i looooove the way you wrote carmys casual dominance over the reader in the feeling. could you write something else that has that same vibe? like him being protective/ dominant over her while they’re around the rest of the crew?
ahhh thank you so much!!! the casual dominance was a must for me with carmy it just makes me weak in the knees lol.
"Why don't you let me help you?" You hummed, leaning over Carmen's shoulder, watching as he expertly cut the onions. "I can handle spaghetti sauce."
Carmen scoffed lightly, looking up at you under heavy brows, still chopping furiously- much faster than anything you could. "I got it." He nodded.
Your face fell slightly, stepping back to stand beside him. Carmen invited you to family every night before the restaurant opened, it was sometimes the only time you'd see him until that night when he'd collapse into bed next to you. It was the busy season, summer and tourist time, meaning everyone wanted to come to the infamous restaurant.
Carmen's chest flooded with a pang of guilt at your small frown. Fuck, maybe he'd been too mean. "'m sorry, baby. Here, I have prep to do. Can you put this in the pan for me? Start it."
The tiny smile that curled on your lips made Carmen's heart skip in his chest. "Yes, Chef." You hummed, pressing a kiss to his cheek, snagging the diced onions and sliding them into the pan.
You'd seen Carmen make it enough to know how to make this recipe. Canned tomato sauce, oregano, onions- you measured them, adding it all easily.
"Woah-ho-ho, look who we got here." Richie cackled, turning the corner, ignoring Sydney's screams to announce it. "We got a new chef on the roster?"
You rolled your eyes, snagging the can opener and pressing the handles together. "Yeah, I'm your replacement, Richie."
Richie's face fell slightly. He knew you were joking but a part of him worried. "Cousin, what's this, huh?"
"She's just helping, alright? Get outta the way." Carmen nodded, slicing the beef easily. His eyes watched you, flicking from his task back to you.
"Hey," Carmen called, a firm snap of the tongue that had you turning to him. "Put the hair back, baby. No one wants a hair in their food."
"Yeah, c'mon." Richie added, snickering as you snagged the hair tie off your wrist. "Gonna replace me and she don't even know how to cook right-"
"Hey, easy, cousin." Carmen's eyes were hard, glaring at Richie, the whirr of his knife sliding across the cutting board adding a dangerous edge.
Richie held his hands up in mock defense. "My apologies, your fucking majesties." He scoffed.
You rolled your eyes, moving onto the next step on the card, pouring the cans of sauce in easily and stirring, giving the side of the pan a firm tap with the spoon to get the excess off. Reaching for the knob to turn the heat up, Carmen's hands were on your waist before you could.
"Here, baby," Carmen rasped, pulling you back slightly. "Gotta loose shirt on, so you gotta stay back, alright? Tuck it in or something for me. I don't want it catchin' on fire." He muttered, hand sliding over the hem of your shirt, pressing it gently against you.
"Actually, go find an apron, ok? I'l get this started. I don't want you gettin' anything on ya." Carmen nodded towards the back.
"Yes, Chef." You saluted him playfully, passing the spoon to him.
Carmen watched you walk towards his office, stirring the ingredients before turning on the stove. He let the flame on a low flicker, reaching in his pocket for his own cigarettes, fishing one out and lighting it under the pilot light.
"Chef," Carmen called, catching Sydney as she turned the corner. "You got it?"
"I got it." Sydney nodded.
"Great, I'll be in my office." Carmen walked off, finding you in his office, lazily looking through the papers on his desk.
"Anything good?" He asked, leaning against the door, arms crossed over his broad chest.
"What is spicy Moroccan carrot salad?" You tilted your head, reading Carmen's sloppy handwriting scribbled on the notecard.
"A side Sydney thinks would go good with the flounder we're getting in." Carmen hummed, blowing the smoke out the door before shutting it behind him.
He sunk down in his chair, patting his lap for you to sit with him. "Thanks f' helpin' me with family tonight." Carmen muttered, arms around your waist, bumming the cigarette in the tray. "Shouldn't be too long tonight."
You hummed, leaning back into his chest, head lulling back so you could look at him. "Not too long like I should wait up for you or...?"
Carmen snorted lightly. "I'll be home before midnight. Sydney and Marcus are closing tonight." He sighed, pressing a tiny kiss on your shoulder.
"Good," You grinned, turning so you were straddling him, your core rocking over his, covered by the aprons.
summary: in which a drunk y/n arrives home after a night out and logan is forced to endure the torture of helping her take off her jewellery and dress while she looks far too pretty, far too affectionate, and far too tempting for his own sanity - only for him to prove, once again, that he’ll always put taking care of her before anything else.
pairing: john logan x fem!reader
note: my first fic request!! oh how i love sweet john logan. i hope you enjoy <3
ꪆৎ
you were standing in front of the bathroom mirror when logan found you.
well-
“standing” was generous.
you were leaning heavily against the marble counter in your tiny satin dress, one bare shoulder pressed lazily against the mirror while you squinted furiously at your own reflection with the sort of concentration only drunk people seemed to possess.
your fingers fumbled uselessly with the tiny clasp of your necklace for what was probably the sixth time in the last minute.
“stupid fucking-”
your tongue poked slightly against the inside of your cheek as you tried again, brows pinching together in frustration before the delicate chain slipped straight through your fingers once more.
you groaned dramatically.
the sound made logan bite back a laugh from the bathroom doorway.
he’d been halfway through pulling off his hoodie when he noticed the bedroom light still on beneath the cracked bathroom door, and now he was completely frozen there instead, broad shoulder leaning against the frame while he took you in properly for the first time tonight.
and christ.
the sight of you nearly knocked the air straight from his lungs.
your makeup was slightly smudged beneath your eyes from hours of dancing and laughing, lips glossy and swollen from sugary cocktails, cheeks warm and flushed from the cold night air outside.
your hair was messy too.
not ruined.
just soft around the edges now, like you’d spent the entire night running your hands through it absentmindedly.
and the dress-
fuck.
the tiny satin dress hung off your body in a way that felt genuinely unfair.
the thin straps slipped low against your shoulders every few seconds, exposing warm skin logan knew too well, while the silky material clung to every curve of your body like it had been specifically designed to test his self-control.
especially paired with the sleepy frustration written all over your face.
“need help there, baby?” he asked finally, voice rougher than intended.
you looked over immediately at the sound of him.
and the second your eyes landed on him, your entire expression softened.
“logan.”
just his name.
but the way you said it, warm, relieved, slightly drunk, made something tighten painfully in his chest.
you turned back toward the mirror with a dramatic sigh, lifting the necklace helplessly.
“it won’t come off,” you informed him accusingly. “i think it’s broken.”
logan huffed out a quiet laugh before pushing himself away from the doorway and walking toward you slowly.
“yeah?” he murmured. “gimme a second.”
the second he stepped behind you, his hands settled instinctively against your hips.
firm.
warm.
steadying.
and you immediately relaxed back against him like it was muscle memory.
that alone almost ruined him, because it happened so naturally.
like your body knew his before your brain even caught up.
logan lowered his head slightly, eyes focusing on the tiny clasp resting at the back of your neck while your hands came to rest lazily over his forearms.
he could smell your perfume this close.
sweet and expensive and familiar enough now that it clung permanently to the hoodies tossed around his room. his fingers brushed lightly against the warm skin at the nape of your neck while he carefully worked at the chain.
you shivered instantly.
logan’s eyes flickered upward toward yours through the mirror.
“cold?”
you shook your head softly. “your hands are just cold.”
“sorry, baby.”
“don’t be.”
your voice came out quieter this time.
sleepier.
softer.
logan swallowed hard. there was something dangerously intimate about moments like this. not the big dramatic ones, not parties or kisses or sex.
this.
standing half-drunk in his bathroom at two in the morning while he carefully untangled your jewellery for you.
it was domestic, comfortable.
a moment that was just yours.
finally, the clasp loosened beneath his fingers.
“got it.”
you let out a tiny victorious hum as logan carefully slid the necklace away from your skin before placing it gently beside the sink.
“there.”
you smiled at him through the mirror immediately.
god, that smile.
sleepy and warm and entirely for him.
“thank you.”
logan’s mouth twitched upward without him meaning it to.
“you got any more jewellery that’s personally attacking you tonight?”
you held your wrist up toward him sadly.
“bracelet.”
he barked out a quiet laugh under his breath before reaching for your hand. his fingers engulfed your wrist completely as he turned it carefully beneath the bathroom light, eyes narrowing in concentration at the tiny clasp.
his large hockey-player hands looked almost ridiculous against something so delicate.
but he was still careful.
you watched him openly now through half-lidded eyes while he concentrated, tongue dragging briefly across his lower lip the way it always did when he focused too hard on something.
your stomach tightened immediately.
because john logan genuinely didn’t understand the effect he had on you half the time. he didn’t realise that small things like this destroyed you more than anything else ever could.
the way his brows furrowed slightly, the warmth of his hands, the quiet patience in every movement of his. the fact that he treated you gently even when you were being objectively annoying.
“you’re staring,” he murmured without looking up.
your lips curved lazily.
“can you blame me?”
his mouth twitched again. “you’re drunk.”
“mhm.”
“and trouble.”
you grinned sleepily.
“you love me.”
logan finally slipped the bracelet free before setting it carefully beside the necklace, both hands settling automatically against your waist afterward like he physically couldn’t help himself.
then his eyes lifted fully to yours in the mirror and the entire mood shifted.
because the second he really looked at you, at your flushed cheeks, heavy-lidded eyes, glossy lips, something in his expression darkened.
the straps of your dress had slipped lower along your shoulders while you leaned against him, the thin satin clinging softly to your skin, and logan’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly against your waist as his gaze dragged slowly over you. you noticed immediately and your expression softened into something teasing.
“hi.”
“don’t,” he warned quietly.
“don’t what?”
“look at me like that.”
you turned slowly in his arms then until you were facing him fully, fingertips sliding lightly up the front of his t-shirt. the thin cotton stretched warm and soft beneath your hands.
“like what?”
logan exhaled slowly through his nose.
because fuck.
you had absolutely no idea what you looked like right now.
or maybe you did.
your fingers curled lightly against his chest before drifting lower, smoothing absentmindedly over the hard planes of his stomach beneath the fabric. logan’s hands tightened instinctively at your waist.
“y/n,” he said carefully, almost in warning.
“mhm?”
“stop playin’ games with me.”
you smiled innocently.
“i’m not playing games.”
“bullshit.”
a soft laugh escaped you and the sound alone nearly did him in.
logan’s eyes dropped briefly toward your mouth before dragging themselves upward again like it physically pained him to do it.
then your fingers found the hem of his shirt once more and logan nearly lost his fucking mind.
“okay,” he muttered immediately, catching your wrist gently before you could keep going.
“absolutely not.”
you tried not to smile.
“what?”
“you know what.”
instead of answering, you stepped closer until your bodies pressed together fully. logan’s jaw clenched instantly.
because suddenly he could feel all of you.
the satin shifting softly against his sweatpants, the warmth of your thighs brushing his, the curve of your waist beneath his palms, especially when the neckline of the dress dipped lower from the movement.
and especially when he caught the first glimpse of black lace beneath the satin.
fuck.
his eyes flickered downward for half a second before immediately dragging back up to your face.
you caught it.
of course you did.
your smile softened then, less teasing this time, more wanting.
“logan,” you whispered quietly.
and that nearly killed him more than anything else had tonight, because suddenly you weren’t just messing with him anymore.
you were looking at him like you wanted him.
really wanted him.
and god, he wanted you too.
so fucking badly.
his hand slid carefully upward along your spine before stopping at the zipper resting against the small of your back.
“can i?” he asked softly.
you nodded immediately.
logan’s fingers curled lightly around the zipper before slowly dragging it downward. the sound filled the quiet bathroom. the dress loosened inch by inch beneath his hands.
and logan’s breathing visibly slowed.
because beneath the satin was soft black lace stretched against warm skin and enough exposed shoulder to completely derail every coherent thought left in his brain.
the straps slipped lower down your arms as the dress loosened, exposing more skin with every passing second. you leaned forward slightly until your forehead rested against the centre of his chest, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt.
logan shut his eyes briefly.
“jesus christ.”
you laughed quietly against him, the sound warm and muffled.
“that bad?”
“baby,” he muttered, voice rough now. “you gotta stop asking questions you already know the answer to.”
your fingers slipped beneath the fabric of his shirt slightly then, nails brushing warm skin along his stomach.
logan physically inhaled sharply, every muscle in his body tensing immediately. then he caught your hand gently before you could keep going.
not roughly.
just steady.
careful.
grounding.
his forehead dropped against yours while his fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist.
y/n,” he said quietly. “you know i want you.”
your teasing faltered slightly at the sincerity in his voice.
logan’s hand stayed warm against your waist, fingers flexing faintly like he was physically restraining himself from pulling you even closer.
“but you’ve been drinking” he murmured softly.
“i know.”
“and i know you’re okay,” he continued quietly, thumb brushing slowly across your cheek.
“but you've had enough that i'm not gonna take advantage of it.”
his forehead rested lightly against yours as he exhaled shakily.
“trust me,” he muttered softly, almost sounding frustrated with himself.
“this is killing me.”
despite everything, a small smile pulled at your lips.
“yeah?”
his eyes flickered down toward your mouth for a split second before forcing themselves back up again.
“yeah” he said hoarsely.
“you have absolutely no idea.”
your chest tightened painfully at the sincerity in his voice.
because even now, even with his breathing uneven. even with his hands gripping your waist hard enough to betray exactly how badly he wanted you, logan was still making sure you felt safe first.
still making sure you were okay.
still putting you before himself.
you looked up at him quietly for a long second before your expression softened completely. a warm and achingly fond look settled across your features.
“you’re really good to me.”
logan’s entire face gentled instantly at that. his thumb brushed lightly beneath your jaw before he leaned down enough for his forehead to rest properly against yours.
could you do a subtle (maybe teering on mid/heavy) dominance with carm and they’re getting ready for bed ? ( you don’t have to do getting ready for bed it just the first thing that came to mind) anyways thanks in advance !!

You walked through the door, shedding your clothes with each step. "I can not fucking wait to get in this bed, and I swear to God I'm not leaving it all day tomorrow." You huffed, flinging a shoe then the other towards the closet door.
Carmen snorted lightly, setting down his phone to look at you. "Yeah? Sounds good t'me, baby. You know I won't stop you." He grinned, lazy and sweet, your chest feeling with warmth.
You rolled your eyes lightly, bending over to shimmy out of your jeans. Carmen's eyes were trained on you, tongue running over his bottom lip. "Was the dinner that bad?" He asked. He got his answer with how hard you flung the jeans towards the hamper.
"The worst, Carm." You huffed, falling dramatically on the bed beside him. "I don't understand what the purpose of a work dinner even is. We didn't even fucking work, and the food was so disgusting, I couldn't even eat it-"
"-Hold on." Carmen held up his hand, eyes cutting to you. "You didn't eat? You didn't eat at all?"
You huffed, an eye roll of a sigh that had Carmen's brow raising at you. "No, Carmy, I didn't eat. It was disgusting. I couldn't even fake it. Plus, with how much Tonya was talking, I didn't really get a chance."
"Baby, that's not..." Carmen was already rolling out of bed.
"Carmen." You groaned, rolling over to the other side of the bed. "I'm fine. I'll be alright."
"You're hungry." Carmen insisted, one look at you and he could see the way you paused, just a passing second, but it was enough for him to know he was right. "What do you want to eat, huh? I've got a left over sandwich in the fridge or-or I can make you somethin'."
"I'll be fine, Carmy, please." You whined, pushing up on your arms to watch him pad down the hall. "Come back to bed. I just wanna sleep."
"I'm not letting you go to bed on an empty stomach. I know you haven't eaten shit since this morning," True. "And I know you didn't drink any water today, and you'll wake up all sad and sick tomorrow and be in a terrible fuckin' mood." Also true. Carmen knew it, the finality of his voice told you that.
"I will not." You pouted, crossing your arms over your bare chest.
"I'm not arguin' with you about this." Carmen's tone was firm- final. It sent chills down your spine, thighs pressing together. "So what did Tonya talk about?"
"Her kids. One wants to be a chef and she was asking me pointers, like I would know." You rolled your eyes, shimmying your body half off the bed to grab one of Carmen's shirts- your favorite one to sleep in, slipping it over your body.
"Tell her to tell them to not fuckin' do it, that's my advice." Carmen muttered, a plate clattering on the counter.
You could feel the guilt settling in your tummy, in a deep pit that had you fidgeting. The guilt of Carmen taking care of you, when you'd been to careless to do it yourself. You knew he didn't mind but it still made you feel a little uneasy, even when he brought the sandwich in, glass of water in his free hand.
"You really didn't have to do that, Carmy. I was fine." You muttered, looking at the plate in front of you.
"Stop." Carmen shook his head at you. "Eat, alright? Don't need to be goin' all day without eatin'. You know that."
"I could afford to miss a meal, I promise. I'd be alright." Though your tone was teasing, playing on the edge of a joke, Carmen found it anything but funny.
"What did you just say?" Carmen's eyes were hard, cutting like his tone. You paused, looking at him carefully. It was a tone he rarely used, saved it for the kitchen. Only bringing it out on times when he was really upset.
"I was just-"
"Don't you ever let me hear you say some shit like that again, you hear me?" Carmen's jaw flexed, shaking his head at you. You could feel the warmth spreading from your cheeks to your chest. Embarrassment? Maybe at being chastised like that. But judging by the dull ache between your legs, you knew it was probably something else.
"Eat your food." Carmen nodded, still firm but with a softer edge this time.
You didn't argue, his tone was final, you were hungry, and, fuck, was that sandwich good. A classic Italian sub with a positively Carmy twist on it. Carmen waited until you finished your water- after having to remind you to finish it with so much as a sigh and a "there's that much left, just drink it f'me please?"- pulling you under the covers with him to listen to the rest of your dinner.
You felt better. Soured attitude dissipated and the dull headache forming behind your eyes was gone, no longer thudding with every beat of your heart.
“Carm, baby, I need you to get up.” You run your hands through his hair and feel him groan into your chest. All of his weight has been on top of you from the moment you kissed him good morning.
“Five more minutes.” It’s muffled into your shirt, and the arms hugged around your waist hold you tighter. He cuddles into you that much deeper with a sigh that leaves your skin warm and heart blossoming with affection.
“You said that fifteen minutes ago, and the fifteen minutes before that. Get up.”
“Baby, ‘m not goin’ in till later—”
“Carmen.” You still and pull your hands from his hair.
And he’ll try not to make a scene about it, yet he can’t help but get all pouty, rolling off of you to lay down on his back. “Thought I told you not t’call me that?”
“Only a hundred times,” you chirp back, leaning down and smiling into a sweet kiss and then another for good measure before finally getting up to go to the bathroom. You giggle at the mess of his hair and he thinks it’s the best sound he’s ever heard, caught up in a love-drunk daze.
Oh, and he’ll wait for you at the door like he wasn’t just smothering you a minute ago. He holds your hand as you walk into the kitchen, gives you another smooch to your temple as you sit by the counter, asking you what you want to eat.
“Just pancakes,” you answer.
“Just pancakes?” He starts shuffling through the fridge—for what, you don’t know, but he’s getting ahead of himself already. “Y’know, I can whip up some of that—”
“Carm. Pancakes. Please?”
He pauses and pouts again, looking at you with those stupid puppy dog eyes while standing next to the opened fridge, carton of eggs in hand. He caves when you tilt your head and give him that look, and he answers with a nod. “Just pancakes it is.”
When you eat, he’s on you again, standing behind you with his arms over your shoulders and his chin nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “You like it?” He gets that glazed over, lovey-dovey look in his eyes when he sees you take another bite and nod with a hum.
“ ‘f course, I always like what you make me.” You take up another piece on your fork and hold it over your shoulder. “Here, have some—”
“Uh-uh,” he hums, and he shakes his head as he lands another kiss to your cheek. “You eat first, baby.”
Your writing is stunning! Can I request injured!reader and Carmy rushing to be by her side? god the idea of that man dropping everything to be with you....
this has been in my drafts for probably a year now. i forget why i was hesitant to post it. so here’s something for you all :)
“Hey, Cousin—”
“I’m in the middle ‘f something, not now, Richie—”
“Hey.” He raises his brows, gives that serious look that has Carmen’s head peeking over his shoulder because it’s so sharp he can feel it. “It’s your girl. You wanna take this.”
He gets nervous, then, heart beginning to race. Where’s his fuckin’ phone?
“Give it here,” he says, arm extended. Richie hands it over and slips out the door, shutting it to leave Carmen by himself in the office; it only makes hurt stomach lurch harder.
He lifts the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“. . . Carm?” Your voice is broken and wobbly, wrought with tears.
“Baby?” He doesn’t even think before he’s jumping out of his chair, tucking the phone between his jaw and shoulder while he scrambles to find his keys. “Baby, you there? Where are you?”
“I-I’m at the hospital, I tried calling you—”
“The hospital—?” His mind goes back to New York, back to that morning. “What—” He takes a deep breath. His jacket. Where the fuck is it? “Okay, you’re okay, I’m comin’ now, alright?” He storms out of the office toward the lockers, finds everything right where he put it, including his phone. Dead. Fuck. “I gotta hang up, okay? I’m sorry, I know, I can’t take the phone with me. I’ll be there soon, I promise.”
“O-Okay.” A shuddered breath rings through the line, and it kills him. “I’m okay, Carmy—”
“I know,” he says, shimmying into his jacket and feeling for his keys. “I know, baby, but I’m comin’ anyway, you hear me? Gonna be there in ten.”
“Okay.”
“Okay. I love you.”
He doesn’t put the phone back properly, just slides it across the counter and hopes it doesn’t break again, shouting out orders over his shoulder on his way out the door.
The ride there is the longest ten minutes of his life. He doesn’t know what to expect. He doesn’t know anything at all, really. Are you hurt? How bad is it? What happened? Is it a burn, a broken bone, just a flu that got out of hand? Will you need surgery? Did you get in an accident? Did someone try to hurt you? He doesn’t want you to be alone right now. He needs to be there with you. You were fine this morning. You were fine this morning, all beautiful and groggy when he kissed you awake, still cozied up in bed when he left early as the sky turned blue after sunrise. You were fine. You were fine, and then he left, and suddenly you weren’t.
The fluorescent lights make him nauseous. They’re too bright, and a disgusting color, and too different from all the gentle lighting you insisted upon at home. Made the place homey, you said, and he agreed. The nurses at the station must think he’s out of his mind, all wide-eyed and asking for you.
“What’s your name?” the one asks him.
“Carmen, I’m her fiancé, I was—I was just on the phone with her—”
“Okay,” she nods, softening. “She’s doin’ alright now, she was askin’ for you, though. Still gotta get her wrapped up, but you’ll be outta here soon.”
He’s too busy wondering What the fuck does that mean? to properly answer.
When he’s finally brought to your room, his nerves subside—only a little. There’s no blood, no bland hospital gown to say you’re headed off to the operating room. Just a pillow over your tummy, with your arm—your swollen, bruised arm—resting on top of it.
“Hey, hon,” he says, coming to your bedside and smoothing a hand over your forehead to press his lips to your temple. “You alright? What happened?”
“They—” you sniffle when you look up at him, lip quivering— “They had to take my ring off, Carmy—” he nods along to your rambling with a concerned brow— “I-I told them not to, but they said my hand was too swollen—that-that it was gonna mess up my finger—. . .”
“What’s that, baby?” He smiles into your hair and exhales through his nose. So typical of you to get upset about something cute like that, he knows you’ll be okay. “Your arm’s all black ‘n blue, and you’re worried about your ring—?”
“But it’s special—”
“Shhhhh . . . I know, I know . . . ‘m just askin’ you to ease up.” Another kiss lands on your forehead before he asks, “Where’s it at, baby? I’ll fix it for you.”
You pout and look somewhere behind him. “On the table, but you’re not gonna be able to—”
“Just take a breath ‘n relax f’me, yeah? I got it.”
He stands upright again, turning to check that the ring is there—that beautiful, beautiful big diamond for his precious girl, before reaching toward the nape of his neck to unclasp his chain. Carefully, he threads it through the ring, silently urges you to sit up so he can hook it around your neck, icy-cool on your smooth skin, admiring the way it sparkles like your eyes.
You’re still pouting when he’s done, and he kisses your soft lips anyway while he wipes away stray tears. “Better?”
“. . . yeah,” you admit through a murmur.
“Good,” he huffs, pulling the visitor’s chair right next to your bed. With your good arm, you reach for him, just any part of him, and he holds your hand as he kisses your dry knuckles. “You gonna tell me what happened now? What’s got you all banged up?”
And you groan and roll your eyes, insisting that it’s too embarrassing to tell, and he lets you drag it out just because he thinks it’s cute when you’re stubborn. The doctor comes in with the x-rays to confirm that, yes, indeed, you’ve got yourself a broken arm, and after you’re splinted and discharged and given a sling and the next day’s protocol, Carmen holds your good hand on the way out the door.
“Oh,” you start, pausing before he opens the car door for you, “I forgot to tell you.”
“Hm?”
“I drove here.”
“You what?”
“I told you, I was embarrassed, Carm—”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, baby,” he grunts, laughing and shaking his head with fingers running through his hair as he helps you into the passenger’s seat. “You’re killin’ me today, y’know that?”
And it’s not the last time. When he unlocks the front door and sees the laundry spilled all the way down the stairs, with a basket flipped upside down at the bottom, he can put the pieces together. He kisses you softly, doesn’t say a word about it, takes you to the bedroom, and tucks you into bed to let you rest now that your adrenaline is wearing off and the pain meds are making you sleepy.
He fixes up the mess without a second thought, and once he’s done he slips right under the covers next to you, thanking whatever God there is that you’re okay, and that he’s got you back in his arms.
(And tomorrow, when he takes you into the doctor’s office for a proper cast, he has Natalie and Pete pick up your car. He still hounds on you about it weeks later, how you drove yourself to the hospital with a broken arm. You insist it makes for a good story, and to that he can’t deny.)
a/n: carmen berzatto is more than smut i promise lol
it happens in line at the bakery.
you don’t even realize you’ve done it until carmy goes very still beside you, like someone just pulled the emergency brake on his nervous system.
“yeah,” you’re saying to the girl behind the counter, pointing vaguely at him, “my boyfriend wants the sourdough, but i’m getting the pain au chocolat.”
boyfriend.
the word barely finishes leaving your mouth when you feel it — the shift. the silence. the stare.
you turn your head: his jaw is tight. eyes narrowed. offended. genuinely offended.
“boyfriend?” he repeats.
you blink. once. twice. “yeah?”
a sharp, frustrated breath leaves him, and for a moment, he looks truly stung. you’re used to his irritation; you’ve watched him weather his sister, richie, and the endless chaos of the faks. but this time, the annoyance doesn't quite hide the fact that he looks actually, deeply hurt.
“i’m not your boyfriend.”
the girl behind the counter freezes, pastry halfway into a bag. you immediately panic.
“oh my god — no, sorry — he is — i-i mean—”
“i’m not,” he says under his breath.
you stare at him.
“carm,” you say, lowering your voice. “are you serious right now?”
he looks at you, incredulous. “yeah. yeah, i’m serious. that’s not… accurate anymore.”
the girl behind the counter is very invested now.
you sigh, reaching up to hook your fingers into the heavy wool of his collar. your thumb finds a sliver of warm skin at the nape of his neck as you pull him slightly closer. “i didn’t think you’d mind.”
he shrugs, but there’s something soft under it. “i don’t. i just—” another pause. “i like the other word.”
a snort escapes you. he’s being so absurdly sincere that you don’t know whether to poke fun at him or pull him into a kiss regardless of the strangers watching.
he won't let it go, doubling down. “we did a whole thing. w-we slow danced. there was a ring.”
you lift your hand between you, wiggle your fingers so the light hits the ring. “this ring?”
“yeah,” he says, satisfied. then, quieter, “that ring.”
you lean in, pressing a feather-light kiss to his cheek, lingering just long enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath. the noise of the crowd fades as you whisper the word directly into the space between you: “sorry, fiancé.”
that hits him different. you can tell. his shoulders relax. his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile.
“thank you,” he mutters.
the girl behind the counter clears her throat. “so… two sourdoughs?”
carmy pauses. looks at you. then says, “yeah. one for my fiancée as well.”
you smile so big and stupid at him you almost miss the pain au chocolat.
outside, walking down the street, he laces his fingers with yours, grip warm and solid.
“you can call me whatever you want,” he says, like he’s thought about it. “just… not boyfriend.”
you squeeze his hand. “heard, chef.”
he side-eyes you.
you grin. “i’m just kidding, baby.”
this time, he smiles. it’s a soft, prideful look that reaches his eyes. he knows it’s almost irrational, the way he’s making such a production out of this, but he can't pass up the chance to hear you claim him. loving you has made him realize he’s allowed to be a little greedy for once. and he isn’t about to stop now. not when he’s this far gone. not when he’s so irrevocably all in.
summary: it's your wedding day! but what is carmen berzatto if not anxious?
word count: 795
a/n: small tiny and short to break my writer's block. not proofread whatsoever. @dumbbandpoetic asked for this monthhssss ago... i've been neglectful. oh well. i'm posting this during a lecture, so give it some love :]
Sunny spring day, warm but not hot, friends and family gathered and ready. It was perfect.
It was supposed to be anyways, and it had been while Carmen was getting dressed, when Richie actually teared up, when Nat left the room after a glance yelling back, “I’m not crying!” It was perfect when Richie pretended to give him a “dad talk” (as he called it) about how he should treat you right. Carmen was smiling, laughing, excited but not anxious.
Then it started small. He could slowly feel his breathing get heavier the longer he stared at himself in the mirror. He “cleaned up well” as Richie repeatedly said, and he believed it. He looked nice and put together in his suit, the boutonnière that had a hint of blue (that you insisted he had because you had said, “I can’t survive without it complimenting your eyes.”) sat nicely. He looked like a groom.
He felt like a groom. He was a groom.
Without realizing when or how, he had started hyperventilating, pacing around the room, and frantically picking at his nails. Richie had tried everything short of beating the shit out of him (“I’ll do it, cousin, but I know you wouldn’t get any fucking better.”).
So, despite Carmen protesting a million times, Richie did the only thing that he hadn’t tried yet.
He brings you in.
Carmen’s sitting on the couch, bouncing his leg violently when you knock on the door and come in, wedding dress and all— And he breaks.
“No, no,” he covers his eyes, hands still shaking, “Can’t see you—”
He keeps protesting, little mumbles about how this is a bad idea and bad luck, despite knowing that time and time again, when everything else fails, you always calm him down. Then, just as he knew you would, you walk up to him. He hears the footsteps as your heels click against the floor then stop in front of him. He presses his hands more against his eyes, breathing deeply.
“Baby, seriously, it’s bad luck to see the bride in her wedding dress—”
“You’re superstitious now?”
Your chuckle comes accompanied by your hands covering his, tugging them off his eyes slowly. Carmen keeps his eyes closed despite your hands holding his, and when he hears you move to sit next to him, his eyes finally open.
There are tears threatening to spill, but once his eyes are open, he can’t close them. The view in front of him, you in a white dress. Gorgeous, your hair perfectly done and your features soft as you let go of one of his hands to cup his cheek.
“I’m so fucked up,” Carmen’s voice only comes out in a whisper, and he ducks his head to press a kiss to your palm, “I never thought I’d be here, never thought I’d find someone like you.” He takes a pause before closing his eyes and whispering, “I’m so unprepared.”
Your little laugh doesn’t feel demeaning or humiliating, it feels warm and surrounds him. He opens his eyes again, deciding that the superstition had already been ruined, admiring you.
“Who’s prepared for marriage?”
He laughs, nervous but still one that shows in his eyes, “Is that what we’re focusing on?”
“Well, I can’t argue that you are not fucked up. I’m not with you because you are perfectly stable, and I didn’t choose you thinking that you were. You can be fucked up, I love you.”
Carmen raises his brows with a smile, “You sure that was a compliment?”
“I didn’t mean for it to be. It was supposed to be more comforting than anything.”
A heavy breath leaves him, he mutters "I love you too," and his expression settles to a calm smile. You take the opportunity and peck the corner of his mouth, then quickly wipe where your lips touched to get rid of the lipstick mark. Carmen swats you hand away gently, an attempt to keep the familiar sensation of your lipstick smudged on his face. You give him a moment with it, his eyes are closed, you can see his breathing return back to normal.
He opens his eyes when you stand up and walk to the other side of the room, then chuckles when you come back with a napkin to wipe his face. You settle on his right thigh, smoothing your dress out and reaching to wipe the corner of his mouth. His hand goes to hold your waist pretty instantly, and he pulls you closer to him.
“Thank you,” he mutters, carefully and lightly pecking your cheek. You grin, then get up, holding your hand out to him.
“Come on, Mr. Berzatto. Let’s get married or whatever.”
He takes your hand with a smile, letting you pull him up, “Let’s get married, Mrs. Berzatto.”
hope u guys enjoyed reading this! likes and reblogs are eternally appreciated :]
Cant stop thinking about cute little kisses with Carmy. Little pecks good morning before you ultimately tell him to go brush his teeth. Passing by one another in the kitchen and he leans in to give you a drive by kiss as you carry a bunch of ingredients to the back.
Sat out behind the restaurant. Holding his hand as he soothes himself on his chest with the other. Lifting your clasped hands to kiss the top of his knuckles.
IDK MAN
Oh he’s definitely kissing you awake. He wakes up early all the time and has to resist for as long as possible so he can let sleep a bit longer.
Once he can’t hold it in anymore he’s kissing you everywhere, pecks on your cheek, neck, nose, forehead, and obviously on your lips until you stir awake.
“Mornin, peach” he mumbles softly, the kisses getting a bit more intense as you kiss him back
You eventually pull away and he gives you the saddest eyes ever. looking like he’s ready to apologize for something he didn’t do.
“Bear, I love you, but go brush your teeth. You taste like cigarettes still” you sigh sleepily.
“Ok” he lets out with a sigh and a slight pout, pressing one last kiss to your lips.
You’re going through the kitchen at a brutally slow pace, knowing if you drop anything it’s your ass on line, shouting ‘behind’ or ‘corrnor’ every 3 seconds as the squeeze in between people and stations to get the stuff into the walk in.
He stops whatever he’s doing and turns around, gently grabbing your chin and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, quickly letting you go.
You don’t even have time to process what happened, still trying your best to not fuck up and cause the next crisis that will happen in the restaurant.
Holding his hand as he does that thing where he rubs his chest in a circular motion
He’s regulating himself in different ways right now
He doesn’t even look at you, still staring straight ahead and deadpan as he lifts your hands and places a soft kiss to your knuckles.
You just stay like that for a second, his lips just resting against the skin of your hand
“Can you do that to me sometime?” You ask, which snaps him out of whatever disassociation he’s going through
“What?”
“That thing, the thing you do with your hand on your chest”
He looks down, not even realizing he was doing it
“Uh–I mean sure, but why?” He asks looking at you confused
“I dunno….” you shrug “it looks comforting.”
a/n:I wrote this a few days ago while half asleep and felt absolutely euphoric. Butttt thanks for the request!!! I really really loved this one ^_^
I have a strong belief that Carmy is REALLY competitive so board games with ik are very serious.
(maybe it gets spicy, maybe angsty, maybe fluff. You choose!)
sore loser.
a cute blurb for ya!
link to my masterlist <33
tw: lowercase intended. not proofread. comedic fluff. suggestive towards the end. gender neutral, but reader is described with tied up hair.
part of nyx’s summer bonanza..
“slow… and steady..” pete whispered to himself, much to carmen’s dismay. he was leaned back in the couch next to you, arm comfortably around you waist as the two of you paid attention to the game on his sister’s coffee table.
“would you hurry up dude? if you picked a shitty block you picked a shitty block” the boy had said. his leg bouncing up and down in annoyance.
everyone knows carmen commits to the things he sets out to do. moving to new york, culinary school, building the bear, you. so when sugar invited you and him over for dinner and a game night… you should’ve expected how competitive your boyfriend became.
“slow and steady wins the race bro, gotta trust the process.” pete gently placed the block on the top of the pyramid. leaving the tower more bare towards its base, the entire thing now rested on a singular block. its was carmen’s turn, and you had tried resting your hand on his knee to calm him down, but your efforts were no match for the berzatto spirit. as shown from how sugar had dominated the previous game of heads up.
carmen reached over and quickly slid out a block from the center column of one of the bottom rows. after placing it on top he sat back down looking at you, a fiery smirk— that you simultaneously wanted to kiss and smack— ran across your boyfriends face. “your turn, baby” he cheesed to you.
you saw exactly what he was setting up. sugar had been pulling middles all round, and there was now only one left due to his move. it was clear he needed you to take the last middle so that she would be forced to pull from the unstable bottom. however, you remembered distinctly how in the last game carmen chose to keep rubbing his chain between his fingers whenever it was your turn. you couldn’t prove it, but it was definitely a tactic to distract you. and since there’s only one loser in Jenga, who he so clearly wanted it to be sugar based on their trash talking, you were going to make it pete. you pulled a side piece from near the top of the tower, placed it on top. When you sat down, you relished in the confusion on his face. payback was a win enough.
“y’barely did anything?” he questioned with a chuckle. “yes i did! watch.” you replied, sinking back into the seat as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder.
sugar’s turn went fast, she played it safe and took the middle piece you gave her near the bottom. then, to everyone’s surprise, pete took a another piece from top matching yours. the tower was perfectly balanced.. so it didnt help that carmy got too far ahead of himself and tried to take from the bottom. which resulted in the whole thing tumbling in his direction, and his loss.
it was late, and the baby needed a feeding, so sugar ended the night there despite her brothers qualms. and oh, did this boy pout. the whole way home infact, even when you two settled into bed he laid flat on his back instead of up on you.
“ya cant still be mad carm” you rolled your eyes with a sleepy smile. “im not mad, i just think you had a choice and you took it.” he huffed, not even looking at you. though that was because he would loose all resolve at the sight of you all tucked up in bed with you pjs and hair wrapped.. just missing him in your waiting arms. “you really wanna be that way? fine then, but you played dirty” carmy smirked, “i have no idea what you’re talking about.. but im always up for a rematch”
“oh really?” “mhm.”
you raised your head so your lips hovered over his. placing a soft and playful kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I have a few ideas of games you and i could play..” you started, trailing kisses down his neck and giggling at the soft sighs that followed.
“m’yeah? what’re y’thinking baby?” He whispered out, biting his lip as you rose back over him. “hmm” you hummed, but chose to lay comfortably on his chest.
summary: in which garrett comes home early from a road trip and, somewhere between fairy lights and a blanket fort, quietly begins to understand what home really looks like.
notes: hi! i hope you all enjoy! requests for this au are open 🤍 💌
ꪆৎ
garrett lets himself into the house as quietly as he can.
it's earlier than expected.
the road trip had wrapped up ahead of schedule, the flight had landed on time for once, and all he'd wanted the entire drive home was to see his little girl before bedtime.
the house is suspiciously quiet.
normally by now he'd hear cartoons in the background, little feet running across the floor, or your laugh drifting in from the kitchen.
instead, he hears nothing.
garrett drops his duffel by the front door, frowning, clearly confused.
"bug?"
no answer.
"y/n?"
no answer.
he follows the unusual silence down the hallway before pausing in the living room, unable to fight the smile that immediately settles across his features.
the room is a complete disaster, every couch cushion has vanished.
blankets stretch from the sofa to the armchairs, clipped carefully into place with oversized pegs from the laundry basket.
fairy lights glow softly beneath the fabric, casting the living room in warm golden light. colouring books lie abandoned across the rug beside an open box of crayons, while a tiny pink teddy pokes out from beneath one of the blankets as though it had been tucked in for the night.
taped proudly to the front of the fort is a slightly crooked piece of paper, decorated with glitter stickers and uneven purple crayon.
lily's kingdom
beneath it, in much wobblier handwriting.
princesses only (no daddy)
garrett lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head in amused disbelief. of course this is what the two of you had spent the evening doing.
he crouches slightly, lifting the edge of one of the blankets, and there you are.
fast asleep.
you're sitting with your back against the sofa, your head tipped gently to one side, one arm wrapped loosely around the little girl tucked securely against your chest. lily is completely sprawled across you, one tiny hand fisted in the front of your hoodie, her cheek squashed against your shoulder.
the two of you are tucked beneath a mountain of blankets, surrounded by picture books and a half-finished bowl of popcorn that clearly hadn't survived story time.
garrett just stares.
he should wake you.
your neck can't possibly be comfortable propped awkwardly against the arm of the sofa, and if you stay there much longer you'll wake up sore.
but he can't bring himself to do it.
lily is sleeping the way children only do when they trust someone entirely. she is completely boneless against you, her breathing slow and even, not a hint of tension anywhere in her tiny body.
your hand still rests absentmindedly against her back, holding her close even in your sleep.
she looks safe, content, loved.
something in garrett's chest tightens, and before he can think too much about it, he's already reaching into his pocket for his phone.
he angles it carefully, making sure the fairy lights are in the frame.
click.
he glances down at the photo, unable to stop the smile that follows.
he'll show you later. he'll tease you about the crick you'll inevitably wake up with and the purple crayon smudged across your sleeve.
if he's being honest, he'll probably end up showing logan too.
maybe tucker, maybe even dean.
the guys will give him endless shit for carrying around photos of his daughter and her nanny asleep in a blanket fort, but he doesn't think he'll mind very much.
as though sensing someone watching, your eyes flutter open. you blink slowly, clearly disoriented, before your gaze finally lands on him.
"garrett?"
he smiles. "hey."
you look down at the little girl asleep against you before whispering, "you're home."
"i am."
you make a tiny face. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to fall asleep."
he shakes his head immediately. "don't apologise, y/n."
you force a smile, clearly tired. "we were reading."
he glances at the pile of books. "i can see that."
there's a beat of comfortable silence, then a sleepy little voice mumbles.
"daddy?"
garrett looks down just as lily blinks awake. it takes her about two seconds to realise he's actually there before her whole face lights up.
"daddy!"
she launches herself at him far too quickly, getting tangled in the blankets.
"whoa, easy." he laughs, reaching in to scoop her up. she wraps herself around his neck with a happy little sigh, burying her face against him.
"missed you," the words come out muffled against his shoulder.
"i missed you too, bug."
she pulls back just enough to cup both his cheeks in her tiny hands.
"you home now?"
"yeah."
"no more plane?"
"not for a little while."
she nods once, seemingly satisfied, before immediately laying her head on his shoulder. garrett presses a gentle kiss into her hair before rubbing slow circles across her back, looking over at you.
"thank you."
you smile softly. "for what?"
he glances down at lily. "for taking such good care of her."
your expression softens. "she makes it pretty easy."
his eyes stay on yours for a second longer than either of you intends, neither of you look away.
maybe it's the exhaustion, maybe it's the fairy lights glowing softly overhead.
maybe it's the little girl dozing peacefully against his shoulder, still half wrapped in the blankets she'd declared her kingdom only a few hours earlier.
for a moment, the room is quiet.
the blanket fort still stands proudly behind you, the slightly crooked sign reading princesses only (no daddy) swaying gently where it's been taped to the fabric.
garrett can't help but smile.
whatever it is, the house has never felt quite this warm before.
mae how have i just now realized u write for carmy?? actually, how is this the first time ive read bear fanfiction?
anyway, can you do something soft and sweet with him and a reader who is a little bit softer, quieter, sweeter? i think something about the rough and tumble and the easy and kind getting together trope speaks to me (has nothing to do with personal projection, pinky swear), and i know you would write the best grumpy x sunshine :)
Thank you for requesting angel <3 I hope your the bear fanfic discovery has been fun!
cw: mature themes
Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 712 words
You’ve got Carmy sitting in the tub of his own shower. His bare ass is cold, and he’s thinking that the last time he cleaned it was probably when he moved in, though maybe that doesn’t matter if it’s only ever touched by soap and water.
The thing is, he sort of likes it.
He doesn’t particularly want to like it. His ass is cold. Your shampoo is way too nice for his hair. Usually, after sex (or after sex before you), Carmy just went to sleep or got on with whatever else he had to do, but you said you needed a shower like it was implied he’d take one with you, and it’s nicer than he thought it’d be.
“Tilt your head down?” you say, your voice hardly audible over the spray of water.
Carmy complies, and your sudsy fingers work their way down towards his neck.
“It’s gonna get in my eyes,” he mutters. Not even thinking you’ll really hear him, just complaining generally while watching your nice shampoo drip from the hair in front of his face. Mikey used to joke (meanly, Carmy thinks now) that Carmy got that from their mom.
There’s a smile in your voice, the soft kind, when you reply, “Then close them.”
Your fingers trace wide, spiraling circles, like you’re making art on Carmy’s scalp. He’s a little bit in love with you.
Carmy used to think that calm just wasn’t something meant for him. He could fake it, wear it for periods of time, but it didn’t become him. Tension, fear, anger, they felt like the only gravity he had sometimes, like they were all that held him together. If he relaxed for a second, that would be it. He’d fall to pieces, and the pieces would scatter on the wind, and whatever Carmy was wouldn’t be anything anymore.
But then there’s you. The first time Carmy caught himself relaxing with you, he waited to fall apart, and it didn’t happen. The pieces just…loosened, a little. Like Carmy’s gravity found something else to bind it. It’s good in a way he hasn’t figured out how to process yet.
It’s possible he’s a lot in love with you.
You make an amused hum, almost like a laugh, and Carmy realizes he’s tipped his head so far back you’re practically holding him up.
He tips forward again. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” you say, chasing him with your fingers. “We should get you a scalp massager. I think you’d like it.”
Carmy makes a noncommittal huffing sound. He will not be doing that. (It wouldn't be the same if it wasn’t you anyway.)
He’s sort of overwhelmed by the need to do something for you. To care for you similarly, maybe wash your body if his hands would be too clumsy in your hair or wrestle you down here with him and go back between your legs. He wants to kiss you behind the soft part of your knee and say C’mere, baby, even though he thinks he’s probably not the kind of guy who can pull off calling someone “baby.” He toys with “sweetheart,” then “honey,” the h a breath on his tongue.
“Hey,” he says, because he’s a chickenshit. Carmy turns his head, kissing the inside of your thigh. Not meaning to be sordid, but he doesn’t hate the startled-then-shy flicker across your expression when he does it. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you say back, playing along but with a question in your tone, while he squeezes at your calf, trying to summon language half worthy of you.
He swallows. “I love you. You know?”
Your cheek apples when you smile. Your cupid’s bow stretches out, and Carmy wishes for a second that he were an artist instead of a cook (which is its own art form, he knows, he can hear Sugar’s voice in his head now, but still) so that he could paint it. You have the sort of smile that deserves that sort of thing.
“I know,” you say, sweet as spun sugar. “I love you too, Carm.”
He tips his head back down so you won’t see the way his mouth tightens on something tender. You push your fingers back into his hair, and he knows you’ll coax it out eventually anyway.
So, you've done a lot of fanfics where y/n gets a concussion (all of which I've loved btw) and I was curious about a Carmy x concussion reader where she's still healing and Carmy is taking care of her, and as she watches him cook in the kitchen, she get's sad because she knows she's probably not as fast or efficient at cooking as she used to be.
Pretty please?
ty!
Thank you for requesting angel!
cw: concussion, nausea mention, I wrote this before the new season came out so there are no spoilers
Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 614 words
You watch Carmy's back with a deep blue cloud descending over you. His apartment is silent but for the sizzling of whatever he's cooking (he told you what it was, but you've forgotten) in a pan on the stove. You wish you had the energy to feel as elated as you'd like to that Carmy has asked you to stay in his apartment for a while, or that you could find the usual diversion in how the stove light drops shadows down the ridges of his arms, but trying to direct your own thoughts only seems to make your head spin.
"I can feel you staring."
"Sorry." You don't move your eyes. "I wish I could help."
"You can't even be in here," Carmy says. Not to be cruel; it's meant as a reminder, in case you've forgotten. You've been forgetting some things, so you suppose that's fair.
You tried to keep Carmy company in the kitchen for a while, but the smell of the fish (That's what he's cooking, you remember. Something to do with fish having brain nutrients the doctor told him about) made you so nauseous you had to retreat to the couch. Not that you were allowed to help before that anyway. You don't resent the boundary; you don't know if you trust yourself with sharp knives and hot surfaces right now, either.
Carmy might suspect your dampening mood. His tone drops into a softer key. "You're always saying we should take a night off. Just enjoy the break, okay?"
You think the weight of your stare must change, because after a few moments he glances over his shoulder. "What?"
"Nothing."
"Okay…you good?"
"Not really." Your voice quiets and thins. A headache forms behind your eyes.
"Whoa, hey." Carmy moves the pan off the burner, crossing to you in a few quick steps. With your arms folded on the back of the couch, your face is level with his stomach. He takes it in his hands to tilt you up. "Hey. I'm sorry."
"I just don't think you'd like this, either," you mumble.
"I know. You're right, I wouldn't." His thumb smears wetness across your cheek. You didn't mean to cry.
"You wouldn't want to take a night off."
It's going to be more than one night, too, you're fairly sure. Even with the opaque and mysterious nature of a concussion, feeling the way you do now you don't see yourself recovered by tomorrow. Carmy's understating things.
"I'm sorry," he says again. Palms cupped warmly around your cheeks. "I was trying to make a joke. A bad joke." Carmy's mouth does a minute pinch. "I don't really think you're enjoying it."
You sigh. "Good guess."
The pinch does something funny, almost like a tick. "Thanks." He hesitates. "Do you want a kiss?"
Carmy almost never asks you. It's always you asking, coaxing, flirting, but you suppose in the absence of you being able to do much of anything he's trying to take up the mantle.
You nod, and he comes to you so that you don't have to sit up. It's a soft press, the echo of something even more tender, just what you need to calm the rocky waves of your head for a minute.
Carmy rests his brow against yours. "Do you think you're gonna throw up if you try to eat?"
"Probably. If you talk about throwing up."
"Sorry."
"It's okay." You press your cheek into his palm and pretend he's holding you up. "Maybe we'll get lucky, and I'll forget all about it by then."
A huffed sound you suspect might be a chuckle. "Yeah? You think you can do that?"
Small Carmen blurb about just wanting to show him my pretty new dress.
Word count: 0.4k
“Carm—“
“Cant.”
Carmen’s grabbing at the essentials. Keys, phone, wallet. Shoving them all in his pants pocket while he runs around all jittery. Rude— but you understand.
“Running late, gotta get to the beef baby.”
He dawns a quick kiss to your forehead. You half smile as he starts to walk out the door.
It’s not important. Carmen’s job is much more major than your little outfit check. But you bought the dress specifically for him to gush over it. Carmen pays attention to detail; he knows when that’s a new shirt or dress on you and always comments.
Just not this time. Because he’s busy.
Which is okay. You can wait. Wait however long you need to for carmen. Even if your spirits are down for a little while.
But the door opens back up harshly. You think Carmen might have forgotten something but he strides back over to you and presses a long rough kiss onto your lips. It makes you smile.
“I’m sorry.” His words are rushed but they sound so genuine. “I’m so fucking sorry, you look beautiful. Did I say you look beautiful today?”
“Well—“ you shrug your shoulders. It’s a little flattering. Carmen didn’t need to be told to compliment you. He just remembered and then came back to tell you.
“You’re so pretty. Do a spin for me— yeah, just like that. Shittttt…. babe.”
Carmen takes your hand, raises it high and he spins you around. You see his eyes trail over your new dress and how it lays on your body. You feel flustered when he whistles.
“You’re so fucking hot.”
He kisses you again. Slower, he’s finally calming down. Hands on your hips and he breathes you in, pulls you closer. Like he’s embracing it. All of it.
“You really are so pretty.” He whispers and his voice— the way he spoke does something to your heart. “And lovely. And I love this new dress. Love it. And you. I love you.”
He’s back to rushing when his words get into a frensy. Pressing a flurry of kisses across your whole face as his body steps back from you. Even though he doesn’t want to.
“But I really do have to go.”
He’s walking away hesitantly to the door. Watching for a reaction that will never come, you can’t get upset at him now. Not when he’s so cute.
“You look gorgeous.” He opens the door and over his shoulder shouts. “Next Julia Roberts I swear baby!”
The door closes in a hurry, but once it’s shut everything slows. You feel giddy now. Pumped up thanks to all the silly complaints. Shaking your head you don’t take your eyes away from the door.
☾⭒.˚— summary; Carmy catches a cold but refuses to admit it. During a slow service, he’s sniffling, voice hoarse, moving slower than usual. You drag him to the office to feed him soup you made. The crew accidentally catch him being ridiculously cuddly.
☾⭒.˚— wc; 851 words
The lunch rush is mercifully light, but The Bear still feels like a pressure cooker. You’re wiping down the pass when you catch Carmy gripping the edge of the counter a second too long, shoulders hunched. His usual laser focus is dulled at the edges. He clears his throat, raw and scratchy, then winces.
“Carm,” you say quietly, stepping closer.
“I’m fine,” he mutters before you even finish.
Classic him.
His voice sounds like gravel. His nose is pink, and every few minutes he’s stifling a sniffle like it personally offends him. Marcus gives you a look from the pastry station that says, “Good luck.” Sydney just raises her eyebrows and keeps plating.
By the time the last ticket prints, you’ve had enough. You grab Carmy’s wrist as he tries to reorganize the lowboy for the third time.
“Office. Now.”
“I still have to-”
“Nope.” You tug him gently but firmly. “Sydney’s got it.”
He grumbles the whole way but lets you pull him. The second the office door clicks shut, he slumps into the chair like his strings got cut. You disappear into the kitchen for two minutes and return with a thermos of soup you’d made at home this morning—just in case—and a blanket Tina keeps in the break room for emergencies.
Carmy eyes the thermos as if it had betrayed him. “I’m not sick.”
“You sound like a chainsmoker with laryngitis, chef.” You unscrew the lid, and the smell of chicken, garlic, and herbs fills the small room. “Sit back.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but you’re already perching on the edge of the desk and lifting a spoonful toward him. His cheeks flush—part fever, part embarrassment—but after a stubborn second, he leans forward and takes it. The moan he lets out is almost indecent.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he rasps. “Needs a little more thyme, though. And maybe-”
You raise an eyebrow. He shuts up and accepts another bite, but his hand finds your knee, thumb rubbing slow circles like he needs the contact to stay upright.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” you murmur fondly, brushing damp curls off his forehead. He’s burning up.
“Yeah, well… this idiot’s got a restaurant to run.” His head tilts into your touch anyway, eyes fluttering half-shut. The tough exterior is crumbling fast.
The door creaks open. Richie pokes his head in, smirking like he won the lottery. “Yo, Carm, we—oh shit.”
Carmy doesn’t even pull away. He just sighs and leans heavier against your leg, eyes closed, letting you card your fingers through his hair. Richie’s phone is already out.
“Do not,” Carmy mumbles, zero heat behind it.
“Too late, cousin. This is blackmail gold. Carmy Berzatto getting spoon-fed like a sick toddler. Tina’s gonna love this.”
“Richie,” you warn, but you’re smiling.
Sydney appears behind him, takes one look at Carmy practically purring under your hand, and shakes her head. “He’s got a fever, doesn’t he?”
“He’s denying it,” you say.
“I’m fine,” Carmy insists weakly, but when you offer another spoonful, he takes it without complaint, his free hand sliding up to rest on your thigh. Possessive even when half-dead.
Tina pushes past the guys with a soft laugh. “Look at him. All that yelling in the kitchen, and he turns into a house cat the second his girl’s around. Cute.”
Carmy groans in protest but doesn’t move. If anything, he nuzzles closer when you drape the blanket over his shoulders. His forehead drops against your stomach, arms loosely wrapping around your waist.
“You’re staying in here until service is over,” you tell him, voice gentle. “Then I’m taking you home.”
He hums in agreement, the fight finally drained out of him. “Only if you stay with me,” he mumbles into your shirt. “Don’t like the bed when you’re not in it.”
Richie makes a gagging noise. “Jesus Christ, he’s whipped. I’m telling Fak.”
“Out,” you laugh, shooing them. Sydney gives you a supportive nod before dragging Richie away by the collar.
Once the door shuts again, Carmy lets out a long, shaky breath. “Love you,” he whispers, so quiet you almost miss it. His arms tighten around you. “Even when you’re bossy.”
You smile, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “Love you too, stubborn. Now finish this soup. Doctor’s orders.”
He obeys without another word, eyes heavy, cheeks flushed. By the time the bowl is empty, he’s half-asleep in the chair, still clinging to you like you might disappear. You manage to coax him onto the tiny couch in the corner, curling up beside him. His head finds your lap immediately, one arm slung across your legs.
The sounds of the kitchen feel far away. You stroke his hair as his breathing evens out, the tension finally leaving his body.
Richie will never let him live this down. The whole crew is probably placing bets on how long it takes before Carmy tries to deny the whole thing tomorrow.
But right now he’s soft, warm and yours, quietly snoring into your thigh with your fingers in his curls.
𓏲⋆ TELLING THE OFF CAMPUS BOYS TO GET ON THEIR KNEES WHEN THEY ASK FOR SOMETHING
( cw: suggestive/explicit dialogue & topics, no smut )
DEAN DI LAURENTIS
“Babe,” he whined, “Baaaabe.”
You turned around from the stove, facing your annoying boyfriend.
He knew it got on your nerves when he stood behind you while you were cooking. Especially when he whined the whole time.
So when he asked, “Can I taste test it?” you didn’t immediately shut him down like you normally did.
No, instead you said, “If you get down on your knees and ask, maybe I’ll consider it.”
Why you didn’t expect him to actually do it? Who knows.
He was down on his knees within seconds, his hands pawing at your hips. “Please, baby. Can I please taste test it?”
You had to hold in your laugh, but you felt like he earned it.
Putting your hand on his head and petting him like a dog, you said, “Yes you can, for being such a good boy,” in a very mocking tone.
It didn’t phase Dean one bit though, if anything, he seemed to enjoy it. He pushed his head into your hand like a cat and then stood up with an expectant look on his face.
You rolled your eyes and pulled out a piece of pasta, dropping it directly in his open mouth. He moaned when he tasted it, then gave you a quick kiss on the lips.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” he murmured against your shoulder, already standing right behind you again.
GARRETT GRAHAM
Garrett had been annoying you all day.
You convinced him to go shopping with you, leaving out the details of where you were going and how long it would be.
He knew it could take a while, but 3 hours? After the first hour he was complaining at every store. You offered to leave early, but when he saw the small pout on your face he changed his mind.
But that didn’t mean he was going to stop groaning and moping.
When you stopped to look at two different tops, he took it as an opportunity to rest his head on your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.
“Garrett...” you trailed off, a subtle warning to do too much in terms of PDA. He hummed, his free hand—the one not holding all of your shopping bags—coming up to rest on your hips.
“I have an idea,” he mumbled, pressing another soft kiss to your shoulder. “Let’s get you some new stuff from Victoria’s Secret. I’ll buy.”
You rolled your eyes, deciding on the black top instead of the white one.
“If you want me to go try on lingerie for you, you’d better get on your knees and beg,” you joked, walking further into the store.
When you stopped to look at a pair of pants, you saw Garrett drop to his knees in the corner of your eye.
“Please, gorgeous. Let me buy you some new lingerie. I’ll be so good from here on out,” he pleaded, his hands pressed together in a praying motion.
Your eyes darted around, seeing the mostly empty store. “Stand up, oh my god.”
He shook his head, “not until you say yes.”
“Garrett.”
“Princess.”
You sighed, “Fine. Now stand up.”
JOHN TUCKER
“Let me eat you out, sweetheart,” Tucker mumbled against your neck, reaching behind you to lock his bedroom door.
“Uh-uh.”
His lips formed a pout, “Please?”
“If you really want to...” you trailed off, seeing the glint of hope in his eyes, “Get on your knees and ask again, then maybe I’ll let you get a taste.”
For a moment he looked surprised, but he did as you said.
He dropped to his knees, pressing feather-light kissed to your bare stomach and thighs. “Can I get a taste of you, gorgeous?” His hands ran up the backs of your legs. “Please.”
You sighed, your fingers playing with his dark curls. “Okay, fine, but hurry up. I wanna feel you inside me as soon as possible.”
“Yes ma’am.”
JOHN LOGAN
“Come with me,” Logan asked as he pulled on his sweatpants, “The gym is so boring when I’m alone.”
You were already standing, putting on lotion as you listened to your boyfriend try to reason with you to go to the gym with him.
“I showered just last night. You want to make me shower again in less than 12 hours?”
He looked up at you and shrugged, a suggestive smirk on his face. “I’ll help you out?”
“Of course you would.”
Throwing his head back, he groaned. “Why does my girlfriend hate me?”
You rolled your eyes and sighed, “Tell you what. You get on your knees and beg me to come with, and maybe I’ll go and let you ‘help me out’ in the shower later.”
He was on his knees in front of you within seconds.
“Please come with me, gorgeous. The gym is so much more enjoyable with you there,” he pleaded, begging with the way his big brown eyes were looking up at you.
You clicked your tongue, “Fine. Only because I didn’t actually think you would do that.”
He smirked, standing up and pressing a ‘thank you’ kiss to your cheek. “You underestimate me, baby.”
summary - you and garrett celebrate your four year anniversary in a hotel room
pairing - boyfriend!garrett graham x reader
word count - +2.8k
a/n - not spicy i apologise in advance
There’s just something about a hotel room that makes you feel like the main character.
Whether it’s the fact you’re somewhere new (most likely), or you’re in a room that is so different to the one back home, you’re not sure, but there’s definitely something special about it.
It’s made extra special when you share a hotel room with your boyfriend, Garrett. There was something so romantic about it - like the world just revolved around you both for the night.
You and Garrett were spending the night at a hotel together, to celebrate your anniversary. It was nothing extremely fancy, but it was nice enough.
You’d just checked in and Garrett, ever the gentleman, was carrying your bags up to the room. He’d kept glancing at you in the elevator up and you’d tried your hardest not to blush under his gaze. Four years and he still made you nervous.
You followed along behind him as he chauffeured you to your room. It was hard not to drool at how imposing he looked in the dark and narrow corridor.
Once the door was open, he let you through first.
The room was lovely. A big bed with soft-looking white sheets. A huge TV on the opposite wall. A typical desk that you won’t ever use and a door that presumably led to the bathroom.
“This is nice!” You smiled, dropping your tote bag to the floor without a care.
Garrett quietly shut the door behind you, dropping his own bags off next to the door.
“Yeah.”
“No petals on the bed? You’re slacking, Graham.” You teased.
Garrett came up behind you, wrapping his arms underneath your jumper around your waist. You let out a laugh and your neck automatically rolled back when Garrett started kissing you there.
“I can be more romantic than rose petals, baby.”
“Oh yeah? A bubble bath? Bottle of champagne?”
Garrett nipped at the skin on your neck, which would no doubt leave a lasting mark. He didn’t let you out of his hold no matter how much you wriggled.
“How about a night in? No fancy dress up or expensive meal. Just us. Here. Take-out and board games.”
You spun around but Garrett kept a close hold on you.
His eyes searched for something in yours, no doubt curious as to what you were about to say.
“You might as well have just asked me to marry you.”
Garrett wasn’t nonchalant enough to hide the smile on his face. In fact, he beamed. His smile was wide and the little creases in the corner of his eyes proved how happy he was.
“One day.”
He leant down to kiss you, your hands immediately coming up to the back of his neck as leverage to keep him down. The kiss was slow and hot. It was the kind of kiss that felt like you’d both been waiting years for it - when in reality it had been about ten minutes.
Garrett’s teeth accidentally clashed against yours and you both pulled away laughing, breathing heavy from the kiss.
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Garrett kissed you once more before you let each other go.
You were both quiet as you unpacked various bits. Your suitcase was open on the bed - a suitcase that Garrett had teased you relentlessly over considering you were only here for the night. He’d only brought a backpack.
Your eye caught on your burgundy, silk, slip dress that you’d brought in case you went out for a fancy meal. You took it out of the suitcase and held it up against your body.
“I have no reason to wear this now we aren’t going out.” You said, waiting for Garrett to come out of the bathroom to look.
His eyes visibly darkened when he saw the dress.
It was one you hadn’t worn yet, but one that Garrett was eager to see you in.
“You can still wear it.” His jaw ticked as he tried to control himself.
“Right. Me in a silk dress and you in joggers.” You laughed sarcastically, putting the dress back in your suitcase.
“I brought nice clothes. I can get dressed up for you, baby.”
You walked the distance over to him, hooking your arms around his middle and tilting your head back to look at him.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He smiled, “I’d be stupid to pass up the opportunity of seeing you in that dress.”
“You would.”
“Okay then. Looks like we’re dressing up.”
Garrett leaned down to kiss you softly, which was ruined by you smiling too much to keep your lips together.
——
Garrett after a shower made you weak at the knees.
You had gotten ready in the bathroom at the same time that Garrett had a shower, and barely had the brain to concentrate with him there.
It was outrageous how hot he was, especially fresh after a shower with a white towel wrapped around his waist - like he had right now.
“You okay?” He asked.
He knew what he was doing, that was the rude thing about him.
His arms placed on the bathroom counter, either side of you, his muscles flexing and veins surfacing. Fuck.
“Can you please leave.”
“Leave?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Yes. Goodbye.”
You tried to go back to continuing your makeup routine, but it was hard to focus on anything other than him pressing up further into the back of your. Your breath shuddered at the feeling of him pushing against you.
You made brave eye contact with him through the mirror. He had a challenging look on his face, clearly ready to fight you on this topic of conversation.
“Why?” He rolled his bottom lip inwards with his tongue.
“You know why.”
“Enlighten me.”
His face came down to your neck, his nose moving along the bare skin there. He loved that you smelt consistently of your favourite shower gel and body cream combination. It was a comforting smell to him, and you loved how obsessed it made him about you.
Goosebumps covered your skin as he slowly moved his nose down, before he stopped in one spot to kiss you delicately.
Your mouth parted in an involuntary gasp.
“This… Is why.”
Garrett paid no attention to you and continued to work his lips over the patch of skin he’d taken a liking to. He would no doubt leave a red mark that he’d be proud of.
You closed your eyes and involuntarily tilted your head back against his shoulder, giving him more room to kiss you.
The span of his large hands settled over your front, smoothing up and down your stomach. He made you so hot and dizzy just from touch alone.
Your breath hitched as his teeth nipped your skin.
You could feel the smugness radiating off of him as you physically reacted to his touch.
He planted a final kiss to the spot he’d been working on, “Still want me to leave?”
“Y-yes.” Your eyes fluttered open.
“You sure? You don’t sound confident.”
Your eyes zeroed in the spot on your neck where he had just been and huffed at the size of it.
“Garrett!” You exclaimed, “I’m going to have to cover that up now, you dick.”
Instead of your boyfriend grovelling, he laughed to himself as he watched you lean forward towards the mirror and assess the damage.
“Cover it for who?” He questioned.
“Not the point.” You turned around and pushed him back with pathetic force. “Out.”
“Ba—.”
“Out!” You shut the door on him before he could say anything else. Only when the door was closed did you let yourself smile at how much of an idiot he was but also how much you loved him.
——
Garrett was laying on the bed in a smart dress-shirt and fitted trousers when you exited the bathroom.
It looked like he had been doom-scrolling on his phone to pass the time. No matter how hard you tried, you could not get him to read a single book. He often preferred to just listen to you read instead.
You cleared your throat, letting him know you were now ready.
Garrett lifted his head. His face visibly softened when he took you in, stood there in a beautiful dress and dolled-up just as you liked.
His phone immediately got dropped to the bed as he sat up, not once taking his eyes off you. He let out a small smirk and a soft shake of his head, making you look down at yourself briefly to check everything looked okay.
“What?” You asked, nervously.
Garrett continued to shake this head as his tongue rolled over his bottom lip. “Come here.”
“Why?”
“Please.” He held out a hand for you.
You pursed your lips, trying to hide your smile, and walked across the room towards his outstretched hand. Your palm fit into his perfectly and he pulled you towards him carefully.
Garrett’s other hand took the time to pull you in by your waist, and then travel slowly down your back to rest in the divot at the bottom of your spine.
He looked up at you like you were some Goddess he worshipped.
He made you feel like a deity.
“What?” You asked again, this time as a whisper. You noticed how his eyes never left yours. His attention was on you and you alone. “Say something.”
“There’s nothing I could say that would be deemed good enough to describe how beautiful you are.”
“I’d say that was pretty perfect.” You couldn’t help but blush.
Garrett chuckled and stood up so his gaze now looked down upon you. It didn’t make you feel any less or any smaller. You still felt seen and beautiful.
His hand ran up the back of your dress, up your spine and to the back of your neck. You couldn’t help when your breath hitched as he moved his hand. Curse men and their damn hands.
Garrett wasted no time in pulling your face towards his as he leant down to kiss you.
His lips were as soft as always and you no doubt tasted of the cherry chapstick you’d just reapplied. The kiss was everything.
You moved your hand up so you could cup his jaw. Your touch was featherlight, but it let you keep his face close to yours and his lips selfishly pressed to yours.
You couldn’t help but smile, unintentionally breaking the kiss.
“What?” Garrett laughed quietly, keeping his forehead pressed against yours.
It was your turn to shake your head softly. You looked up into his eyes and could see reflected everything that you also felt.
“I love you.” You whispered against his lips, ghosting the words into another kiss.
“I love you too.” He returned the sentiment, pressing his lips harder against yours this time.
Your hand slid from his jaw back to the curls on the nape of his neck. You tugged on them as he deepens the kiss, his jaw tilting slightly to angle the kiss better. It was extremely satisfying to hear Garrett moan moments later.
He pulled away, like he could tell that you were only going to tease him if he continued getting loud over something as simple as a kiss. Then again a kiss was never simple between you two - They were so much more than that.
“You look handsome, by the way.” You said, keeping his face close to yours.
His hand in yours squeezed tight.
“Thank you.”
“This the shirt we bought the other weekend?”
“Mhm.”
“I told you that blue and white striped shirts were a girl's wet dream. You look like Colin Firth in Mamma Mia.”
“Should I be offended that you’re thirsting over Colin Firth in Mamma Mia?” He furrowed his eyebrows.
“More like, should I be offended that other girls get to see you wearing it?” You tutted, pulling your hands out of his hold to wrap them both around the back of his neck. Garrett’s hands swiftly followed to both rest around your waist.
“I’ll only ever wear it for you. That sound like a plan?” He kissed you quickly.
“I could live with that.” And you kissed him right back.
——
“You bought a couples card game?” You watched as Garrett unpackaged the new card game from its box, “This is our 4 year anniversary, babe.”
Garrett smirked as he tossed the plastic packaging aside, sitting on the floor with his back against the foot of the bed. You lay on your front close by, next to the picnic blanket full of empty food packets and pizza boxes.
“Just…” Garrett silently told you to trust him. “We literally just pick up cards and ask each other the questions on them.”
“Okay.”
“Ladies first.” He gestured to you. Ever the flirt.
You picked up the first card in the deck and flipped it over to read it. You hummed to yourself.
Maybe this was a good game after all, because you didn’t know Garrett’s answer to this question for example.
“Have you ever dreamed about me? What was it about?” You smirked and raised your eyebrows, placing the card back down in a new pile of its own.
You watched Garrett tip his head back with a laugh, laughing up at the ceiling. He clearly had something on his mind to share as an answer.
He looked back towards you.
“Yes.” He licked his lips and clasped his hands, in his lap, in front of him, “Quite a lot.”
“Do tell.”
“Well I vividly remember the dreams I had of you leading up to the first time we slept together.”
“Charming.” You rolled your eyes with a laugh.
“Was never as good as the real thing.”
“You’re an absolute pig.” You reached your hardest to slap his leg, but it was a little pathetic. Garrett laughed at your effort. “Thought this was meant to be a romantic game.”
“Well what do you want me to say?” Garrett argued, “You want me to give you the details? Like how I remember one dream was literally just me watching you get ready in the morning, because I used to fixate on how you managed to look so perfect every day.”
“Okay, now you’re laying it on too thick, Romeo.” You laughed, pointing to him to pick up a card from the pile to ask you a question next.
Garrett picked up a card and took his time to read it.
“If I need to move somewhere really far away, would you consider having a long-distance relationship or would you follow me?”
You gave your boyfriend a somber smile to a topic of conversation that had come up too many times to count throughout your relationship.
Garrett placed the card down on the new used pile of cards, letting you take a moment to answer.
“You know I’d follow you anywhere.” You answered honestly.
“As long as you never put me or my career above your own, I’d love having you with me.” Garrett said.
You had both fought quite a few times over this topic, and Garrett had always made it very clear that he never wanted you to follow him because you thought you had to. He wanted you to follow him because you wanted to and it wasn’t going to cut you off from any opportunities.
You picked up a card next.
“Tell me something I texted you that made you smile.” You said, placing the card down.
“Probably when you text me ‘Morning’ every day.” He beamed.
“Good answer.”
Garrett picked up a card, “What does it make you feel whenever you hold my hand?”
“Safe.” You answered instantly.
——
A couple of hours and a few rounds of sex later, you’re both laying in bed. Garrett’s laying on his side, looking down at you, whilst you’re laying on your back.
Garrett had made sure to pull the sheets up over your chest, not because he wanted to hide any part of you but because you always got cold after sex.
Garrett’s curls fell over his forehead, because his head was tilted down to watch you speak. It never failed to amaze the both of you how chatty you were after several orgasms.
“There’s something about a hotel room that feels so sexy.” You admitted, taking a long look away from Garrett to survey the dark room. Only the light from the bathroom was on and dimly at that.
“Yeah?” Garrett chuckled.
He didn’t bother to look at the room. He’d seen it all before and you were far more interesting.
“Mhm. Makes me feel closer to you, because we’re the only ones we know here.”
“I see.”
“You’re not listening to me, are you?”
“Not since you said the word sexy.”
“I wasn’t calling you sexy.” You rolled your eyes with a smile.
“Huh. Could’ve sworn you did.” Garrett frowned and furrowed his eyebrows, messing with you like he often did.
The room went quiet after you giggled.
You focused on your fingers that were twisting the sheets in front of you, smiling as you thought back on how perfect the evening had been.
“Baby?”
You took your time refocusing your gaze on Garrett, “Hm?”
