#berzatto

[moonyflesh]

just Carmen doing his cute little lip sucking thing

[southsideserendipity]

Mikey prompt idea: mikey and his new gf are late to family dinner because he couldn’t keep his hands off her

Touch It (Part 1) ~ Mikey Berzatto Imagine

Find My Masterlist Linked Here!

“Mikey, we’re late! Fuck! Help me!!!” You were hastily trying to finish curling your hair, but of course, your hair decided to be uncooperative on today of all days.

“What??” Mikey laughed as he walked towards the bathroom, knowing you were stressing yourself out for no reason. Being the Berzatto’s neighbour, you were at Donna’s more than your own house with the intention of escaping your own family- really, you were going from one version of chaos to another, except only one of them involved Mikey.

However, given this was the first family event you attended as a couple, you felt an immense pressure to make sure everything went smoothly and perfect, and that translated to your appearance.

“I need your help, com’ere” you placed a chunk of hair between your lips as you lifted your arms over your head, wrapping a strand of hair over and under the blazing iron you held near your head.

Mikey appeared, leaning against the door frame with his muscular arms crossed in front of his chest, finding amusement in the extent of your preoccupation. “Yes, doll?”

There was that smile of his. His fucking smile which showed up in his eyes first, then his lips. It makes your knees buckle.

“I laid out some dresses on the bed, can you take a look at em’ and let me know which ones you like??” Unplugging your curling iron you began to brush apart your curls.

“Yeah, I can do that sweets.” Mikey’s undiagnosed ADHD fuse was as short as short could be, but for you, his patience was untimed. He walked over to your shared bed, lifting up the various hangers. “Can I see em’ on ya, doll? When’d you get these??”

Joining Mikey, you began to take different hangers from him, holding them up to your frame to envision how each piece would look on you.

“Sug and I went shopping a couple of days ago, wanted to surprise you.” Trying to wipe the smirk on your face was no use with Mikey’s extensive knowledge of your micro facial expressions.

He scoffs, knowing immediately what you were trying to do. There’s no downplaying the fact that you and Mikey fuck on a more than regular basis, in various locations and times of day. The walk-in at the resto - which is probably one of Mikey’s favourite places to fuck you as he loves seeing your nipples get so hard from the cold - has seen more than just Carmy’s mommy-issue coded meltdowns.

“That right?” Mikey turned to look at you out of the corner of his eyes. A look of micheviousness was threaded into his crow’s feet, the wrinkles of wisdom - named by you - that surrounded the brown iris’ which bore into you. You clearly had an idea in that naughty brain of yours and you know it will be met well by him; oftentimes, it was Mikey who was trying to catch up with your libido, not the other way around.

“Here, lemme try this one, it’s one of my favourites.” You held out a hanger which held a white with blue florals milkmaid dress, prompting Mikey to hold it out in front of him.

Mikey inspected the dress, attempting to envision it hugging your curves, cupping your breasts. Getting so lost in his imagination, he realized a second too late that you were undressing yourself, revealing a white lacy push-up bra with matching panties. Motioning with your hands for Mikey to hand you the dress, his eyes were running you up and down, an electric bolt immediately rushing to form his erection.

“Can I have the dress please” you giggled, reaching towards him to start removing the fabric from where it was held. “Hey, hey” Mikey moved the dress away from your grasp, throwing it on the bed to free his hands. “When did you get this?!” Hooking a finger in your panties and rubbing a calloused thumb over your hip bone, he cherished the figure of the woman he loved.

“In an effort to not ruin this moment, let’s say Sug and I split up in Victoria Secret…” As best friends, you couldn’t involve Sug in your sex life as much as she can you in hers, for obvious reasons.

Mikey was lasered focus, eye-fucking you mercilessly when something switched. “Try the dress on. Now.” Chuckling to yourself, you took the dress off the hanger, knowing your plan to bring out Mikey’s dominance was successful. And while you loved to call the shots - and, most of the time, bossed around all three of Mikey, Richie, and Carmy - you loved to be submissive equally as much; especially for a man as manly as Mikey.

Slipping in one leg at a time, you knew damn well time was of the essence if you planned to get to Donna’s on time. However, you preferred to not get bent over Mikey’s childhood desk in his childhood room with his entire family one level below, unwillingly in close proximity to your primal activities.

Adjusting the puffy sleeves to your liking and adjusting your boobs within the dress, you turned around to face the mirror, pivoting from side to side to see how your bum looked. Looking at Mikey through the mirror, you swore you could see the blood rush out of his face as he gulped.

“Cute right?” you held out your hand for him to take, knowing he’d ask you to give him a twirl, to which you obliged without hesitation.

“I want these to be clean so I can wear them when we get back.” You slid your panties off, flicking them off with one of your feet in Mikey’s direction just to immediately return to the bathroom to get ready.

Getting a rise out of Mikey was your favourite thing to do. While he was an expert at anything regarding your facial expressions, you were comparable in skill, noticing every twitch of his jaw and bob of his prominent Adam’s apple as you exponentially turned him on.

Out of the corner of your eye you could feel Mikey deciphering his next move. The pointy ends of your gold hoops slid into your pierced holes, making you question whether a different earring may work with your outfit better. Deep in thought, you didn’t notice Mikey behind you until he stood behind you, his cock growing stronger by the millisecond as it pressed into your ass, his large hand single-handedly wrapping around your throat as he gave a slight squeeze.

“I would be careful if I were you, doll” his whisper lingered next to your ear before he nibbles on the top of your ear, gently biting as he pulls away.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I have come out of hiding with an imagine I’ve had brewing for quite some time… let me know if you’d like part 2! I’m not fulfilling requests at the moment but feel free to send in ideas for Mikey imagines :-)

Also, I DO NOT and WILL NOT ever use AI for my fan fiction. I also do not give anyone permission to repurpose or use my writing outside of its intended entertainment and pleasure purposes.

Find My Masterlist Linked Here!

[ambitiouspotions]

SYMPATHY COOKIES | CARMEN BERZATTO | ONESHOT

summary — you give carmen sympathy cookies because his dead brother owes you money

word count — 3.5k

warnings — istg this is awkward fluff butttttt talks of mikey’s death & addiction, reader has a dead mom, and cringe

author’s note — sorry after watching the bear my typing hands got going

it had been over a month. you were avoiding this comically awkward conversation with the new owner of the beef like it was the plague. it hadn’t even been six months since the beloved owner of the beef died, yet you were going to discuss the unpaid debt that was lingering over your head. the entire time you crossed the street you wanted to retreat and slip a letter under their door when no one was there, but you had to take the professional and empathetic route. you toted the chocolate chip cookies wrapped terribly in foil from as sew it seams, the local tailoring business your mother passed down to you, to the beef. you knew they weren’t open for business which was to your advantage as you knocked on the door.

you rocked on your heels for a moment, thinking that instead of knocking again you would rather turn around and quickly go back to your territory. though as that thought ran through your head, the click of the lock was heard, and you could hear richie’s laughter through the glass.

“hey! y/n’s back!” he announced, patting you a bit too roughly on your shoulder upon entering. he always spoke with a bellow in his tone. you blamed him for the reason the restaurant was always so incredibly loud during their bustling hours.

you gave a sheepish smile, not having spoken to him since before mikey’s death. it was refreshing to see his face nonetheless; it was comforting to know that some parts of the restaurant had stayed the same after the devastation of death and mentions of addiction washed over the place.

“hey, richie,” you said calmly, refraining from using as many decibels as he did. “is the new owner in today?”

he scoffed bringing you in close to his side as he guided you through the restaurant. “you act like you haven’t ever been here before, lighten up.”

you gave a considerate nod, though your mind was playing different scenarios about how the conversion would go.

“the new owner is mikey’s younger brother.”

“i’m glad you guys didn't have to sell. i know this place means a lot to you, richie.” you were sincere in your words.

you looked around; it was different from the times you had come inside to talk to mikey. although the family restaurant had generational grime and scum stuck to some places, you couldn’t deny that it had somewhat of a new shine.

richie weaved you through the slurry of cooks, most of whom you had met before, though they were so focused on preparation they barely looked up from their stations. everything seemed more uniform, now a seemingly maintained order from many disasters that you had been guided through before.

this new owner might actually have a chance at turning the old restaurant around with the way things were looking.

“cousin!” that voice again. was richie ever just alerting one person when he spoke? he banged on the outside of the office door; you were still holding the wrapped cookies out, just ready to give them away to their recipient.

the door opened and carmen pointed to his cell phone which was pressed against his ear while glaring at richie, though his entire face softened as he saw you. being an ass to richie was one thing, but upon seeing you, he couldn't keep up with his pissed-off demeanor.

he now had no comprehension skills with the person on the other line. he mumbled something about calling them back later.

“cousin, this is y/n, she’s the seamstress across the street,” richie said when carmen put his phone down. he extended his tattooed hand and then took it back, noticing they were full of the mystery wrapped in foil.

“carmy berzatto,” he introduced himself, flashing a quick and friendly smile though his piercing blue eyes were still wandering over you. his phone was moving away from his ear in slow motion, acting like any of his movements would spook you.

he seemed to stare too long, and you seemed to be the same amount of starstruck because it caused richie to startle you when he patted your back again.

“don’t be a total jagoff to her; she’s nice.” richie said, clearing his throat, wondering what was in the air between the both of you. his brows furrowing at the awkward stances and body language.

“yeah, cousin, thank you,” carmen remarked sarcastically, holding his hands up in defense. “i know how to act, thank you.”

“these are for mikey,” you had to start again when his eyes widened. “these are for you but like i’m really sorry to hear about mikey,” you said all of this a little too quickly, with a little too much rambling. you practiced this conversation in your head too many times and now you were screwing it up. you jutted the cookies in front of you further to offer them to him.

oh yes, let me just remind you that your brother is dead and that he can’t eat these goddamn cookies.

richie gave a sharp inhale and only nodded his head. “okay, you two have fun with that.” he clapped his hands together and pointed at both of them as he took his leave.

carmen tilted his head slightly, taking the package from you, and opened it to reveal the cookies. he had no problems tasting one in front of you. “sympathy cookies?” he laughed and shook the other half of the cookie in his hand. “it’s actually damn good.”

you didn't realize the compliment you had received from him. you didn't know he was some high-class chef who once studied in copenhagen. you only knew him as mikey’s brother.

“thanks, but really more like cookies that are supposed to not make me seem like a bitch when i tell you that your brother owes me money,” you said, trying not to make eye contact, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

carmen was holding back a nervous chuckle. what else was there to do in this situation? mikey’s unpaid debt kept being passed down to him anytime someone new wanted to speak with him. he couldn't contain himself when you finished speaking, a smile riddling his face. another monthly payment would be in his future. he wiped the corners of his mouth as he finished the cookie and stepped into his office waiting for you to take a seat in the cluttered space.

you could barely understand how he managed to work in the small office. there was stuff everywhere, like mikey never left it. it was a drastic change from the clean kitchen and the front of house. he set the cookies down while grabbing a notepad.

mikey was unorganized and chaotic whether he was always like that or only became like that because of his addiction, most people would never know the answer to that question. were the spontaneous and irrational decisions truly because he was a bad businessman or because unprescribed pills influenced him to become a functioning addict with overwhelming amounts of charisma? and although he had shitty business practices…he was a good guy; no one could deny it.

“uh, so how much did mikey owe you?” carmen asked writing your name at the top of the paper. he seemed to have had this conversation with a lot of people before.

“three thousand, but he already paid a third.”

the entire storefront window had been busted the night mikey decided it would be a good idea to have a barbecue get-together in front of the beef with a baseball tournament attached. as mikey stepped up to the spray-painted x on the ground he forgot, or was too drunk to remember, that he couldn’t swing like was in the world series bringing the cubs to victory. he was in a confined parking lot, and that ball slammed like a mother fucker and busted your window. it decided to hit the weakest spot and shatter that bitch. well, that’s how he told you the story anyway. that late night call was confusing to follow, but you showed up to the restaurant in your snoopy pajama pants and worked out a deal that he would pay you monthly to reimburse you for the window so the insurance on your respective businesses wouldn’t rise.

somehow, even through your upset, you found yourself comforted by mikey’s story and many apologies. two businesses across from each other, and you had no issues with him. after your mom died, he occasionally brought you leftover food. he was nice, a little eccentric and loud, but nice. that same night, he and his drunken buddies managed to put a tarp over the window and gifted you with a number to a glass repair specialist. mikey stayed a while after, just telling you how he appreciated you for not being angry and gave you some considerate words about your mother. “she was a good person to talk to when nothing seemed to go right.” those words stuck to your heart when he said them.

carmen gave a soft hum at the amount, pinning the note with the amount to a semi-cleared spot where it wasn’t hidden by any other scrap pieces of paper with his terrible handwriting . “he seems to owe a lot of people a lot of money.”

“he started paying some of it, but—” you stopped yourself and wondered how many times you could possibly mention that mikey was dead. you pressed the knuckle of your index finger to your lips and bit the inside of your cheek.

“—he died.” carmen finished the sentence for you and gave a stifled snort.

“i’m really sorry, my mom is dead, and like you know she left me that sewing shop, and then your brother like totally fucked my window and i had to come out of pocket to fix it, and then like i over drafted my bank account because some asshole decided it would be funny to steal one of my mannequins when they were repairing the window and–” you took a deep breath holding your temples. carmen just stared at you while you started to ramble again, a deep belly laugh surfacing.

he tapped his pen against his desk. “oh, yeah, that’s so fucked…like really fucked.” he was massaging the center of his forehead as he tried to think. “and your mom, i–”

you cut him off, waving your hands with a stutter, trying to find the correct words to speak. “i think we can both agree that it really sucks that they’re gone. i was trying to avoid talking about the whole ‘death and dying thing,’ but apparently, the more i think about not talking about it, the more it comes up.”

you and carmen stared at each other for a moment as he shuffled loose papers around on his desk.

“i’m going to get you your money, but i don’t know how much i can give you every month and, um,” carmen exhaled, looking into your eyes. “i promise i’m good for my word.”

you stared at him blankly unknowing of what to do. the verbal agreement between you and mikey had been easy, yet concerning, now you were making a similar agreement with his younger brother. you didn’t know mikey well, and you didn’t know his brother at all. he seemed genuine in his attempt to reimburse you, but you were still cautious about entering another verbal contract especially after the payments on the old one were sporadic and inconsistent. so inconsistent, that you had to go to the restaurant to hash it out with mikey. it was never loud or rude, but you’d leave with whatever cash he had in his wallet and then feel guilty for asking about the payments in the first place. money always seemed to be an awkward conversation.

“i can see it on your face that you aren’t convinced,” he observed, sitting back in his chair. “i’m not like mikey, and the fact that i’m not more like him is shitty because everyone liked him, but i hope you can like me enough to believe me.”

you clicked your tongue, trying to devise and formulate the correct words. “it’s really not like that,” you mumbled, shaking your head. “i just want this behind me, i guess.” you knew it sounded ridiculous. the window had been fixed, and you weren’t repaid, but it just seemed like an unclosed chapter. one where your mother was newly deceased and sending you signals to be more patient with people and to have a little leeway with those who needed it. you couldn’t deny that you were living by the mysterious feelings your damaged heart was signaling to your mind.

your hands fiddled with the chain of your necklace, looking at him with a sense of relief. the conversation was over, the hard part at least.

“no, i get it,” carmen said almost immediately, like he had some understanding of your internal dilemma.

“just pay me back when you can,” you compromised, a single nod following your words. “but please don’t make me keep asking after i leave.”

carmen’s cheeks lifted, a crooked smile appearing on his face as he tapped the note above him. “i promise, you’re right here until we’re even.” he emphasized. his eyes lingering over the note and then back to you.

he walked you out. you trailed behind him like it was unknown territory when in actuality the only thing unknown was him. when he cracked the door for you to leave he was pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. he let you exit first, following behind to light his smoke.

within the following few weeks, carmen had made his trek to your side of the street. two clear containers of food from the restaurant were held in his right hand. wedged under one container was an envelope. he set them on the counter, your head peeking out from behind the curtain as you heard the motion sensor go off. he had come after lunch before the restaurant had to reopen for dinner.

his forehead had a sheen of sweat across it, a dish towel was still hanging off his apron, and his curly hair had seen the effects of fast-paced work from their lunch hours.

“oh, hey, i was just gonna drop these and go,” his thumb pointed behind him as he tried to arrange the containers in a neater setting.

“yeah, totally, thanks,” you mumbled, looking at the envelope he was sliding closer. he stared at the envelope and exhaled. he tapped the bludging center where the bills were mostly confined.

“look, more is coming, but don’t think you’ll have to remind me because you won’t. i really just, fuck sorry, i just mean that i’m going to keep paying you.”

“carmy, you’re fine,” you assured him, beginning to inspect the containers. crispy thick-cut fries. one was broken in half; the center was pure white and fluffy and the exterior was golden. in the second container a mixture of beef, with dark brown drippings, and a vibrant array of bell peppers and onions.

“and the food, that’s just leftovers from lunch.” carmen examined them again. “marcus didn’t have any more bread, but you can put the beef on the fries,” carmen patted his pockets over his navy apron until he felt plastic cutlery, it was still in its transparent plastic sheath.

“thank you,” you took the cutlery from his hands, his fingertips brushing over yours.

carmen stalled for a moment then took his hand back. “i gotta go work on dinner prep,” his hand brushed back his curls and he patted the counter. “but, it’s no problem, like no big deal at all or whatever, just thought it would be better than wasting food,” he explained, he cringed slightly at his wording and then even more when he noticed he did it outwardly. though, you didn't comment. you pretended to be focused on opening the container of fries and beef.

as he exited your shop he could hear the rustling of the plastic cutlery coming open.

each payment after that was similar, though he managed to stay for a few moments longer each time he entered. the food only became exceedingly more tasty, though your favorite meals were always the ones where he stuck around to see you have a bite. it was like a sense of pride washed over him when you praised him for his excellent cooking.

he told you of his future ambitions with the beef, where he previously worked, talked of the invisible cat and living on a boat, hell, he even told you about his fucked up family and terrible anxiety. you didn't understand why it was so easy to talk to him, but that made conversation with him even more desirable. he might not have been as confident or as self-assured as mikey, but remembering that he said he wasn't like mikey was far from the truth. he was likable, but it was easier to be unlikeable, and carmy berzatto in the fuckery of his mind marketed himself as the awkward shy brother who didn't think he could be likeable. maybe that's why you took such a liking to him each time your conversations became longer.

it was the middle of the month, and you were waiting for him. hand sewing some loose buttons to a dress shirt at the counter, expecting that any second the head chef of the beef would come walking into the shop with a new container and final installment of money for the storefront window. he never came to chat, and you were left sewing buttons with no chef to talk to.

your foot was kicking the bottom of the counter gently as you sewed wondering where he was each time you made another loop through the buttonhole. the entire time the hours between lunch and dinner ticked down, you were confused as to why you were so disappointed in his no-show. that funny feeling you got when he'd introduce the leftovers to you and the feeling of being flustered when he devised a never-ending ramble to cover the fact the complimented you. your mind wasn't even set on the final payment he owed you, only on him.

maybe you sensed that since this was his final payment you'd lose the connection you had enjoyed so much. the quick quips, witty remarks, mindless cursing—you didn't want any of it to end.

you decided to walk over after your shop closed promptly at six o’clock, well maybe five fifty-eight today, only because you were itching to talk to him again.

you were in the back of the line of very hungry customers, even as you waited outside you could hear richie’s voice directing orders and sending bagged food in every direction. it didn't take much convincing for richie to stop what he was doing and tell carmen that you were there to see him.

now carmen had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth the moment that you were in the back of the restaurant with him next to old crates and the dumpster.

“i'm sorry, today was fucked. like so fucked, and your money i swear it’s on my desk,” he was frantic, holding his hands up and waving them as he spoke. “i got so caught up in whatever the fuck today was.”

you let him go on, though you couldn't stop a smile tugging on the corners of your mouth when he spoke. he paused his minor freakout, a puzzled look on his face. “this isn't about the money is it?” his voice lowered as he took another drag of his cigarette to calm him.

“i wanted to ask you to go out with me, like not just hanging out in my dead mom’s shop… more than just bringing me money your brother owed me more than just eating leftovers,” you stammered, although you were trying to contain your smile. “like actually doing something.”

carmen avoided eye contact for a moment, flicking the ash from his cigarette. he scratched the back of his neck, his hand holding the back of his neck, the veins in his muscular arm showing.

“you came over here to ask me out?” he was stunned but not offended. he didn't think getting sydney to watch his station would end with him getting a proposal for a date. “like deadass?” carmen was beaming whether he wanted to admit it or not.

“so?” you proposed again.

“yeah,” carmen had a quick nod, finishing his cigarette. as he stamped it out he seemed more relaxed. you had given him a false sense of confidence with your proposal. he felt “yeah, totally, yeah,” he hummed for a moment, until he looked at you again.

“monday, okay, y/n?” carmen was now acting like it had been his idea all along, but you didn't mind. he seemed interested, if not more interested than you.

[she-wrote]

Syd to Carmy: Can we stop being on top of each other for a minute?

<me: 🫪 don't you dare tease me with my unrequited ship>

[diaryofawhoretbh]

Literally anything about Richie from the bear pls!!

ANON, WHOEVER YOU ARE; I LOVE YOUU!! i've had this sitting in my drafts for like 2 years, so i hope you enjoy this!!!

(this is so short, but please request more!!)

wc: 931

so kiss me | richie jerimovich

"you literally never shut up richie, i'm trying to work here!"

annoying. frustrating. vexing. infuriating; are just four words to describe richie. he never shuts up, he's loud as hell. his stories go on forever, and he is super fucking hot. i actually can't fucking deal with him.

"when was the last time you were with someone baby? cus something's got your panties in a twist, and it sure as hell ain't just me."

i stop murdering chopping up the onions and i drop my knife and turn to face him. so fucking annoying. that fucking stupid smile on his face. he knows how to tease me. but who said i couldn't play that game?

i look up at him, my eyes turning innocent and i place my hand on his chest.

"richie, baby, i don't think carmy would be happy to hear that you're hitting on his ex gir-, best friend."

i look into his eyes and stand on my tiptoes to reach his ears. i softly whisper, "huh, though i'm sure you're a better fuck anyways."

i pull away from him to see his face bright red. who knew richard jerimovich could blush this much. i go back to prepping the onions and start ignoring him.

"i-i ahah... you're serious? baby? uhm, wait you fucked carmy?! what the fuck is going on, i uhm, i.. fuckk. you've fucked my head up now."

i stifle a laugh seeing him being a stuttering mess. i reach over to my phone that was connected to my little speaker, and start playing a random playlist on shuffle. within seconds, kiss me by sixpence none the richer started playing. how coincidental. i'm sure he won't take the hint.

"no richie, i was fucking with you. i never fucked carmy. i never dated him, he's just my friend. always will be, always has been. you know this. i mean, i know you've always had a thing for me though. don't think i never noticed. even when you were with tiff, how selfish of you richie, didn't know i had such a place in your heart. i always saw that look on your face when you looked at me..."

he starts to speak, "what the fuck.. what the fuck are you talking about? what fucking look?" he must think i'm stupid or he's just trying extremely hard to save himself, either way it is NOT working.

"you know.. like you wanted to kiss me. that look."

he places his hand on the back of his neck, and sighs.

"yea whatever, you got me. mikey would've never let me though. he had too much of a thing for you, never wifed you though. what a pussy, am i right? he could've been the luckiest man in the worl-"

"richie.. well mikey's not here anymore, is he?"

"yea.. yea, yea- no, he isn't. he isn't here right now."

"and no one else is here right now.. so why don't you just shut the fuck up and kiss me richard."

kiss me, beneath the milky twilight-

the kitchen laid silent as our eyes connected, a silent understanding passing between us. he took a step closer, our breaths synchronising as the distance between us diminished. my fingers grazed the edge of the cold steel countertop, the only barrier between us.

"i've been waiting for this moment for so long," he whispered, his voice a husky murmur. i met his gaze, my eyes reflecting the same desire, and replied,

"shut up richie."

the taste of anticipation lingered on our lips as he cupped my face gently, his touch sending shivers down my spine. the faint scent of onions and garlic wafted throught the air, mixing with the sweet aroma of this moment.

and he wasted no time in connecting our lips together. our lips finally met in a long-awaited dance. it was such a slow burn, a symphony of pent-up emotions over the years, released in a single, lingering kiss. his hands cradled my face and i responded by slithering my arms around his neck.

as our lips parted, the world outside the kitchen seemed to fade away. we stood there, caught in the afterglow of a kiss that tasted of both passion and sweetness, savouring the moment we had been starved for but had finally found in the quietude of the beef.

he leaned his forehead against mine, our eyes closed, basking in the warmth of each other. the cool surface of the stainless steel beneath my fingertips served as a grounding reminder of the reality we were momentarily escaping. the hum of the kitchen appliances becoming a comforting melody, highlighting the symphony of our shared feelings.

"i never realised how romantic this kitchen could be," i mused, a soft laughter escaping my lips.

he grinned, his eyes slowly opening, savouring the post-kiss euphoria. "maybe it's not the kitchen, but the two of us in it."

i tilted my head up, capturing his lips for a sweet, lingering peck. "i guess you're right, but me and you getting along in this kitchen doesn't sound right." we both laughed.

as we broke apart, i could hear the sounds of tina and carmy's voices coming through the back door. our song finally coming to an end.

"until next time, chef." i remarked to richie.

"there'll definitely be a next time. let me take you out baby."

a voice echoed through the kitchen, "yoo what the fuck, cousin did you just ask princess out? yoo guys, he finally did it."

time to deal with the rest of the crew and their bombarding questions.

[nymphinite3]

the more time goes on, the more i realise the carmen berzatto i am seeking is actually just me. i am carmen berzatto and he is me

look at my comfort character dawg, im done for

[catharticconsolation]

Christmas Bots:

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Lip Gallagher- sibling bonding- After everyone else forgot, Lip picks his little sibling up from school on the last day before winter break. (plat)

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Lip Gallagher- knitting- After taking up some hobbies at AA groups, Lip knits his partner some Christmas presents.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Carl Gallagher- little baby- Gallaghers are used to looking after one another. That’s why you’re currently lice picking in your little brother’s hair while he rants about snowball fights on the block.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Carmen Berzatto- merry little christmas- Carmy hasn’t had a happy Christmas in all his twenty nine years. But now, with your two babies under two, things are looking up.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

[sad-beige-mak]

Pasture Child

young carmen berzatto :) or at least my adaptation of him lolol

pairing: carmen x fem!reader

cw: language, fluff and angst

pasture child - dominic fike

summary: carmen finds solace in his classmate, dialing her number every night to escape reality. but as the weight of reality hits the reader, things don’t fall into place as carmen wishes.

a/n: guysssss reader is highkey bad in this 😭 i sorry. also this was originally supposed to be really sweet and heartwarming but like idk things shifted while i was writing. i need to start taking my lexapro again. this is my first time ever publishing my writing so like SCARED but idk if it doesn’t make sense then thats that, but please please pleaseeee give me feedback. this probably won’t reach a single person but like it’s still funn. i lub u guys 🤭 also i think i might do a second part where it’s a timeskip bc that’s how the song goes. idk. LEMME KNOW IF I SHOULD.

carmen hesitated before dialing your number. calling you was a routine for him, but it felt like every time he had to talk himself up.

the brunette hugged his knees up closer to the solid slab of his torso, socked feet gently pressing into a wrinkled duvet.

high school for carmen feels a big blur. sure he has friends and hobbies, but everything seemed frayed at the edges and fleeting. like the world was a rug being pulled right from under his feet, leaving him to float headfirst into an abyss of nothingness.

but you.

you were the quiet type. your wardrobe a concoction of frills and long skirts, the fabric never brushing higher than your ankle. something that should deter carmy’s teenage, brain-fogged hormones, but it doesn’t. instead, it makes him sit next to you in culinary club.

it makes him remember that you hate sweets but cant resist brownies. or that you love fettuccini, but can’t stand cheese.

his fingers tighten around his phone as it rings.

your parents were strict, he knew that.

you’d leaned over to him in ap statistics, a folded sheet of paper sandwiched between your pointer and middle fingers. “only call this number after nine,” you demanded with a sweet smile, the scent of your strawberry lipgloss wafting into his nose. “that’s when my parents go downstairs to sleep,”

he remembers nodding, running his thumb over your curly handwriting.

his blue eyes trail over to the digital alarm clock on his night stand that read 9:01. that familiar flow of adrenaline sat under his skin. reverent. carmen knew he looked desperate calling you first every night, but every care in the word melted away as the line clicked and your soft breath was audible.

“hi,” you were quiet. well, you were always quiet, but now it felt closer. intimate even. you’d been curled on on the floor, head pressed against a childhood teddy bear that was tattered at the ears but filled with love.

this is how it always started. carmen would listen to each puff of breath that left your lips and close his eyes, clutching a pillow to his chest. his fingers would trace each fold of cotton, imagining your pajamas bunched in his fingers. he even asked you what perfume you liked just so he could spray it on his bed when you’d call, pretending that you were humming in his arms.

it was so pathetic.

so, so pathetic.

but he needed it.

after muttering quietly about your days, you paused on the other line. carmen huffs. “hello?” he whispered, head rolling back against drywall.

“why are you friends with me?” your words were concise as always, but a tinge of uncertainty wove itself into each curve and hum.

carmen shifted, his hand stilling on the pillow. “what do you mean?”

“like,” you paused. “i’m weird. i live on a farm. we can’t hang out. i can’t even talk to you outside of school—“

“we’re talking right now,”

“we’re whispering right now,” you retort.

carmen blinks to himself, lips parted slightly. “i just like you,”

he wants to stop himself from talking, but that’s just not what his brain allows.

“you don’t tell me to shut up for one. you don’t ask for anything more from me,” a dry laugh comes from his side of the line and you close your eyes, clutching the phone tighter in your hand.

“you’re so…special. you’re way smarter than a you give yourself credit for, and just hearing you talk is so refreshing because your brain isn’t fucking rotted,” carmen smiles, then turns onto his side. “and you’re not weird. at least not in a bad way,”

you smile, heat rising up the back of your neck. “thank you,”

carmen scoffs, running a hand through his floppy curls. “no, thank you,” through the phone’s ever present static you sense a weary rasp in carmen’s tone, a sign he’s getting sleepy. with a new flush on your skin, you disappeared into bed, splaying your fingers onto your freshly washed sheets.

“carmen,”

“what?”

“i like you too,”

on the other end carmy silently kicks his feet excitedly, phone pressed into his chest to muffle the rustling before he places it back next to his ear. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you parrot.

“why?”

there’s a pause, then a long breath.

“well,”

a beat.

“i like to think of life as a beach. stay with me. i think… i think of you, carmen, as a boat. one super, super far from the coastline. like way out there. almost as tiny as an ant. and, i’d like to think of myself as a dock. one off the coast, probably belonging to some snobby millionaire’s beach house,” your voice is a soft lullaby to him, his breath slowing down.

carmy slips under sheets himself, placing his phone on speaker as the curve of his nose brushes against linen.

“i feel stagnant. like, i’m not going anywhere at all. just…a landmark almost. not a big one that anyone cares about or anything. just kinda there,” you breathe. “carmen. you’re just full of potential and you’re steady moving along. you’re enjoying your life and actually focused on making a name for yourself,” you try not to sniffle as hot tears brim your eyes.

carmen on the other hand furrows his eyebrows, eyes fluttering open to stare at your contact across the screen.

“but for some reason that i can’t put my finger on, you steer away from the big, blue ocean. you…stop at the dock. you sit at it, lay out a blanket and have a picnic. you tan on it. you find meaning in something so meaningless,” a hot tear sears down your cheek. “and you make me feel like i’m more than just a girl,”

carmen falls silent on the other line, biting the inside of his cheek as he hears you quietly cry. pain aches and gnaws at his chest, spreading through his lungs and stopping at his throat. tightening. “don’t do that—“

“no, carmy, it’s true,” you croak.

“stop that. you’re not fucking meaningless. you’re not this little dingy dock,” he breathes, clutching the pillow—you—tighter against his chest.

there’s a few moments of quiet where words linger in the air, but too far fetched to grasp.

until.

“i cant sit here and listen to you rag on yourself when you are literally the air i breathe,” carmen says quietly. it’s stupidly telling. he knows it’s too much, but his lips part again and they whisper, “i love you,”

on the other end, your heart blooms, thrumming against your ribcage in a pattern too fast to comprehend. it’s dizzying.

it feels like floating.

but it’s impossible.

you…you’re not fit to match him. you’re a slow moving river and he’s a rapid. you’re heat and he’s fire. you’re a bicycle and he’s lightning-freaking-mcqueen.

“no,” you whisper, to yourself more than anything.

then the line clicks dead.

a scorching hot phone and damp cheeks. that’s all carmen had that night, and the next, and the next.

he’d gotten a haircut, a new phone, and a diploma.

well, barely a diploma.

it was nice, sure. school was fine. life was fine.

but every night he fell asleep to the smell of vanilla and strawberries, his fingers curled into a pillow.

in his head, he loved you and your smile.

and you loved him too.