#stardust and melancholy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

perfectlyoongi · 3 months ago

Text

WHEN THEY LOVE YOU THE MOST

ㅤ⚘.fandom ... bts. ㅤㅤಇ.ft. ... yoongi, hoseok, namjoon x gn!reader. ㅤ⚘.genre ... headcanons. ㅤㅤಇ.content ... fluff. ㅤㅤಇ.word count ... ~315 each / 945 total.

↬┊YOONGI

between the dusty pages and the lit candles, sweetened with the certainty of a future and adorned with the pride of a past, Yoongi loved you the most when a new sparkle appeared in your eyes, eager to explore the vast world in which we live.

curiosity lit up your face every time happiness squeezed your heart, leaving you to question what else you could do, what else you could love, all the questions arising within you in a thirsty avalanche of knowledge. and Yoongi clung to all your longing smiles and all your melancholy looks.

admiring you from afar, always fearing to share your happiness, nervously believing that he could destroy your passion, Yoongi allowed your entire existence to paint his heart in strong shades of the hottest reds and the most passionate oranges. your passion painted pictures in Yoongi's soul, sculpting his entire existence into a perfect representation of complicity.

all because you discovered something new. all because you discovered a new passion, a new goal. and, oh!, how beautiful it was to see you growing up, becoming the wonderful person who inspires each and every one of Yoongi's creations.

between smiles and looks, words and memories, all your essence rained down in a cosmic waterfall that dusted Yoongi's various notebooks with stardust, making him write with the magic of your soul, create with the spell of your being — all for you.

for your courage to start something new when no one expected anything from you. for your resilience in continuing when everyone was knocking you down. for you, for being the genuine person who enchants Yoongi every day.

and, for that, Yoongi admired you, yes, but, above all, he loved you. Yoongi loved you yesterday and he loves you today. Yoongi would love you in a tomorrow that awaited you and in a future designed by both of you. Yoongi simply loved you, now and for all eternity.

↬┊HOSEOK

in the waves of moonlight, feeling your body next to his, after an exhausting day of pretending and talking, never knowing how to react to the world, Hoseok loved you the most when everything that existed ceased to be and nothing but luminous darkness covered the vast horizon.

alone with you, feeling comfortable between the small walls, wrapped in soft sheets, Hoseok loved you the most when he stopped pretending. stripped of any weight of the world on his shoulders, completely devoid of the imaginary people that made up his being, Hoseok loved you the most when he was himself and only him. simply Hoseok.

with delicacy trapped in his touch and neediness clinging to his gaze, Hoseok's love came with the grace of the end of the day, all the existing tiredness clinging to his slurred, but always heartfelt and always vibrant, words.

an ‘i love you’. an ‘i missed you’. a ‘just five more minutes’.

small pleas escaped Hoseok's tender lips, as if they were prayers uttered by the most faithful devotees. all the anguish and uncertainty that ruled Hoseok's body dissipated when he arrived home, feeling comfortable between the small walls, wrapped in soft sheets, clinging to you.

when the entire world suspended and the entire universe stopped moving, Hoseok loved you with the infinity of still seconds, all the cosmic particles of the world appearing delicately in Hoseok's words; words plated in gold, gold from the oldest gods and the brightest stars, words that carved and drew all the promises and memories that Hoseok wanted to build with you. only you, only him.

the world didn't need to speak for Hoseok to love you. the world didn't need to move for Hoseok to love you. for, on the shining nights, wrapped in a sheet next to you, the entire world ceased to exist, and Hoseok could only love you.

↬┊NAMJOON

in the insecurities of the future and the uncertainties of the present, bathed in the brightness of the sun and declaimed in the beauty of flowers, Namjoon loved you the most when everyone got tired of you and threw you to the ground, again and again, without any warning.

whole afternoons seemed eternal when you felt Namjoon's embrace. small poems were quoted between murmurs and the various songs by the most famous composers found a melody between Namjoon's delicate lips.

whenever and every time the whole world had fallen to you; whenever and every time the entire world decided to test your strength; in all these moments, Namjoon was there, for you, to remind you why he didn't leave, to engrave in your memory, with strong colors of love and affection, that he would always be a word away. tranquility and peace — among all the chaos, Namjoon existed. and he didn't exist just for you; Namjoon existed for your relationship.

patience and understanding fled from Namjoon's fingertips, outlining drawings of strength and encouragement, writing loving memories every time he touched you.

always calm and smiling, Namjoon loved you. he simply loved you.

there was no other way to say it, as there was no other way to feel it: pure passion burned Namjoon's heart, using the lava that flowed within him to build fortifications of love and tenderness in his hands, so that whenever he caressed you, poems of tomorrow and sonnets of your conquests would be eternally engraved on you.

extreme devotion squeezed Namjoon's heart, letting the line that hung from it escape through his lips in all the light, graceful, tender kisses that Namjoon gave you to enhance all the memories of who you are and who you were. when everyone gave up on you, Namjoon was by your side loving you. always and forever with you.

ㅤㅤ♡ feedback is appreciated ♡

#garden of bts 𐙚₊‧₊˚#yoongi #bts #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi drabble #bts fic #bts x reader #bts fluff #namjoon x reader #namjoon fluff #namjoon drabble #hoseok x reader #hoseok fluff #hoseok drabble

210 notes · View notes

neil-gaiman · 11 months ago

Note

Hello Mr Gaiman,

To echo the others,

Thank you for your brilliant concert with Fourplay last night.

We brought our friend Bon, a huge fan of yours, as a birthday surprise. they had no idea what was happening until you appeared on stage and their jaw dropped for so long I thought their face might get stuck.

My friends and I were moved to tears and standing ovation. I especially loved Umbrella and Mobius Strip, they tugged at something ancient and melancholy and beautifully human.

I had the pleasure of virtually attending your Bard Lectures last year and loved your explanation of Click-Clack The Rattle Bag. It was a delight to hear it again in the flesh, and to feel the prickle of tension in the room knowing what was to come.

Your stories have always meant the world to me. Stardust and Coraline sparked my childhood fascinations with darkness and magic, and The Ocean At The End of the Lane made me fall in love with reading again after many years. You've also inspired me since childhood to become a writer, but I never got around to it. Maybe after last night I'll have another go.

I was also the audience member that "awww"ed aloud at the missing vampire bit. It was a reflex and it didn't occur me that you would hear me, much less reply to compliment the audience, so thank you for that unexpected moment, it was the cherry on top of an already life altering night.

All this just to say thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope you return to Melbourne soon. We adore having you.

I loved being here!

460 notes · View notes

yandere-wishes · 10 months ago

Text

𐙚 𝕬 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝕷𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖔 𝕯𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖚𝖑𝖆 𐙚

Wednesday February 14th xxxx

Dear Dracula:

I find myself pondering if, deep down, in the heart you deny possessing. There still exists a chasmic rhyme and reason for all which you do. They call you monster, fiend, abomination. Yet aren't they the ones that maim and slaughter for reasons as thin as thread? Thus why should we possess the burden of such an accursed name?

Valentine's is upon us. Maybe such sacrilegious festivities can be blamed for my intrepidity. We've yet to consort outside our nocturnal affairs, outside our world of half-spun truths and forgotten anecdotes. I pray you forgive my effrontery. I pray you comprehend my need for making such inquiries.

But my dear precious Dracula, I have to ask. Do you still remember your mother, your home, your heritage? Many deny that one as egregious as you could possess such mortal things. And yet aren't those the fundamental pillars of who we turn out to be? Isn't one man's evil another man's crusade?

So I, a mortal who believes she may have fallen for you in all your atrocious glory, ask do you remember being a son, a child? Being innocent and naive enough to believe every lie and fable? Do you still yarn for your mother in the dead of day? Recalling her scent and the bouncy curls of her hair, tasting nostalgia on your blood-soaked tongue.

What was it like in the sand, in the snow, in the green valleys and rocky outskirts? Did the coarseness of sand and the roughness of rocks and the tickle of flowers leave phantom pains across your body? Did you play with the snakes and climb fig trees? Did you laugh with others of your kind?

Do you recall your ancestrial home? The bronze walls of your mother's temple. Her fingers wafting through your hair as her smile radiates brighter than the moon. I zealously trust the visions that flash before my eyes on moonless nights. Images of a frail batling wrapped in kaleidoscopic blankets tucked under his mother's arm. Your mother mingled with owls, I wonder why she constructed you in the likeness of bats, of wolves, of snakes? Did she wish for you to serve as a cacophony to the detested, to those we so quickly forget? Did she wish for you something she could never have herself?

They seldom recall you are one of the sons of flames and stardust. Do they forget we share a legacy? One I believe you fought for. Both descendants of the divinely blessed. Both lost children arid for blood and retribution.

I too know of the darkly sweet tang of rich blood upon the tongue.

I too know the fragile elation of scraping blood from under one's fingernails three days later.

I too know the sensation of being a monster in everything but intentions.

I cherish the two lone bites you've left upon my neck. I cherish the cuts your claws have left upon my hips. You never say a word when you fall. When melancholy and memories obfuscate your judgment. I know you refuse to act human, to pretend and be something you are not. Thus I won't ask for sweet nothings from you.

Yet still I long to hear you call me "love".

When did you realize you were equal parts hellfire and shamshir?

When did you realize that humanity deserves to suffer for its every injustice?

My sweet, sweet Dracula, I regret to inform you that as of late my bones feel faulty and brittle, as do my thoughts. Can we still call ourselves holy? Do we still have that right? Can we still repent for our sins? Who decides what a sin is anyway? Will we ever be innocent to someone?

Are you torn too? Broken in all the wrong places? Do you feel the open wounds and amputations, when you stare up at the stars? I wonder if I owe you an apology. I wonder if you owe me one too…

Dearest Dracula, would you ever understand if I told you that I am tired of being a monster, a villain, an abomination? Would you understand if I told you I need to rest inside a glass coffin, to be rejuvenated and reborn into the world as something useful?

Would you believe me if I say I believe in you? That I lay the burden of my aspirations upon your unwavering shoulders. Should there exist any mere slivers of hope, I shall bestow them upon you in trim vials of gold.

Where did our obligations go? Where are they buried so that I may pay my tardy regards?

Dear Dracula,

I hope you understand every star I've spilled to you.

I hope you comprehend the love I harbor within my defective heart.

I hope you adore the blood I've penned this letter with.

I just hope you understand…

In your absence, thorn bushes grow across my cadaver. suffocating and desolate. Without you, voids grow inside me, where hope once flourished. Dracula what I've been trying to say this whole time is…

I think we're both monsters.

I think I could love you.

Sincerely me…

P.S

Think of me as you feast upon your latest victim. And I shall think of you as I fall asleep to the city's empty tunes.

I need an origin story for Dracula.

sorry for the cryptic love letter.

But hopefully this way everyone can identify with it in some way.

219 notes · View notes

chipper-smol · 4 months ago

Note

how did stardust end up in loopsif's timeline in the first place? i'm assuming this is post twohats canon, did he make a wish later on to see loop again? to be able to help loop in their original timeline? mostly i'm curious if stardust knew what they were getting into lmao

...also if loopsif DOES get out of their time loops eventually... would he go back to his normal timeline, or would he be stuck there forever?

...would loop still be there in stardust's timeline?

(sorry if it's a lot of questions or it's too spoilery for the au or you haven't thought that far ahead yet. lol)

1: Yes i think that this was a very intentional decision made by ISAT Siffrin. He'd be very cautious about Wishcraft and its rituals after the events of the game, so Stardust's presence is planned out (somewhat)

I'm thinking that its been many years since the loops and most of the party has settled down in their homes across the world (and its not like they dont make time to see each other). ISAT Siffrin gets melancholy and wonders... if they could have prevented Loop from becoming- well-- Loop.

The idea took root and then well here they are

Stardust made this Wish with returning back home in mind too

2: What would be more narratively satisfying for you? what kind of ending would give the right flavor of catharsis? NSFNFfgn ok I know thats a cop-out kind of answer but this AU definitely has a multiple endings sort of thing going on

(...i do think that it'd be a sort of Steven Universe kind of ending where Steven re-fuses with his gem half sort of thing, Stardust and Loop fusing together or ISAT Siffrin and SASASAP Siffrin)

#isatrolereversalau #g muses #asks #isat spoilers #sasasap spoilers #steven universe spoilers #spoilers

105 notes · View notes

melabea · 6 months ago

Text

Blood, Melancholy, & Wet Grass Scented Sampi

(pt: Blood, Melancholy, & Wet Grass Scented Sampi /end pt)

(ids: 2 rectangular flags with 7 equally-sized horizontal lines. colors in order from top to bottom are dark brown, brown, dull brown, tan, pale green, light green, and dark green. in the center of the first flag is a grey-green blood stain symbol outlined in tan. /end ids)

(ids: 2 rectangular flags with 7 equally-sized horizontal lines. colors in order from top to bottom are dark brown, grey, light blue, pale blue, light purple, grey-purple, and dark blue. in the center of the first flag is a black-purple cherry symbol outlined in white. /end ids)

Blood, Melancholy, & Wet Grass Scented Sampi Flags

Cherry, Magic, Pink, & Stardust Scented Onu/Omenu Flags

symbols from here (link) & here (link)!

for cam!

tagging; @radiomogai, @thecoffeecrew404, @omegarchive, @misceverchive

#blood melancholy and wet grass scent #cherry magic pink and stardust scent #scents #misce #👑 creations

19 notes · View notes

blissfulbarbie · 1 year ago

Text

Just Once a Year / Pedro Pascal x Reader

Sequel out now: Maybe Twice a Year

The grand ballroom was alive with the shimmering glow of chandeliers, an ethereal scene that provided a backdrop for the most prestigious awards ceremony of the year. This was the first time Pedro was being nominated and he was nominated for not 1, not 2, but 3 awards. As a first timer, he has broken records for this achievement - and yet what should be a night pure of celebration and joy for him is tinged with sorrow.

He found himself seated in a sea of Hollywood's elite, his heart a complex interplay of anticipation and trepidation. The vacant chair beside him was a stark reminder of the impending arrival of his ex-girlfriend.

Pedro's fingers tapped rhythmically against his thigh as he waited for the inevitable moment. He stole glances at the entrance, his chest tightening with each passing second. And then, there you were - radiant as ever in a gown that shimmered like stardust, hair cascading down your back. A small part of him felt relieved that you didn’t appear with your new rumoured beau, but had taken your brother as your plus one instead.

Your eyes met briefly, a connection that carried years of memories and emotions, before you turned away, gaze drifting toward the stage. Pedro's heart raced, and he fumbled with his cufflinks, trying to mask his turmoil with a composed facade.

"Hey Pedro," your voice, warm but cautious, pulled him from his thoughts. "It's been a while."

Pedro's lips curved into a polite smile, one that concealed the storm of emotions raging within him. "Yeah, quite a while."

As the awards ceremony unfolded, a symphony of applause and cheers filled the air, a stark contrast to the uneasy silence that hung between Pedro and you. You exchanged pleasantries about the weather, your recent projects, and the industry's ever-shifting landscape, all while the ghosts of your shared past danced beneath your words.

“How is it we’re talking about the fucking weather when I know what you look like at 2am when you’re too anxious to sleep?” Pedro thought to himself silently.

"You look absolutely stunning tonight," Pedro ventured instead, his voice carrying a note of wistfulness.

A soft smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "Thank you. You look handsome as always. And God I can’t believe I forgot to say this already but congrats on everything. You’ve been in some amazing stuff lately.”

He chuckled softly, his gaze fixed intently on you. "Thank you. So have you,” he replied but he was finding it hard to produce words in his mouth when all he kept thinking about was that you had been keeping up with his projects and had seen his shows. He wondered if you liked them. He wondered if you were proud of him.

The nominees for each category were announced, and the room brimmed with palpable tension. Pedro's name was called, and he graciously accepted the award, his gaze briefly locking with yours as he did. The applause that followed felt distant, as though they were enveloped in a world of their own making. He didn’t know if it was appropriate to hug you before he went to get his award, although he dreamt of this moment his whole life. For you to be the first one he embraced when he finally made a name for himself - it’s all he’s ever wanted. But he knows he shouldn’t, so he turns to his sister instead before making his way on the stage.

When he returns you give him a polite congratulations and the show goes on. In a momentary lull between awards, you turned to Pedro, a soft sigh escaping you. "Can I be honest? This.. sucks. I don’t know how to make small talk with you anymore.”

Pedro nodded, a shared understanding passing between the both of you. "I know. I don’t either.”

As the ceremony neared its conclusion, Pedro found himself stealing glances at you. There was something different about you—an air of newfound confidence, a sense of independence that he hadn't seen before. Pride mingled with a touch of melancholy as he realized that both of you had evolved since your tumultuous breakup.

Just before the event drew to a close, you leaned closer to Pedro, your voice a soft whisper in the cacophony of the room. "Congratulations on your award, Pedro. You truly deserve it. More than anyone else in this room."

"Thank you," he replied, his voice holding a tenderness that belied the complexity of the situation.

As you stood to leave, you turned to him, your eyes holding a mosaic of emotions and words left unsaid. "Take care, Pedro."

"You too, sweetheart," he responded, his voice a gentle murmur.

Walking away from each other felt like a symphony of unfinished sentences and unspoken feelings. Pedro couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia, of the love you once shared and the heartache that followed. Yet, an unexpected thought bubbled to the surface of his mind: "I get to see her. At least once a year, I get to see her." It was a sentiment that resonated deeply within him, a small solace that fueled his determination to excel in his craft, to secure nominations, and to continue crossing paths with you in these fleeting moments. You were a brilliant actress and he had no doubt you’d continue climbing your way to the top. He wanted to be there when you did. Even if he didn’t get to be by your side when you did, he’d settle for being in the same room.

As he exited the grand ballroom, Pedro cast a final glance back at you, who stood amidst a constellation of fellow actors and industry luminaries. A surge of pride swelled within him as he watched you shine, your accomplishments standing as a testament to your talent and resilience. In that moment, despite the awkwardness and pain that had punctuated your encounter, Pedro felt a genuine admiration for you—a reminder of how far you both had come and how he’d never stop rooting for you.

He walked away with a heart brimming with emotions, knowing that the annual awards ceremony had become more than just a gathering of stars for him—it was a canvas upon which your shared journey would continue to unfold, inspiring him to strive for greatness and to keep crossing paths with the woman who had once captured his heart. He would settle for watching your life through pictures and screens if it meant he could have this moment with you - once a year.

Dedicated to my babycakes: @just-some-random-blogger who co-erced me into writing <3

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro x you #pedro pascal x actress!reader #pedro pascal x famous!reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro fic #pedro fanfiction

344 notes · View notes

levanterhaze · 11 months ago

Text

✧ PAST LIVES WITH CARMY BERZATTO

→ carmy berzatto x reader

→ in a whirlwind of past lives, emotional turmoil, and unresolved history, follow the angsty love story between the chef Carmen Berzatto and a lost soul attempting to mend the fragments of their shattered past.

→ warning: anxiety, angst, just a little bit of fluff but not too much lol

→ 3kish

first chapter: the midas touch

Stepping into Carmen Berzatto's mind was like getting swept up in a lively dance of memories and traumas, a vibrant mix of anxiety, anger, and the poignant notes of grief.

In the whirlwind of working tirelessly and mulling over unspoken feelings, Carmen found his unique forte. Picture him slicing through onions, yet mentally transported to that fateful family dinner where everything unraveled. His hands shook, sweat lingered on his temples, and, ironically, an old faithful cigarette became his solace, a bittersweet affirmation that his lungs were indeed alive.

On the whole, revisiting the past was a vivid nightmare for Carmy, a realm he seldom painted with optimistic dreams. Yet, every so often, his mind would wander back to a face from days gone by, a time when life seemed more carefree and innocent, a canvas where he felt secure enough to unfurl his heart into something beautiful.

Did he yearn for that? It was a perpetual query whenever her image crossed his thoughts—the sweet, well-intentioned girl who appeared in his life like a gift from the cosmos, a surreal deity he deemed himself unworthy of.

Before the portrait of his life transformed into its current state, there was someone. Sweet, cozy smiles. Hands entwined like an unbroken melody. Glances as sugary as stolen kisses. Pledges of everlasting love whispered in the hush of the night. A dream. An obsession. Two hearts shattered like fractured stardust.

Now and then, Carmy pondered the whereabouts of the girl who once occupied a significant space in his heart—the muse of his first love. Nostalgia and melancholy clung to this initial foray into matters of the heart, an indelible mark like the lingering stain of aged wine—permanent, resilient, and unforgettable.

In those reflective moments, a palpable grudge gripped Carmy for breaking that girl's heart—a girl who poured everything into a relationship destined for the shadows. He sensed his own brokenness, juxtaposed with her radiant beauty. He avoided becoming something she could mend, thus choosing distance as his peculiar brand of self-preservation.

But what if...?

These three small words, weighty with possibility, haunted Carmy like an incessant rhythm.

He could have had it all. Or perhaps nothing. Or even the splendid paradox of both worlds colliding. Yet, in the grand tapestry of life, did it truly matter? Carmy had forged a path to his present, and the dreamy girl who lingered in his musings was surely distant enough to forget the whimsical boy who once broke her heart.

Anxiety unraveled the threads of Berzatto's faith, gradually fading like the waning embers of a once-robust fire.

Returning to Chicago, it felt like rediscovering the world anew.

What do you do when your dreams dissolve into echoes, vanishing in the blink of an eye? When every effort seems futile and never quite enough? The echoes linger in your mind, tears poised on the brink, waiting for the opportune moment to make their dramatic entrance.

Life in Los Angeles was meant to be simpler. You envisioned a dream, thinking everything would unfold seamlessly. Young and too naive to fathom the intricacies of the world. Pursuing an acting career in a world where vultures circled fresh talent felt like social suicide. You were never prepared, but for years, you tried relentlessly.

Exhaustion took hold—utter weariness. Voices echoed in your mind: too thin, too fat, perhaps she's passable, but not captivating enough, if only she had more curves, maybe she'd be more fuckable.

Nothing ever seemed enough, and you grew weary of the constant striving.

So, on a Thursday, the decision was made to return to Chicago. Leave the rented L.A apartment behind and embrace the small space that belonged to you. Driving back home, the air in Chicago felt oppressive. Breathing seemed challenging. The dense air, pregnant with memories and echoes of past lives, served as a stark reminder.

It's real. It's Chicago.

Coldness embraced the season, and the darkened apartment resembled a skeletal frame. Fragile white walls, devoid of adornments. It was just you and your ego, weathered by years of struggle.

Then, the need to shop emerged, a necessity to prevent impending insanity. The fridge echoed emptiness, much like your stomach. The nearby supermarket beckoned, and you welcomed the walk. A peculiar sensation enveloped you as you traversed the streets—a desire for recognition, yet a deeper hope for anonymity.

A passing gaze stirred anticipation, only to be met with moistened lips and your hastened steps. Later, as you gazed upon your reflection in the glass of the dairy section, self-loathing consumed you. Disdain for the red lipstick, its inadequacy on your lips. Disgust for the perfume that clung to you. A loathing gaze at your reflection, prompting the question: when would this cease?

Earphones encapsulated your ears, resonating with melancholic '80s tunes at a volume that drowned the outside world. Nearly ten at night, the door beside you opened, prompting a swift move to retrieve that damn cheese. In that fleeting second, blue eyes and a nose akin to Apollo's altered everything. Suddenly, you found yourself in a snug loft, surrounded by abundance, with a boy destined to shatter your heart.

A pause ensued. Earphones draped around your shoulders, seemingly programmed for such moments. Carmy's name hovered on your lips, yet you restrained it. There was an ordinariness, a professionalism in the way he scrutinized the products, evoking a suppressed urge to laugh.

Indeed, it was Berzatto.

"Carm?"

And as if, in some way, time had rewound a few years, Carmen feels something tug at his chest.

There you were. In the flesh.

The twin emeralds staring at you, as if you were something out of this world, suddenly felt like too much to bear. Looking at Carmy was like gazing at that boy you once fell for. Filled with dreams, ambitions, and fears.

You could be mistaken, but you swore you saw his lips move to the rhythm of the nickname: angel .

"I can't believe it's really you."

"You're here," he says as if your presence is an impossibility, just a meter away.

"And you're here," a small smile graces your face.

"I-yeah, I’m here. Los Angeles?"

A failure , a shattered dream, a colossal disappointment .

But you simply shrugged, lips twisting into an upturn smile. That's when Carmy gives a hint of a grin.

It's really you.

"I'm sorry," but did he truly feel it?

The silence lingered uncomfortably, both of you staring at each other as if in a standoff. You smiled first, a beautiful smile he already knew. Carmy took a step forward.

"I wrote you an email. When... You know. I'm really sorry, Carm," your eyes sought traces in his outwardly weary expression. He glanced down, just for a few seconds, and nodded, shaking his head.

He didn't know what to say. And what could he do? His inbox was flooded with messages he probably would never read. And knowing there was one message among many, a message from you, made him hate himself even more.

"Are you living around here?"

"Down the next block," you bit your lip.

"I have a place," he suddenly says. "Actually, Mikey had this place, and you probably knew that, but I, after, uh... I'm with the restaurant. The Bear."

"The Bear," you repeat the name with such poise and affection that makes Carmy's heart almost leap from his chest.

"You should drop by if you like," he looks directly into your eyes, like an invitation. "I’d like to," and then, the longing.

You shared another moment of silence, just two familiar strangers trying to connect after years in the shadows. Carmy felt his own body slowing down a feeling that had been cold for a long time. Don't do this, don't do this, don't do this.

"Okay," was all you said.

Carmy slipped you a phone number, never hinting that it belonged to him.

A couple of weeks passed since that unexpected supermarket encounter, and a persistent sense of disappointment clung to your routine. Part of you understood. Maybe Carmy wasn't into revisiting the past, a ghost of what his life once held. You accepted that. Yet, he seemed well, on the surface at least. You figured, at the very least, you could be friends if the history still held some weight.

On the flip side, time has been kind in aiding your healing process. Unpacking boxes in the apartment felt like therapy for a mind that had weathered its fair share of storms. Some items were old enough to consider tossing, like clothes and forgotten books. Amidst these relics, something intriguing caught your eye.

Two sketchbooks. It had been ages since you held one, forgetting that you were once an artist. They were dusty, and as you opened them, a rush of emotions accompanied the doodles of a past version of yourself.

There was Millennium Park, scenic landscapes, a woman on a train, and countless pages filled with familiar green-eyed gazes. A sigh caught in your throat, realizing the depth of your feelings for Carmy.

So many sketches of him, capturing every detail—nose, eyes, hands, lips, his entire essence. Undoubtedly, he was your muse. A mix of drama and nostalgia coursed through you, and amidst the clutter, you decided to keep these memories of a former you.

And thoughts about Carmy? They remained.

One evening, you found yourself outside The Bear. No one seemed to notice you, but the lively atmosphere tempted you to step inside, maybe greet Carmy, and shoot him a teasing look for giving a number that didn't quite belong to him.

But you hesitate.

Chasing someone who clearly wasn't interested felt a bit degrading, and despite your annoyance with life's twists, you weren't willing to go that far.

As the days whisked by, the Berzattos kept popping up, serving as constant reminders. A chance meeting with Natalie at a cozy café unraveled, and she could hardly believe it was really you standing there. She hugged you warmly, apologizing for everything that had transpired between you and Carmy.

In the end, Carmy hadn't spilled the tea about your return to Chicago. And even though you pretended not to care about the opinion of your super-talented ex-boyfriend and chef, there was a subtle sting to your pride. You shared the thing about the supermarket encounter, the email, and the phone number.

Sugar was livid.

In The Bear's kitchen, Carmen's sister stormed furiously towards the office where her brother would likely be sorting out bureaucratic matters with Syd. With a hand on the door and furrowed brows, Natalie burst in like a typhoon.

"What is wrong with you?"

Sydney paused mid-motion, holding a notebook and pen in hand, her eyes shifting from Carmy to Sugar.

"Good morning to you too, Sug" he continued writing something in one of the notebooks, but Natalie had no patience for her brother at the moment.

"I’m not joking, Carmy.”

Finally, he looked at her.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Angel ?"

Carmy froze in his tracks.

"What about Angel?"

"Sorry, is Angel a person or...?" Sydney seemed confused, trying to catch up with the conversation.

"You didn't even mention she was in town. And worse, you gave a fake number! What's your problem?"

"Sugar, can we discuss this later?" Carmy already had his hands over his face, sliding through his hair carelessly.

"No, we can't."

"Ooookay, I think that's my cue. Talk to you later, Chef."

And just like that, Sydney was far enough away for them to continue the unwanted argument.

"Care to explain yourself?" Natalie crossed her arms, leaning against one of the walls.

Carmy sighed, feeling defeated.

How could he convey his dark thoughts to his sister without leaving her extremely worried? How would he say that he felt dread at the prospect of something good and beautiful approaching his broken and confused life? How could he explain that sometimes feeling like a victim was safer than letting someone truly enter his life?

"I... Did you-did you see her?"

"Of course, and she seemed really disappointed, Carmy," Natalie poured out to her brother. "Why did you do that? Did something happen that I don't know about?"

"No. Nothing. Angel... She's just... Too much, you know?" Carmy felt powerless, like an open wound. "She was part of a version that doesn't exist anymore, and I know it wouldn't work out. Seeing her is like... It just wouldn't work out, Sugar."

Natalie felt sorry for her brother. She knew Carmy, and despite being irritated, she knew he would have a justification.

"Oh, Carmy..." Sugar approached, placing a hand on her brother's shoulder. "Even if you don't want any kind of involvement with her, apologize, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll do that."

"I know you will."

The phone rang three times before you answered.

Pouring yourself a generous glass of red wine, you settled in to enjoy one of your favorite TV series. It was a healing day, for sure. Just wine, television, take-out food, and your own company.

" Hello ?"

"Hm, angel ?"

Involuntarily, your heart did a somersault. Even though you knew who it was, you tried to tease Carmy. "Is this really your number, or is it just another lie you want to tell?"

"I'm sorry."

The time it took for his response was enough for you to sit on the sofa and savor the wine on your lips. "It's okay, Carmy."

"No, no. It's not okay. I’m a fuckin’ asshole."

"I guess, but I understand that you don't want someone from your past in your life, and... well, it was kind of a jerk move, but you don't owe me anything."

Things weren't going according to the script Carmy had planned in his mind.

His house was dark, only the bathroom light on, and the cold wind kissed his face in the dimness of the night. He was afraid that if he pulled his hair any harder, strands would come out in his hand. Anxiety was eating him alive, and the worst part was that he had made his own bed.

"That's not true. How can I make it up to you?"

You smiled to yourself, considering the possibilities. "For lying?"

"For being a fucking idiot, angel. Tell me."

Your sigh made Carmy's heart race. He expected you to yell and curse him with all the names he deserved. But your calmness was worse than he could imagine.

"I don't know, Carmy. You were the one who gave me a fake number. Maybe you have to figure that out."

"Sure, sure. I, uh, will think about it. By the way, Natalie gave me your number, so..."

"I figured."

"Are you free tomorrow? In the afternoon?"

"Maybe..." you toyed with the remaining liquid in the glass.

"Let's grab a coffee or something, yeah? I'll text you then."

"Okay. Goodnight, Berzatto."

Carmy was in the midst of deciding whether he regretted scheduling this coffee.

Strolling through the chilly streets of Chicago, he had the unruly companion in his hands and the smoke flooding his lungs. With every step, it felt like he was ready to take three steps back. As if little devils were rolling dice in the game and angels were rolling their eyes.

He was about to flick the cigarette away when he saw you. And damn , you looked like a mirage.

The face sculpted by angels, the sweetness and wildness in the gaze that only he could recognize. And that red lipstick... He'd be damned to hell.

Approaching, he stamped out the cigarette and watched your face light up. I'm a fucking idiot.

"Berzatto. You showed up."

"We made plans."

"Yeah, that’s why I was worried." and again, the calmness was like a stab in his chest.

During the walk to the coffee shop, Carmy and you talked about life's nonsense and how things seem different now.

"How’s Chicago treating ya?"

" Ugh . It's hard to find something to do in this city. I mean, after I went to Los Angeles, I really thought chasing dreams was something special. You can't imagine my reaction when I found out I wasn't the only one," you smiled to yourself, holding the coffee cup. "I feel like a failure. An imposter."

"Why?" Carmy looked at you and clenched his own fist, tempted to touch you.

"Throughout all the years I spent in L.A, I realized that my dream was getting farther away every day. And every day..." you glanced at him briefly. "Every day, I wished to have my old life back, y’know? Simpler times."

"I understand."

Of course, Carmy understood. He had been through hell on earth to be where he is now, but there was a certain innocence and delicacy in the past that he couldn't leave behind. A moment in his life in which you were also a part.

"The greatest chef Carmen Berzatto sympathizes with the story of a fake rising star?"

And as if it were scripted, Carmy and you stopped in the middle of the avenue, connecting in an inexplicable way.

"You'd be surprised."

And amidst random conversations and reminiscing about people from the past and times that certainly wouldn't return, the night appeared as a pleasant surprise, and you found yourselves again in the block where you had met, in front of The Bear.

"Well, I guess that's it," you said, still trying to stifle the laughter because somehow, Carmy Berzatto could draw some laughs out of you. "Thanks for the coffee and the walk, Berzatto."

The strange silence filled the night air, condensing your breaths.

But at that point, Carmy felt good, so good that his mind had given him a respite.

Without hugs and touches, you awkwardly said goodbye and went your way. "Actually..." Carmy made you stop in your tracks. "I'm kinda starving, and uh, if you want to come in, I-I can whip up something quick. If you want."

Your smile made Carmy feel at home. "Sure."

You didn't understand much, but watching Carmen Berzatto move through the kitchen of his own restaurant was like witnessing art come to life.

Everything was so clean and empty. There was a large counter where you sat, just observing the magic unfold. Seeing him like that brought back memories you weren't sure if you should remember.

There were nights when Carmy experimented with new recipes, and you both spent the night in the kitchen—him as the chef, of course, and you merely assisting, grabbing an ingredient here and there. Even when he claimed it looked like shit , you would kiss him and say it was great, that he was talented. To you, Carmy was Midas.

Watching him from behind, you couldn't help but notice the tattoos and how his muscular and oh-so-masculine arm moved swiftly to stir the contents in the pan. You lowered your head, thinking you might be seeing too much. You knew nothing about Carmy's love life; it was a topic you avoided all afternoon, like a minefield—not safe yet.

"Here." Carmy crossed the small space to the counter, holding a spoon and a coppery liquid close to your face. "Try it."

You almost choked on your saliva but kept your composure as his large, sparkling emerald eyes met yours. You opened your lips slowly, waiting for him to place the spoon in your mouth. Carmy didn't know exactly how much time passed, lost in your lips—inviting, scarlet, as soft as velvet—and your sinless eyes. It was somehow sensual and intimate that he could die. As the taste hit your palate, it was like an explosion of flavors: honey, orange, citrusy, and sweet all at once.

He stood there, waiting for a reaction.

"So good." Your eyes were locked onto Carmy's, and all he knew was your lips, dangerously close, making his heart beat irregularly.

"Yeah?" He approached meticulously, you noticed.

"Yeah."

You weren't sure what you were doing. Carmy wasn't either.

Submerged in a world already known in aquamarine, you felt your heart beat faster. His hand touched the side of your thigh, and that little touch of skin-on-skin made your body burn. Not a common burn. Burning for Carmy. For something you once had.

And this was the worst way to burn.

"Bear," you breathed. He was so near, my God, you could sense the nicotine and cologne, the distinctive essence of that man before you. If you extended your fingers, you could brush against his face, yet you refrained.

The endearing pet name left Carmy suspended. What in the world did he believe he was doing?

Inviting you for coffee after being a colossal dipshit, thinking that cooking a meal could mend the bygone years? Believing that crafting a repast would reconstruct the past and heal the heart he once left broken?

"I’m sorry," Carmy retreated, his hands gracing his temples, eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, and traversing his entire countenance. "I-I don't know, uh, what I was doing."

"Carmy."

"No. I-I'll serve the dishes, and I hope it doesn't taste like shit." He moved with celerity, evading the recent occurrence. His finesse was so adept that you began questioning yourself.

He initiated the retrieval of plates, the sonorous clink of crockery harmonizing with the cascade of hex he cast into the ether. You descended from the counter, advancing towards him, heart racing, and mind more befuddled than ever. Was this the intended outcome, after all?

"Carmy!" you implored, as if your words were echoes unheard. He appeared agitated, fervently seeking something you couldn't fathom.

"Where the fuck’s that shit? I swear to fucking God, all these fucking assholes stresses the fuck out of me. They come here, cook, and leave everything a fucking mess, and I can't even find the FUCKING WINE CORK!"

Carmy's metamorphosis when angered was perturbing. His visage flushed crimson, veins on the brink of eruption, and words discharged without restraint.

"It's okay!"

"No, fuck that shit!" he forcefully disengaged as you tried to soothe him. Carmy leaned against the stove, trembling hands and bowed head. It was too much. It was enough. "You should leave."

"What?" You could hardly believe it. Humor was almost slipping off your tongue, but the way his muscles moved under the white T-shirt, and how he didn't even look at you, said it all.

"Just fucking go, alright?"

You yearned for a day when clouds were as ethereal as cotton and the sun gleamed unprecedentedly, perhaps a day when Carmy Berzatto's enigma unraveled. Until that day materialized, you’d simply leave. You seized your coat and left.

Berzatto’s downfall was knowing that this was the pattern.

No matter how many attempts he made, worthiness eluded him. Each time, he became the architect of your heartbreak, irrespective of the circumstance.

It was his eternal condemnation.

#carmy berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto smut #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #the bear imagines #carmy the bear #carmy x fem!reader #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear #carmen berzatto #the bear season 2 #carmy imagines #carmy x you #past lives fic

106 notes · View notes