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answer2jeff · 1 year ago

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narrow thoughts // carmen berzatto

part one: sprite

finally done with part 1! somewhat happy ending in part 2 btw, since i don't totally hate you guys or want you to suffer for once

synopsis: you and carmen were good friends turned strangers — the trauma bond from Noma still keeping you closer. you've noticed Carmen's hard work, and you worry terribly for him and his wellbeing. keeping quiet has never been so hard; being "friends" has never been so hard.

pairings: platonic!richie x reader – romantic!carmy x reader

english isn't my first language — expect some mistakes. feedback is always appreciated.

WARNINGS: friends - strangers - lovers, angst, fluff, NOT an established relationship, pre-existing history, ZERO use of y/n, reader is implied female, mention of the nickname "Pico," short for "Piccola" ; small (young), or even baby, in italian.

wc: 2.1k

You twisted the silver key at an angle, locking the glass door shut — the 'CLOSED' sign taunting you. You and your pre-existing staff expected to open in just 6 weeks, and you still felt like so much time lingered. The emptiness of the sidewalk made your stomach drop to your feet, the same way it did every night. You waited so impatiently for the opening day of your coffee shop to inch closer and closer; but you were uncertain, unsettled, and lacking confidence in your craft. Was simplicity really the answer? Should you have just stayed in New York? Were you just another, "Eleven Madison Park Dickhead?" Did you even want answers to these looming questions? No. No you didn't — not yet. All you wanted that night was a glass of homemade sprite, and maybe a real conversation with an old friend.

Maybe he'd know what to say, if anything at all.

So, you walked. And you walked, and you walked, and you kept walking — your dark blue crewneck sweater that went just past the belt line of your baggy jeans, a pair of pantyhose, white socks, and Doc Martens keeping you clothed in the Chicago cold. Your bracelets clanged against each other, harmonizing with the sound of the keychains jingling against your purse, clutched close to your sides. You finally reached the The Beef, the florescent glow casting a blueish green shine against your face. Another 'CLOSED' sign pointed a childish finger at you.

"Richieeee!" You wined, gently knocking on the glass window to grasp his attention — his back turned to you as he was telling Tina and Marcus yet another story about Carmen's childhood. You almost regretted being nice to him, but it gave you leeway; visiting after hours, special treatment, and even the nickname 'Pico' was coined after you.

"Richie, I know you can hear me!"

"Yeah, and he goes—" Richie reluctantly paused, hearing a familiar voice from behind the glass. His hands, frozen in the air, fell to his sides as he dramatically walked over to the door. "Shit, hold on. Pico's here." He groaned, slowly unlocking and cracking the door open, moving out of your way to let you in.

"Thanks." You breathed, crossing your arms as you took a step into the restaurant — immediately met with smiles and good night's from Marcus and Tina. Your eyes darted around the cramped space of the counter, not quite being able to see into the kitchen as you stepped closer to take a seat in a red barstool.

"What're you doin' here? You alright, sweetheart?" Richie asked, his tone only slightly annoyed from the interruption of his attempt to humiliate Carmen. He waltzed behind the counter, supporting his weight by pressing his palms against the metal as he stood across from you. He furrowed his eyebrows, wondering — completely disregarding Tina and Marcus clocking out and leaving for the night.

"Yeah, just uh — my stomach hurts. Like, bad." You sighed, sticking your elbows up onto the counter and resting your face in your hands, the stool next to you occupied by your purse. Richie only nodded his head, noticing your mouth slightly gaped open like you had more to say. Even if he was a childish asshole, he wasn't evil. He'd never interrupt someone who was clearly in need.

"And–and i'm just... payin' a visit, I guess." You tried justifying your reasoning for coming all this way. It was 9:47, and you hardly ever came around this late. Typically, you'd lock up by 9:15, come over and stick around till 9:30, and be home by 10:45. You must've needed something, he thought, but he chose not to pester you tonight.

Please don't ask.

"Alright.. Yeah, 'ya look a little green. You wanna sprite?" Richie gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead, just reassuring you didn't have a fever. You nodded your head in approval. He walked into the kitchen, shouting "COUSIN! Pico wants a sprite! Make it for 'er, will 'ya?"

Carmen shut his locker as he nodded his head to Richie, mumbling, "be right there." He bit the inside of his cheek, his lips curling into a smile when he saw you through the tiny peak between the counter and the kitchen that you were too far from to experience. Admittedly, Carmen liked seeing you come in — bringing coffee for everyone in the mornings, and wishing everyone goodnight in the evenings. It gave him something to look foreword to. He liked the consistency; and hell, he fucking loved the blonde espresso macchiato you conjured up for him, the foam just a tad bit flat from having to travel on foot from the cafe to the restaurant with it.

You scrolled on your Instagram timeline as you heard Carmen mumbling to himself as he made your sprite, noting the clinking of ice against a glass cup and the crisp sound of the homemade soda pouring in. You gave Richie an air-kiss on the cheek goodbye as he walked out of The Beef, his lanky frame covered by his leather jacket. You smiled again at the sight of Carmen politely delivering your drink, putting your phone away in the pocket of your jeans.

"Why thank you!" You cooed, looking into his big, blue eyes that didn't really know what to focus on. You took in every feature: his curly dirty-blonde locks in need of trimming, his big and arched nose, the round shape of his chin. You were staring, your stare never leaving his figure as he set the glass down on the counter, and he couldn't help but smile back.

He was perfect — it was almost scary.

"Pleasure." Carmen chuckled, placing a warm hand on the back of his neck as he thought of what else to say. He couldn't remember the last time you two were alone. The closest thing was him coming over to your apartment in broad daylight to help you get rid of the green, god awful futon in your living room that was covered in weird stains.

"You've got a weird definition of pleasure." You sighed, raising your glass to your lips and feeling the sprite ease your stomach. Your eyes rolled when you heard his obnoxiously attractive laugh; breathy and nervous.

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Carmen nodded his head, essentially saying "you're right, but respectfully — fuck off" without actually saying it. He picked his head up, watching your throat contract with each sip — the neon lights all around the restaurant displaying a purple glow against your skin. It was childish, but knowing he could make your night just a little bit better with a glass of sprite made him proud of himself.

"You feelin' alright? As best as you can, I mean." You set your glass down, resting your face in your palms as you blinked at Carmen, your eyebrows knitted in concern. You worried for him, no matter how much your brain reassured you that they grey crescents under his eyes were none of your concern. It was normal to never get more than 5 or 6 hours of sleep every night as an overworked 34 year old, right? It's a Carmy problem, right?

No. Fuck no.

"Uh... yeah, I—" Carmen's hands gripped tightly against the cold, metal counter, his foot tapping against the tile floor. He bit the inside of his cheek, diverting his gaze away from you and back towards the walkway into the kitchen. He was lying, and you knew it. He felt his chest heave at the question as he forced himself to look at you again; your face still expressing a sense of panic for him.

"You..?" You finished his empty sentence for him, getting a little impatient. Your manicured nails clicked against the counter, waiting for him to tell at least some fragments of the truth.

"No, not alright. Not really. I, um—" He paused again, his eyes finally locking with yours, completely unable to pull away now. You looked beautiful to him — elegant, even. With your hair messier than the way you styled it this morning, with your chipped and grown out manicure, and especially with your lack of knowledge that Carmen was analyzing every inch of you. He felt guilty for looking - more than he usually did.

"I've been having those weird fuckin' dreams again. A-and these panic attacks, I think?" Carmens voice went softer, a whine of fear in his speech; he finally let his guard down just a bit. It was like just looking at you calmed him down enough so he could choke out another sentence.

"Shit. Still?" You asked, your nails pausing their annoying clack and tap so you could focus all of your attention onto Carmen. You remembered Natalie mentioning Carmen's recent manifestations of his stress, often asking if you'd just check up on him every once in a while, just in case she couldn't reach him.

"Yeah." Carmen replied, his voice airy and unsupported. His eyes were blue and desperate, and fixated on every part of your face. It made his thoughts narrow down to you; your weird sense of humor, your artful hands that illustrated your frustration when you complained about your day, even the perfume you wore every day that lingered around the jacket you left at his apartment (which he still hasn't given back to you.) Why would he? How could Carmen not keep a piece of you in his home?

You finally caught Carmen's gaze as you grazed the condensation on your glass of sprite — and you could see it in his face; the exhaustion, the anxiety, the need for stability in his eyes. You saw what this place did to him; what fixing this hellhole turned him into for a second time. It felt silly, controlling, nagging even, for you to assume that Carmen couldn't handle himself. But maybe that wasn't too unfair of an assumption; even if Sydney tried to condition you to believe that not every Carmy problem had to be a you problem.

"Jesus. I'm sorry." You clenched your teeth as you thought about his nausea spells he'd get every morning, remembering the dozens of empty bottles of pepto bismol littered around the kitchen counter of his apartment in New York. It was like you could still feel the sting of stomach acid your throat when you ended up puking every night after dinner rush; your digestive system completely empty from the lack of time you even had to keep your body intact. And yet, it was fucking everything. Your calloused fingers from the knives and the rasp in your throat from crying felt like a trophy; a mark on your person that forever reminded you of how great you once were.

What were you even doing here? Opening another thrift shop? But this time, it had a built in cafe; a cafe you dreamed of serving the best coffee in Chicago? Wow! What an original, realistic and inspiring concept. Like Richie warned the two of you: neither of you had any idea what you were doing back in Chicago.

Is it too late for me to understand you?

"Is this even.. I don't know — fun, for you anymore? Was it ever?" You croaked, tracing the tip of your middle finger along the rim of the glass — watching the little bubbles in the drink rise and pop. The question almost struck a nerve in Carmen, it forced him to think; really think.

"I mean... 'fun' isn't the word I'd use." He shrugged his shoulders, his face contorting into that typical confused look he always gave you. It made your heart ache.

"I don't like what it does to you."

"I'm– I'm trying to... to do somethin' here, Pico." His eyebrows knitted as his hands gripped just a little tighter against the counter.

"I know, Carmy. A-and you're doing great I just– I miss you." You barely whispered, crossing your arms almost trying to defend yourself as Carmen's face softened. His stomach dropped to his feet, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

You two hadn't had a real conversation since the night you decided to quit, leaving Carmen to chase his success and even become Food & Wine's best chef without you. You hadn't cried in front of him since the day after Mikey's funeral: which neither of you could bring yourself to attend to. You'd been back home much longer than Carmen had; him coming home was so bittersweet. You needed him here. You needed him in the warm glow of your apartment, on your vintage couch as you shared the leftover pasta carbonara you made the night before. You forgot what his arms felt like around you, trying so hard to remember as you glanced at his tattoos.

"I miss you too."

TO BE CONTINUED BITCHESSSSSS!!!!!!

#AHHHH #i hope you guys like this!!!#sorry it took a while!#writers block ugh #anyway I'm so happy with how this turned out #carmen berzatto #carmen x reader #fic series #richie jerimovich #sydney adamu #the bear #carmy the bear #i love this show so much #reposts are appreciated #pls don't flop #i'll kms if this flops #istg im gonna cry #Spotify

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fangsandsoftgrass · 6 months ago

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ITS HERE!!! my contribution to @rvnwtch's Ravenwatch event! My au of Fennorian's smolder scrolls minigame! It takes place in Solitude, after the final confrontation with Svargrim, as opposed to Castle Ravenwatch :) there's also a song to listen to while reading!

Snowberry Tonic

By the time Cirwedh reached the guildhall a light snow had begun to fall, and despite the thick layers of fur she wrapped herself in, she was beginning to feel the cold gnawing at her weary bones. She stepped through the door and was met with the warmth of a fire crackling just out of sight, chasing away any bit of cold as she shook the frost from her hair. While her reputation with the guild often made her the unwilling subject of academic curiosity among the younger mages, she was able to slip in unnoticed while the whole city was celebrating in the palace courtyard.

She removed her boots and set them by the hearth before continuing towards the staircase at the back of the hall, old and worn with the steps of countless others before her. Efficiently navigating the misshapen steps like they were roots along the ground, Cirwedh passed under a stone arch into a dimly lit room scattered with dusty bookshelves and bathed in the scent of dried herbs. There, hunched over a desk with his back turned, was Fennorian. She watched, entranced by the way his hands moved like a symphony over a myriad of colored flasks and bottles, plucking the cork from one and pouring a few drops into another with a smooth confidence seemingly natural to him.

Cirwedh knocked lightly against the side of an old hutch as she entered the room. The vampire scholar jumped at the sound and spun around to meet her. The surprise on his face shifted, and he flashed her a polite smile as he abandoned his work to give her his full attention.

“Cirwedh! Apologies, I didn’t think I’d see you for a while. Had I known, I would have at least dusted.” He coughed and theatrically fanned a hand in front of him. “And here I thought nobody would notice if I snuck away from the celebrations. I neglected to consider your sharp eye.”

She pulled off her thick, fur-lined gloves—a gift from Svana—and set them on a shelf, noticing the way his eyes followed the gesture.

“I was waiting for someone else to leave first,” she muttered, avoiding his attentive gaze and instead staring at the bruises peeking out from under the edges of his sleeves, “and I wanted to check in on you.”

A light mauve crept across the vampire's cheeks at the last sentence, and he bowed his head before clasping his hands together nervously.

“I appreciate that. The last twenty-four hours have certainly been a lot.” He straightened his back, glancing behind him briefly before changing the subject. “Regardless, I’m glad you’re here. I could use a second opinion, and you have a brilliant mind. I would be remiss not to take advantage of it while I have you.”

He motioned her over with a wave of his hand, and it took every ounce of restraint Cirwedh had not to jump to his side. After what felt like miles of walking she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him, drinking in the sight as he turned back to his work; the red glow of a nearby torch illuminating his sharp features.

“After that last fight, I wanted to start on a new restorative elixir. I can’t tell if I have the components balanced yet, though.” Clearing his throat, he continued, “It's difficult to objectively observe my own reaction considering the condition I find myself in, otherwise I'd try it.” He looked up with a severe expression, only faltering when a gentle hand reached up and brushed away the dark curtains of hair obscuring his eyes.

“I was worried... Y'ffre’s breath, I was scared.”

As the warm skin of her palm cupped his cheek he leaned into the touch, and a tentative smile curled her lips as she watched his eyes trail across her brow, nose, and lips before finally meeting her gaze.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, lips brushing against her palm with every syllable, “is there a way I can make it up to you?”

Cirwedh swallowed the lump rising in her throat and as she moved her hand to brush the pad of her thumb across his lip she spoke.

“Perhaps you can make this tonic you're working on more suitable to someone with your needs.”

She looked at the flask of shimmering liquid on the desk beside them and turned away to pick it up, setting her other hand against the edge of the desk for support.

Fennorian instantly felt the absence of her warmth and he used every bit of discipline he possessed not to sound disappointed when he replied, “I'd still need to ensure it works on others, my needs aside. As it is now, the active regeneration properties I've formulated are designed for those who cannot recover vitality through the consumption of blood.” He paused, thinking of an excuse as to why it had to be her before continuing, “We have made allies of those with lycanthropy as well, and it would be irresponsible to overlook them. I would owe you a great deal if you could try it, and let me study the reaction of one with such a condition.” He noticed the way she looked between him and the flask with a raised brow and quickly noted, “it tastes of snowberries, if that helps.”

“I think I'd rather taste you.”

The words left her mouth before she could bite them back and the weight of them settled between the two like a timber mammoth in the room. Cirwedh watched, mortified as his eyes went wide, and the tips of his fangs peeked from behind parted lips. After a moment he cleared his throat and attempted to collect himself before a nervous laugh bubbled forth.

“You never cease to surprise me Cirwedh, you know that? I think that's what makes you so fascinating to me. You say things I could never expect...” he smiled and took a step forward, “things that send me reeling.”

He looked down through dark lashes, angling himself closer to her as his hand moved towards hers; his near-violet eyes darkening with some inscrutable emotion.

“I don't think you understand the effect you have on me. Everything I do seems to be for you, even this elixir. Seeing you return from that tower battered and bruised, while I had nothing to give. Now, I do. But…” his fingers curled into fists and he seemed to retreat, brow crumpling as he looked away from her, convinced he had said too much.

But?

Cirwedh cursed herself for making him uncomfortable with her gods-damned lack of shame.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. Just say the word, I will go back to the palace and never speak of this again.”

Before he could answer she turned, preparing to leave, but was stopped as a trembling hand grabbed her wrist. She spun around and what she saw was something she never would have expected. Fennorian had knelt on the ground and was now only inches shorter than her, looking up with the eyes of a desperate man, starved and begging.

“Kiss me.”

It was all she needed to hear. Cirwedh rushed forward and took his face in her hands, lips crashing into his in a messy embrace. He kissed her back with just as much fervor, slender arms snaking around her back to pull her against him. His left hand stayed firm on the small of her back, while the other crept up to tangle itself in the wild locks at the nape of her neck. Any stress Cirwedh carried had melted like warm sap down her limbs as her hands roamed his face, memorizing every feature and relishing in the contact as she deepened the kiss, nipping at his lips until they opened for her with a soft whine.

Every bone in her body screamed for her to lose control and devour him whole, but she pushed that beast away and focused instead on the way Fennorians hands grabbed at her soft body, digging into whatever he could. Overcome with emotion she felt the tattoos covering her body spring to life, and suddenly vibrant foliage and flowering vines were practically bursting from the seams of her clothing and reaching towards her lover. She could feel her lungs starting to burn from the lack of oxygen and her blood boiled in her veins as she struggled to contain herself, but she wanted to feel it all.

When she finally pulled away to breathe, Cirwedh couldn't help but laugh at the situation. Here she stood after what felt like a lifetime silently pining and convincing herself he was out of reach, just to be kissing him at the drop of a leaf in some musty basement, like she'd wither and turn to dirt if she didn't.

Fennorian steadied himself, a deep blush now painting his cheeks. “You have no idea how long I've wanted you to do that.” He looked down, and a sudden sadness filled his eyes. “For a while I thought denying myself these feelings would keep me safe. Give no room for the pain of rejection. And it did, for a while I suppose, despite how lonely it made me.” His face shifted again, this time into a soft smile as he took her hands in his. “But then you came, like a vine, radiant and wild, you grew through those walls. The feeling was...exhilarating. Now that the moment is here, I feel foolish for having waited.”

Cirwedh stroked his knuckles with her thumb, reflecting his lovesick smile back at him.

“Maybe now we can make up for lost time.” She leaned closer, his breath rustling the leaves across her cheeks as she rested her forehead against his. “If you'll have me, Fennorian Ravenwatch, I promise I will spend the rest of my days loving you.”

It was all the assurance he needed, and when she leaned in he kissed her with all the tenderness in the world. The rest of Tamriel was forgotten to them as they stayed there in that dingy basement, and Cirwedh made good on that promise.

#screaming crying throwing up i hope this is good LOL #lowkey anxious bc idk if this is gonna be a flop or not LOL #im so bad at describing kissing LOL can u tell ive never done it before 🥲#Fenn is a BOTTOM srry cannot convince me otherwise 🫶#cirwedh softgrass #eso self insert #eso oc #fennorian ravenwatch #fennwedh #eso headcanons #elder scrolls online #my wife #Ravenwatch appreciation post #fenn tag #Spotify #my writing

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