Once I Beat The Depression And The Burnout And The Anxiety And The Loneliness And The Exhaustion And

once i beat the depression and the burnout and the anxiety and the loneliness and the exhaustion and the guilt and the awkwardness and the apathy and the low income and the chronic illness and the impatience and the vulnerability and the creative block and the capitalism and the cruelty THEN you'll see

s3 carmen i need to take you out to the alley to give you a freak nasty blowjob to make you calm down-💫

let’s talk about blowing Carmy to give him stress relief. Word count: 1613

I’m thinking about working at the bear as a server. You and Carmy have always had tension. Longing glances that went on a little bit too long. Lingering touches of his hand on your waist when he needs to get around you.

This night, Carmy is on fire during service. There’s practically steam coming out of his ears. He’s barking orders without a care, expecting to be listened to. Usually, he directs most of his anger towards the kitchen staff, but you land in his crosshairs.

“Why the fuck is it taking you so long inbetween plates? Are you taking the scenic view back to the kitchen or some shit? Stop wasting time and hurry the fuck up.”

“Chef. Chill,” you respond. As soon as the words leave your mouth, you realize how bad of an idea it was to say that.

“The only thing you should be saying is ‘Yes, chef’. Do you want to try that again?” You turn to face Sydney instead of Carmen, trying to keep your cool.

“Chef Syd. Can you hold down the fort for a second? I need to talk to Carmy really quick.”

Carmy interjects before Sydney can even reply. “The fuck? I’m doing my job here. Now, can I get—“

“Chef. It’s fine. Go cool off a bit,” Sydney replies, stepping up to the expo. Carmy sighs, running a hand in his hair, before storming off through the back door. You follow suit, catching the door before it slams.

Carmy leans against the back of the building. His fingers are in his hair, tugging at his roots in an attempt to dull his anger. Under his breath, he mutters a slew of curses and god knows what else. Somehow, you find the courage to stand in front of him, toe to toe.

“Carmen, you need to calm down. You can’t lash out on people like a toddler when you don’t get exactly your way.”

“I- I can’t fucking turn it off.” His voice is laced with venom. He looks directly into your eyes. That furious look still present in his features. “I need people to- to fucking listen to me, and f-fucking go faster.”

You can’t deny the tension brewing between you and Carmy in the dim alleyway. His breath fans against your cheek. It would take just a small lean in for your lips to press against his. That’s not what you do, though.

Instead, your hand moves, as if on its own accord, to just barely palm his groin. His eyes widen as he takes in a gasp of air. Pure shock falls on his features. “You need to let your stress out. Do you want a way to do that, Carm?” you ask.

“I w-what— what?” he stammers. His cheeks flush in an instant. You chuckle as you feel him hardening through his pants. You lean into him, but your lips miss his own, choosing to target the corner of his mouth.

Your mouth trails gently, chaste kisses from the corner of his mouth, down his jaw, and to his neck. You don’t spend time sucking on the skin. If a bruise appeared on his neck after this, everyone would know. Instead, you trail your tongue on his pulse point. His body shivers against you. “C’mon, Carmy. Do I need to spell it out for you?” You punctuate your sentence by applying pressure with your palm to his length. You can’t see his face, but you can hear the groan he tries to keep under his breath.

You drop to your knees in front of him, thankful for the thick fabric of your pants. You gaze up at his face with the most innocent look you can muster given the situation. Carmy can’t even comprehend the sight of you on your knees for him. The fear of someone seeing is the last thing on Carmen’s mind. “Are—fuck—are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Take my cock out.” Carmy’s voice commands just like he’s giving you orders in the kitchen.

“Yes, Chef,” you whisper. He tenses from your choice of words. Your fingers dip into the waist band of his slacks before pulling them down to his knees. His underwear falls down with them, leaving him bare and hard in front of you.

He’s huge, way bigger than you would have expected. The tip is already leaking precum. You can’t take your eyes off of his lower half. He hides a lot of muscle under his chef whites. The V-lines of his hips are deep and defined, guiding you right to his cock. Your eyes catch glimpse of a happy trail that extends under the fabric of his shirt.

“Like what you see?” His voice is low and gravely.

You don’t look up at him, not yet. Your hands slide underneath his shirt to tug up the fabric, letting you see the rest of his stomach. The happy trail runs up to his navel. Your finger tips trace the lines of his abs. You can’t resist the urge to press kisses to his stomach. Here, you don’t have to working about marks showing, so you suck and bite at his skin. Carmy’s hand briefly cups the back of your head, threading into your hair before letting go.

“You’re so pretty, Carm,” you admit with brutal honesty. It’s true. He’s built like a Greek god. For the first time, you’ve rendered Carmy speechless with just your words. The second time you render him speechless happens when your lips wrap around the tip of his cock. You moan as the salty taste hits your tongue. Your cheeks hollow inwards to suck lightly.

“F-fuck. Fuck—fuck.” You snap your eyes up to look at him. There’s sweat forming at his brow. His hands clench at his sides in a white knuckle grip. With his gaze on you, you lick a broad stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, making a show out of it. His dick twitches on your tongue.

You can’t stand not having Carmy’s hands on you, so you take one of his hands and place it on your cheek. Not waiting a second, you take his cock all the way into your mouth. Your nose reaches the trail of hair you noticed earlier.

“Holy shit—look at you,” Carmy murmurs. His tough hand cups your cheek, lazily rubbing his thumb on your skin. Without realizing it, Carmy’s hips sink a just a little bit deeper into your throat. It reaches the point of too much, making you gag. You don’t lift off of him, though. Tears well up in your eyes as you keep his dick deep inside your mouth.

“Is it too much? You’re gagging for it,” he spits out. He’s trying to keep his composure, but his voice is full of need. “Shit—babe. Can I— can I fuck your mouth? We’ve already—fuck— already been out here too long,” Carmy practically begs.

You lift off of his cock looking utterly debauched. Spit runs down your chin, and your lips are swollen red. “If it’ll help you calm down, you can do whatever you want with me, Carm. Use me.”

“Yeah? You want that? What a good girl for me.” Carmy grasps his length in his hand, guiding himself to your lips. Your mouth falls open letting his cock sink all the way into your throat. The grasp of his hands is different from before. This time, both of his hands are on your face, palm resting on your cheeks. The rest of his hand wraps around your head, holding you firmly.

Carmy is really efficient. His cock pounds into your throat with zero hesitation. It’s near animalistic the way he’s holding your head and using you. “S’good so fuckin’ good. Takin’ my cock so good, baby,” he mumbles, too lost in pleasure to care about the words leaving his lips. “Gonna—gonna cum down your throat. You’d like that wouldn’t you? To be my little cum slut?” A deep moan reverberates through your mouth at his words. He’s lost all filter.

It’s only a few more thrusts before Carmen spills into your mouth with a strained groan. Just as you’re able to swallow, Carmy pulls to up to your feet. His lips smash against yours. The kiss is fierce and all consuming. His tongue dips into your mouth, battling with your own. Carmy groans into your mouth when he tastes himself on your tongue.

Strings of spit unite your lips when he pulls back. There’s a new look in his eyes that you can’t quite describe. “A-are you—“ you have to clear your throat, still sore from his cock. “Are you feeling calmer now? D-did that help?” Your voice is completely shot and raspy.

“Fuck, baby. You’ve got my heart beating out of my chest. Thank you for uh— for doing that. I was being an asshole,” he admits.

“You just needed someone to relieve some stress. I’m happy I could help you.”

“You’re coming home with me after service. Gotta take care of you since you took care of me.” Carmy leans in to give you a soft kiss. “And… you might wanna head straight to the bathroom to clean up a bit. Don’t need anyone else to see you like this. You’re too fucking pretty.”

Carmy is like a new man when he walks back into that kitchen. He’s more toned down, and careful about the yelling. Sydney thinks you must have been a therapist in a past life, because whatever you did managed to chill Carmy out.

It’s a week tops until someone in the kitchen finds out you two are fucking.

i'll be so happy loving you |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: a two for one special- the proposal and the elopement :) or how you and carmen get married.

contains: language, alludes to sexual references, some smut at the end but not super graphic. mainly just lovey dovey fluff!!!

Six Weeks Earlier 

“Looks pretty in here, bear.” You hum, looking around the newly renovated restaurant. “I love that painting.”  Now that The Bear was bringing in some revenue, Carmen and Sydney could decorate more how they envisioned, tiny touches that made the place dazzle- look and feel more like how they dreamed it would be. 

“Yeah? Like it better than the old one?” Carmen grinned, arms looping around your waist, cheek pressed lazily to your own. 

You melted into his touch, nodding gently. “Yeah. Much better.” You turn so your noses are nearly touching. “A lot better than that watercolor piece.” 

Carmen snorted. “Yeah, I told Sugar it looked weird. Told her we needed fuckin’ abstract or somethin’.” 

You looked at the painting, a configuration of muted lines and colors that somehow fit the aesthetic of the restaurant perfectly. “Yeah, I think everyone will like it. Looks perfect.” You mutter, lips brushing against Carmen’s cheek for a sweet kiss. He shouldn’t have flustered so easily, but how could he not? When you kissed him, looked at him, loved him this way. 

“So what’s on the menu for tonight?” You asked, turning in Carmen’s arms, lazily looping your own around his neck. 

“We’re closed tonight.” Carmen hoped you couldn’t feel the pounding in his heart, running his clammy hands down your waist while your brows knitted together. “Got a private event.” 

“Private event? Ooh, very fancy, chef.” You quipped. “How did I miss that? I swear it wasn’t on the calendar-” 

“-It wasn’t.” Carmen said quickly, far too quickly to be cool and unsuspecting like he’d hoped. You pulled back, a little shocked at his tone, his hands pulling you back to him, running soothingly down your spine. “I mean… It's a private party. A sort of celebration just for all of us. For the staff. Since we’ve been, uh, doin’ so good.” 

You paused for a moment, eyes darting all over his face, trying desperately to read his expression. Carmen hoped you couldn’t see through him, hoped that the lie Richie made him rehearse would work on you. Hoped he wouldn’t ruin this like he ruined everything else. 

“That’s sweet.” Your pursed lips melted into a smile. “I think that’ll be really nice, Carm. That’s very sweet. They deserved it. You deserve it, Carm.” 

Carmen blushed, letting his eyes fall down between the two of you. He was still getting used to that, after all this time, the sweet compliments you gave him freely. Not as an apology or to get something out of him- use it to control him like others had. 

“You deserve it too, y’know.” Carmen could feel his chest beating, rising and stomach turning the way it did when his heat rate picked up. The rational voice in his head was telling him there was nothing to be worried about, but it was a hushed whisper compared to the roar of “what if’s” and self doubting screams that took over. 

Your lips curled in a little smile. You didn’t agree, but you didn’t argue either. Carmen could feel the lurch of his heart flutter back down into his chest. “So, I’ll pick you up at seven?” 

You laughed, brows lifting in amusement. “Oh? It’s a date? Thought this was staff appreciation.” 

“More like a fancy kinda family.” Carmen schmoozed you easily. “But one where you should maybe wear that dress? Or really, whatever you want, but ya know… I’ll be dressed up and so will everyone else. It’s stupid, but-but I wanted it to be nice like the real experience sorta thing-” 

“-Carm,” You cut off his rambling with a hand cradling his jaw, thumb gliding over the stubble on his chin. “I think it’s really sweet. I’ll dress up. Thanks for giving me a heads up. I don’t want to be a jack off in jeans.” 

“A what?” Carmen barked out a laugh. “A jack off?” You frowned, nodding slightly. Carmen bit back his laugh, lips pulling in a wide smile. “It's a jag-off, baby. Gotta let it roll off the tongue.” 

You blushed, rolling your eyes at him to hide your own embarrassment. “You’re a jagoff, Berzatto.” You jammed your finger into his chest, leaving him laughing. 

Present 

“This is it.” Carmen muttered, pushing the creaking door of the house open. You looked around the room, dimly lit with creaking planks of wood for floors. House plants everywhere and the sound of the waves rolling gently on the water outside when the boats cruised by. 

“This is it, hm?” You grinned, looking around while Carmen set the bags down by the door, nervously tracking you. 

“Yeah. It-It’s not a lot, baby, I told you it wouldn’t be. But I-I just… Wait until you see the view in the morning or-or at sunset, when it goes down over the water it’s so clear, you won’t believe it-” 

“-Carmen,” You laughed lightly, a grin so wide your cheeks were hurting. “It’s perfect. Cute, I love it.” You giggled, pushing the blinds open to let the light in. Carmen’s chest aches with the release of tension from hearing that- that you liked it. 

“So where’s this cat?” You hum, ducking under the table and couch to look, eyes scanning the small space of the boat house. 

“The cat that doesn’t exist?” Carmen snorted lightly. 

“You and Marcus say that but I know it’s here.” You hum, scanning the room for a cat door, anyway that the animal might come in and out. “Probably just scared of the two of you.” 

“Kinda the charm of this place, honey. You don’t see the cat. Just feed the invisible cat and water the plants.” Carmen was beaming, watching your frame illuminated by the bright Denmark sun shining in through the windows. 

“Hm, I’m gonna see this cat before I leave.” You declared, checking the cabinets, the hall closets- all the places your own cat liked to hide. Anchovy, you and Carmen’s precious boy, found in the dumpster outside of The Bear. 

Carmen’s lips quipped in a smirk. “I wanna see your cat. How about that, hm?” It was corny, cheesy, made you cringe and laugh and gag exaggeratedly all at the same time; which is exactly why he said it. Arms wrapping around your waist, he pulled you close, lips hovering over yours. 

“Carm,” You sighed gently, a trace of a giggle following with the breathy moan that hitched in your throat when his hands kneaded the fat of your ass. “Thought we had to meet your friend later? I still have to get ready and shower-” 

“-We got two hours, baby.” Carmen purred, tongue running over your bottom lip teasingly, feeling you tense under his touch. “C’mon, we got time. I’ll take a shower with you, too. Save time.” 

You snorted lightly, rolling your eyes. He was insatiable, and you couldn’t blame him. The two of you here, back at the “most beautiful fuckin’ place on Earth” according to Carmen. He looked so good, so pretty. The way the sunlight would catch in his eyes. They were brighter here, bluer. You didn’t know how that was possible, but it was, and it left you clinging to his hand while you strolled down the street, gazing into his eyes positively dopey and love drunk. 

“You gotta be quick.” You pointed at him with an exaggerated glare, already giving in. “Not like last night. We almost missed our flight, bear.” 

“But we didn’t.” Carmen grinned, his breath hot when it trailed down your cheek to your jaw, leaving wet, sloppy kisses in its wake, hands tilting your head back gently to get to your neck. 

Carmen walked you back towards the kitchen table, hands gripping and sliding down your waist up to your neck. “You just look s’pretty. My pretty girl.” 

You blushed, enveloping his lips fully, letting yourself melt into him, maybe he was melting into you- the two of you molding into each other, fusing together like it was your only purpose in life. Your legs around his waist, lying back on the rickety oak table that Carmen assured “It’ll be fine, just relax, baby. I got ya.” His hand in yours while he rolled deeply inside of you, skin to skin, a chorus of whines and mewls mixing in harmony in the kitchen. 

Six Weeks Earlier 

“Oh, looks like we’re early.” You look around the restaurant. The tables were set and lights dim, but only you and Carmen seemed to be the ones in it. 

“Uh, they-they finished late, but, uh, they’ll be here.” Carmen stuttered, hands running down the front of his pants again, eyes darting around the room. 

Your eyes narrowed lightly, but shook it off. Carmen was nervous, he had been for weeks. You thought it was because of the restaurant’s new Michelin star holder status, or maybe because of the countless interviews and press that came with it. Still, that had been weeks ago, the press had died down slightly, and Carmen was still anxious. 

“Ah, good evening, folks.” Richie beamed, sliding behind the hostess stand. “How are the two of you this fine night?” 

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Great, Richie. How are you?” You played along. 

“I am having a lovely night, even better not that you are here.” Richie schmoozed, leaving you snorting lightly at his dramatics. “Right this way.” 

“So what time does everyone get here?” You ask, sliding into the booth. 

“Oh, they’ll be here soon.” Richie said easily, calming your suspicions. “I'll go ahead and get you two started while you wait.” 

“So you didn’t get the night off?” You laugh gently. 

“Someone’s gotta take care of everything, sweetheart.” Richie shrugged. “Champagne? Or is that too early?” 

Carmen’s eyes flashed at Richie. “I just want water, Cousin.” 

If there was any hostility, Richie didn’t seem to notice, simply turning to you. “And for the lovely lady?” 

“Uh, I’m good with water for now too.” You nodded. “I’ll wait until everyone else gets here.” 

“Wonderful.” Richie grinned, eyes cutting in a glare towards Carmen’s. “I’ll be back with that for the two of you.” 

You waited until Richie was gone, turning to Carmen carefully. “Hey, what was that?” You asked. 

“What?” Carmen tried to appear calm and chill, his body tensing beside you. “What-What was what?” 

Your brows furrowed. “Carmen… Are you ok?” You asked, reaching out to grab his hand lightly. His hands were clammy, tensing in yours, and pulling away quickly to wipe the perspiration on his jeans. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“No.” Carmen shook his head furiously. He felt like he might throw up and sob at the same time. Felt like his own heart might just give out entirely. “I’m fine, baby, I promise. I’m just… I’m still trying to figure out the summer menu. Make sure it’s good because we’ve never done that before. That’s what we’re trying tonight, and-and I just hope it’s good, ya know?” It wasn’t a total lie, Carmen was worried about the menu and you were testing it tonight. 

You seemed to believe him, his chest loosening when you scooched closer to him, cuddled together in the booth. “It’ll be good. You know it will, bear.” You hummed, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek, laughing when you pulled apart. “Shit, I’m sorry I forgot I have lipstick on.” You giggle, wiping the imprint away lightly off his blushing cheeks. 

“Sorry for the wait.” Richie hummed, dropping the two waters off easily with the new starter for you to try. A classic Mediterranean salad and pita spruced up “Sydney style” as you would say. The term had caught on in the kitchen, finding its way into the names and actions done there. Carmen loved it. Loved the way you said it, the way the staff said it, that it came from you. 

“I’ll leave this here, and I’ll be back with the first course.” Richie smiled. 

“Richie, why don’t you sit with us and try it until the others get here?” You nodded to the spot beside you. 

Carmen froze and so did Richie, the two of them looking at each other for only a moment- but it was a moment too long. Your suspicions rose again, eyes flickering between the two of them. “Ya know, I would love to, but I gotta help the newbies in the kitchen.” Richie said easily. “Gotta make sure they got everything covered. I’m head chef tonight.” 

You didn’t laugh or roll your eyes like you normally would. Instead, you glared at him lightly. Richie’s eyes flashed to Carmen’s. “Alright, well, uh, if the two of you need anything? I’m your guy, alright?”

You waited until he was back in the kitchen, Carmen’s eyes focused on the food, knee bouncing furiously under the table. “Carmen, look at me.” You demanded, turning to him fully. His eyes lifted hesitant towards yours, wide and round like a child caught coloring on the walls. “What’s goin’ on?” 

“Nothin’, baby, I promise.” Carmen said quickly, trying to soothe you but his rigid, frantic tone didn’t help. 

“Carmen-” 

“-It’s nothing.” Carmen said, matching your firm tone. “Just Richie bein’... I dunno what the fuck he’s doin’. Pissin’ me off.” Carmen grumbled, shaking his head. 

“Did you two get in a fight or something?” You pressed. “Is that why you’re being weird?” 

Carmen blinked. “Yes.” He blurted. That wasn’t true, not even remotely. He and Richie had been getting along great, actually, for once. But if it would throw off your suspicions, then he’d gladly throw Richie under the bus- this once. 

“Oh.” You frowned lightly. “Why? I thought you guys were getting along?” 

“You know how Richie is.” Carmen rolled his eyes for emphasis. “He just… He can’t keep his fuckin’ mouth shut.” 

“What did he say?” You asked, reaching for the pita, scooping it in the blended dip of sorts. 

“Just… It was stupid and gross. I really don’t want to talk about it.” Carmen shook his head. “I don’t wanna talk about him. Wanna talk to you. How is it?” 

You hummed, chewing lightly. “Amazing. As always.” You beamed proudly at Carmen. “I told you it would be. You’re the best, bear.” 

Carmen blushed, chewing on his own piece. It was good. Sydney had found the perfect balance, she always did. “Well, this is Syd, not me. Can’t take the credit for this one.” 

“Mm, I thought it tasted very Sydney style.” You giggled. 

“Yeah,” Carmen nodded, hoping you didn’t see the way his hands shook when he took a sip of water. He could barely eat, barely drink around the lump in his throat. “She did most of this, but, uh, I did the dessert.” 

“You did?” You gawked gently. “Not Marcus?” 

“No.” Carmen nudged you lightly. “Well, he helped a little. But it was mostly me. He said I could take the credit on this one” 

“That bad, huh?” You laughed. “Marcus doesn’t even want to put his name on it? Yikes.” 

Carmen rolled his eyes, grinning fondly at you. “I think you’ll like it.” 

You eyed him playfully. “Well, I have high hopes, Berzatto.” 

Me too. Carmen thought, shoving another torn piece of pita in his mouth, hand rubbing anxiously over his pocket again. 

Present 

“So the two of you met in school?” You ask, hand on Carmen’s knee under the table, lightly rubbing over his slacks soothingly. 

“Yes. And he was so much better than me, I thought about dropping out every single day.” Luca grinned playfully at Carmen. “You know, that’s why I went to pastry? Because I knew I’d never compete with Carmen in the other areas, but making a tart? I could outdo him on a tart.” 

“I could never get the crust right.” Carmen shrugged. “Could never figure out how to get it flaky enough. Used to drive me fuckin’ insane.” 

Luca grinned smugly, refilling his own glass of wine. “Well, your chef, Marcus, has got it. Might have it even better than me. Real talent on that one.” 

“Yeah.” Carmen beamed. “He’s good. Real good.” 

“He is.” Luca nodded, before looking over at you. “I’m sorry, darling, I don’t want to be rude, talking about all this cooking nonsense. I’m sure you’ve had enough of that back home.” 

“Oh, no. I love to hear about it.” You beamed, reassuringly. “I wish I could cook like that. You can ask Carm, I’m a hopeless cook. Horrible at it.” 

“No, you’re not, c’mon.” Carmen shook his head lightly at you. “She’s good. Can make a better grilled cheese than any of us.” 

Luca grinned at your blush, the way Carmen pulled you into his side lovingly. It was good to see Carmen like this. The last time, right after Mikey’s death, Carmen was dull. It worried Luca. Carmen had always been tightly wound, anxious, meticulous to a fault, but it seemed to get more extreme- damaging. It was refreshing to see him now. Luca could hardly recognize him, the relaxed, cool man in front of him. No ounce of competition in his tone, his guard down for once. Here with you; happy with you. 

“So, I hope I’m not overstepping, but I have to ask.” Luca said, leaning forward on the table gently. “Why here? Why not at home for the two of you? Not that I mind, at all, of course. I’m honored, but I have to know why here?” 

You looked at Carmen, lashes batting lightly. “Well, Carmen always said it was the most beautiful place he’d ever been. Marcus, too. And… I dunno, I’d always wanted to come, so we figured why not?” 

“This place has always been good for me, ya know?” Carmen muttered, his knee bouncing lightly. “I-I… nothin’ bad has ever happened here like it has other places.” He didn’t need to say it, you both knew. “It’s always been good, and-and I wanna keep the good. We’re already good, I just wanna do it somewhere good, too.” 

Luca nodded slowly, lifting his own wine glass up to the two of you. “Well, then; to keeping the good.” He grinned, his glass clinking against your own when they touched. “And I’m honored to be a part of this, really.” 

“Thank you for bein’ a part of it.” Carmen said, jaw clenched with emotion. “Means a lot, Luca. I, uh, I-I really-” 

“Don’t mention it, friend. I’m happy to. Excited, really, for the two of you.” Luca nodded warmly. 

“We are too.” You grin, beaming up at Carmen lovingly. 

“Yeah… yeah we are.” Carmen hummed, hand sliding down your hip and squeezing it gently. 

Six Weeks Earlier 

“I think it’s great, but you know me, bear. I’d eat chicken tenders every day if I could.” You giggled. 

“Still?” Carmen beamed, eyes dazzling in amusement, huddled into you in the booth like you two were the only two in the restaurant- and well, you were. You hadn’t seemed to notice, thankfully. 

“Thought I finally got you outta that?” Carmen teased. 

“Nuh-uh, no way, bear. I’m still a tender defender-” 

“-Tender defender?” Carmen howled in laughter. 

“Yes! I love chicken tenders, and frankly, your disdain for them is off putting, Berzatto. You should love and appreciate all foods, Mr. Michelin star Chef of the year.” You tickled his side lightly, making him squirm gently, a little blushy under your praise. 

“Yeah, maybe not tenders. Nuggets? I can get behind nuggets.” Carmen hummed, his smile falling gently when he saw Richie come out, holding the small covered tray. His heart hammered, feeling his stomach turn while you still giggled beside him. 

“And dessert is here.” Richie said smoothly, eyes cutting to Carmen’s. 

“Ooh, what is it?” You asked, reaching over to pull the cloche off. 

“Eh, eh, hold on.” Richie pulled it away gently. “The Chef,” His eyes cut dramatically to Carmen’s. “Wants it to be a surprise. Wants to surprise you himself.” 

You looked at Carmen, an amused grin on your lips. “Oh, does he?” You quip. 

Richie winked at Carmen, backing away. “Enjoy, you two.” 

Carmen waited until the doors shut to look at you, sure his heart was going to stop entirely. “So?” You lifted a brow, a finger tracing the bottom plate lightly. “What’s the big surprise?” 

Carmen’s heart fluttered in his chest at your smile, wiping his hands one more time on his pants before he grasped the lid, a white knuckled grip so his shaking would still. “You, uh, you remember how Marcus was talking that one time about the cake he had in Copenhagen? And how-how it was the best thing he’d ever had?” Fuck, he was stuttering, his mind racing, and his hands were clamming all over again. 

“Yeah, the sponge one, right?” You asked, nodding gently. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s the one.” Carmen nodded. “So, uh, I was thinking… You should try it.” 

“Oh?” You grinned, eyes flashing to him excitedly. “Is that what this is? Carmen, that’s so sweet-” 

“-No.” Carmen shook his head, watching your face fall in confusion. “Fuck, I mean, yeah, it is- it’s- I’m just-” Carmen took a deep breath, trying to still his nerves, stop his ramblings. “I think you should try it for yourself,” His hands shook when he pulled the lid off, revealing the plate. 

You gawked, looking at the tiny sponge cake, covered in a thin layer of chocolate separating the many layers, a dollop of cream of some sorts on top. But that wasn’t what caught your eye. No, it was the two tickets sticking out of the top, plane tickets to Copenhagen. 

“Carmen…” You gasped lightly, looking at him with bright eyes that made his heat leap. 

“I think you should get to try it for yourself, there.” Carmen grinned. “I-I want us to go together and try it.” 

“Carmen, oh my god, this is-this is just… You’re so fuckin’ sweet.” You grin, hands grabbing his cheeks, pulling him into you in a hard kiss. One that had his mind stilling, body melting to yours. Kissing you always made him feel like that. Like he had no other purpose than to just kiss you, and to him, maybe he didn’t. 

“This is so sweet. I-I can’t wait!” You squealed, hugging him tightly. “Oh, I want to go to that restaurant your friend works at! And maybe we could go to those gardens? I saw them on TikTok and I’ve wanted to go so badly since then.” 

Carmen nodded, your head on his chest, he was sure now that you could hear his heart still hammering. “Yeah, yeah, we can do that. Whatever you want to do.” His eyes closed, taking a cleansing breath. Carmen looked at you, the excitement in your eyes. It’s now or never, Berzatto. Let it rip. 

“There’s, uh, o-one more thing I’d like to do.” Carmen shuddered, sliding away from you gently, his hand slipping in his pocket as casually as he could. 

You were bubbly, positively giddy with excitement, you didn’t even notice it. “Yeah? What else? Anything, baby.” 

Carmen fought back a tiny laugh, his sweaty hand clasped in front of you, free one taking your hand. “I, uh, I-I… I wanna marry you?” 

Your breath hitched, body stilling. You were sure you’d heard him wrong, grip tightening in his. “W-What?” 

Carmen’s hand opened slowly, revealing the ring, dazzling even in the low light of the restaurant. Your breath hitched, falling out of your lungs sharply at the sight. 

“I wanna marry you.” Carmen repeated, steadier this time even of the rapid fire beats of his heart. “I mean, I want to marry you even if it’s not there, but-but we talked about a destination wedding if we ever did… And-And I… I can’t imagine living another day without you. I have never loved anything- anyone the way I loved you. Never been loved the way you love me, and… I want to do it every single day for the rest of my life.” 

Your lip wobbled, tears pricking your eyes as Carmen picked up the ring, holding it between his pointer and thumb. Your eyes flickered back to his. “You're the best person I’ve ever met; I ever will meet, baby. You’re-you’re fun, and you’re caring and sweet, and you always are so good to me. Even when I don’t deserve it.” 

“Carm-” 

“-No, I mean it. You are. You are the best. And I love you so much, it-it makes my fuckin’ chest hurt sometimes how much I love you.” Carmen let out a breathy laugh. Your own watery laugh bubbled out of your chest, making your lip wobble, tears streaming down your face. 

“I want to go to Copenhagen with you, and-and I want to go to France with you, and- fuck, I wanna go everywhere and do everything with you for the rest of my life.” Carmen rambled, his own eyes glassy when they looked into yours. 

He said your name, letting each syllable roll off his tongue, your own heart squeezing with joy. “Will you marry me?” 

Your throat felt strangled with emotions, a wet sniffle and a tiny squeak of a cry falling from your lips. “Yes.” You nodded, your own hand shaking in his. “Yes, Carm, yes. I’ll marry you, yes.” 

“Yes?” Carmen was sure he was hallucinating; dreaming, maybe. Had to be. But yet, there you were, wiping your eyes, nodding and giving a watery laugh that had his heart aching in the best way. 

“Yes, Carmen, are you kidding me? Yes. Of course, I’ll marry you.” You muttered, your hands finding his jaw easily, pulling him for another kiss that had his head reeling, a small sob passing through his lips onto yours. 

Carmen fumbled through his own teary sniffles, hands shaking with adrenaline when he slipped the ring on, your foreheads pressed together. “Holy shit, it’s… it’s beautiful, Carmen.” You gawked, pulling the ring up to see it. The design, the cuts, it screamed Carmen in the best way- made your lip quiver all over again. 

“Yeah? I-I designed it, and I just… It looked like something you’d like.” Carmen muttered, turning to wipe his eyes. 

“I love it.” You beam. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” Carmen whispered, hands cradling your wet cheeks, moving sweetly back to you. 

“So,” Richie’s voice interrupted, halting the two of you. You turned, seeing the staff standing excitedly behind him. “Do you want the champagne now?” 

Present 

The ceremony was a whirlwind. The two of you, standing hand in hand in the Copenhagen City Hall. Carmen in a suit, sans tie, a blue gray sort of jacket that made his eyes pop even more, if that was possible. You,  in your wedding dress, casual and short but still so pretty. You knew when you saw it that it was the one. A tiny veil and a bouquet of flowers, Carmen had surprised you with this morning, your ring dazzling. 

Luca passed you the ring, a warm smile when you took it, repeating the vows to Carmen before you slipped it on his inked finger. A couple signatures and a kiss later, and the two of you were married- married. The photographer you’d hired snapped photos in the garden out front, Luca gifted you a bottle of Jouet and well wishes. 

Carmen carried you through the threshold, insisted on it, scooping you up and kicking the door open while you squealed and giggled. The two of you were giddy, climbing on a high of adrenaline and oxytocin. 

Carmen kissed you in the kitchen, his wife. His hand cradled your cheeks, your hand slipping over his, rings scratching lightly- metal on metal. A reminder that it was real- this was real. 

For the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Berzatto. 

For the first time tangled in the sheets with his wife. Feeling your lips against his, your fingers in his hair, diamond scratching his scalp when your fists curled. His ring left an imprint on your thighs when he gripped them. 

Carmen’s head was buried between your thighs, lapping at your dripping heat like his heart might give out if he didn’t. “Oh! Carm, right there, right there…” You hummed, eyes fluttering, and back arching off the creaking bed. You didn’t care that it shook, part of you hoped you'd break it. 

Carmen could barely hear, your thighs clamped around his head like earmuffs. He was in his own ecstasy driven state, high off the day's events and his love for you, mindlessly lapping at you until he felt your hands push him away. 

“What?” Carmen panted, your slickness coating his mouth, pupils blown with lust. “What’s wrong?” 

“Look,” You whispered, pointing to the corner of the room. 

Carmen turned, hands still gripping your thighs, neck craning to see. There at the edge of the door, two blinking eyes gazed back at him. An orange tabby, perched and clicking back at the two of you curiously. 

“No fuckin’ way.” Carmen muttered, cheek resting against your thigh lightly. 

You giggled, running a hand through his hair. “Told you! He’s probably just scared of you.” You hummed. 

Carmen snorted lightly, standing to coax the cat out gently before he shut the door. He didn’t need you distracted or worse; the cat jumping up on the bed while you two were going at it. 

“Can’t believe that fuckin’ cat’s real.” Carmen grinned, shaking his head lightly. 

“He’s just scared of you and Marcus. I must have good energy.” You beamed playfully. 

Carmen rolled his eyes, pushing you back lightly on the bed. “Just lay back f’me, alright? Let me take care of you, baby.” 

You purred, hips grinding into his touch. “Yes, Mr. Berzatto.” You giggled, back arching when he licked a long, flat tongue stripe through your drenched folds. Copenhagen was better than you could have imagined, even better now. Weeks later, you’d frame the photo of the two of you in the garden, grinning fondly at the memory. At your husband. At your life together with him now and forever.

MIND OVER MATTER, lip gallagher

chapter two of BORDERLINE. lip x bsf!reader (nickname: MK)

TAGS & WARNINGS → general shameless themes, smoking, swearing, karen's here and she's a bitch, lots of best friend moments <333

CHAPTER SUMMARY → the days get colder and lip remains stubborn. it's mostly due to his on again off again relationship with karen jackson, the girl who says she's pregnant with his baby. and, conveniently, the girl that hates your guts.

A/N → thank you so much for waiting on this one!!! took me a while to update because i just want every little detail to be perfect 🥹

WC → 1.7k

As autumn gave way to the icy cold of winter you found yourself staring out the window of your seventh period classroom. An old pair of wired earbuds connects both you and Lip to your school issued laptop, which the two of you were using to form your monthly shared playlist. It was a tradition you had started yourself at the beginning of this year, but Lip had wormed his way in as he seemed to do with everything else in your life, insisting he be allowed to add songs since he had to ride along with you everywhere. You’d told him it came with his lack of license, and he’d pestered you until you allowed him ten songs per playlist. 

Lip’s elbow digs into your ribs and pulls your focus away from the flurries starting to fall outside the window. “Skip this shit,” he mumbles, referencing the Taylor Swift song that just started.

You roll your eyes but skip it regardless, it didn’t fit in with your november lineup. Satisfied with the song that follows, you navigate away from the playlist, opening up your email. “I signed us up for a tour at UChi,” you say casually, eyes flicking over to gauge his reaction. He rolls his eyes and ignores you entirely, clearly annoyed with your choice. So this is still an uphill battle. Got it. “If you won’t go for yourself, at least come along for me? That way ‘m not alone.”

You watch Lip as he considers it, finally nodding his head after a moment of silence. The dismissal bell rings and your teacher gives some spiel about homework but neither of you care to listen. Like a well oiled system you return each other’s borrowed things–your pretty pack of highlighters Lip liked to use for annotation, the pencil he miraculously had when you forgot your own, the laptop which belongs to you and earbuds that belong to him–packing them up and practically racing each other out the door. You stumble through the back row as Lip dashes in front of you, pulling out a chair to leave in your path. It’s easy to laugh, easy to forget how much you’re having to push him to take his future seriously. 

By the time you catch up to him in the hall, there’s a little blonde nuisance at his side. She kisses him obnoxiously, which you think is a little much for the fact they aren’t even official. You’d never say it aloud but you’re not convinced her baby even belongs to him. Her school slut reputation hadn’t come from being a prude after all.  But of course you’re willing to play the part, to be the supportive best friend, because you knew the alternative; being painted as a jealous whore, for the simple act of looking out for your friend. Safe to say, Karen Jackson makes you seethe with rage. 

She doesn’t even offer a greeting, just looks you up and down with a disgusted glare. Lip says she doesn’t talk about you behind your back, but you think he’s just trying to save your feelings. You understand it can be hard to keep the peace between two girls who are equally important to him. Though, you wish he’d wake up from his lust induced haze to see she’s just using him. As always you play the part you’re meant to play. The best friend, ever supportive, standing quietly to the side as they have their moment. A moment that makes you sick to your stomach, but is theirs nonetheless. Not your place to intervene. 

You decide to wait in your car instead of dwelling on it.

Hours pass idly by before you’re in the Gallagher house for the night, too cold and tired to walk the twenty or so steps across the street to your own home. It wasn’t your fault Ian rolled a joint and passed it up when you were already dozing off in Lip’s bed.

When you stub out the joint, Lip tosses a pillow down to the foot of the bed. You can’t help but find it odd, the way you sleep head to foot to keep air between you as if you haven’t shared each other’s space for as long as you can remember. Lip was always wherever you were, and the same went for you. Inseparable for as long as you could remember. But then there came this… tension. The awkward energy] that came with growing up, getting crushes, going on dates. Suddenly it wasn’t normal to curl into your best friend’s side. Instead, he slept on an air mattress when he visited your house, and you occupied opposite ends of the bed at his. 

You’re not sure when the change came about. You find that you hate it. 

With nightfall comes snowfall, and when you wake from an uncomfortable strain in your back you see the soft, white flakes falling outside the window. You sit up, accidentally bumping your head in your excitement. The thud along with the pained groan from your chest wake Lip up, blue eyes blinking blearily up at you in the dim glow of the streetlight. 

“Fuck’re you doin’ MK?” he grumbles, swatting away your hand when it gently shakes his hip. “Go back t’sleep.”

“Look, ‘s snowing,” you murmur, awe painted in your tone as you lean down to turn his head towards the window. 

His next words are muffled by the pillow he shoves over his face, attempting to hide from you and your antics. “We live ‘n fuckin’ Chicago, it snows here. Not like its a miracle.”

“Come outside with me?” you ask simply. The pillow is pulled away from his face and Lip gives you a puzzled look, which you fight with a drawn out whisper of “pleeeeaseeee?”

Lip has never been able to say no to your pleading. Tonight is no exception. Within ten minutes the two of you are outside in your pajamas, fingers clad in fuzzy gloves and feet nestled into too-big snow boots. The snowfall is already slowing when Lip pulls one of his gloves off, struggling to light a cigarette against the icy wind. Without a word you step closer and shelter the light with your body until it catches the end of the cig. When he exhales you mimic the motion with frosted breath. 

Lip is still laughing at your antics when you grab his bicep, tugging his body to the ground with you. “Wha- what the fuck!?”

“Snow angels,” you reply simply, “come on, have a little whimsy, some childlike wonder.” The snow is cold against your back but you begin to move your arms and legs regardless. You tilt your head and are pleasantly surprised to see a boyish grin formed around the cig tucked neatly between his lips. He mimics your motion, arms and legs pushing snow aside until his elbows are brushing grass. 

He offers you the last drag or two from his cig, propping himself up with his elbows dug into the compressed snow where his back had been. “Y’know, I don’t think I’ve made a snow angel since I was–shit–like, five or six?” He hauls himself up and uses his teeth to remove the remaining glove, his hands dipping down into the snow.

“Don’t you dare,” you warn him, your teeth baring with a nervous smile as he steps closer, “Lip! Don’t you fucking-” it’s too late, there’s snow down the back of your crew neck sweatshirt. You shriek, jumping to your feet and packing a snowball of your own for revenge. It’s easy to laugh with him. To forget the troubles that plague your young hearts, subjects far too mature which were introduced at far too young of an age.

You end your little snow escapade on the steps. Lip brushes the gathering snow off the wood to give the two of you room to share a seat and a cigarette. The smoke warms your body and the comfortable silence warms your soul. You watch as he rubs his hands together, lifting them up to feel the little heat provided by the tendrils of smoke. 

When he passes it to you, you take a drag and exhale through your nose, taking both of his hands in your own. You want to scold him lightly, it’s not smart to go without gloves in the snow, but with two hands occupied you can’t exactly hold the cig anywhere other than your mouth. So you stay quiet, and so does he.

Minutes pass in familiar silence. You write your name in the snow at your feet, digging out the letters with the heel of your boot. Lip does the same with the cigarette butt when it’s finished, and you complain how unfair it is that his writing looks much neater compared to yours. He smooths out the snow over your name, rewriting ‘MK’ in the space. 

As you head inside you become aware of how wet your clothes are, the snow melting in the slightly warmer temperatures, though you notice it’s not much. Lip lends you some clothes of his and politely turns his back while you change. Not that you would’ve cared much, anyway. 

“Fuckin’ freezin’ in here Lip,” you mumble, shivering in your hoodie and borrowed boxers as you climb the ladder after him. 

He laughs in response, reaching out to tug you into the softness of his chest. “C’mere, snow miser,” he grumbles, referencing a childhood favorite movie the two of you would watch every Christmas. A smile graces your lips as you settle against his chest, his warmth more familiar than anything you’ve ever known.

Lip tells you quietly about how Frank blew his most recent disability check, leaving Fiona scrambling for the small but important number he often contributed to the heat bill. He rambles on about how each of his siblings were dealing with the cold–something about Carl convincing Debbie her frosted breath was a magical power–and you feel yourself drifting off to the gentle sound of his voice.

In the morning the sun peeks through the worn curtains of the boys’ room. Gentle rays attempt to tug you from the comfortable embrace, but your unconscious mind only snuggles further into Lip’s chest. Carl is the first to take notice of this, snickering and elbowing a distracted Ian in the ribs as he pulls on warmer clothes. The older boy eyes the two of you and grabs Lip’s phone from his desk to snap a quick picture before ushering his younger brother out of the room. 

And when Fiona heads out to head to work, there are still two names written in the snow. With careful footing, she allows them to stay.

THX 4 READING → dedicated to my lovely @notsonian. beta'd by @tinyphantomsalad.

l4l presents... kinktober day six

today's act: somnophilia, starring lip gallagher

admonitions: fem!reader, college!lip, prearranged consent, established relationship, pussy personification (one instance), unprotected p in v sex.

word count: 688

“shh, shh, shh,” lip coos, a pinched grunt following suit. his shuffling behind you almost woke you. he’s well aware of your exhaustion, the hours you’re putting into projects, the work study, and how crazy your family manages to drive you despite the distance between you. he relates to all of those aspects, undergoing them himself in a different font, and that’s why he needs this. that’s why he needs you and he’s grateful for your previous permission to do this because his cock’s so hard when he sees your sleeping face, throbbing heavily in denim, guilt eating away at him when he selfishly wishes to wake you just to fuck you into the dorm’s tiny bed’s springbox, make it fucking creak while you moan for him and beg him for more.

lip scrapes his teeth into the skin beneath his bottom lip, sliding his swollen cock between your thighs, his hand clamped on the top one, squeezing it down for further friction. he fucks against the flesh, breathing in the scent of your shampoo strongly wafting from your freshly washed hair. he wishes he could’ve been here earlier to join you for your bedtime routine, intrude on your ritual, intrude on your shower, take advantage of your slippery skin, and your slippery cunt. he groans at the thought, hips pulling back and forth more incessantly as he envisions your legs around his waist, leaning on him for support as he fucks you against the cold tile of the walls, cheek turned to watch him.

to make matters worse, your pussy seems to recognize him instantly, the very second he started this up and lifted your thigh slightly to create room for his thick length. the fabric of your panties rubs the top of his cock, arousal sticky, some slathering from the movement onto him. she missed him, huh?

“mmph, fuck, sleep, baby,” he grunts, noticing how you’re stirring more, squirming beneath him.

while more sleep would be nice to gain considering all your responsibilities and  your cluttered schedule tomorrow, how does he expect you to sleep now with his panting brushing your ear, and his stiff cock pulsating between your legs? the ache from your dream, which you now know was from reality and lip searching for a release from your unconscious body, follows your waking form. it spreads from your core up your clenching stomach, blinking the sleep from your eyes as you push your hips back in protest of his words. he groans immediately, answering with a plunge of his own, his leaking cockhead stroking into the middle of your folds.

“sleep after,” you keen, reaching behind yourself to squeeze his hip in reassurance. lip may have his reservations, but they fly out the window with your breathless permission, transitioning his hand from your leg to your ruined panties.

he hooks them with three impatient digits, pulling the fabric out of his way while his other hand busies itself with wrapping around the base of his cock. with a single decisive push forward, his cock breaches your pussy. sinful noises spill from the both of you, lip working to thrust and pull back as soon as your enveloping heat accepts him, chasing something he feels he’s owed after everything he’s gone through, every ounce of his work ethic he’s delivered in the past few months. you deserve this, too. it’s not just about him, even if he did wake you with the most selfish of intentions given the circumstances.

“so fuckin’ pretty. can’t keep my hands to myself, couldn’t just… hmm, leave you alone,” he grunts, reaching his thumb to pet your clit in circles in time with his frantic thrusts. you melt against his body, head surrendering into the crook between his head and shoulder. it’s perfect. you don’t care how depraved it truly is. if lip wakes you like this because of all of his impending frustrations, something he’s done on a regular basis now, then you’re fine with taking the weight of them full on.

this is your solace. this is his fix. connected this way, nothing can ever really hurt you.

It's about devotion and obsession. It's ALWAYS about devotion and obsession. And hunger. It's love with teeth.