his waist after drying himself to avoid trouble in the morning (you hate when the floor gets wet, and even if it wastes time, he’ll be sure to prevent that). Out goes the light again as he walks into the hall, sneaking back into the bedroom to get dressed into briefs and nothing more—you’ll keep him warm enough under the blankets.
It’s only then—when he peels back those final layers—that he realizes he’s been smiling the whole time.
Once he’s settled into the grooves of the mattress, chest to your back, you’re turning around to curl into his torso, like a magnetic field brought you there.
“Hey,” he coos, “Y’don’t have to move f’me, yeah? Just sleep, baby.” Moved by your eagerness, his arms curl around you, one along your waist as the other nicely fits comfortably into the space between your neck and shoulder.
And yet you shift a little more to cast an arm against his chest, his heart beating beneath your palm, head on his shoulder with a leg hooked onto his hip, split halfway between mattress and his body. “ ‘S more comfy this way, Carm.” You sigh and breathe deep into his skin. “You smell good, too.”
He can’t even lie well enough to convince himself his heart doesn’t run a million miles faster when you cozy up to him like this, caught in a space part fatigue and part love, with your hums ringing in his ear. “ ‘S that shampoo you got me a while ago…Sometime this week—” he yawns, and if he weren’t dying to hear your voice a few more times, he’d be a little more thankful for sleep coming so easily— “Sometime this week we can go t’the store, you can pick out another body wash f’me to try, too.”
“Mm, I’d like that.” You smooth your hand from his chest to his neck and shoulder, massaging there gently where he gets sore as a barely-there kiss lands to the skin beneath you. “How was it today?” The restaurant. His headaches. Richie’s mood lately. The flow of the kitchen. The strain in his back.
“Was alright,” he answers, as honestly as he can, soothing himself by brushing a hand up along your spine. “Real busy, so I didn’t get to leave ‘till late, ‘m sorry.”
“ ‘S alright, I stayed in and just relaxed for the night.” You snuggle into him a little deeper, and he thinks he could melt. “I was gonna ask you to bring something home, but it’s a weekend, so I didn’t wanna bother you in a rush.”
“What’d you want?”
From your lips comes a light and airy giggle, milliseconds of the best sounds he’s ever heard. “I just wanted some fries, honestly…didn’t feel like going out.”
“Heh,” he laughs, smiling while his eyes stay glued to the ceiling—as if looking at you would make the moment disappear. “I would’ve picked ‘em up for you, ‘r at least had Fak get ‘em to you.”
You yawn in tandem with the tailend of his thought, so your answer’s a bit softer. “Uh-uh, I like them better when you make ‘em.”
“Yeah? ‘ve I been pampering you too much?” He teases you, adds on a kiss to the top of your head as he squeezes you a bit tighter, but it’s all a ruse to cover up how much faster his pulse is when you say those words, like all the work he’s put in—all the love he has for you—makes its way to the table for not just anyone, but for you, the one person he’s sure matters more than the rest. More than those fucking stars, more than Chef of the Year, more than any critic’s review, more than he can wrap his head around; he feels it in his chest and that’s enough.
“Of course you have,” you agree, peeking up at him and craning your neck to plant your lips to his jaw, savoring it long enough to leave a smirk against his skin. “You’re always so sweet to me, Bear—” one more quick peck just beneath his ear— “love when you cook for me.”
He thinks he could pass out like this, with the last thing he hears being those words, but his fatigue seems to serve as an anesthetic that lets him soak it in for a bit longer, running his free hand through damp curls while a heavy, giddy sigh leaving his lips that lets you know he hears you, that he loves telling you he loves you through his art, that he lives for the smile on your face when he stays home for a few hours longer to make you breakfast. Yet with all the time spent having his shell soften for you, he can’t always find the right words, so he settles for the next best thing: “Y’know, uh…Marcus’s been playing around with recipes…”
He feels you smile against his chest, knowing what’s to come. “Yeah?”
“Mhm, an’ I’d never let ‘im serve ‘em, ‘cause, y’know…” He loses himself for a moment in the lull of your fingertips tracing mindless shapes into his chest. “They don’t fit the menu…but uh, he made these…these rolls today…”
“Mhm? ‘M listening…”
Carmen knew that, of course, from the faint kisses you peppered between breaths. He lets the fan whir through the gaps in his thoughts. “I think you’d like ‘em, he had some classic cinnamon, ‘n…a blueberry lemon goin’…”
“That sounds really good,” you whisper, the syllables lengthened from a shared lack of sleep.
“I know,” he drawls, and he’s a little too proud of himself for once when he adds, “Which is why I said I’d let ‘im fix up the lemon recipe a few more times if he made a batch for you.”
“Did you really?” The dazed smile comes through in your voice, a bubbliness to it that tells him he made the right call.
He figures that’s why he’s so drawn to you—all the right calls come easy to him, the effort feels natural and unpracticed, unlike the tar that builds in his throat when it comes to so many other people. With you, being good is anything but demanding. “ ‘F course, baby…”
It turns him to a puddle, the sweetness that drips from your fingertips, so he cradles your wrist carefully in his hand and lifts it to his lips to show it the love it deserves before urging the hand to busy itself with the tufts of hair behind his hear, to which you happily oblige. You twirl a lock around your finger, performing a methodical spiral, and even though he knows by the time it dries it’ll stick out from the mess like a sore thumb, he’d stop breathing before pulling your hand away. It’s soothing, that pattern. It stokes the fire in his gut that makes him feel a little less lonely when you’re not around.
“I brought…” He yawns again, his eyelids growing heavy. “I brought you some of the cinnamon rolls…Sugar liked ‘em…they’re on the counter for you tomorrow mornin'…” He’s not sure whether it’s your doing or the hours of stress endured throughout the day, but he knows this is the most relaxed he’s ever been, laying with you and doing little else other than indulging in your tender touches and shy kisses.
“Thank you, my love,” slips away with breath, sotto voce, as Carmen leaves brief kisses to your hairline.
And he thanks God for being able to do it even with such an intense fatigue washing over him—at least part of him does, the part that’s still awake—because the movement lets you tilt your head and graze your fingertips by his jaw, bringing his lips kindly to yours for the first and last time tonight. Somewhere in that beautiful tangle there’s a mutual agreement: an unspoken Goodnight, I love you, in the mix, a finality in his offering and your gracious thanks that doesn’t warrant anything more than your head tucked neatly into his neck, left to bask in the comfort of his arms wrapped around you.
Just like any other night with you, he can sleep peacefully with the unconscious push and pull of your bodies intertwined. He knows that by morning, you’ll still be in his arms, in the bed you share, waiting on your good morning kiss from under the covers.
And he’ll still be beneath your warmth, his mind fuzzy and full of tenderness, every part of him dying to marry you.
words unsaid
pairing: carmy berzatto x reader
summary: after months of flirting and unconfessed feelings, you and carmy get in an argument when a customer gives him her number.
word count: 2.4k
warnings: swearing, angst, carmy being completely unaware of everything
After wiping down your stations for the night, you and Carmy headed to the lockers to grab your bags. You both were exhausted after a hectic night.
“You have any plans for the rest of the night?” Carmy asked, curiously. You shrugged, looking over your shoulder at him as you fiddled with your locker. “You mean besides eating leftover pizza and then passing out from exhaustion?” You joked. You heard a small chuckle from Carmy.
He noticed you were tugging at the locker and the door seemed to be stuck. “Here, let me help you with that.” He offered.
You stepped out of the way and let Carmy take a shot at it. He jiggled the handle a few times and then was able to tug it open. “My hero,” you teased, as he walked back to his own locker.
If you had turned around, you would have seen the pink tint on Carmy’s cheeks.
“Anyway, did you want to maybe go grab a drink. I mean, only if you’re okay with postponing your pizza plans. Those sounded important though,” he teased you. You were one of the few people that Carmy would actually joke around with.
You jokingly scoffed at him. “My commitment to my leftover pizza is none of your business, Berzatto,” you responded, trying to maintain a serious tone. Once again, the sound of his soft chuckle met your ears.
“Hey, guys. Our last table wanted to personally thank their chefs.” Richie said, sticking his head around the corner.
Carmy gestured towards the door, politely letting you walk in front of him. Richie guided you both to the booth that currently seated three women. They were the only remaining customers from the dinner service.
Richie quickly introduced you both to them, and then he headed back to help with clean-up.
You noticed that two of the women seemed to be smirking at their other friend. “The food tonight was absolutely amazing.” One of them perked up and complimented you both.
You politely smiled, letting Carmy take the lead since he was the owner. You saw his posture shift as he went into customer service-mode.
“Thank you very much. Thank you for coming to visit us tonight. We’re glad you liked it.” He said, putting on a polite smile.
Carmy didn’t see it, but you noticed the two women quickly raise their eyebrows at their other friend. She then directed her attention to Carmy.
You knew where the conversation was going, and you hated how it tugged at your gut. You felt a heavy weight on your shoulders, and it took a lot for you to fake a smile.
Carmy was an attractive guy, and he was a chef, which was a pretty good recipe for success. You saw customers fawn over him constantly, but it never got easier.
That being said, Carmy wasn’t technically yours, but he was. He wasn’t your boyfriend by any means, and you weren’t his girlfriend. But, he dropped everything any time you called, and he’d do anything for you.
Your relationship was sometimes flirty, but neither of you had ever taken it further.
“Yeah, the food was really excellent. You’re an amazing chef. I definitely have a reason to come back.” The woman said, coyly.
You forced yourself to bite the inside of your lip, so you could keep your pleasant facade. You noticed their check sitting on the table and decided to use it as your excuse out of there.
“Thank you again for coming,” you said, smiling, grabbing the check, and heading back towards the kitchen. The woman looked like she finally realized you were standing there.
Carmy quickly thanked them again and followed right behind you.
Once the kitchen doors closed behind you, you turned to Carmy. “Being a chef does it every time, Berzatto,” you teased him.
Instead of being met by his usual grin, you saw him tilt his head as he tried to figure out what you were talking about.
“What do you mean?” He finally asked, when he couldn’t figure it out. You waited for a second, almost thinking he was playing dumb. “She was hitting on you, Carmy.” You told him. His eyes widened as he looked at you. “No, she wasn’t,” he argued.
You looked down at the check you were holding, which confirmed your suspicion when you saw a phone number written across the bottom of it.
“Really?” You asked, sliding the check into his hand. Your hand grazed his as you did, which almost made Carmy short circuit. He looked down at the check in his hand and saw the phone number clear as day.
“So, what am I supposed to do?” He asked you. From his perspective, he was asking how he was supposed to let her down and tell her he wasn’t interested. You didn’t take it that way.
“Well, if you’re interested, you call her.” You explained. He was speechless. He stood in front of you, not having a single coherent string of thoughts in mind.
“Wh…what—what do you mean?” He stumbled over his words.
You were practically fuming. You thought that you and Carmy had a thing going on, but he seemed to be pretty interested in asking this girl out.
“Are you interested? Do you want to go on a date with her?” You asked, your tone coming out a little more hostile than you intended. You were just jealous and even more unsure of where your and Carmy’s relationship stood.
“I…I don’t know,” he stammered, taken aback by this whole situation. He was getting love advice from the girl he wanted to be with, but was getting love advice for a different girl.
“Well, you’re the only one who can figure that out,” you huffed and quickly walked away from him. You knew if you continued the conversation for another minute, you’d start crying.
You grabbed your work bag and slammed your locker shut. “Woah, you okay?” Sydney asked from beside you. You hadn’t even noticed she was standing there. You took a deep breath before responding.
“Not really, you wanna go get a drink?” You asked her. She could tell that something had really gotten to you. “Yeah, of course. Is it about Carmy?” she asked, quietly. You just nodded, biting down on your lip and trying not to tear up.
“It’s okay. C’mon, let’s get you out of here,” she said, wrapping her arm around you as the two of you walked out the back door.
Still stunned from the whole encounter, Carmy walked into the office to hopefully clear his head. He sat in there for thirty minutes, continuously replaying his conversation with you in his head. He knew you were mad, but he wasn’t sure why. He was also thrown off by why it seemed like you were encouraging him to go on a date with the other woman.
After wracking his brain for answers, he still had nothing, so he headed towards the back alleyway to smoke a cigarette. He found Richie doing the same thing.
“You okay, cousin?” Richie asked, clearly being able to see how on edge Carmy looked. “Fuck no,” Carmy mumbled.
“Is this about your girl?” Richie asked, having already gotten a text from Sydney that explained what happened. “She’s not my girl, Richie, but I think we’re in a fight, and we’ve never been in a fight before. I just don’t know why she’s mad.” Carmy explained.
“You don’t know why she’s mad?” Richie asked in shock. Carmy looked at him with a confused look and shook his head.
“You two have been flirting and hanging out more and more. Then, you tell her that you maybe want to go on a date with this other girl. You don’t think she’d be hurt by that?” Richie asked him. Carmy didn’t understand why everybody was suddenly an expert on his relationship today and why he was so out of the loop.
“What do you mean, we are just friends.” Carmy argued, not being able to admit anything to the contrary, “wait, how do you know about our conversation?”
“Sydney told me. She’s busy trying to cheer Y/N up because she’s pissed at you.” Richie said, quickly brushing past it, “how does the idea of her going on a date with someone else make you feel, cousin? Like when you watch those customers that stare at her,” he asked.
Carmy hesitated. He knew the answer. “I fuckin’ hate it, but I’m just being protective. We’re friends, and I care about her.” Carmy replied, still in denial.
“Cousin, do you really think colleagues go out for drinks after work and get coffee together before work as often as you guys do? You know all her favorite movies, and her favorite flowers, and the words to all her favorite songs. And that big dinner you made for her birthday,” he told Carmy. Hearing all of it like that made Carmy realize how special your relationship was, but he was having trouble admitting it out loud.
“I’m a chef. I make food for people. It’s what I do.” Carmy argued, not even believing his own excuse.
“Yeah, because it’s like your fuckin’ love language, dickhead. How did you not see this?” Richie asked.
Carmy didn’t know what to think. “So are we like together?” He asked, stunned. Richie shook his finger at Carmy.
“Not until you finally grow a pair and actually make a real move. Ask her out to dinner, tell her how you feel, give her some grand gesture.” Richie told him.
Carmy stood still for a moment, processing what he had just heard.
“Where are her and Syd right now? I need a ride.” He told Richie, desperately. Richie quickly grabbed his car keys, and they both headed out the door.
“I know we’re not dating, but I just don’t understand why he didn’t say he wasn’t interested. Like, surely I can’t be imagining all of the flirting and how sweet he’s been.” You rambled to Sydney, taking another sip of your drink. Sydney nodded along.
“Maybe he felt like he was put on the spot because I’ve seen how he looks at you. He really cares about you but just has a shit way of showing it.” Sydney mentioned.
You looked down at the bar, slowly stirring your drink around. The front door of the bar quickly opened, slamming against the wall. Both yours and Sydney’s gaze went right to the loud noise.
You both saw Carmy burst into the restaurant. His eyes searched around until they landed on yours. He rushed towards the end of the bar where you and Sydney were sitting.
He stopped in front of you and caught his breath for a minute. “I am so fucking sorry. You are my everything, and I really fucked it up. And I don’t even know what I was saying.” He started to ramble.
You were shocked to say the least. “Carmy, you wanna go talk outside?” You suggested, assuming some privacy for this conversation was probably a good idea. He quickly nodded and held out his hand to help you down from your seat.
Sydney gave you a reassuring smile, and then you felt Carmy’s hand on the small of your back as he followed you outside. Now that he had a better grasp on your relationship, he felt much more confident, which made him more affectionate. And you loved it.
He rushed in front of you, so he could hold the front door open for you. You both saw Richie waiting outside. “Syd’s inside. Can you give us a minute, cousin?” Carmy asked him. Richie quickly nodded and headed inside to freak out with Sydney that they were so close to getting you two together.
“I didn’t mean any of that earlier. I was just confused, and it felt like you wanted me to ask that girl out. So, I was questioning if you felt the same way I feel about you.” He apologized. He had to stop himself from grabbing your hands. He wanted to, but he wanted to apologize first.
“Enough of what I want. Tell me before I waste anymore of my time. Carmen Berzatto, what do you want? Do you want to be with me?” You asked him. You felt like you were being harsh, but you wanted everything to be out in the open.
“I want to be with you so fuckin’ bad.” He said. One of his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. He used his other hand to cup your cheek and close the distance with a kiss.
Richie and Sydney saw the kiss through the window and had to stop themselves from cheering.
You stumbled forward a little since Carmy had pulled you towards him so quickly. He tightened his grip around your waist, while smirking into the kiss. You let your hands rest on his forearms, feeling his biceps flex under your fingertips.
The kiss was rushed, fueled by months of pent up feelings and the fear of losing each other that you both had experienced. Neither of you wanted to let the other go.
His lips tasted like spearmint as they moved effortlessly against yours. There was a loud clap of thunder above you both, and the sky opened up as it started pouring.
You both pulled out of the kiss in shock at the freezing rain that was hitting your skin. You both just grinned at each other, knowing how picture-perfect this moment was.
“You wanna go inside?” He almost had to yell for you to hear him over the rain. You just shook your head. You wanted to enjoy every single second.
He grabbed your hand and spun you around in a circle, watching as the rain droplets flew off the ends of your hair.
You were smiling and giggling. You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him back into a kiss. “You are perfect,” he mumbled as he kissed you.
He finally pulled out of the kiss when he noticed you shivering. “This is magical, but I’m not gonna let you get sick.” He said, wrapping his arm around your waist and leading you back inside where you were met by the smiling faces of Richie and Sydney. They both immediately pulled you into a hug.
“You know how hard we had to work for this to happen because you both wanted to be in denial for months that you’re head over heels for each other.” Sydney teased you both. You just smiled at Carmy, and all you could think about was how the rest of your coworkers were going to freak out when they heard.
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Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for all my imagines or for a specific character/fandom!!
i need nice carmy fic recommendations AND I NEED THEM NOW
considering writing a fanfic again ,,, which is crazy because i thought i put my pen down when writing about hamilton ships on wattpad at the ripe old age of 12
anyways i want requests, i want ideas and i want people to tell me to do it before i decide against it!!!! please and thankyou <3333
feel free to send into my inbox or reply down below, any ideas at all
considering a carmy x female oc/reader long fanfiction or a luke castellan equivalent
the catholic guilt girlies are being FED TONIGHT
♰ PRAYING. -- JESUS DIED ON A CROSS (part one) -- carmen berzatto x fem!reader ♰
a/n: hi catholic guilt besties,,, how we feelin' tonight?? new fic alert teehee using my catholic years for lore! -🪱 (listen to take me to church - hozier.) cws: catholic trauma. cursing, but other than that sfw. <3 wc: 622! (short blurb to build plot)
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hebrews 10:25 says, ‘and let us not neglect our meeting together, as some people do, but encourage one another, especially now that the day of his return is drawing near.’
loud. hectic. messy. loud, again.
those were the only words that came to mind when lunch rush hit. he’s trying. he really is. but mikey didn’t leave this place exactly organized.
he’s slinging sandwiches in white paper bags when his eyes catch a glimpse of a crucifix charm gleaming under the fluorescents.
there was no way.
he hadn’t seen anyone with the same one as him in years. he’d like to keep it that way, given private school wasn’t necessarily an environment he thrived in.
her eyes seemed to lock on his own cross under his tightly fit white tee, eyes widening when her eyes dart back up to his face.
“hi. uhm, could i get a black coffee?”
“yeah.” he said quickly, scrambling for a to-go cup. “yeah. of course.” he fumbles slightly with the pot of coffee as he fills up the cup with the steaming brown liquid.
“uhhh, that’ll be two bucks.”
“oh…yeah. uhm, just take a 5. keep the change.”
she scrambles through her bag, a crumpled abraham lincoln staring back at him on the counter.
“carmen, right? …i went to holy trinity too.” she mutters, watching him put her 5 in the register. the rest in the dusty tip jar as she thumbs her necklace that he seemed to have an exact replica of around his neck.
“yeah.” he mutters, handing her the cup of coffee. it’s not that he’s intentionally being rude, he just sucks with new people, especially pretty ones that went to the same hell as him.
he couldn’t help but think it was probably the only thing him and this girl had in common. she was gorgeous, and he’s beating himself up inside for not remembering her name.
he really did bury the memories. the ties, the slacks. the masses and the holy water. the smell of incense that lingered on his uniform for days.
she looks around, noticing she’s most definitely holding things up. judging by the way richie also comes up behind carmy to whack him lightly in the back of the head.
“bye, carmen.”
maybe going to private school was worth it if it meant he got to know of her existence. see her face on a shitty day like today. all things he would never say to her, seeing as he let her walk away.
“ow.” he mutters monotonously at richie’s hit.
richie’s watching carmy’s face flush a deep red, and can’t help but let out a low whistle as she walked away.
“cousin.” richie laughs,
“she was totally checking you out.”
“no, she wasn’t. wrap another damn sandwich.”
he hated to admit it, but the mysterious nature of their interaction had his mind swimming.
who was she? was she always that pretty? did she remember my stutter, or that time sister mary-ann caught me smoking in the parking lot?
“he like—totally didn’t remember me.”
okay, maybe it wasn’t a coincidence.
maybe, she’s had a little bit of a parasocial relationship with the infamous carmen berzatto, and his shiny awards.
maybe she remembered him vividly, the way he would brush past her in the hallway with his head down.
maybe she heard whispers of him coming back to chicago -- and wanted to see his face.
maybe she was talking to herself on the way back to the L, a lukewarm to go cup of coffee in hand.
“fuck, am i creepy for this?”
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dt: @thefreakingbear, @carmenberzattosgf,, thank u for this idea!!
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i have a general plot idea for both but please let me know if you have any ideas in my inbox!!! smut angst fluff etc
THE RESULTS ARE IN!!!!
luke chapter 1 will be up by the end of this week, also planning on doing some carmy blurbs so do not be disheartened all my bear lovers!!!
please continue to sends reqs i love input and inspo and advice
i have a general plot idea for both but please let me know if you have any ideas in my inbox!!! smut angst fluff etc