#Carmen does a silly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

springtyme · 11 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐈 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 ♡

Carmy x afab!reader || Series masterlist || Series playlist

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chapter summary: You and your neighbor share a cigarette, and you have an unexpected chat with his sister... Carmy kind of wants to strangle Richie.

word count: 7.4k

warnings/tags: Eventual smut! (18+, mdni!) Language. Smoking. Food. Angst and fluff. Hurt/comfort. Slow burn. Mutual pining. Strangers to friends to lovers. The beef as found family. Set in season one.

a/n: This chapter was supposed to be about twice as long, but we are gonna wait with the rest till next chapter. this might mean that there will end up being an extra chapter in the end.

"I need some sleep It can't go on like this I tried counting sheep But there's one I always miss"

“I’m Carmen… Carmen Berzatto.”

Oh… Now the pieces start to fall into place - the tattoos, the exhaustion, the haunted look in his eyes that felt so familiar. A mix of sadness and understanding washes over you.

“But uh… Carmy is fine,” he adds, the tiniest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Nice to meet you, Carmy.” You smile at him before telling him your own name, feeling a little embarrassed you didn’t tell him earlier, and a short silence follows, before you gently clear your throat. “Well, shall we?”

“Yeah.” Carmy responds with a small nod of his head as he follows you down the hallway towards your apartment. The short walk feels oddly awkward and comforting at the same time.

As you step inside, you gesture for Carmy to follow you into the kitchen. You turn on the cabinet lights and motion for him to take a seat or stand wherever he prefers before grabbing a couple of mugs from the cupboard. There is still hot water on the kettle for you to make a new cup of tea.

“You want normal or decaf?” you ask, holding up the coffee canister. Carmen’s tired eyes light up a little at the mention of coffee.

“Normal, please, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep anytime soon, and I have to leave for work in three hours” he lets out a soft, breathy sound, something between a sight and a chuckle, the sound weary but genuine, and a clear touch of gratitude in his voice. You put a filter in the coffee maker and pour the coffee grounds into it, the aroma slowly beginning to fill the air. As the coffee brews, you plop a tea bag into your own mug before pouring in the hot water. You take a moment to glance at him, his tired expression evident as he leans against the counter.

You notice the way his eyes flicker around the room, taking in the small details of your kitchen that must be mirroring his own, before his gaze lands on you. Your eyes meet for a split second before you quickly look down at your steeping tea, feeling how your pulse quickens slightly from getting caught staring.

You clear your throat and decide to break the silence. “So, how does a chef end up starting a kitchen fire at 3 in the morning?” you say in an attempt to lighten up the mood, but you immediately cringe at yourself, it probably wasn’t the most tactful question to ask. You’re not normally this awkward, but you also don’t normally have strangers in your apartment in the middle of the night like this.

“I-ehm… I was actually cooking in my sleep, I woke up to the fire alarm.” He confesses, sounding a little embarrassed as he rubs the back of his neck.

“Oh,” is all you say, not really knowing what else to come up with. You take a moment to process Carmen’s response, trying not to let your surprise show on your face. Cooking in his sleep? That certainly wasn’t a typical explanation for starting a kitchen fire. “I guess sleepwalking and cooking don’t mix well,” you end up replying, feeling a bit silly for stating the obvious.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding in agreement. “I suppose not.” his voice laced with exhaustion, and another long stretch of silence unfolds between you. You are just about to open your mouth to say something to break it - what, you don’t even know, but you are saved by the coffee machine beeping, indicating that the coffee is ready. You quickly pour the hot coffee into a mug, happy for the natural interruption of the awkward silence.

“Cream and sugar?” you ask him, smiling politely.

Carmy nods gratefully. “Just a little cream, please.” You carefully pour a dash of cream into the mug, watching as it swirls and mixes with the fragrant dark coffee before placing the mug in front of Carmen. He takes a sip, his tired eyes closing momentarily as he savors the warmth.

“Thank you,” he says softly, the gratitude evident in his voice. You just smile at him. Taking your tea, you lean against the counter on the opposite side of him.

The two of you fall into a now more comfortable silence, the only sound filling the room being the occasional sip of coffee or tea. You cannot help but glance over at him every now and then, taking in the tired lines of his face, the way his eyes seem to hold a thousand untold stories.

After a few moments of sipping your tea in silence, Carmen breaks the silence, pointing at one of the pictures on your fridge. “Is that from Copenhagen?”

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips as you look over at the picture. “Yeah, it is. I got a job offer here in Chicago and thought that it might be time to try something new, I moved here six months ago, but before that I lived in Copenhagen. I like it here, and I’m really enjoying my new job, but I do miss it.”

“Yeah, Copenhagen’s really beautiful,” he says, still looking at the picture.

You lean forward, feeling a spark of conversation ignite between you and Carmen. “So, you’ve been?”

“Yeah, I actually lived there for a while, when I worked at Norma.” He says it so casually, but you can’t help but feel a surge of surprise at his casual mention of working at a renowned three-Michelin-star restaurant.

“Wow, that’s really cool,” you say, genuinely impressed. “What was it like?”

Carmy smiles softly, a nostalgic glint in his tired eyes. “It was intense, but also really… rewarding?” he says, his voice trailing off slightly as if lost in memories. “The chefs there pushed me to my limits, I learned so much during my time there, but, yeah, it was definitely hectic...” He pauses, a hint of melancholy in his voice, he seems to be caught in his own thoughts for a moment before he lightly shakes his head and turns his attention back to you. “What about you, what do you work with?”

“I work in theater, I’m a scenographer,” you reply, feeling a sense of pride as you talk about your passion. “I design and create the visual aspects of the stage production, from the sets to the props and the costumes. It’s a lot of work, but I really love it.”

Carmen’s tired eyes light up with interest. “that sounds really cool. It must be amazing to see your designs come to life on stage.”

“It is,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “It can be really demanding sometimes, but seeing everything come together during a performance… It’s like the best feeling I know. To know that your hard work is helping give people an experience. I really like that feeling”

He looks at you with a newfound glint in his eyes. You feel a warmth spreading through your chest from the way his eyes sparkle with genuine interest. “I think I know what you mean,” he responds, a sense of understanding passing between you. “It’s like when you create something with your hands and then see the final product, it’s a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction.”

“Exactly,” you nod in agreement, feeling a sense of understanding with Carmen in that moment that you haven’t felt in a long time. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, both lost in your own thoughts for a short moment before he breaks the quiet.

“But, I’ll have to admit, I don’t really go to the theater that much,” he says, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “Or like, at all.”

You chuckle softly, the conversation now flowing easily between you. “Well, don’t feel bad, most people don’t. And, I’ll also have to admit that I don’t really go to Michelin restaurants that often either… or at all.” This makes Carmy laugh – it’s soft and short lived, but genuine, and your heart sillily skips a beat by the gentle melody of it.

“That’s fair, but I’m not working at Michelin places anymore,” he says, his voice losing a bit of its newfound bravado and his smile falters slightly, a shadow passing over his features. “My brother, Mikey…” Oh… Michael was his brother, you feel a pang of sadness wash over you as you piece together the connection. “He left me his restaurant, It’s an old shithole of a beef spot. I’m trying to get it back on its feet, but it’s been a struggle, you know?”

You can see the weight of his words behind his tired eyes, the burden of responsibility and loss bearing down on him.

“I was in New York… I was the Chef de Cuisine at the Eleven Madison Park, and now I’m back here, trying to revive this place that I can’t even believe is still standing,” Carmen’s voice fades a bit at the end of his sentence, a sense of resignation and disbelief evident in his words. “It’s fucking bullshit.” You can hear the frustration and sadness in his voice, and you feel a surge of empathy for him. “But it also means fucking everything to me,” he adds, his eyes unfocused and tired as he gazes off into the distance before blinking and lightly shaking his head, his pale cheek redding a little.

He looks embarrassed at his little outburst, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he runs a hand through his curls in frustration. “Sorry,” he murmurs, the word hanging in the air as he looks down at his coffee mug. You can see the conflicted emotions swirling in his eyes, the weight of his past and present struggles evident in his posture.

“No need to apologize,” you reassure him, and another stretch of silence settles between you, the weight of his words lingering in the air. You don’t really know what else to say, so you don’t say anything, letting the quiet moment linger as you both sip your drinks, the only sound filling the room being the steady hum of the refrigerator.

The atmosphere hangs heavy with the weight of Carmen’s words, and you can sense how he is starting to shut down. So, instead of pushing for more conversation, you decide to take another approach.

“Hey, uhm, can I bum one?” you ask, nodding towards the pack of cigarettes you had watched him put in his pants pocket when you had entered your apartment. You have your own, and you try not to smoke at night, but you make an exception, you crave the comfort of a cigarette and Carmen looks like he does too, and being able to offer you a cigarette might make him feel like he has something to offer and ease the tension.

Carmen’s tired eyes flicker for a second, like he is being pulled out of deep thoughts before looking back at you again.

“Yeah, of course,” he replies, pulling the cigarettes from his pocket and handing you the entire pack. “I would have gone down on the street…” he begins to explain before trailing off.

You shake your head, cutting him off with a smile. “No need, If you’re fine with the fire escape we can go out there,” you offer in a gentle tone.

Carmen’s tired expression softens at your offer, and he nods in agreement. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

The two of you make your way to the window, cracking it open to let in some fresh air before climbing out onto the fire escape. The metal stairs creaking slightly with each step as the cool night air greets you as you both settle against the railing, the distant sound of the city humming below you.

You pull out a cigarette and pop it between your lips before handing back the packet to Carmy. He takes one, lighting it with a flick of his lighter, the orange flame illuminating his tired face. He has a scar, you notice, on his right cheek, which you hadn’t noticed before. It looks like an old wound, faded and barely noticeable in the dim light of the night. You can’t help but wonder how he got it, but you are pulled out of your thoughts as he flickers on the lighter again, this time holding it out for you to light your cigarette.

You lean in, the flame dancing before your eyes, casting a warm glow on your face. As you inhale, pulling life into the cigarette, the smoke swirls around you in the night air, the ember glowing brightly in the darkness. “Thanks,” you mumble, as you exhale, letting the smoke escape through your nose as you lean back again.

For a while, the two of you sit in companionable silence, the only sounds being the never-quiet ambience of Chicago from the streets below. The night air is cool against your skin, but also somewhat refreshing, and the warmth of the cigarettes and the close proximity of Carmen keeps you feeling cozy and content.

The weight of the conversation from earlier still lingers, but as you gaze out at the city skyline, a sense of peace washes over you. You smoke the entire cigarette in silence before Carmen breaks the quiet. “Did you know Mikey?”

You take a moment to collect your thoughts before responding, the few memories you have of Michael flooding back to you.

“I don’t know if I knew him. We weren’t close, but we were neighbors for a few months. He was always friendly whenever we crossed paths in the hallway,” you say, watching Carmen closely for any sign of emotion. “I had my couch delivered about a week after I moved in, and despite having ordered it to be brought up to my apartment, the delivery guys just left it down on the street. Michael came down. I think he was on his way to work, and this guy came to pick him up and after asking me what happened, they just picked it up and started carrying it up for me. I tried to stop them, I was so scared, they’d throw their backs out,” you chuckle softly at the memory. “He didn’t have to do that, but he did anyway. I tried to thank them afterwards, venmo them or something, but they just waved it off.”

Carmen listens quietly, his eyes focused on some distant point in the night sky, a flicker of emotion passing through his expression before he clears his throat softly. “Sounds like him,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with memories as he lights another smoke, silently handing the pack over to you.

You take one, grateful for the distraction as you light it and take a long drag, the smoke swirling around you as you exhale. The quiet moment lingers between you, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. You can feel Carmen’s grief and exhaustion radiating off of him, the burden of loss and responsibility heavy on his shoulders.

The silence stretches, and you start to worry that your story about the couch wasn’t the right thing to say, that maybe you had overstepped by bringing up memories of his brother. You rack your brain for something else to say, anything to lighten the mood or make him feel better, but you come up empty. Instead, you simply sit in silence, the only sounds being the gentle buzz of the city below and the occasional drag of your cigarettes.

You can sense that Carmen is grappling with his own thoughts, his tired eyes gazing out at the twinkling lights below, lost in his own world. After a while, he breaks the silence, dumping his cigarette butt in the rusty tin can you have standing out here for the purpose.

“I should probably get out of your hair and let you get some rest,” Carmen says, his voice resigned but appreciative.

You nod in understanding, feeling a sense of disappointment at the thought of him leaving so soon. A part of you wants to tell him to stay, but you also understand that he probably needs some time to himself. “Yeah, of course,” you reply, trying to keep your voice light and he gets up.

The polite, well mannered side of you tells you to get up and follow him to the door, but your intuition tells you to stay. It seems like he needs some space to process his thoughts and feelings, and you don’t want to intrude on that. So, instead, you simply smile at him and nod towards the window. “Thanks for the company, Carmy. And hey, if you ever burn down your kitchen again, don’t hesitate to knock on my door, okay?” you tease, you want to say something deeper, but you hold back, not wanting to push too much.

Carmen lets out a soft chuckle, his tired eyes lighting up with a hint of amusement. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the coffee and the chat,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips as he gives you a small wave before disappearing back into the apartment. A few seconds later you hear the click of the front door closing after him, and you feel a mix of emotions swirling inside you.

You sit there for a while longer, the cigarette between your fingers slowly burning out. The weight of the night settles around you, the city’s hum a distant lullaby. You take one last drag of your cigarette, scrunching your nose at the light burn of your lips as you realize it had burned down to the filter.

With a sigh you dispose of the butt in the tin can, letting it join the others, before standing, leaning against the railing and gazing out at the city lights twinkling below. The night air is crisp against your skin, the silence of the night wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You stand there for a little while longer, lost in your thoughts as your tired eyes capture the beauty of the cityscape below you. The events of the evening swirl around in your mind, the unexpected encounter with Carmy. You don’t know if you overstepped any boundaries, if you said the right things, or if you offered enough support. But you hope you did the right thing.

With a final sigh, you step back inside, closing the window behind you and letting the night air dissipate. The apartment, that has felt empty since you moved in, feels even emptier now, and that is when you realize that Carmen had been the first person who you have invited into your home since you moved to Chicago. You can’t help but ponder over that as you head back to the kitchen to clean up and finish your tea. Maybe you should invite some of your coworkers over sometime, or actually start on trying to make some friends here.

You go over to the coffee maker to pour out the leftover coffee in the pot, but you are surprised when you see that it has already been done, and the mug Carmen had used is hanging from the drying rack, along with the other dishes that had been sitting in the sink waiting for you to finally rack up the energy to wash, now cleaned.

Maybe it’s just because you really, really hate washing dishes or maybe it’s the realization that you have been more lonely than you realized, but the sight makes a weird feeling settle in your chest, and it is too much for you to start processing right now, so you simply set down your mug on the counter and turn on your heel, leaving the kitchen and head to bed. Had you stayed in the dark kitchen for just a short while longer, you might have noticed the forgotten phone next to the sink.

You make your way to your bedroom, peeling off your hoodie and sweatpants before sinking into the comfort of your bed, feeling a mix of emotions swirling within you, that you’re not ready to decipher. All you really want to do right now is to let all thoughts and feelings fade away into the peaceful void of sleep. You don’t have work tomorrow, thank god, so you allow yourself to drift off without setting an alarm, letting the warm duvet envelop you as the beating of your heart slowly lulls you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

· · · · ·

Carmen is flipping through the pages of the folder, he’s barely registering the ideas and suggestions she had put together for the restaurant.. He doesn’t want to be an asshole, really doesn’t want to, but all this is a lot and he can’t really deal with a lot right now.

He can feel the beginning of the well-known pounding in his temples, another day, another headache. He wants to be able to fix this place, and he is happy that Sydney wants to help with that, but all he can focus on right now is to get through the day. There is three hours to opening, one of the fucking ballbreaker machines are broken, and he can’t find his fucking phone, he thinks he might have forgotten it at home, he was a bit of a zombie when he left this morning. Last night was something… he’ll probably need 3-5 business days to process, or even better repress it completely from his memory, despite it being difficult.

“On page 27, randomly, there’s actually some pretty good layouts of just that,” Sydney says, clearly trying to sound casual, but her voice betrays a hint of eagerness.

“Page 27?” he asks, feeling overwhelmed by everything in front of him.

“Yeah, it’s mostly graphics,” Syd replies.

He knows Sydney’s right, she is smart and capable, and he is not doubting that she has a bunch of good ideas. She is probably way more qualified to run a business than he is, or ever will be, but he can’t see how any of this is realistic. She is right, they are sleeping on to-go’s, but there is no way they’ll be able to manage that right now.

And, yeah, there is no doubt that they need to make some serious changes, but all Carmen can focus on right now is to keep his head above water. He has issues keeping vendors current, and even scraping enough together to actually pay the staff.

“Yo, Carm!” Marcus voice calls out, interrupting them. Carmen hands the folder back to Sydney before stepping out of the little office to see what’s now going on.

Following Marcus’s voice, Carmy swings the doors open to the front of the house where he finds the baker leaning against the front of the counter, and Richie standing behind it with a woman, probably around his mothers age, who Carmy’s never seen before.

“Yo, what’s going on?” Carmy asks, trying to push aside the headache that is threatening to take over while trying to understand what’s going on with Sydney hot on his heels.

“No. I can handle this myself, cousin. I got this,” Richie tells him, holding his hand up as Carmen steps into the room. “So… You’re not Ron…” Richie says, now addressing the woman.

“Ron’s gone. Gone, gone,” she answers, which isn’t helping Carmen understand the situation in the slightest.

“Ron’s dead?!” Marcus exclaims, leaning a little further over the counter.

“Who is Ron?” Carmy asks, trying to get a handle on the situation.

The woman turns towards Carmen. “My partner Ron Pager. He passed away. I’m running his routes now.”

“Everybody’s dying,” Richie says, annoyed, making a half turn in frustration.

“Nancy Chore, Chicago Board of Health,” the woman introduces herself, offering an explanation to Carmen. “I’m here to inspect the property.”

Of, course… An inspection, why the fuck not?! Just what this day needed…

“Okay, Nancy, hi. I’m Carmen Berzatto,” he extends his hand, introducing himself. “I’m the owner.”

“He’s the owner’s brother actually. He’s also dead,” Richie says, causing a raised eyebrow from the older woman.

“He doesn’t look dead.”

“No, no I’m not dead. My brother is dead.” Carmen clarifies, even though he feels a bit dead right now.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” the woman says with a sympathetic nod.

“I’m sorry for your loss too,” Richie says to the health inspector, not missing a beat as he continues. “Can I see some kind of identification?”

“Yeah,” the woman replies, holding out her very legit looking badge per Richie’s request.

“Interesting,” the taller man says, his arms folded over his chest.

“Is it? What’s interesting about that?” Carmen says, he can’t fucking deal with Richie’s antics right now, he just wants this inspection to be over as soon as possible. Carmy’s been trying to make everyone step up their game in the two weeks he’s been here. He, himself stayed until late last night to deep clean. There shouldn’t be any problems, and if Richie will just behave, everything should be going smoothly… Hopefully.

“It’s an interesting logo on her badge,” Richie says defensively.

Carmy decides to ignore him, turning his attention to the inspector. “Nancy, if you need anything, just find us. Make yourself at home. Okay?” He turns around to go back to the kitchen, he has a lot to do and he doesn’t have time to deal with Richie’s shenanigans right now. “Where’s Tina and Ebra!” he calls out as he makes it back to the kitchen with Sydney following him back again, seemingly not done with telling about her ideas to improve the restaurant.

Carmen had hoped that the interruption would make her forget about it for a while, his head can’t hold any more right now, but he is also mildly curious to hear ideas, and he also doesn’t want to seem like an asshole, it is really nice of her to want to help, so he lets her follow him around as he makes it through the restaurant.

“I also noted on the prog that it’s not necessarily flour that is expensive, but shipping, so we could just have somebody go and pick it up.” Sydney says as they make it back into his office.

“Yeah, Marcus,” Carmen agrees. He can definitely see the logic in that. It’s a good, and actually feasible, idea.

“Okay, sure. Marcus. Great,” she says a little confused.

“No, it can only be Marcus,” Carmy explains.

Sydney makes a face of befuddlement. “Why can it only be Marcus?”

“Sweeps, Tina and Ebra don’t drive,” he clarifies. .

“Uh, well, what about Richie?” she asks questioningly.

“Suspended license.”

“I saw him drive in this morning,” she points out.

Carmy just shrugs, he is not sending a man with a suspended license out driving doing work hours, if Richie wants to risk it on his own time then that’s his business.

Sydney shakes her head lightly, getting back on track. “The point is, it’s one of hundreds of things we can be doing to save costs!”

“Sydney. Sydney. Sydney,” Carmy interrupts her. “Look, I’m sure this is all correct, but it’s a lot. The job you’re describing goes way outside what I can afford to pay a sous, which I can barely afford already. But I hear you. Okay? I have every intention of turning this into an efficient, respectable place of business run by adults…”

He can see that she is about to say something, but before she can get to it she gets interrupted by an outburst from the front of the house. “That’s a fucking ass of shit!” Richie’s voice bellows.

“Eventually…” Carmy sighs, stepping out of the office once again to see what’s happening. “Yo, yo, what’s going on?!” He yells as he pushes through the door to the front again, seeing that most of the staff are already there. A pressing feeling of uneasiness, starting to form in his chest as he steps around the counter to get to where Richie and Ms. Chore is standing, who he had almost forgotten was here.

“Look… It wasn’t dangerous, Ms. Chore…” Richie says defensively, immediately making alarm bells go off in Carmy’s head.

“What’s dangerous?!” Carmy demands to know.

“I discovered a large hole in the tile. Looks like a former gas line next to the stove tops. Not only was it not properly dry walled and caulked, but someone clogged the hole with napkins and proxied over it with some kind of plastic. Grease seeped into the napkins and the proxy became unproxied.” Ms. Chore explains, sounding less than pleased.

“So what does that mean?” Carmy can feel how fury is starting to slowly simmer in his stomach, threatening to soon be brought to a boil.

“A potential cross contaminate. Additionally, no hot water in the hand station.” The older woman explains.

The last part makes both Richie and Syd erupt in protest, their voices overlapping and echoing through the room as they try to explain that the hot water does work, the water just has to run for a little while, which Ms. Chore doesn’t seem to be satisfied with. “Health code states any sink near a prep area needs to deliver instantly hot water to prevent the spread of bacteria.”

Carmen can feel how his headache is now blooming into a full-blown migraine as the chaos unfolds around him. The sound of the voices mixing with the sound of the broken arcade game is starting to feel like an alarm going off in his head. It is like the piercing sound is stabbing through his temples and into his brain. He rubs his forehead, while grabbing the counter with his other hand, trying to ground himself as he tries to push back the throbbing pain. A health code vialation is literally the last fucking thing they need right now.

“I haven’t even delivered the big one yet.” The health inspector continues and Carmen feels how his stomach drops at her words.

“There’s a big one?” Fak says from his seat at the counter.

“And what is the big one?” Carmen asks, breathing through his nose. richie

The woman pulls out a packet of smokes, ‘King Size Sapphire’, Carmen’s eyes immediately looks over at Richie. “Someone left a pack of cigarettes on the stovetop near the burners. Not only very dangerous, but also a potential contaminant.”

“Motherfucker…” Carmy let’s out. The migraine is now pounding behind his eyes.

“You can say that again,” Ms. Chore

“Motherfucker!” Richie echoes, making Carmy’s blood fucking boil .

“Don’t actually say that again, you fucking idiot!” He yells at the taller man, feeling like he could strangle him in this moment.

“Unfortunately, these violations leave me no choice. I award you a C.” Miss Chore holds the cardstock with a giant orange C out to hand over to Carmy, but he doesn’t take it. He can feel the anger and frustration boiling inside of him, threatening to spill over. The orange letter on the paper mocking him.

A choir of protests fills the room as the staff tries to defend themselves, but Carmy can hardly hear them over the pounding in his head.

“You know what, I’m going to caulk that shit right now, okay?” Richie states, trying to plead with Ms. Chore.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter how fast you do it. I can’t come back to test for 30 days,” Ms Chore says, not missing a beat.

“It’ll take five minutes, okay?! It’ll take five minutes to caulk.” Richie tries to bargain. “I can caulk! Let me fucking CAULK!”

“There’s no caulk in the house, dude,” Fak chimes, making Richie yell at him to shut up and Ms. Chore hands over the review paper to Carmy before leaving.

Carmy thinks he might actually strangle Richie, his head now not only throbbing with pain but with red hot fury as well.

“You’re bitching me? You wanna run this place?!” Carmen seethes, his voice dripping with anger as he pushes Richie in the chest, his frustration finally boiling over.

“How do you know they’re not your cigarettes?!” Richie pushes back, making Carmy stumble back a step.

“Cause I’m not a fucking dipshit!” Carmy yells, seething with a mix of anger and frustration as he is about to push Richie again, but Sydney steps in between before he gets the chance, trying to keep the two men from each other as they yell at each other. Cursing and yelling fill the room as tensions escalate, the staff trying to intervene and the review paper falls to the floor in the commotion.

“Let’s not do this,” Sydney says, her voice breaking through to Carmy, making him regain his senses.

“All right. All right,” he says, throwing his hands in the air, trying to calm himself down before turning to Richie. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You are gonna go to the hardware store, you’re gonna get some joint compound. You’re gonna get some caulk and you’re gonna caulk that shit,” he says, his tone firm like he’s giving instructions to a child, despite him saying it with much more anger than he would ever use toward a kid.

“Okay, well, FYI…” Richie cuts in, as if he’s about to argue, making Carmy wanna punch him. “I’m not your fucking gofer.”

“FYI?! FYI!” Carmen can’t believe he is having this discussion with a grown man. “FYI, you cocked it up, you’re gonna caulk it out!”

“Okay, well, I would love to, but my license is expired, FYI!” Richie retorts, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I saw you drive in this morning,” Sydney points out, making Carmen turn towards her.

“Sydney, you wanna help, you can take him.”

This makes Richie protest. “No. Time out. I’ll Uber. Thank you.”

“Surge rates, fucko!” Carmy reminds him, his voice dripping with annoyance.

“Fine,” Richie says in defeat before looking at Sydney. “But we’re taking my car.”

“I don’t care…” she says, shaking her head.

Carmen is just glad that they’re leaving. Glad Richie’s leaving because he is fucking angry at him, and glad that Sydney is leaving, because it is clear to everyone that she is far too good for this place, and it makes him feel bad and kind of embarrassed that she has to put up with all the bullshit that happens here.

He just needs a break from annoying pseudo-cousins and over-ambitious sous chefs for a little while. Although Sydney is not officially his sous yet, but he is going to hire her – he’d be an idiot not to, she is probably the best this shitty place will ever see, if she still wants to work here after today, that is…

Carmy picks up the fallen review paper from the floor with slightly trembling hands as the giant orange C is staring back at him. The image burns into his mind, a symbol of failure and inadequacy. He knows that this place is shit and that he needs to make changes, but this is a whole new low. His head feels like it is about to explode, the pounding in his temples now so unbearable he almost feels nauseous, the ballbreaker jingle of the broken machine, like nails on a chalkboard, echoing in his tired head.

“Fix that fucking sound. Please fix that fucking sound!” He spits at Fak, half commanding, half pleading.

“I will fix it. Fak always fixes it. Kids come in, break it, and what happens? I fix the balls. Fak fixes the balls.”

“FIX IT!” Carmy just yells. He wonders if it’s actually happened, after all these years in nightmarishly stressful kitchens, two weeks at The Beef is what’s finally driven him completely insane as he goes back through the doors to the kitchen.

Taking a breath and clenching his fists he tries to gather his thoughts. If he changes the plans so that Tina takes over Sydney’s stations while she is gone and he makes family, they shouldn’t get too behind while Sydney and Richie are gone.

“Yo, Tina! I need you to help me out, chef,” he calls out to Tina, trying to regain a sense of control amidst the chaos. “I need you to take over Sydney’s stations while she’s gone. We need to keep things running smoothly, I’ll make family and help out with prep,” Carmen instructs, his voice firm but tinged with the underlying stress and frustration he’s feeling.

“Got it, Jeff,” the shorter woman says, retying the strings of her ‘Mrs. Always Right’ apron.

“Thank you, chef,” Carmy says, really meaning it. He knows she’s having a hard time with all the new changes he has made around the kitchen, and with Sydney coming in and things changing up, but she has been here for a long time and there is a reason for that.

As they start working and tackling the tasks at hand, Carmen feels how his anger slowly disappears, something else inside him taking over.

He has no idea how to manage, let alone fix, a failing business, but he knows how to cook. He knows what he’s doing when he’s in the kitchen and he knows that he can rely on his skills and can get into that magical state where he can shut his brain of for a little while, and just fully concentrates on the task at hand – which in this point of his life probably is the closest he comes to relaxing.

· · · · ·

You are pulled out of your slumber by the ringing of your phone, the shrill sound cutting through the peaceful silence of your bedroom. Groggily, you reach out to the nightstand where your phone is resting, fumbling for it in the darkness before finally grabbing hold of it. But as you squint at the screen to see the caller ID, you see that there is none, it isn’t even your phone that is ringing.

Confusion clouds your mind as you slide out of bed, and it is now clear to you that the sound isn’t coming from your bedroom. You stumble out of the room, trying to locate the source of the ringing, but it stops before you get a chance to pinpoint it.

“What the…” you mumble before the ringing starts once again, realizing that the sound is coming from the kitchen. You feel a sense of unease wash over you as you make your way to the kitchen, the sound of the shrill ringing growing louder with each step. You enter the room and coming into view is the telephone on your kitchen counter. Confusion wells up inside you for a split second, your groggy mind still in a half fogged state of sleep, before the events of last night come back to you. Carmen must have forgotten his phone last night.

You look over at the oven, the digital clock, shocked by how late it is, you can’t remember the last time you woke up this late.

You step over to the sink, looking down at the phone, the caller ID lighting up on the screen saying ‘Sugar’. You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should answer or not. It feels pretty invasive to pick up another person’s phone, someone you don’t really know, and you have no idea who this Sugar is, maybe a girlfriend? In that case you don’t want to intrude on their personal business, and you’re definitely not in the mood to be interrogated by some angry girlfriend.

But it could be important, or maybe it is Carmen calling his own phone to figure out where it’s at. You contemplate what to do, but before you can make a decision the phone stops again, the ringing coming to an abrupt halt.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, but after a few seconds the phone lights up again. With a fast beating heart you swipe across the screen before picking it up to your ear, bracing yourself for whatever may come.

“God damn it, Carm!” A female voice crackles through the speaker, frustration and annoyance evident in her tone. “Listen I know-”

“Hello,” you croak out, interrupting the woman, not wanting to eavesdrop on a private conversation. The voice on the other end goes silent for a moment, and you can almost hear the confusion through the phone.

“Uh, hi…” the voice says, the frustration in her tone melting away, being replaced with puzzlement. “Is Carmen there?”

You clear your throat, a little embarrassed by the mix-up. “Uh, no, he isn’t.” You cringe internally at the awkwardness of the situation. “He, uh, left his phone here last night.” And you only cringe even more. “I’m his neighbor, we had some coffee last night.” You quickly add, mentally cursing yourself for sounding so awkward, but you push through.

“Oh..” the woman responds, her voice softening. “I’m Natalie, I’m Carmen’s sister.”

Relief floods through you, feeling a way more at ease now that you know who you’re talking to as you tell her your own name.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Natalie says, genuine remorse in her voice. “I’ve been trying to talk to him for a few days now, and I was starting to worry, but I think he’s just ignoring me.”

You feel a sense of understanding wash over you, having seen the exhaustion and turmoil in Carmen’s eyes the night before, and knowing about what had happened with Michael you can’t help but feel for her. “It’s okay,” you reassure her. “But, yeah, I saw him last night, we had coffee and he must have left his phone here by accident.” You offer, hoping to ease some of Natalie’s worry

“Oh, thank you for letting me know,” she replies, relief evident in her tone. “He can be a bit of a scatterbrain sometimes. I know he’s been dealing with a lot lately, so I appreciate you looking out for him.”

You nod, feeling a sense of connection with Natalie, despite never having met her. “Of course, happy to help out.”

You contemplate whether to offer any more information about your interaction with Carmy, but you ultimately decide to keep it to yourself. It’s really none of your business, but you can’t shake off the urge to help somehow.

“Hey, uhm, if you give me the address I can swing by the restaurant and drop off his phone. I know I would be fucked without mine.” It’s not like you have any plans and you would probably not leave your apartment today if you don’t have a reason to. “I can tell Carmen to give you a call when he gets the chance,” you continue, hoping to be of some use and to ease Natalie’s worries.

“You’d do that?”

“Yeah, it’s not a problem. Just let me know where to go and I’ll drop it off,” you offer, genuine in your willingness to help out.

“That’s so sweet of you,” Natalie says, her voice softens even further, with a sense of genuine gratitude. She gives you the address to the restaurant, and you jot it down on a post-it note. The call ends with a warm goodbye from both of you.

Forty minutes later, after a quick shower and getting dressed and ready, you’re on your way to the train station, the music in your headphones filling your ears as you step out onto the platform. Luckily you don’t have to wait long before the gray train pulls up, you board and find a spot to stand, not feeling the need to sit. The gentle rock of the train lulling you into a sense of calm, as you let your brain disconnect and enter the weird, cathartic state of introspection that you often seem to get in on public transportation while you watch Chicago pass by in a blur of buildings and colors.

As the train comes to a stop at the station near the restaurant, you step out onto the platform and make your way towards the address Natalie had given you, it’s just a simple eight minute walk and you’re are there a lot quicker than you would have preferred, suddenly feeling a wave of nervousness wash over you, but you try to push through it, reminding yourself that you are just dropping off a phone and there’s no need to overthink things.

The restaurant is easy to spot, a worn sign hanging above the entrance with the name ‘The Original Beef of Chicagoland.’ You take a deep breath before pushing open the door and step inside.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated :) let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapter ♡

@wittyno @eternallyvenus @eddioto

674 notes · View notes

no-144444 · 4 months ago

Text

listening ears on- z.guanyu

Day 16 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: How come when you try to set Zhou up, it ends badly?

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zhouguanyu

liked by oscarpiastri, vallterri bottas, pierregasly and 568,920 others

zhouguanyu: thank you melbourne, yet another fucking p18 👍 (was nice to see the piastri family though, and to see osco up on that podium :)

comments

landonorris: jesus dude don't jump

oscarpiastri: i love u zhou :)

nicolepiastri: ❤️❤️❤️

nicohulkenburg: better than me, p19 :(

user45: we need a psych ward.

user33: AUDI DOMINANCE NEXT YEAR TRUST ME (i'm delusional)

user82: ZHOU NO I LOVE YOU

y/nbottASS: no you're too sexy haha plz don't die ->user22: HUH? ->user32: ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?

user29: we're so cooked -> y/nbottASS: HAVE SOME FAITH IN MY BOYS -> lewishamilton: ??? I was p2??? -> y/nbottASS: GOD, NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT U GIRL (YAY LEWIS P2 congrats)

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y/nbottASS

liked by jackdoohan, arthurleclerc, pierregasly and 987,263 others

y/nbottASS YOUR HONOUR THEY WERE BEING SILLY

comments

user46: NURSE SHE'S OUT AGAIN

arthurleclerc: I open this app and sigh

user77: shitting myself why does arthur look so confused

oscarpiastri: princess jack making an appearance i see. -> y/nbottASS: fuck off you got a home win and i cried. that's what you fucking get. -> landonorris: i don't think you needed to clock him so hard? -> y/nbottASS: go fuck yourself. you and your boyfriend can cry together -> oscarpiastri: oh! we're being so normal I see! 😁

user66: 'my honest erection'? -> y/nbottASS: correct.

user88: every time she posts I just know the drivers shiver in fear liked by valtterribottas, pierregasly, yukistunonda, lancestroll, alexalbon, olliebearman, liamlawson, kimiantonelli, jackdoohan, georgerussell, lewishamilton, charlesleclerc, maxverstappen, danielriccardo, checoperez, nicohulkenberg, arthurleclerc, fernandoalonso, carlosainz, estebanocon, oscarpiastri, landonorris ->user56: NOT ALL THE DRIVERS IN THE LIKES -> user99: NUH UH, ZHOU ISNT!!!!!!!! -> user45: zhouy/n truthers rise.

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y/nbottASS

liked by pierregasly, zhouguanyu, landonorris and 1,383,938 others

y/nbottASS: MY GOAT ZHOU IN THE POINTS?????? HOME RACE KING!!! (also jack and @/friend1 are sickeningly in love)

comments

jackdoohan: thanks for being our matchmaker :) -> y/nbottASS: don't mention it jackie boy (I'll kill you if you hurt her)

zhouguanyu: THANKS Y/N

oscarpiastri: MY GOAT GUANYU

alexalbon: SUCH A GOAT

lewishamilton: MY GOAT

jackdoohan: pookie in points 🥺

landonorris: ICON I LOVE HIM HE'S SUCH A LITTLE DUDE

valtteribottas: missing me much? @/zhouguanyu -> zhouguanyu: so much...😿

user44: JACK AND WHO? -> user55: that's one of y/n's friends! she's a model and y/n set them up! -> y/nbottASS: they're so cute aren't they!!!!

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arthurleclerc

liked by y/nbottASS, pierregasly, charlesleclerc and others

arthurleclerc: happy 6 months to my beautiful girl. @/sabrinacarpenter

comments

user54: 'thank you y/n' we all say in unison.

user77: THEY'RE ADORABLE YOUR HONOUR

user88: SINCE FUCKING WHEN??? -> user27: y/n introduced them. -> user88: OHHHHHH i get it now

y/nbottASS: my otp

sabrinacarpenter: omg we're so hot -> arthurleclerc: facts

user29: who has y/n set up? like everyone on the grid right? -> user99: y/n has set up most of the couple son the grid including : akex and lily, sabrina and arthur (ik he's not on the grid but yk), jakc and @/friend1, charles and alexandria, fernando and melissa, george and carmen, kika and pierre, lando luisinha (when they were together), max and pietra (ik they're not on the grid either, anyway), valtteri and tiffany, and somehow looks like she does and is single?????? -> user66: she's been BUSY

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y/nbottASS

liked by zhouguanyu, pierregasly, yukistunoda and 876,926 others

y/nbottASS over and out silverstone! (i've been so busy matchmaking that i haven't posted myself!)

comments

user87: OMG she is everything

user63: she's so GORGEOUS

zhouguanyu: karting was such a mess 😹 -> landonorris: you two went karting without me? wtf. -> y/nbottASS: yes? mf you're not invited. -> landonorris: oh. -> y/nbottASS: mf you cheat. -> oscarpiastri: FINALLY SOMEONE AGREES.

pierregasly: looking close... ->user23: SPILL RIGHT NOW -> user45: PIERRE KNOWS SOMETHING WE DONT?

lewishamilton: working hard or hardly working? -> y/nbottASS: secret third option: inside your walls! -> roscoelovescoco: oh...!

user88: they're so adorable.

user77: why am I becoming a zhouy/n shipper...? -> user32: bc they're so CUTE together.

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zhouguanyu

liked by pierregasly, charles leclerc, carmenmundt and 3,897,474 others

zhouguanyu happy y/n day! I LOVE YOU

comments

y/nbottASS: HARD. LAUNCH.

limited comment section.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi

#zhou guanyu #zhou guanyu x reader #zhou guanyu x you #zhou guanyu x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula one x reader #formula one #formula 1 #f1 fluff #formula one imagine #formula 1 x you

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thebearer · 3 months ago

Note

So if Teddy looks like Carmy but has her momma's personality, is it safe to assume that Willow has her momma's looks but Carmy's personality? Because why is it that when Willow gets all shy all I can imagine is Carmen being so shy around reader while still working together in the beginning. Him going "she's not my girl" is so willow coded🥺

i like to think they’re a good blend of both looks wise, but teddy does favor carmen more and willow does you.

personality wise, willow is carmen through and through. she’s got a little bit of you in her, when she is comfortable with someone, she can be silly and sweet and enjoys their company- not as much of a loner purposefully like carmen is. and not as anxious as carmen is, but she’s quiet, shy, and i think the difference is, is that she’s content by herself sometimes. it’s not sulky or anything, she just likes to be alone and be quiet, it’s not a reaction or response. it’s just how she is.

teddy definitely is the opposite in every way. she is loud and confident and looovvveeesssss attention. more of your personality, yes, but everyone also swears she’s mikey reincarnated. she’s good with people, can talk to anyone and everyone, good about relating to people and making them feel loved and appreciated. she’s incredibly socially intelligent even from a young age. she’s just a ball of sunshine and energy, and sometimes carmen is like “how is this my kid?” (esp when she starts talking to strangers lol) but she’s the sweetest. they both are really.

#thebearer #bearblahs #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #dad!carmen berzatto #dad!carmen berzatto x mom!reader #dorothea “teddy” berzatto #willow natalia berzatto

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nolita-fairytale · 1 year ago

Text

your past and mine are parallel lines | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader

summary: a run-in with an old friend sparks a conversation between you and carmy of the people you loved before each other. or rather, the one in which you meet claire.

warnings: use of she/her pronouns, no use of y/n, second person pov, swearing, tooth rotting fluff, not-your-normal jealousy fic, soft!carmy, lives in the world of make my heart surrender

wc: 3.9k

a/n: ok so hear me out: i just want to write about healthy relationships right now and that is where i'm at. this is not your normal jealousy fic and i hope you still enjoy! this lives in the world of 'make my heart surrender' because of course it does and takes place a month after my oneshot, j is for j beard and jealousy.

masterlist

It begins with forgotten carrots, tops attached, of course – a necessary ingredient to the dish that you’ve been working on all afternoon together. Usually, you’d go for a rainbow bunch, but for the puree, aesthetically of course, the classic orange carrot is much better suited. You’d hadn’t put them on the grocery list the day before, certain that you had a bunch or two at home sitting in your vegetable drawer, only to find mid-recipe development that you did not, in fact, have carrots at home. It doesn’t take long for Carmy to suggest a quick trip to the store, insisting that you come with him because this is a date, after all.

It’s something you and Carmy have decided to do, now that neither of you are needed at the restaurant 24/7: a cooking date at home which, despite the fact that this date night was an idea born out of both of your desires to introduce more fun into your lives, will inevitably become a dish that Carmy tries to put on the menu anyways.

Divide and conquer is the strategy: while you hit up the produce aisle, Carmy is sent on a mission to procure a bottle of orange wine for dinner later tonight.

But what’s supposed to be a simple Saturday afternoon grocery store run takes a turn for the intriguing as you hear a laugh – a woman’s laugh – and the familiar sound of your boyfriend’s voice muttering something about the name of his restaurant.

As you approach, you spot your boyfriend and the woman he’s found himself in a conversation with. Carmy leans against the refrigerator doors, his chest square to the brunette, bathed in neon blues from the refrigerator lights.

“Because you’re the bear. And I remember you,” you hear her say. You observe carefully, the look of surprise and the blush that runs across Carmy’s cheeks in response to her words are not lost on you.

There’s a palpable energy between them as they converse, and it feels as if all the blood is rushing to your head as you cut the tension with a single:

“Hey.”

As the brunette turns to you, you’re only a little taken aback by how beautiful she is. With long, thick, dark hair, she has piercing blue eyes, similar to the ones you’ve found yourself lost in in your years spent loving Carmen Berzatto. You feel almost silly as you stand there, holding a bunch of carrots in your right hand, suddenly grateful that your have your favorite of Carmy’s denim jackets tied around your waist (for “just in case the store’s got the AC blasting,” Carmy had reminded you before you left the house earlier).

“Hi,” is all she replies, an almost too-friendly smile plastered to her face, as she takes a few steps towards you. “I’m Claire. I’m…” She trails off before stealing a glance over at Carmy before continuing with, “...an old friend. Of Carmy’s.” As the woman called Claire extends a hand out to you, you take it, giving her hand a curt shake as you introduce yourself.

It dawns on Carmy, who has slipped into a state of what can only be considered as shock, that he probably should’ve introduced the two of you sooner as he mutters an apology under his breath.

“Shit, yeah, sorry. I probably should’ve-. I uh, um, Claire. Yeah. This is uh, this is my girlfriend,” Carmy manages to get out, his face growing increasingly deeper shades of red as the words tumble out of his mouth.

“Your-? Wow, oh my god! It’s-it’s so nice to meet you,” Claire replies, trying her best to hide the surprise in her voice as it increases in pitch with every word.

“So… what’re you two up to-?” she begins to ask, looking from you to Carmy with wide, quizzical eyes. “Carrots. We’re uh…,” is the first thing that comes to mind as the words fly from your lips. “... buying carrots.”

You realize how stupid it sounds, completely caught off guard, as you scramble to find any word in the English language that doesn’t sound as ridiculous as what you’ve just said.

You wonder if this is how Carmy felt when you ran into Nate at the James Beard Awards about a month ago.

At this rate, something’s gotta be in retrograde, right? you think to yourself as you try to push down your feelings of embarrassment.

“Right,” Carmy mutters, while Claire tries to get the conversation back on track.

“Well, it’s really good to see you, Bear. Really. I’ll have to stop by the restaurant sometime,” she says, preparing to excuse herself.

“Yeah,” Carmy nods, still avoiding as much direct eye contact as possible.

Bear.

It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does, and yet, you can’t help the feeling that wells inside of you as she says the name.

The family name.

His childhood name.

It feels more intimate than it should, and maybe it is.

You swallow, trying to shake the feeling.

“Yes. Yeah, we’d uh… let us know. When you’re there,” you continue, exchanging a look with Carmy, who only nods along.

“Oh, you’re a-, you work there too? At the restaurant,” Claire asks, eyeing the carefully drawn fruits and veggies that adorn the length of your arms, permanently inked there forever.

“Yeah. Uh. Pastry chef,” you reply with a small laugh.

She nods, almost as if she’s accepted an unspoken agreement – something you’re not sure you’ll ever know.

“Well it was nice to meet you,” she says once more, shooting a soft smile in your direction, before excusing herself. “And it’s good to see you, Carmy.”

As you watch Claire walk away, Carmy’s still frozen inside of what he thinks could be the most awkward experience of his month so far.

“So… that was weird,” you say, as you turn towards your boyfriend. He mutters something in agreement because the only thing he can think of to say is, what the fuck just happened.

And he’s barely figured that out.

“Do… you want to talk about it?” you ask skeptically, dragging out the ‘o’ at the beginning of your question.

“Not really,” he mumbles softly, shaking his head.

“Great, me either,” you’re quick to reply, even though you both know that you’re going to have to talk about this eventually.

—-------------------------------------

It seems to be a day of forgetfulness, as Carmy realizes that he’s left his notebook at the restaurant – something he’s been working out of for any and all new ideas, a habit you think he picked up from Syd. It’s not entirely out of the way, so the two of you decide to stop by on the way home. You enter through the back, hoping to skirt the tongue lashing you’ll both get for coming in – even just for a few minutes – on your day off.

But a hall-pass just isn’t in the cards for either of you, as you’re instantly spotted, arm-in-arm, by Richie who’s just ended the pre-dinner shift all hands meeting.

“It’s your day off! Get the fuck outta here,” Richie calls out to you with a shake of his head. “You two. I swear.”

“I just forgot my notebook. We’re in, then we’re out. I swear!” Carmy defends himself, holding up his hands.

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie dismisses him before issuing a warning with a wag of his finger. “You better not stay longer than five minutes, you got that?”

“In and out. Scout’s honor,” you answer, before the abrupt interjection of Fak’s voice stops you from saying anything else.

“Incomiiiiiiiing!” Fak cries, as he bursts through the doors. “Ahhhh man. Hey Carm! I heard you ran into Claire Bear.”

Claire Bear?

You shoot Carmy a quizzical look that he’s more than eager to avoid.

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?” Richie snaps as Carmy simultaneously lets out as: “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. What do you-? How? Already?!” “Fuck it’s been two fuckin’ seconds,” Carmy grits his teeth, trying his best to answer Richie’s question. “But apparently news travels fast.” He shoots you an apologetic look as he explains, “She’s uh… close family friends with the Faks.”

“Ahhh,” you let out. “She seem good? Bet she was glad to see ya,” Fak inquires, overenthusiastically winking in Carmy’s direction.

“Yeah she’s uh… she’s gonna be a doctor in a few months huh?” Carmy replies, trying his best to avoid Fak’s continuous winks.

“Who the fuck is Claire?” Sydney asks, as she enters the conversation. Syd quickly notices the confused look on your face, in contrast to the embarrassed one on Carmy’s, and a more than eager Fak, much to Richie’s dismay.

It’s as if he can read the situation in one look as Richie cuts in this time with an explanation:

“Will you stop it, fucko? Jesus Christ.” Richie turns his attention to you this time as shakes his head, brushing off Fak’s earlier comment. “She’s just a kid from the neighborhood. That’s all.”

“Just a kid from the neighborhood?! You, Richie, you are not nice!” Fak exclaims.

But Richie is faster, quick to dismiss the man as he cuts him off with a few sharp words about fixing his bowtie before dinner service starts. As they bicker back and forth, trading barbs like brothers, Carmy has returned to his ‘I really don’t want to talk about this’ body language, his shoulders slumped and completely avoiding eye contact.

“Okay. Um…. Raise your hand if you’re off the clock but you’re acting really fuckin’ weird right now,” Sydney says, looking from you to Carmy, and then back to you.

“I…” you try your best to explain to no avail – mostly because you’re not sure what to explain yet.

“We should go. Let’s get out of here, yeah?” you propose, directing your attention towards Carmy again. You’re more than happy to be met with a nod as Carmy excuses himself, darting into his office to retrieve the notebook he came here for in the first place.

You can tell that he’s not ready to talk about it, and after the weirdness today, you’re beginning to wonder more and more about this Claire girl. Carmy had never mentioned an ex-girlfriend. You knew that there were short-lived flings here and there throughout his twenties, but by the time you met him, it was just you and him, trapped inside your little bubble of denial and unspoken feelings until you weren’t.

Claire doesn’t quite seem like an ex, but you could feel that she wasn’t just a girl from the neighborhood that Carmy grew up with either.

“You good?” Sydney asks, immediately noticing your discomfort.

“Yes,” you answer, unconvincingly. “Sooooo….?” Sydney begins to ask.

So what’s going on? So what was that all about?

“Girl, I will let you know when I know,” you answer, shooting her a matching look.

“Godspeed, my friend,” Sydney replies with a salute, eliciting a much needed laugh from you. “I’m gonna get back to work but uh… I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you nod, trying your best to shake off this weird feeling.

As you watch her go, you’re too caught up in the what-the-fuck-ness of it all that you barely notice as Richie approaches.

“You know you got nothin’ to worry about, right, sweetheart?” Richie asks you, interrupting the thoughts swimming around in your head.

“No yeah. I-, he’ll tell me when he’s ready,” you reply, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself.

“You ready?” you hear Carmy ask.

“Yeah,” you nod, before giving Richie a small smile because his reassurance means a lot. “Thanks, Richie.”

As you wave goodbye, Carmy takes your hand before leading you out of the restaurant and en route towards home. There’s a thick tension between the two of you, filled with things left unsaid. It’s more of an awkward kind of tension as Richie’s words echo in your head:

You know you got nothin’ to worry about, right, sweetheart?

It means more to you than he knows – that Richie is in your corner. It’s not like the two of you are best friends, but you have a mutual understanding that you’ve been good for Carmen ever since you reentered his life.

You’ve become a patient woman, knowing that, most of the time, Carmy has to come to you on his own time. You trust him wholeheartedly, and you trust that he’ll tell you when he’s ready. It just doesn’t help the anticipation that’s been building inside of you all afternoon.

“You know. We’re gonna have to talk about this eventually,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

“Yeah,” Carmy answers quietly, giving your hand a confident squeeze. And if it’s a promise, he adds, “Yeah, I know.”

—-------------------------------------

You’re barely paying attention to George Clooney’s portrayal of a former raider turned newspaper columnist of a fox, entirely distracted by your game of cat and mouse that you play with Carmy and his attention. You can feel his eyes on you as you take another sip from your wine glass, the funky and sour notes hitting your tongue as he watches you closely, your head hazy from getting towards the end of the second glass.

Carmy sighs, shifting his body position, as if choosing the comfiest position will embolden him to tell you what’s been on his mind.

He lets out yet another sigh, this one much heavier than the last and you know he’s working up the nerve.

You cradle your wine glass in your hands, giving the last of the orange elixir a swirl as you settle into the couch, your back pressed against the arm of it as you stretch your legs out in front of you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you finally ask him, and he lets out one last sigh of relief, almost as if he’s been waiting for you to ask.

“Uh… yeah, actually,” Carmy admits, hesitantly.

You’ve been waiting for him to get here, taking in the vulnerable look on his face as he searches for the words he thinks will best convey what he wants to say. “So… there was like… someone… before me, yeah?” Carmy drags out, his face soft as he asks you a question that takes you by surprise.

You let out what can only be described as a laugh and a sob as you reply with:

“What do you mean?” you choke out, the laugh that escapes your body providing much needed relief.

It’s not what you expected. That’s for sure.

“You know…” he trails off, before taking another deep breath because as much as he hates to admit it, it’s really the only example he’s got. “Like… I know… about Nate.” “Nate?!” you exclaim with an even bigger laugh. “Bear, are you… are you asking me about my exes?”

“Uh… yeah…” he admits on an exhale, almost embarrassed to be asking. “I guess uh-, I guess I am.” In his bashfulness, you giggle, reaching out to give his arm a squeeze as you begin to understand that he’s ready to talk about what happened in the grocery store.

Carmy takes a breath, and you watch his posture soften.

“Well, Nate barely counts as an ex. I don’t… That was more of a… one-time mistake kind of thing,” you admit, knowing that it wasn’t all that long ago that Carmy found out about it in the first place.

“Right,” Carmy nods, his gaze focused on his knees for a moment because even though he brought it up, he’d really like to stop talking about Nate right about now.

“But!” you begin, trying your best to meet him where he’s asking you to. “The guy I dated… right before I met you, Alec was… definitely someone I consider an ex.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah um… we were together for two years… just before I started working at our old spot,” you begin, willing to give him as much information as he wants. “So why didn’t it work out?” Carmy asks curiously.

“I don’t know, babe. I racked my brain trying to figure that one out a ton when we first broke up,” you sigh, uncertain of how to answer that question. You take your time choosing to be as honest as possible in your explanation. “I think… I don’t know. He was never as sure about me as I was of him.”

“We were great together, y’know? He was kind, and smart… he made me laugh… And we were really happy together for a long time. I mean, I think we were exactly what each other needed as the people we were in that time of our lives,” you explain, elaborating on what really worked in your relationship with Alec.

“But eventually, none of that stuff really mattered because all I wanted was to be with someone who felt as crazy about me as I did about them, you know? And… he wasn’t… entirely sure.”

Carmy lets out a deep breath as he takes your words in.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, as he feels the weight of your words. “I guess… well, I guess I didn’t know about all that.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly tell you,” you shrug.

Carmy thinks it over, wondering why he never asked you about your broken heart back then – not that he was ever really good about that kind of stuff – the talking about feelings kind of stuff, and whatnot.

But he wants to be good at it now. Or, at least he’d like to try. He wants to try to be good at it for you.

“Guy’s a fuckin’ loser,” Carmy comments, a bitterness in his voice as he does. “I can’t imagine it.”

“Hm?”

“Not being crazy about you,” he answers, his tone confident as his eyes catch yours.

Your heart flutters with the way he looks at you, and between his words and his certainty about you, you can’t regret the past – not even a little bit.

“It’s okay, Bear,” you reassure him, and you mean it. “If Alec and I had stayed together… well, you and I never would’ve….”

“Danced around each other for over two years?” Carmy points out letting out a dry laugh. “Right,” you chuckle in agreement, with a playful eye roll.

“Yeah.”

“We’re here now. Isn’t that what’s important?” you ask with a shrug and a half smile.

This time, his tone much more serious, Carmy answers with a, yeah, that feels heavier than the previous ones.

You and Carmy both take a beat, letting the reality of your life with each other sink in. It’s as if all the ‘no’s of the past lead you here to this moment, and you’d have it no other way.

“So. Who… is Claire?” you ask, earning a groan from Carmy as he swears under his breath with a shake of his head. You stretch out your leg, just enough to poke him with your big toe as he chuckles, wanting nothing more than to avoid this question.

“It’s just… well you’ve never really told me about any of your exes!”

“Well she’s not really… my ex,” Carmy blushes, averting his gaze once again.

“Well, she doesn’t really seem like just a friend,” you point out, and it suddenly feels like you’re showing your entire hand. Carmy agrees with you on an exhale, reminding himself that he wants to try the whole ‘better at talking about feelings’ thing with you.

“Okay. Uh… well… we’ve known each other for like… forever, I guess,” Carmy begins to explain running a hand through his curls. “Her family is close with the Faks and I-, I-, uh… well, I sort of… had this massive crush on her… like all throughout school.”

“What?” you ask, genuinely curious about his sudden coyness.

“It’s embarrassing!” he defends himself, with a dry laugh.

“Carmy, it’s not!” you insist, sitting up straight this time to reach for his hand. “Was it weird for you? Earlier today?”

“Uh. Kinda, yeah,” he confesses, stealing a glance your way.

“Yeah?” you ask.

“Yeah. Like… a lot. Was that… not obvious?” he shoots back, this time with a shake of his head. “I just-. I don’t know. It was weird.”

“Good weird or bad weird?” you ask again, patiently. “Just… weird, babe,” Carmy answers honestly with a shrug of his own.

You nod in understanding, wanting to give him the space to share more if he’d like to. It’s not that you were worried about Claire… but it had been weird, earlier today – and even stranger when no one was giving you a proper explanation. “I-, I-, it’s like. I had such a big crush on her. And I could barely work up the nerve to talk to her like… I was sort of just this-, this total fuckin’ loser,” Carmy continues, his eyes narrowing as he talks about a younger version of himself. “And now here I am… with my super hot girlfriend and I just-. I don’t know. It sorta uh… reminded me of like… a different version of myself.”

“Yeah, no, I-, I get that. It’s… it’s such a weird feeling,” you empathize, exchanging a look with your boyfriend this time.

You nod in understanding, only to be met with a laugh and another shake of his head as Carmy lets out a sigh of relief. “You’re being like… waaaaay too cool about this,” he points out, his voice lighter this time.

“Oh yeah?” you ask with a quirk of an eyebrow. “Uh. Fuck yeah,” Carmy confirms, as you exchange a laugh. He shrugs once again, only a little embarrassed as he adds, “You know… I just… I kinda lost my fuckin’ mind. You know. About Nate.” You shrug, “That’s different. I-.” A beat. “Do you want me to be jealous?” “No,” Carmy answers. A beat. “Maybe?” And another. “I-, I don’t know. This is all so new to me!”

“Carm,” you sigh, as you lean over, placing your wine glass down on the coffee table before scooting closer to your boyfriend as you continue. “You and I have been through so much together and there were days that I thought we’d never speak again… but somehow we still ended up here.”

He grabs your hands, pulling you in closer towards him as you meet him pound for pound–all heart on both sides.

“I trust you,” you reassure him, your fingers sliding perfectly between his. “And I know I have your heart… ‘cos I know you got mine.”

“Ffffffuck,” Carmy exhales, in complete disbelief that you really are being too cool about this. “Seriously?!”

You laugh, incredulously this time, as you decide to give your boyfriend just a little of what he may be looking for. “No, but. It did-, it was weird for me… today. With Claire. And then later at the restaurant when Fak brought her up. I mean… you weren’t lying. News traveled fast,” you admit, much to Carmy’s relief.

“Neighborhood’s small. That’s for sure,” he agrees, equally uncomfortable with how quickly that got around.

“And… She is like… really pretty. And… what? About to be a doctor so I guess that means she’s really fuckin’ smart. I mean-,” you continue.

It doesn’t take Carmy long to realize that you’re trying too, deciding it’s best to put you out of your misery sooner rather than later as he cuts you off with a playful, “Oh shut the fuck up.”

It’s your turn to laugh this time as you lean in, pressing your lips to his.

Carmy inhales, breathing you in as he tries to memorize the way you smell, the way you taste, the way your lips feel nestled so perfectly against his. He pulls away just for a moment, intent on telling you something.

“You do, by the way,” Carmy says, his declaration soft but sure. “Have my heart, I mean.”

“I know, babe,” you reply, with a smile. “I know.”

—-------------------------------------

a/n: if you've been wondering where i've been, i've been here! just living a whole lot of life offline these days. would anyone be interested in reading my thoughts on life? anyways, i feel like a hiatus was good for me, and now i have all this life i've lived that's inspired me to write again. i've been channeling a lot of my creative energy into other projects which has felt great and it also feels really good to be back.

#carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto headcanon #the bear headcanon #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy berzatto fluff

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ctimenefic · 17 days ago

Note

Strap? 👀 👀 👀 👀 👀

A (belated) response to this very silly prompt game. Er, there's about 4k of this for some reason. As always, eternal gratitude to LP for looking over this and spotting the clangers

“Are they red?”

Fernando Alonso’s breath smells like whisky.

Carmen imagines kneeling in front of a little girl crammed between her parents on their small sofa, all of them whooping and hollering as their countryman, their driver, becomes the youngest champion of all time, and telling her one day she’ll be sitting thigh to thigh with him as the new year rings in around them.

It’s such a dazzling absurdity she completely forgets the question. “Pardon?”

Alonso’s fingers flick down with his gaze. Down to her crotch. “Your underwear,” he says, baldly. “Are they red?”

He’s speaking Spanish, of course. He’s asking because she’s Spanish, because it’s tradition. Red, on New Year’s, for luck.

That doesn’t stop her toes curling in her heels. Mindgames, they say about him. Well. She can play. Carmen raises an eyebrow. “Of course.”

Alonso leans back, satisfied. “Good. For luck in love, isn’t it?”

His knee nudges against hers as he opens his legs.

George is a hot line up against her other side, sweaty from dancing and gesticulating as he chats expansively to one of his English mates – John or Jack or James, does something with land management. He’s oblivious, of course; she can’t tell if the white coal of indignation burning under her sternum is on his behalf or her own.

She lets Alonso watch as she adjusts a damp curl over an ear. George catches her hand, presses a kiss against the inside of her wrist without breaking stride in his conversation. When she turns back to Alonso, she barely has to tweak the wattage of her smile; she loves George best when he’s slightly ridiculous. “I’ve been lucky already.”

“Mm,” Alonso replies, neither agreement nor dissent. It rankles; reminds her of the kind of disinterest too many people in the paddock show her, when they call her sweet or helpful or picture-perfect. But then his crooked grin is back, all teeth, much more dangerous. “He must look good when you fuck him.”

Her mind stutters, once at the crudeness and again at the specifics. Not- not when you fuck. Not when he fucks you. When you fuck him.

Sometimes, she doesn’t let George touch her. He’s so much bigger than her; it changes her, something thick and warm fermenting in her belly, to see all of him stretched out and corded with need, jerking into her touch. Afterwards, she can pass a mirror and not recognise herself, the way she can’t bring her teeth together for a smile, jaw slack.

When you fuck him. Alonso’s right. George’d be so good for it. For her.

Her face must be as red as her knickers – maybe she couldn’t challenge the master after all. But Alonso’s still looking past her, where George is rubbing his fingertips against his collarbones, his whole hand easily accommodated by the gape in his unbuttoned shirt.

She can see it, suddenly; that neck straining under the span of a smaller hand. She hears Alonso’s breath rumble out of him.

George catches their looks then, starts extracting himself from John/Jack/James. It’s then that Alonso catches her, face still flaming. “Oh, you haven’t. Pity.” His mouth turns rueful. The hot glint in his eye dims.

Carmen shakes her head, just a little. It’s the truth, sure, but not for long, not now the idea’s culturing in her gut. Alonso looks like he might laugh, as he reaches for his drink; she catches his wrist and lets her nails sink in, just enough for emphasis. George is only inches away; she should be more concerned about appearances. But she can’t let this one go easy, slide off her skin like she’s varnished.

“I could,” she says, steady and low. “I will, when I know how.”

“What’s all this then?” George’s stranger vowels come out when he drinks, his accent thicker than hers. He twists round, squints at them. His buttons are mismatched; Carmen can see one brown nipple through the bulge of fabric.

Alonso gives him a shark’s smile, but his answer’s all for Carmen. Still Spanish. “I could teach you.”

“Are you flirting with my girlfriend, Fernando?” George is sloppy-drunk, heavy with emphasis and innuendo as he sways in his seat. Carmen knows better than to let it embarrass her. He doesn’t like it, in company. No, it’s better to tell him the morning after how messy he got; watch him at the breakfast bar twitching in his boxers at each mild word until he slinks between her legs to apologise, spells out his sorries with his tongue.

“Learn Spanish and you’ll find out, George.” Alonso leans past her to pinch George’s chin between his finger and thumb. His other hand lands on her upper thigh, hidden under the shadow of his torso.

His fingernails score a line down her gossamer-thin tights, just at the hem of her dress. Not a hole, not quite a run, but a snag against the soft skin there that lingers when he leans back, lets his hand run down to her knee and stay there, grip steady and sure. “But,” he adds, back to Spanish, and Carmen feels her gut clench before he even gets the words out, “I do not have to flirt. She is already wet in her lucky red panties, mm?”

He’s right.

George laughs, too relaxed to be uncomfortable. “A fair cop, I’m trying.” He’s not. It’s a small thoughtlessness she can forgive, when he’s so willing to apologise. “But what were you talking about?”

“New Year’s traditions in Spain,” she offers, smile fixed.

“And making new ones,” Alonso adds.

It only takes a few seconds after that. George’s hand lands on her knee, the curve of his palm fitted to her kneecap before he slides up, the way he always does, so his fingertips will graze the ticklish spot on the underside and make her squirm into him. The instant his knuckles knock against Alonso’s he freezes, and Carmen has one of those swooping moments when she remembers all the drivers live or die in microseconds; an entire conversation happens in front of her in miniscule expressions, the smallest grunts and hums, before she even has time to open her mouth.

George squeezes, and her knees fall open, and two sets of fingers drag rucks in her tights up and up and up.

And at midnight, when she crams George’s face between her hands and lets him hoist her off the ground for a kiss far too spit-sloppy for Instagram, it’s Fernando’s hand on her hip that steadies her, his stubble that grazes against the bare skin of her shoulder, and his address that they give to the driver that whisks them away from air soaked with whisky, sweat and the drifting smoke of fireworks.

-----

Sobriety hits with the pound of black silicone Fernando presses into her hand.

He has three of them, three strap-ons, lined up in a drawer on top of cream satin sheets. If George were two or three drinks more either way, sober enough for sarcasm or drunk enough to let his tongue slip, he’d probably call it a bit much. Instead, Carmen just hears him swallow where he’s tucked up behind her, chin pressed against her scalp.

Fernando drums his finger against the blue one, still nestled in the drawer. “This is what you should get for him, yes? Start small.” He wags his finger at the red monster. “Not for beginners. Work up to this.”

“Crikey,” George mutters. Carmen bites her tongue. It’s not that much larger than he is, but she supposes no one’s ever invited him to sit on his own dick.

There’s probably a service for that, though. Custom-made. The kind of narcissism that would make him spasm. At some point he’d spill the beans to a friend, let them tease him mercilessly, come home humiliated and hard and desperate. She could-

Carmen forces herself to breathe slower, uncurls her fingers from the dildo. She’s getting ahead of herself. She can’t even be sure he’ll like it. That she’ll be good at it.

“Shouldn’t I have the blue then?”

“Oh, but little George wants that to be private, no? He is not getting involved.”

Ah. This is what George gets for laughing at her, at them, in the cab. For coming over all British, spine stiff and blinking slowly, mechanically, as Fernando and Carmen had to search for the word for it, a stream of rapid Spanish and halting English.

“Wait, so-”

Fernando is getting impatient. “You think I am going to teach you by fucking you in the arse? Any man could fuck you in the arse, you will not learn shit that way. You will fuck me and I will coach, hm? And little George can find out if he likes it from the corner.”

There’s a chair there, in Fernando’s spare room. An armchair, tight and cushy. He might as well have embroidered CUCK on the throw pillow. Still, it’s better than the dining chair they’d had to drag in from the kitchen the last time Daniel had stopped by. George had kept slipping off whenever his hips jumped.

“I am going to get the good lubricant,” Fernando announces, “And then I will get you ready. Don’t get naked, I want to see those panties.”

George makes a choking noise behind her; when Carmen turns to face him, the dildo in her hand nudges him in the side, where his waist yields. He shivers at the touch of her and Carmen has to smooth a palm up his front, round his neck, and tug his forehead down to touch hers. With his ludicrous torso bent to hers, it makes a private space for them, a familiar room.

“We don’t-” she starts, but he’s already shaking his head, tiny twists that rock his skin against hers. His eyes are shut and she can’t tell if he’s avoiding her face or picturing it, picturing her, harness and all. “Or-”

He kisses her, pushy with it, feeding his tongue into her mouth like that’ll work better than saying what he wants out loud. His clever fingers find the zip on the side of her dress, the button at the halter; he has it sliding down her legs before he breaks off, spins her around and steps back. She’s left in her underwear and heels, standing in the circle of her crumpled LBD. When she looks back over her shoulder, he’s retreated to the chair, folds himself into it, knees crammed together. But he’s watching her, blue eyes wide and open and determined, like he’s staring through a visor.

Fernando’s in the doorway, shirt unbuttoned, a lube bottle the length of her forearm in his hands. His grin widens. “Lucky, lucky girl. Time to strap in.”

When he drags her pants down, he holds them to his mouth and nose for three long inhales before he chucks them across to George. He lays them over his knee, neat and flat, like she might want them later, even though the gusset’s soaked a deep maroon. His thumb strokes over the damp patch, though, and her cunt pulses. Fernando must hear the wet sound of it as he buckles on the harness; he licks a stripe up to her clit before he sorts the other leg, hides her away. He smacks his lips around the taste of her; she clenches so hard her arse twitches under his hands.

When she steps out her heels, the dildo bobs between her legs, thick and heavy. Her balance is off, ever so slightly. Fernando runs a proprietary hand over the head, down the shaft - no lube, so the skin of his fingers catches and drags with the friction. Carmen feels drunk again, watching herself be touched and not touched.

Fernando’s face is all mouth now, wide enough to swallow her. When he kisses her, one hand on her bum and one, immediately, on her tit, she tries to give as good as she gets. But a tug on his hair earns her a warning swat to the arse. “Ah ah. You are still learning, yes? I am the teacher. Be a good girl.”

It’s not really her thing, good girl, but she hears George inhale behind her, and that- the reminder of her audience, that’s enough to send a pulse of heat to her knees. Her hips twitch. The black dildo rubs against Fernando’s stomach. When he pulls back far enough for her to see him clearly, he’s all grin and teeth.

He strips quickly. Not the foreplay type, evidently. On the bed, he cracks the top of the lube open at once, slathers his fingers, and gets on all his knees to open himself up. Carmen bites back a comment on his flexibility.

“Pay attention, yes? If you have not-” She scoffs, and he stops. “Oh, yourself, of course. But it is different for a man. I would have you do it, but your nails, ridiculous. Cut them and get fake ones. There are no uses for those.”

She scrapes the line of them down Fernando’s back, over the ridiculous tattoo, and he pauses. Inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Some uses.”

If watching Fernando finger himself open is supposed to be educational, it’s something of a failure. Barely a minute in, and she can tell he’s chasing pleasure, stretching fast and hissing round the burn. He’s not careful about it, not gentle; George would go quiet if she went this fast, and bear it, and pretend it was his fault he was soft and damp-eyed.

She can’t deny it’s hot, though. The way the eagerness sneaks out of Fernando; all that cleverness dropping off his face when he gets the angle right and just has to feel it, even if he’s smug about it a fraction of a second later. It builds inside her, the want to do it, make him slack and stupid with her-

With her cock.

George is watching too. Rapt. When she turns to look at him, her hair a whisper over her shoulder, he drags his gaze away from Nando’s hole, and she gets to watch how his gaze stutters on the leather straps, the hulk of the dick between her legs. She cups it and he swallows. He’s pulled his shirt out of his trousers, but the drape of it can’t hide how hard he’s got in his slacks.

She feels hard too. Her clit is throbbing where the harness, slightly too tight, pulls it against her body.

“Pay attention,” Fernando chides again and, fuck, he’s up to three. He draws his fingers out with a flourish, wipes them on the sheets as he shifts to all fours. Carmen avoids the spot when she repositions her knees and reaches for the lube. It glides on differently across the toy, everything cold except her palm.

She takes a moment to catalogue the differences between Fernando and George. The corded rise and fall of older muscle. The force of him, compact as a spring. On all fours, Fernando keeps his head up; it makes her think of a jungle cat on the hunt.

When she nudges the flared head against the furl of his hole, it slips around, up; there’s very little slack in the harness, but enough to remind her the dildo’s not rooted to her. She has to work for the angle, grip it with a fist to hold it against herself and find the tension, the shift, that turns a press into a push.

The tattoo on Fernando’s back ripples. “Not too slow,” he coaches. He’s dropped back into Spanish; George whines, but it’s the good sort, high and needy like a purse dog. Carmen answers in kind; only slightly plays up the innocence, her Sunday school accent.

“Like this?” There’s a trick to it, getting her hips aligned behind and below where the base presses hard into her flesh and bone, so she can keep the movement smooth, firm. She curls one hand over Fernando’s hip, lets her nails bite a little, and he likes it just as much as he did the first time, a little grunt falling out of his mouth before he can catch it, turn it patronising and sly. She lets her other hand wander up his back, the spectacle of him stretched out like a map on a table for her.

“Down, more. Your aim is off.”

His voice hitches, though, when she moves. It’s starting to feel like hers again, her cock, in him; she draws it back until just the tip is left inside, admires the gleaming wet length of it before she drives back in, and George whimpers. There’s an ache, an emptiness, building between her legs, where the straps of the harness press against the lips of her pussy hard enough that she can feel how swollen and wet she’s getting, but not enough to satisfy. Not enough to feel.

She wishes she could have Fernando on his back, so she could lean down and shove her tits in his mouth. Or that he’d let George play, so she could tell him to put his talented fingers on her stomach, trace teasing paths around her navel until she was ready to come from a flick of her clit.

But it’s all on her. She’s in control.

Going faster doesn’t help, but once she starts she can’t stop. Not when Fernando starts panting, and his little coaching comments fall away into groans. One fist comes up to grip the headboard, then the other, until he’s pushing himself back against her, onto his knees, rising and falling with her hips.

“Is it good?” she asks him, only slightly smug. In Spanish, of course.

“Hah. The girl has teeth,” he answers her. “Your pretty girlfriend is very good, George,” he adds. English again. “I think maybe I should steal her, except,” and he laughs, the fucker, he laughs as Carmen’s hips stutter, and George moans, high and needy “-except I think you will like it even more, yes? When she fucks you. You will need it all the time-” Her knee slips, just an inch, but it makes a shallow thrust deep and he hisses in pleasure around it and still, unbelievably, keeps talking. “You will need it even before races, and you will be driving and feeling where she has fucked you. Drive slow to keep it going. Hit every kerb to feel it. And that will be better for me, I think.”

“Carmen,” George gasps, and she can hear how desperate he sounds, keeps her eyes on Fernando and the slide of her dick through sheer force of will alone, “Carmen, will you? Please? Will you fuck-”

“Yes,” and she can see it, wants it, her ribs white hot inside her chest, “yes, yes, yes I will.”

Fernando has his head flung back now, panting against her neck. The whole line of him is tensed, muscles straining. Each roll of her hips rattles the headboard.

“What do good girls say to the men who teach them, eh?”

But she’s too dizzy to think, to grasp what cheap porn-brained trick Fernando wants from her. Her thighs are burning, her hips moving so fluidly, instinctively, sweat streaming down her back, down the line of her spine, gathering thick and wet above her arse. She’s so hot. She’s so turned on. But there’s maddeningly little pressure on her clit; her cunt keeps clenching on nothing. She’d rip the room apart with her teeth for a bullet vibe right now, for George to slide it gently across her tits and down her stomach and then hard where she’s wet and hot and achy and-

“What do good girls say, eh?” Fernando growls, and she shakes her head, can’t think, can’t speak, only aware that she’s grinding into the spot that makes him bite, mindless, and-

“Papi.” George sounds wrecked, hoarse. “He wants you to call him papi.”

Of all the words he could know. It doesn’t do anything for her. Quite the opposite. And she’s ready to tell him as much, but: “No, no, no, little George,” Fernando is saying. “You’ll do.” Carmen can feel his grin against the side of her cheek. “You have a girl’s mouth, mm? Use it.”

There’s a thump. Plastered against Fernando’s back, Carmen can only twist her head to watch as George falls out of the chair to his knees - his bare knees, trousers and shoes and socks and boxers abandoned, the two sides of his white shirt framing the lurid red of his cock where it curves back towards the dramatic lines of his stomach. He walks on his knees to the bed; Carmen thinks Fernando would’ve preferred him to crawl.

She might have preferred that too.

It doesn’t matter though, because when she lets go of Fernando’s hips with one hand, steady enough in her stance now to risk it, and reaches for his face, he presses it into her palm and sucks her thumb into the heat of his mouth like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

She doesn’t realise she’s stopped moving, dumbstruck, until Fernando starts shimmying against her. His own cock looks livid where the purpling head emerges from the thick grip of his fist. “Move, or share,” he grunts.

“Up you get, George,” she tells him. Her thumb is drenched shiny when he releases it, clambers onto the bed between Fernando and the headboard. He’s lucky it’s wider than it is long, and even so his feet hang off the edge as he curls himself into the space that’s left for him.

One of Fernando’s hands drops down, out of her sight. She has to crane her chin over his shoulder, push the whole sweat-soaked length of her torso even closer against his back, to see. Fernando’s got George’s chin in his finger and thumb again, but this time George’s mouth is dropped open, tongue lax against his bottom teeth.

“Papi,” he says. Carmen shivers. Nando twitches. “Papi.”

And then George is taking Fernando’s cock in his mouth, his hands fisted by his sides and his own dickdrooling on his stomach and the damp tails of his shirt. Carmen grinds into Fernando almost without thinking; his hips shift away from her and back, chasing pleasure in both directions, and the jarring, awkward rhythm of it is somehow closer to making her come than everything before it.

The rhythm, and the naked, desperate want on George’s face as he sucks, eyes locked on her.

Fernando, unfortunately, is driving for a different laptime. He gives no warning before he grabs behind him for Carmen’s hip, grinds backwards for three fervid seconds and comes with a roar, straight into George’s mouth.

When he pats George’s bulging cheek, cum spills out down his chin and throat. A cry rips out of Carmen without her say so.

He lifts himself off Carmen’s dick and falls sideways, to the empty side of the bed, with the self-satisfied grace of a big cat, seemingly unaware the rest of the party haven’t finished yet. Carmen gapes at him, and he lifts an eyebrow. “I figured you two knew how this bit went, mm?”

Her hand drops, automatically, to her clit – and hits the dildo, still there. The harness gets in the way, dulls the sensation, even if George is gulping as he watches her, trying to get his legs underneath him to move. It makes her feel like a fumbling teenager, abruptly unfamiliar with her own body, even as she can feel her orgasm getting closer, almost there, almost enough-

Fernando, indulgently, leans over to unfasten the left hand buckles. He gestures like he’d do the other side, but it’s enough for Carmen. She tugs the panel covering her cunt to the side, lets the dildo press into her stomach as George slides over her, around her, panting and mewling and as needy as she feels.

Then George is sinking into her, thick and deep and everything her cunt’s been crying out for. He doesn’t even have the coordination to kiss her, his mouth wet at her temple, her cheek, her jaw, but it doesn’t matter because she’s coming, naked and soaking and clinging to him like armour. One shaking thrust, two, and he’s coming too, shivering through it, but loud, all his deliberation peeled away for a series of “fuck”s that have Fernando snorting from his side of the bed.

George collapses on top of her, but not inconsiderately. She likes it, after, the press, squeezing the last lingering shocks from her body as her mind slowly ebbs back from the edges of the room. When she has the wherewithal, she strokes down his back, fingers dipping into the gully where his shoulder muscles bulge either side of his spine. He takes a while to soften inside her.

Fernando yawns. “I will call you a car.”

“After we shower,” Carmen says, sharply.

George snorts half a laugh. “The romance is dead. Happy New Year, mate.” He rolls off the bed fluidly, suddenly back to the man everyone else sees, as awkward as he is charming, but all that wicked need hidden away.

Carmen’s still on the bed, waiting for her knees to solidify, when the shower starts running. Fernando clucks his tongue, and she rolls her eyes. As soon as she stands, the harness drops away to the floor with a jangle. She has to keep her thighs together as she makes her way to the ensuite; George’s cum starts leaking out of her well before she reaches the loo.

Under the water, George kisses her with his eyes open, his thumb tracing between two of her ribs.

George takes longer than her to wash; to be fair, there is a lot more of him. She ends up at the doorway to the bedroom again, wrapped in one of Fernando’s towels.

His eyes are closed, but his brow is furrowed. When she clears her throat, his face goes blank.

She has a thought.

“Help me on with these?” she asks, nudging her clothes with her toes.

Fernando goes to his knees to help her step into her dress and tugs it up into place. His fingers are quick and clever on the zip. He goes back down to help her step into her shoes, steady and firm when she puts a hand on his shoulder for balance.

“Good boy,” she says quietly, in Spanish. The shiver is almost imperceptible.

“Er, Carmen?” George, clean and dressed, is holding up her red panties from where he neatly stowed them with his own clothes. “Missing something?”

When he chucks them over, she snatches them out of the air and pushes them into Fernando’s open hand. “Keep them,” she smiles. “For good luck. And as a thank you.”

Fernando sees them to the door, still not a stitch on him. One palm on George’s shoulder, the other at the small of her back. He’s smiling.

“Thank you,” she says again. He’s one of the shortest drivers on the grid, but Carmen still has to reach up to press her lips to his cheek.

It’s soft, past the stubble.

#prompt fic #my fic #god what should i call this nightmare ship #the spanish armada?#no one expects the spanish inquisistion?#f1 rpf fic #answered asks

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amirasainz · 7 months ago

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Could do you please do amira is busy and is neglecting everyone making them have meltdowns ? ❤️

Hi guys. I hope you enjoy reading this and let me know if you have any requests.

-XoXo

No Part 2!!!

Busy Girl

It was not uncommon for Amira to be busy. Her career as an actress demanded a lot of her attention and free time. However, each time Amira declined Carlos’s invitation to one of the races, his heart broke. What do you mean his sister has to film the third season of Euphoria? Why can’t they film it at the race track? It’s not strange for high school students to suddenly spend all their time at a race track, thank you very much. Despite Amira giving him a thousand reasonable reasons why she couldn’t make it to one of his races, Carlos’s mind immediately jumped to the thought: “Doesn’t my little sister love me anymore?”

When Carlos finally ended his “short” call with Amira, which was only 4 hours long, he couldn’t stop himself from tearing up. Why does she have to work anyway? Their family is crazy rich; there is no reason for her to work. And why does she always have to show so much skin when she is playing the role of “Maddy Perez”? Why couldn’t Maddy wear long hoodies instead of bikini tops?

Carlos was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t hear his room door opening. “Chilli, are you ready to go?” asked Charles, still unaware of the phone call that happened 10 minutes before. “Whoa, hey, are you alright? You look… interesting.” Charles didn’t want to be rude towards Carlos. After all, the two were like brothers. But Carlos honestly looked like hell. Wild hair, shaking hands, and haunted eyes. Charles carefully lowered himself in front of Carlos. He gently placed his hands on Carlos’s thighs, patiently waiting for an answer. Taking one of Charles’s hands in his own, he answered, “Lord Perceval, Amira called and… and she said—dios mío, I can’t even say it. Well, she said that she couldn’t make it to the race this weekend.” Carlos watched as Charles absorbed this information. Charles looked down, his breathing becoming louder. “Charlie, are you crying?” asked a tear-eyed Carlos. “No,” Charles muttered, his voice thick. “Charles, please don’t cry. If you cry, I have to cry as well,” Carlos informed him, tears running down his cheeks. The two crying Ferrari drivers looked at each other, both unable to stop crying. It took them 2 hours of hugging each other and crying together for them to calm down.

Something similar happened throughout the week to the others as well. Kika and Lily were heartbroken when they heard about Amira’s absence. Alex even had to sleep on the couch because, according to Lily, “The only one that should lie next to me is my girl.” Not that Alex didn’t agree with his girlfriend. Amira was supposed to lie between the couple, all three of them cuddling after some “night exercises.”

George and Carmen had a completely different reaction. They believed that their girl just forgot to open her calendar to the right month and that she meant to travel there. “Our poor darling probably got confused at the airport and jumped onto the wrong plane,” was George’s reasoning. Carmen agreed with him 100%. Their silly darling couldn’t survive without the couple by her side. She was truly made for them.

The worst reaction was Lando’s. When he was informed that Amira was currently filming a new season of Euphoria, Lando fainted. The journalist joked about Amira’s absence after the Qualifying. Lando, outperformed by Charles, only got P2 instead of P1. When the interviewer said something along the lines of “Maybe the absence of your lucky charm made you miss pole position,” Lando, who didn’t know this little piece of information, went deathly pale. In front of 28 cameras, he fainted. Max F. never let him live that down, always teasing him with “You fainted like a Disney princess, waiting for her prince.”

The only one who truly did anything after hearing about Amira was Lewis. His assistant quickly packed his bags and bought a one-way ticket to America. Nothing could stop him from visiting Amira. After a full day, he finally had the chance to knock on her front door. He was met with Amira’s surprised face. Before she had the chance to say anything, he wrapped his arms around her. “God, baby, I missed you so much,” he whispered in her ear, turning his face to kiss her temple. Slowly, the couple broke the hug, Lewis still keeping his hands wrapped around her waist. “Lewis, I’m really happy that you’re here. But to be honest, I wasn’t expecting any guests. I had so much filming to do, a Vogue photoshoot, helped a friend set up her apartment, taking care of MY apartment, looking for—” Lewis interrupted her ramble with a sweet kiss. “Don’t worry, love. I’m here to help you.”

Bonus (+)

Once again, Carlos’s hotel room was filled with the other drivers, except Carlos himself. All of them had their eyes on Charles, who was breathing into a paper bag. “Charles, can you tell us again what happened?” asked Pierre, who was sitting next to his best friend. After Lando rubbed his back some more, Charles started: “When Carlos called me, I immediately went to his room. When I arrived, he showed me inside. He was busy packing his bags, muttering about finally getting his revenge. He said things like, ‘I won’t let it go this time,’ ‘No one can stop me,’ and ‘This is the last time someone will ever see him.’ When I asked him what was happening, he just took my phone, showed me an article, and left. He didn’t say anything else.” After Charles’s little speech, the room plunged into silence. Oscar hesitantly asked, “Charles… what did you see?” Charles started crying again, showing his friends the mentioned article. It was filled with pictures of Amira and Lewis, all of them just a few hours old. “Oh shit. Lewis is a dead man,” muttered George, sharing a panicked look with Alex.

#formula 1 #baby!sainz!sister #amira sainz #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz x sister!reader #lewis hamilton x reader #pierre gasly x reader #george russell x reader #alex albon x reader #george russel x carmen mundt x reader #alex albon x lily minu he x reader #oscar piastri x reader #carlos sainz x reader

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etherealising · 1 year ago

Text

chapter eleven | flowers filled with dew

masterlist | ↢ previous chapter | next chapter ↣ |

pairing(s): carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: you and carmen have a long awaited heart felt conversation about a life the two of you could’ve shared…if only times were different.

wc: 4.9k

Neither of you say a word. You’re both tucked under the covers like two children preparing to tell each other ghost stories, a position you’ve surely been in with Carmen before. It's quiet, all to be heard are the soft breaths, the two of you exchange Carmy’s familiar scent of nicotine and the kitchen mixed with your signature body wash delicately dances across your senses.

You watch him as he watches you. It's been silent between the two of you since the shower you shared, each of you tenderly helping the other dress afterward. The revelation of the night felt as though it sucked out any remaining energy either of you had left.

The blue of his eyes was easy to get lost in. The sadness pulls you into the depths of his doe-like baby blues, the length of his lashes delicately brushing his skin with every flutter of his eyes. It was slow, the way your hand reached up to softly trace the bruising color on his cheekbone that juxtaposed the soft hue of his iris. Thumb carefully running back and forth over the bruise he received mere hours ago. You weren’t sure what time it was, but the fact that everything happened in 24 hours didn’t feel real to you.

“Do you hate me, Carmen?” The whisper was rough, and the sobs paired with the lack of speech made your voice sound raw like you’d unintentionally swallowed sandpaper.

Your eyes found his once more following the widening of his pupils, the brush of his lashes against your thumb still lavishing his cheek. You were unsure if he heard you, and that was okay, you didn’t think you’d be able to stomach his answer if it was unsavory.

“No.” It was firm, his answer; almost immediate. He heard you loud and clear his heart skipping a beat at the silly question you’d dare to let leave your lips in his presence. He could feel his breathing begin to pick up as he prepared to ask his question. A shiver raced through him as your hand gently slid down his cheek, tracing a path down his neck before landing on his heart, the gesture distracting him enough to get his breathing as controlled as he could at that moment.

It felt second nature as his hand came up to cover yours in its place over his heart, squeezing it slightly as if doing so would sink your hand into his chest and allow you to grip his heart in the way you’d been unknowingly doing all these years. Carmy watched you for a moment, tracing how sunken your eyes were, your face that mere hours ago shone in happiness and radiance now looked sullen, as though the life was being sucked out of you in real-time. He felt the urge to leave his questions unanswered, to continue re-learning your face until the ground decided it was time for him to leave this earth. But Carmen also needed to know, this secret part of him wanted to understand why you deemed him so undeserving of sharing in such a life-altering loss.

Maybe this was his comeuppance.

Carmy cleared his throat finally prepared to know you, “How…wha-.” He had to stop himself, the blockade in his throat fighting his every instinct to question you. He could feel his eyes water as the burn in his throat traveled to his chest, the never-ending ache that rented space there grew heavier by the minute, his mouth opening and closing every few seconds as he swore words were leaving his mouth but no sound was.

“Shh, hey.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at you as his hand squeezed yours tighter, blunt nails digging into your soft flesh. It was like the harder he tried to fight through the pressure in his chest the worse it became, his vision so blurry that your face became a mosaic of the features he so easily recognized anywhere. The shaking began unconsciously as your forehead rested against his, that ache he was so familiar with felt like it became deeper by the second as he tried to get himself to calm down.

“Shh, it's okay to let them happen sometimes, Carm.” He wanted to believe you, his head softly nodding against yours as though the movement would tell his brain that it was okay to sink into this feeling and it wouldn’t result in destructive behavior. “You’re safe with me Bear.”

The caress of your voice traveling through his ears awoke something in him, something he desperately searched for through childhood; to be allowed the chance to bask in his emotions without having to compensate for those of the people he loved. The gasping breath he let out was mixed with a sob of pain as the tightness in his chest felt like it would consume him at any moment. He thought he’d gotten everything out in the shower while the two of you were wrapped around each other feeding off the shared hurt. But this was something he needed, to allow himself to feel every warring emotion in his body no matter how uncomfortable it was; to feel safe while doing so, to know that there was somebody who cared for him and watched over him as he let the anxiety crescendo and run rampant through his veins.

Carmen needed this moment to understand just how valid his emotions were. And to know that someone cared enough for him to stick by his side as he allowed himself to safely express them. Carmen needed this, he needed to feel safe.

“Why?” Your eyes blearily opened at the warmth of Carmy’s breath against your neck, the husk of his voice in your ear. Somewhere between comforting Carmy through his panic attack and the two of you falling asleep once more, the position the two of you were in changed. You could feel his broad chest pressed into your back, the warmth of his body providing you a comfort you longed for but never allowed yourself the chance to have.

It was silent as Carmen’s arm moved from its place resting against your hip, his calloused digits carefully tracing over the exposed skin on your leg before finding its way under your shirt and shakily stopping above the skin of your stomach. The tremors continued uncontrollably as you could feel the presence of his hand hovering over their destination, the hesitation easily noticeable through the flexing of his forearm against your waist. You took the chance to lay your hand flatly atop his, guiding them to the warm soft flesh of your abdomen as Carmy’s sharp intake of breath reached your ears.

The response you felt was immediate, the tears filled your eyes as you basked in the comfort you longed to feel a year ago, but decided you were undeserving of it. You bit your lip to stop the tears from falling, hoping that your sniffles were quiet enough to slip past Carmy’s detection. It didn’t matter though, the trembling of your body gave everything away. The man rubbed soothing circles into your stomach a way for him to let you know that although you were alone in that moment, he was here now; and as much as his fear of the unknown screamed at him to run, he wasn’t going anywhere.

A tear escaped at the feel of Carmen’s warm chapped lips pressing into the exposed skin of your shoulder blade, the gesture left behind a heat you were sure you’d never forget. Carmen allowed you the moment to collect yourself, “Why?” He couldn’t get himself to say more, and you didn’t need him to as his fingers gently tapped against your stomach.

“I-,” you took a calming breath, wanting to answer any of Carmy’s questions as best as you could. “I didn’t know until it was too late.” The last word left your lips in a broken whisper, there was no conviction behind them just a sadness and pain and Carmy swore he could feel every essence of your emotions bleeding into him.

His thumb gently traced across your abdomen hoping to provide comfort in whatever way he could as you recounted such a horrid memory. “Everything was fine when I returned to Chicago… at least I assumed things were. My uh cycle came at the end of March and that was that.”

You gently traced the tendons of his fingers that rested against you, reminding yourself that you were no longer alone, “And then it was April and it should’ve been my last week in Chicago. I was uh staying with your moms by that point, keeping house…keeping her company. Natalie needed a break and I thought the least I could do before leaving was make sure the one parental figure still in my life was surviving.”

Carmen’s hand flexed against your stomach as he instinctively pulled you further into him, somehow hoping that if he wrapped his body around yours it would lessen the pain of your words. He felt guilty listening to the way you cared for his flesh and blood in their time of need more than he did.

“When I wasn’t with Donna, I was at The Beef…helping Richie. And I felt like it was what I needed to do, you know? Richie had his shit going on with the divorce and everything and if I could help out where I could then I would.” The longer Carmy listened to you the more he was beginning to unveil the person you grew into, he came to the silent conclusion that you had a problem with putting other's lives and wellbeing before your own.

You turned in Carmy’s arms needing to not only feel him but see him as well, it wouldn’t make things any easier, but you felt he was deserving of your full attention at this moment. “I remember feeling so lethargic that day, that I just assumed it was all the stress of trying to take care of everyone else getting to me. And it was the lunch rush, and things were so hectic I just needed to take a beat, you know get my mind right.” You held Carmy’s attention, keeping an eye out for any signs that it was all becoming too much for him and that a break was necessary.

A blush rose to the man's cheeks as he realized what you were doing, embarrassment flooding through him that even now as you were recounting this moment to him, you so desperately put him first. “I uh chose the walk-in of all places…I was having the worst cramps and felt like I was going to pass out at any moment. Richie came barging in and we locked eyes and it's like we just knew something wasn’t right.”

A small joyless laugh escaped you as you thought back to Richie’s antics while you were getting checked in at the hospital, “I remember the nurses tried to kick Richie out of the room for the tests they needed to perform but he convinced them we were married.” You listened to the soft watery chuckle escape from Carmy, “I don’t know why he didn’t just say I was like his adopted sister or something.” A sadness not even the softness in Carmy’s eyes could cure stirred in your chest as you thought back on a moment in time you had no idea would mentally and physically impact you as greatly as it did.

“Imagine our surprise when the doctor came back with monotone apologies for our loss, but not to worry because if we ever wanted to try again for a baby the chances of another miscarriage were slim, but I’d better beat my biological clock before it beat me.” It was getting harder and harder to continue explaining as the memories began resurfacing with your words.

Carmen was unsure what to do with the information you’d just given him, to know that it was Richie by your side while you were given such heart-wrenching news drew him back to his moment with Richie in the walk-in. The venom in the older man’s words as he yelled about keeping the Berzattos together when Carmy couldn’t find it in himself to do so; he hadn’t realized it applied to you too.

“And I-I was so confused. I didn’t understand or I don’t think I wanted to understand. And god do I love Richie but he swore up and down that they’d mixed my results up with someone else’s 'cause there’s no way I was pregnant.” The rough feeling on Carmen’s thumbs carefully collecting the now free-flowing tears that raced down your face made you cry even harder, your eyes moving from their position over his shoulder to find his gaze, his eyes full to the brim with unshed tears.

You took the moment to gaze at the man in front of you, to appreciate having him here with you “We uh…we argued after I told him about us…me and you,” you watched the frown decorate his face “He never outright said it but I…I think he was disappointed in me.”

Carmen allowed your words to sink into him, that familiar ache waiting just around the corner as he came to terms with the reality of everything. He should’ve been there by your side, the decision to not use protection wasn’t yours alone, and it shouldn’t have been your burden alone to carry the consequences of that decision.

“You uh…why didn’t you call me?” His hands dropped from your face the longer he allowed himself to think about everything. “Didn’t I have a right to know?” The soft broken timbre shot through you, the hurt on his face made you feel worse than you already did.

You couldn’t help but feel selfish as you realized what exactly you had stolen from Carmen by not confiding in him about something that was just as much yours to experience as it was his. “Your life was in New York Carm, you built something great there and I felt like I’d already taken so much from you…who was I to take even more. I-I thought it was for the best…I wanted to prote-”

“And who are you to decide what’s best for me?” The newfound irritation in his voice wasn’t lost on you, nor was the way his eyebrows pinched together in that way that told you he was beginning to feel frustrated.

You sat up, eyes following Carmen’s as he hastily rolled out of the bed, his figure quickly pacing in front of your bed. “Carm, you have to understand-,”

“You were pregnant Baby!” He regretted the broken yell as soon as he saw you flinch, but the excuses you were giving him felt like bullshit. It was like Mikey all over again deciding for him that he couldn’t work at The Beef, and now this, you decided he was better off never knowing that the two of you almost created a family together. And he was beginning to get tired of people making decisions on his behalf.

“And weeks before I was pregnant I was just some quick fuck you couldn’t even bother to call to make sure I made it home safe!” It was unfair, you knew it was, considering the context of this conversation the argument you were making didn’t even have two legs to stand on.

Carmy recoiled into himself almost immediately as he listened to the hurt and anger in your words. “I never told you to leave…I-I didn’t want you to leave.”

“You never asked me to stay either Carm.” You let out a small sigh, no matter what either of you said it wouldn’t change the past; the damage was done.

The room fell silent, Carmy’s chest heaved up and down from his position standing in front of you while you sat propped on your knees in the bed trying to corral all the pent-up emotions this conversation drew out of you. The tension in the room was palpable, the air heavy with the anger and hurt shared between the both of you. You weren’t sure how the conversation took such a sour turn but the longer you sat there watching Carmy you began to understand the root of his frustration, you kept something that negatively impacted the both of you from him and yet here you were allowing the shame you felt to convince you lying to him was for the best.

“I’m sorry I just…I blamed myself.” You sagged into yourself, the anger gone just as quickly as it appeared as you looked at Carmen, your bottom lip trembling. “You are the only person I wanted around me when I found out,” you bit your lip to try and control the trembling, the slick feeling of snot and tears all over your face. “But I just couldn’t bring myself to call you. We just lost Mikey and I told myself you wouldn’t be able to handle it…but the truth is I couldn’t handle it and by keeping it from you I was able to ignore the truth of it all.” Your head throbbed as you offered up the only pathetic explanation you had for the reason the two of you were in this situation now, allowing the hurt to disguise itself as anger. Self-sabotaging the relationship you both wanted so desperately to repair.

“Carmen I,” you let loose a deep breath knowing what you were about to admit didn’t justify keeping Carmy in the dark but he deserved your honesty. “I love you too much to ever force an experience like that upon you. And I know it was wrong of me to decide for you bu-,” the feeling of Carmy’s firm arms wrapping around you cut off your sentence a small whimper escaped at the tight almost painful grip he held you in. The soft press of his lips against your head and soothing whispers caused you to collapse into his hold.

You dug your hands into the borrowed shirt he was wearing, holding onto the fabric for dear life as you admitted your failures to Carmen, unsure how he could even stand to be in the same room as you. “Shh, shh I’ve got you.” The soft words and warm embrace were something you longed for from Carmen and it was no one's fault but your own that it had taken so long to get here.

Morning dew clung to the flowers that decorated the small garden in your backyard. The tiny blue bulbs of the flowers were beginning to overpopulate the garden, the invasive species of the plant doing what it did best. Carmen wasn’t sure how long he stared at the flowers, but it was long enough that the cold air of the morning felt like it was beginning to sink into his bones.

He frantically tapped the mostly empty cigarette carton against his thigh, trying to catch up with the thoughts racing through his mind. The exhaustion was creeping in on him, no matter how hard he tried to force himself to find sleep after he held you crying in his arms, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you, couldn’t stop himself from thinking about how alone you were in the past year. He hoped that if he looked at you long enough the words you shared with him would somehow become digestible. Carmen spent the night watching as you slept on his chest only removing himself from under you when he could no longer quiet the voices in his head telling him that he deserved to be left in the dark, that he didn’t deserve to know this part of you or imagine how different life would be if there was a little life that depended on him; on you.

The anxiety quelled for a bit as he laid in bed with you, but now that he was alone that part of him that urged him to run, to disappear before you woke up because surely this wasn’t reality. If he left now the truth of the matter wouldn’t be able to follow after him, but he knew this wasn’t a problem he could shove to the back of his mind, he wouldn’t be able to use the chaos of the kitchen to forget any of the memories you shared with him.

An exhausted sigh escaped his lips as he finally pulled a cigarette from the carton, hand digging around in his pocket for a lighter only to realize he’d left it in his pants pocket before venturing outside. The sound of a door opening and closing drew his attention, he watched as you exited the house in your pajamas approaching him with eyes that looked as tired as he felt.

You held out a lighter in offering to him, his eyes darting towards it before finding your eyes once more sure you spotted him wallowing back here through your bedroom window. His hand gently reached out to take it from your grip, a small nod in thanks sent your way before he turned back to the flowers and lit the cigarette. He took a deep breath of the vapors watching from his peripheral as you squatted next to him, your arm brushing against his leg as you settled into the position.

Carmy watched you as your eyes traced over the flowers every bit of exhaustion he was feeling could easily be read on your face. He took another drag of his cigarette before extending it to you, a gesture he was sure he’d never pull but times were different now, that much was obvious.

You shook your head rejecting his offer, “It's stupid, but I…um I don’t like to smoke in front of the flowers.” Carmen followed your hand as it reached out to delicately trace over the petals of a nearby flower, your voice scratchy, raw from the sobs you shared last night.

He felt like an asshole, “Shit, I uh didn’t know.” He quickly snuffed the bud out, holding it in his hand to not litter near a garden that held importance to you.

“How could you?” You finally graced him with a look, a small sad smile lining your lips as Carmy found himself being sucked into the depths of your lifeless eyes.

He felt the ache in his chest returning the longer he held your eye. It was obvious that even just the reminder of everything had already taken such a toll on you, how could he even part his lips to ask you for an explanation of the flowers when you looked like you had just re-lived one of the worst moments of your life?

Carmy cleared his throat, eyes moving back to the flowers, “Why?” There was a moment of silence as he awaited your response, doubt filling him at every moment without any words between the two of you. “Why uh…why don’t you smoke in front of the flowers?” He raised his hand to scratch at the back of his neck the familiar sense of unsurety racing through him.

“Hmm?” Carmy watched as the side of your mouth ticked up, the knowing smile that usually followed that gesture was nowhere to be found as your lips fell back into a melancholic line. “Forget me nots are said to symbolize a few things a lot of people correlate them with true love. There’s a folktale about a man who picked these flowers for his lover by the river bank, sadly though he slips in and as the current carries him away, his last words to his lover are forget me not. ” Carmy listened intently to your words, his hand finding your initial pendant that set warmly against his upper chest. “But others used them as a sign of remembrance, to never forget those lost to time. These flowers…they’re a reminder for me of Mikey. Of…” Carmen could hear the heaviness in your voice as you spoke a lump forming in his throat at the words left unsaid.

He watched as you quickly wiped away the stray tear to escape your eye, his heart silently breaking at how much of a shell of your old self you appeared to be at that moment. He thought back to the letters he knew it was essentially an invasion of privacy for him to read them, they weren’t for him. But he couldn’t help but wonder, is this how you looked while writing them? Downtrodden and desolate, like just the act of breathing alone would confine you to dark weeks in bed with no will to move.

Carmen’s hand gently reached out to settle against your shoulder, hoping you could feel the comfort he was trying to exude through the gesture. He watched as your hand reached up to delicately grip his, lips pressing into his fingers before your head delicately settled against his hand.

“It was wrong of me to keep this from you Carmen, and I understand if you’re angry with me and want nothing to do with me. But please don’t be upset with Richie, or Nat. All they were doing was respecting my decision.” Carmy listened as you played with his fingers, his itching to grip yours.

An exhausted sigh left you, something you appeared to be doing more recently, “ I know it doesn’t mean anything now, but I do wish I told you when everything happened.” Carmy’s warm body joining you in the wet grass caused you to stop, his hand that was once on your shoulder moved to wrap around your waist softly pulling you into his chest, the warmth and comfort radiating from his body was almost immediate. “As selfish as it sounds there’s a part of me that’s holding out hope you’ll forgive me for all the secrets I’ve kept.” You wanted to cry as you felt the gentle press of Carmy’s lips against the side of your head. The gesture made you emotional.

You could feel Carmy’s heartbeat through the position the two of you were in, you hoped the rhythmic beating of it would imprint itself in your brain in case this was the last moment you ever got with the man. “I uh..,” you waited hand hesitantly intertwining with Carmy’s as a way to let him know that you were receptive to everything he needed to say. “I am upset…I uh n-not with you just the situation.” He paused hoping to gather his thoughts.

“I think…uh we hadn’t seen each other in years and uh when we did…” You listened to his voice trail off sure a red blush was making its way up his neck as he tiptoed around the night the two of you spent together. “Just I understand why you didn’t tell me, I didn’t make things easy…and I told you I couldn’t commit to you.” Carmy cleared his throat, sure you felt just as uncomfortable as he did as you listened to him speak, he was thankful he wasn’t looking at you though because he couldn’t guarantee he’d get any words out if he did.

“I just…I wish you felt comfortable enough to call me…a-and I know I should’ve called you but Baby you shouldn’t have gone through it alone.” It was quiet for a moment as the two of you sat there basking in each other’s confessions and the gentle breeze of the morning.

You turned to face Carmen, his arm dropping from your waist as you rose to your knees studying his face. A million scenarios ran through your head as you thought of what could’ve been…what never was, it did no one any good envisioning a life that was no longer theirs to claim, but who were you to deny yourself a daydream or two? A small trembling smile rose to your face as you took in every feature of Carmy’s you would’ve loved to see on a tiny human.

“I wish you would’ve called.” Between the trembling of your lips and the quiet of your voice, it was a miracle the five words reached Carmen’s ears.

He rose to your level in an instant watching as tears began to escape your eyes, but he found himself drawn to the small genuine smile that sat atop your lips, the gesture confused him as he couldn’t understand how you found the strength to give him a smile amid everything. He gently wrapped his arms around you bringing you into his chest before placing multiple kisses against the top of your head as your face pressed into his chest listening to his heartbeat once again.

Carmy wished he called as well.

a/n: didn’t mean to go m.i.a just in a bit of a life slump. this chapter gave me major writer’s block and i just stopped enjoying the writing process all together so updates may become less enthusiastic idk we’ll see. on another note i have a new idea for another series so that’s fun i guess, anyway hope you enjoy this chapter for what it is. i hope you’re all doing well, happy new year! 🫶🏽🤍

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #carmy the bear x reader #the bear fic #the bear x reader #the bear x you #all i ever knew only you ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

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