#painter!reader x carmen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

answer2jeff · 5 months

Text

Life Imitates Art —Carmen Berzatto.

PART 1/2.

warnings: fluff. painter!reader x roommate!carmen. unestablished relationships. clunky overly detailed writing. carmy being concerned. angsty. mutual pinning. (reader is lowkey mentally unstable like Carmen. i can't write 100% healthy relationships i'm sorry!!!)

a/n: sorry i disappeared and didn't write for weeks and decided to randomly drop this!

You needed inspiration.

With your last three pieces bought out from the French art gallery, L'art de L'amour, you hadn't touched your easel in days. Your brushes had gone dry, the paint clumping and staining every bristle. The lack of desire to make art felt like you hadn't seen the sun in 10 years.

You'd been ignoring this dreadful feeling with sleep.

Long day at the studio, the space filled with no one but younger, starving artists who wanted to admire your work for creative flow—but never wanting to know the real meaning behind every brush stroke, or why you used oil paints for specific pieces? Sleep.

The days fell shorter, the nights falling longer.

Even your roommate, a micromanager of his career, noticed.

It surprised you, possibly more than it should've. When you first moved into this apartment, you had every doubt in the world sharing a space would be enjoyable. For a while, you weren't sure if you could call yourselves "friends." Then again, living with a complete stranger—a man, no less, seemed impractical. But after a month or two, it was refreshing in a way. Carmen always cleaned up after himself, and was never opposed to splitting chores. There was no need to set specific boundaries. You felt respected, cared for. Every minute not overpowered by either of your desires to create were mostly spent with each other. It kept you sane.

You woke up to the sound of Carmen walking into the kitchen, cursing under his breath when he struggled to shut the door of your apartment behind him. Reluctantly, you dragged yourself out of bed, only to find that your bedroom door was wide open. You must've gone straight to bed after spending the entire evening trying and expectedly failing at "cleaning" up the apartment so Carmen wouldn't come home to a mess.

Bare feet pattered against the floorboards, the palm of your hand pressing into your tired eyes. You stretched your arms out, your t-shirt, who you weren't sure if it was yours or Carmen's, lifting up and showing just a sliver of your stomach over your grey sweatpants. The sunlight leaking through the windows blinded you.

"Oh, hey. You're up." A warm, welcoming voice greeted you, followed by the fridge being closed shut after restocking it with the necessities he picked up from Whole Foods.

You blinked to see Carmen hovered over the kitchen counter, clad in a navy-blue crewneck and gold chain dangling from his pale neck. His hands pried at a familiar brown wrapper. Blueberry muffins.

"Hey, yourself," you slurred, barely able to keep your eyes open as you hoisted yourself up onto the marble surface. You gazed down at him, grinning at his messy blonde curls.

Carmen smiled back, blue eyes admiring the sight of you: half asleep, your voice raspy while still having that airy cadence, your hair messier than it was the last time he willingly saw you—which he couldn't totally remember. He came home to the sight of your bedroom dimly lit by your bedside lamp.

"It's noon," he muttered, glancing from his phone on the counter, and back to you.

"Shit. Really?"

"Yeah. You've been sleeping a lot lately," he kept his stare on you as he opened the cabinet beside you, reminding you to 'watch your head' as he grabbed a ceramic plate.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

Your mind wandered to your exhibit. The thought of never having the ability to create such extraordinary work terrified you. So much that you hadn't even tried. It was almost embarrassing: Carmen seeing you like this. Rid of the one thing you convinced yourself you knew how to do.

"Not really."

You wanted to laugh. Maybe he just didn't get it.

If you could make even the painfully mundane into something more, than maybe you were more than just existing. Carmen was actually astounded by you and your work, even with the lack of knowledge in other art forms. Culinary was his calling, but for you? Oh, how he tried to grasp every concept you conveyed in your creative works. All in attempt to comprehend every thought in that pretty little head of yours.

Maybe he didn't understand as much as he wished, but maybe he didn't have to totally 'get it' to get you. Carmen found it hard to read people, their feelings, their true intentions, his whole life. But for once, he had confidence in his intoxicating marvel for everything you did. Even the way you covered your mouth when you laughed around everyone except him, or the way you styled your hair

"Well, it was for the sake of art," you smiled, extending your hand out to accept the plate that held the beautifully baked blueberry muffin. "Thanks for these, by the way."

"Pleasure. And I was actually gonna ask you about that. The—the art. Your art." Carmen joined you on the counter, his feet dangling beside yours. Your shoulders bumped past each other, a laugh coming from the both of you.

"Yeah? What about it?" You bit into your muffin, your gaze never leaving his.

"Well, I uh—I kinda wanted to visit your exhibit, y'know? Get to see it in its full form. I would've asked sooner but—"

"Yeah, yeah, it's okay. I know. Um—that'd be great. That's really nice of you, Carm."

A part of you wondered why he wanted to see it. But it wasn't all too surprising. Carmen took every chance he got to see your studio—even taking the initiative to drive you home from it on late nights, where you'd be endlessly analyzing your works even hours after Carmen would leave what was now, The Bear.

"Nah, I mean, I've just seen all that y'do and it's—" Carmen shrugged, struggling to find the right words to express his admiration without changing the atmosphere, "really cool. It's you, y'know?" His bottom lip was barred by his teeth and he looked into you for an answer.

You wished you could understand how the complexities of a kitchen; how it could clutch Carmen's attention to the point of no return, but you were happy for him. He was making something more of "mom and dads piece of shit," as he called it.

You never thought it was anything short of fucking awesome. He had all of this experience, drive, passion. Carmen felt more real, more rawly human to you than anything. Or anyone you'd met before.

He changed you. You were softer, calmer.

And still, you worried for him, dragging him out of the ever all consuming anxiety. Sometimes this was through watching X-file reruns on the couch. And every night, you'd move a little closer. By now, he'd keep an arm around you as your eyes became heavy and the room stirred with darkness and comfortable silence. He prayed to whatever ruled above him that you wouldn't notice, simultaneously wishing you'd want him to hold you gently like this. Even grocery store trips, something so simple, felt this way—which you missed out on this morning. You'd stand on the edge of the cart, your hands supporting your weight as Carmen pushed the handle with both hands, eyes scanning the isle for whatever obscure ingredient he needed for the dinner he planned on making you that night.

Every time he looked away, you stared. His beautifully carved nose, the way he bit the inside of his cheek and furrowed his blonde eyebrows when he tried to focus on making a decision. You were afraid, in a weird, animalistic way. You hadn't stopped yourself from relying on him. What if loving him this way made him pull away–or worse, you? You had to admit, having something this painfully simple in your life that made up for the chaos, was a little hard to accept.

It took everything in you to pretend you didn't notice him cleaning up the bathroom you shared whenever either of you left your belongings lying around. You wanted to convince yourself it was because he didn't want to come off as a slob, or influence you to be one yourself. But it always felt more like he was looking after you. Nothing that belonged to you would ever be misplaced again. Not with Carmen around.

You took pride in the little things. Your shoes placed next to each other near the front door, your toothbrushes leaning against each other with corresponding colored clips to cover their bristles. This was good. Change was good.

#carmen berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #painter!reader x carmen #ugh i love this #angsty fluff #carmy is so cute i need him #sorry i haven't posted #depression is a bitch #uni is kicking my ass #like seriously #anyways yeah #enjoy this #love you guys mwah

261 notes · View notes

slutforln4 · 13 days

Text

IN LOVE, IN ITALY.

🖇️ charles leclerc x painter reader

🖇️ in which, instagram is the diary for a fairytale love between a racer, a painter and their life in italy.

🖇️authors note: thank you to the lovely anon that submitted this request <3 hope you enjoy!!

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, landonorris and 376,937 others

yourusername i ❤️ summers in italy and my boy

comments

user1 PARENTSSSS

user2 i need a love like theirs

charles_leclerc why did i come second on the list of things you love 💔

yourusername i've loved you for three summers, my love, out of the twenty five i've lived. and i'll love you for many more.

user3 stop it rn i didn't need to see that today

user4 brb jumping

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, landonorris, carlossainz55 and 637,928 others

charles_leclerc i'm being held at gunpoint to post myself during summer break

comments

yourusername and i'll do it again 🔫

user5 let's all thank y/n for feeding us with charl content

user6 thank you y/n

user7 thanks y/n!!

user8 thank you mother

yourusername ur welcome, my loves x

landonorris never seen a man so happy to be on break

yourusername shade

landonorris was it that obvious?

charles_leclerc i love my job?

charles_leclerc !*

user9 ferrari has him locked up LMFAO

user10 bro can't even drive a car unless it's ferrari or he's cooked

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, arthur_leclerc and 436,937 others

yourusername lemons, anyone? 🍋

comments

user11 what the fuck is that stance, charles...

charles_leclerc helps me catch fish

user12 i've never seen anyone paint lemons so realistically, how long did it take?

yourusername eight hours! i've mastered the craft of losing sleep and cramping fingers

user13 spare me some talent i beg

user14 i wonder if she's ever painted charles lol

landonorris paint me a papaya next

yourusername on it

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, landonorris, carlossainz55 and 837,948 others

charles_leclerc she doesn't always paint

comments

user15 red is her colour!

user16 she looks so cute in the helmet lol

user17 who won karting

yourusername me obvs

landonorris i did tho?

yourusername lando nowins suggests otherwise

user18 LMFAO

user19 why is she cooking lando omfg

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, landonorris and 736,937 others

yourusername and he doesn't always race

comments

user20 wait the matching captions i'm emotional

user21 my actual parents

landonorris i hope whatever he was painting on the canvas was better than those eels on your back

yourusername it wasn't but it's the thought that counts

charles_leclerc hey :(

yourusername mi dispiace amore mio

user22 they're adorable i'm sobbing

yourusername

liked by arthur_leclerc, carlossainz55, landonorris and 836,937 others

yourusername new beginnings

comments

user23 NEW BEGINNINGS??

user24 don't tell me they broke up

user25 i'm ending myself if they broke up

user26 no? no. nope nuh uh

user27 WHY IS CHARLES NOT IN THE LIKES

user28 we're done for

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, arthur_leclerc, landonorris and 2,923,782 others

charles_leclerc guess what

comments

user29 OH MY GOD?????????/

user30 no fucking way

yourusername yours for eternity 🤍

charles_leclerc i wouldn't have it any other way

landonorris congratulations to my fav cringe couple

carlossainz55 congrats

georgerussell63 Congratulations from Carmen and I

lewishamilton congratulations 💐🤍

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, carlossainz55 and 1,436,837 others

yourusername opened up a gallery in my fiancés name. come visit in maranello, italy 💌

comments

user31 i'm??? sobbing???

user32 i went there on opening day and half of her work mentions charles in the descriptions 😭 my fav one: "took a picture of the sunset after charles and i first kissed. it's been three years since and kissing him still feels like looking at this sunset."

user33 STOP????

user34 one of the paintings is literally called charles and it's a cluster of her and his birth month flowers.

charles_leclerc you never fail to make me fall even more in love with you. je t'aime chéri ❤️

yourusername ti amo di più tesoro 🤍

the end.

#formula one #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #formula one smau #charles leclerc x you

644 notes · View notes

thatone-brightstar · 11 months

Text

Paint stained kisses -Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader-

a/n: Everyone say thank you to the sweet @beebslebobs for the idea on this oneshot that was originally just an insta post from my TB & TF universe!

Here's a little sweetness to alleviate the chest pains that chapter 10 may have caused on some of you. It's part of the same story, but it can totally be read separately if you'd like

BUT if you haven't read it and you wanna… here’s the link to that:

The Bear & The Fox -Carmy Berzatto x Fem! Reader-

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: Your and Carmy's day off.

WARNINGS: Smut ahead, oral sex (female receiving), p in v, dirty talk if you squint, reader is on birth control but isn't mentioned (wrap it up IRL tho), minors DNI but you'll do what you want so don't say I didn't warn you.

“That was the worst french toast I’ve had, like, ever…” You groan, kicking your soaked sneakers to the side as soon as Carmy throws the door open.

“My eggs Benedict were pretty good.” He answers from behind.

You roll your eyes with your back to him and scoff. “Obviously, sis wouldn’t dare serve you something awful.” You turn to your boyfriend, a mocking smile curled on your lips. “‘Anything else I can get you, chef? I can also offer you something that isn’t on the menu…’ wink, wink.”

The exaggerated kissing noises you make towards him pull a chuckle from his chest as he combs his fingers through the wet strands of hair. You roll your eyes again and pad to his speaker, soon filling the room with the soft notes of an instrumental song. The warmth of his hands brush over the sides of your waist and rest delicately over your navel as his chest presses to your back, causing the moisture of his sweater to transfer onto yours.

“So, what I understand is you’re jealous someone was hitting on me?” Carmen whispers between soft kisses on the valley of your shoulder.

“No, I’m jealous your food was better than mine-” You answer, swatting his hands away and earning another soft laugh that fills your ears with joy as you walk into his room.

You’ve grown used to the lovely sound, more common the longer you spent by his side, as if the walls he held up were slowly chipping away with your constant presence. You softly hum to the music from his stereo while you rummage through the drawer that holds a few shirts you’ve hauled to his place in the past couple weeks.

He had emptied it out after finding your things bunched up and wrinkled inside your backpack by the sofa. You found it completely adorable when, in search of a shirt of his to sleep in, instead you found your own clothes - neatly folded in perfect squares- occupying the first drawer in his closet. He didn’t mention it and neither did you. Knowing Carmy and his silent acts of love, mentioning it would only shy him back into his shell and the progress you had made over the months of going out was something you weren’t willing to lose.

You pull out a blue washed out ‘The Original Beef of Chicagoland’ shirt that still smells like his body wash and pull it over your chest, then a pair of shorts and some socks to pad around his cold floor while taking out your supplies from the waisted tote bag inside your backpack. You only have a month or two until the showing and even though it might seem like enough time, to you it wasn’t. Every time you tried to concentrate on an idea for your set, your mind would go blank, thoughtless and frustratingly empty. You could blame it on the prospect of a deadline, maybe painter’s block, but you knew it was more than that.

You’ve used painting as an outlet all your life. Most of your favorite works came from a place of hurt, anger and most times sadness. But now they had all been shoved into a corner and replaced by a sense of calm and overall happiness and while you’re glad most of the dark thoughts have left, now it was harder to conjure up any idea that seemed good enough to be presented in front of hundreds of people.

You rub your face in frustration and pull your hair out of your eyes into a bun, then drop criss-crossed by the window of Carmy’s room, acrylics, brushes and sketchbooks flooding the floor. The gentle lull of the chords mix with the shuffling from the kitchen and a smile forms on your face as the source of your lack of inspiration walks into the room, shirtless and cradling a bowl of diced fruit in his hand.

“Here.” Carmy mumbles softly, passing the bowl to you and leaning down to place a gentle kiss over your hair.

You take it, mumbling a quiet ‘Thanks’ through your smile and pop a piece of the tangy peach in your mouth before setting it on his nightstand.

“How’s the brainstorming coming along?” He takes a seat in front of you, back leaning against his bed and lighting a cigarette.

Without answering, you stretch your arm to him, sketchbook in hand and stare mesmerized as he flips through the pages, lit tube dangling from rosy lips. You keep taking bites off the savory fruit to avoid biting your lip instead because the view in front of you is just that fucking good. Baby blues flicker towards you without bothering to lift his head and the way your legs twitch trying to close has a smirk forming over the cig.

“What?” You say defensively.

“Nothin’.” He accentuates with a raise of his brows. “What’s wrong with these?” He asks, giving you the book back turned to a page harboring a few sketches of the sea, shore and shells.

“They’re not good enough…” You admit, tracing your finger over the print his thumb left when it smudged the charcoal. “They don’t make me feel anything- art’s supposed to make you feel something. How can I call myself an artist if it doesn’t stir anything in me!?”

“Hey-” He puts out the smoke on the ashtray over his night stand and scoots to you, making a space for you between his arms. The heat of his naked chest and compression of his arms do wonders to dull out the rising pounding inside. “You’re overthinking it. Maybe take some time off… what do you do when you’re frustrated?”

“...paint.”

Carmy gives you a small snort, genuine and lighthearted, that blows a few wild strands of hair and has you looking up to his glowing face with a tiny grin. You suck the corner of your lip in concentration, the angle in which he has you cradled can only be described as holy. Strong jaw and nose angle perfectly into your line of vision and you have to refrain yourself from kissing the soft tip of it multiple times.

“How ‘bout you make one of those abstract paintings? Let the brush guide you- or whatever-”

“I could paint you…” The words escape your lips the second they materialize in your head.

He pulls his head back slightly, brows drawn up in confusion. “What, like one of your french girls?”

“No!” You manage to answer through a fit of giggles that you’d be ashamed to let out if you hadn’t gotten so comfortable with him already. “Paint on you, as in over you.”

You strain your neck up to catch his lips in yours, the stubble that covers his chin scratching over your tender skin. He smiles into the kiss, very well feeling your intentions of trying to distract him with what you know he likes the most: you.

“It’ll help…” Sultry breath fans his lips and clouds his thoughts with the taste of peaches, fresh and sweet. “Yeah?”

Carmy can only nod, still hooked on the taste of your lips and the stretch of your smile when you get your way. He groans when you pull away, goosebumps rising over the exposed flesh of his chest as you move to take his pillow and sheet from the bed and place it over the ground, beside his legs. He sighs, but obliges anyway, unhooking his stiff thighs and laying belly flat over the hard ground.

“Can’t we do this on the bed?” He speaks over the soft material of the silk pillow sheets you had bought solely for him.

“I don’t wanna get paint on the bed.” You shrug. “Don’t move, it’s gonna tickle a bit…”

The first stroke of the brush gives him chills as the cold paint glides over uncharted territory. He finds it strange, but not uncomfortable and once he gets used to it, it even feels calming. Your soft hums to the tune of the music, the rain pattering outside and the rhythmic strokes have him slowly lulling away into an almost relaxed state, at least what he considered relaxation.

You smile gently down at his long and slow breaths, tracing with your brush over the small beauty marks that map his pearly skin like constellations on an explorer’s map. While one hand holds the brush, you use the pads of your fingers to press down gently over the strained muscles that don’t seem all that relaxed, pulling a groan or two every so often and enjoying all the little sounds he makes.

You spend the time just admiring him. The way his shoulder blades flex when he wraps his arms under the pillow, to the two very pretty dimples that peek just above the waistband of his sweatpants.

“You’re not doin’ much painting…” He mumbles, voice thick and groggy from sleep, while your nails rake rhythmically along his ribs.

“I got distracted…” You bite your lip and pull your phone from under the brushes to snap a picture of your wonderful view, then you lean down and place a sultry kiss where his shoulder blades meet.

“Fox…” He warns through your kisses, the pet name sounding at home between rosy soft lips.

“Bear…” You tease back with a smile, you knowing how much he liked you calling him that.

In a second, you sink down your teeth over the plush skin and he visibly shudders under you. You barely hear him mumble something to himself, before he’s turning to his side and using one strong arm to pull you down to him. Your vision spins and a squeal comes out, only to be shoved back into your throat with the force of his kiss. You’re caged between his arms, torso pressing you to the ground and mouth roaming wet and mercilessly over your own.

The few seconds of air you fill your lungs with when he separates to pull the thin shirt over your head can only do so much to alleviate the burning in your core caused by his strong stare. You raise to your forearms and his lips latch immediately to your exposed collarbone, starving and pleased with every whimper he pulls from you.

“You wanna play chef, let’s play-“ He teases and without wasting time, pushes himself off you into a seating position, thighs spread out just enough for you to sit over them after pulling you to him again.

His enthusiasm is evident in the growing bulge that begins to rub on the inside of your thighs and with the help of your toes on the floor, you rock your hips forward enough to feel his fingers twitch over your waist, digging deeper into the flesh. A soft and shaky moan caresses your lips, motivating your movements as your fingers scrape up his neck and get lost in the messy strands.

His smile stretches over your joined lips. “Anything for you… chef.”

You can feel his Adam’s apple bob with a chuckle as you kiss down his neck, sucking and nibbling hard just under a thin tan line where you assumed his shirt would cover it up, hopefully. His hips jerk upwards with strength, ripping a gasp from your chest, then another squeal when he wraps a secure arm around your waist and hoists you up and off the floor. Your knees squeeze over his hips and your arms wrap around his shoulders in surprise only for a moment, before feeling the soft sheets and the mattress underneath.

Carmy’s lips brush down the exposed skin of your chest, his wet tongue lapping over the hardened nipple of each breast has your knees separating and making room to fit his hips perfectly. He lets go of your tender skin too soon, peppering saliva stained kisses down the middle of your abdomen. As his knees fall to the ground, dexterous fingers pull at the hem of your shorts in a torturously slow fashion, making you lift your upper body on your elbows and direct an impatient glare. Your hair has fallen off its bun somewhere between the floor and the bed, glowing like a dark halo with the few rays of sunshine filtering through the open window and it’s gripping at Carmy’s chest.

“Baby, please…” You moan eager and annoyed, trying to shimmy your hips to quicken the process.

The cold air hits the bare flesh of your cunt and ignites goosebumps that Carmy kisses away as he finishes sliding the fabric over your feet.

“Fuck, so wet already. Just for me, huh?” He mumbles to himself, breath blowing over the exposed skin and causing a jolt of need to travel deep inside.

You swallow down the thick pool of saliva that drowns your mouth at the sight of his beautiful face between your legs. “Bear, please I need you to-” The phrase is cut short by your gasp.

Long digits rub tauntingly over your slit, coating in the arousal caused only by him. He’s too eager to continue teasing you, too entranced with the way your pussy glistens with the bare idea of him that all he can do is look up at you through his brows and lap at the wetness with a firm tongue. With just the first taste of you, he’s hooked, like a starving man afraid they’ll take away his only source of life.

Your groan throws your head back with force and makes your eyes lose focus. Strong hands grip at your hips, rooting you to the mattress while your feet fall over his shoulders. Your hands try to find anything to hold on to- hair, sheets, pillow and even your own thighs- but the constant assault of his skillful mouth makes your fingers lose their grip on anything in your reach.

“Fuck baby-you’re doing so, so good-” Your praise makes his cock twitch inside his pants and he uses one of his hands to frantically pull the waistband down, stroking himself with a similar speed to his mouth.

Whimpers cascade from your lips and pool over your chest with every slurp and lick that echoes in the small room. You force your blurry eyes to focus down, only to be met by piercing black and a thin ring of deep blue staring up at you. His hand spreads over the sweet spot where your thigh meets your hip bone, digits concave the flesh in a way that reminds you of the ancient marble sculptures. There’s a predatory air about the way his jaw tenses in concentration while eating you out, hard muscle digging deep into you and curving your back off the sheets.

Your nails dig into his scalp with every stroke of his tongue and the scorching sensation crawling over your thighs only grows with the bump of his nose over your swollen clit. A hard yelp scratches its way out through your exhausted lungs, motivating him to speed up his movements and add a finger into your dripping cunt. His groans and moans vibrate into your overstimulated area, causing the orgasm to hit you out of nowhere.

A chorus of ‘fuck’s that vary in volume ring inside Carmy’s ears -along with the pulsing walls compressing his finger and tongue- but he refuses to budge. Instead he continues to rub your clit with the bridge of his nose until your breaths have settled long enough for moans to turn into words and not the unintelligible mumbling that makes his chest swell with pride. He pulls his own hand from around his cock afraid he’ll burst before his favorite part, distracting himself by placing gentle kisses over your spasming thighs and rubbing along the lengths of them as he crawls over you.

There’s a blissful smile over your face that only grows with the sweet pecks of his lips making their way up your skin. You open your eyes when the mattress dips under his weight beside you and you prop your head up on your elbow, mimicking his stance. Your eyes are glossy with post-orgasm bliss as your hand lifts to his face and your middle finger traces over the prominent line of the nose you love so much. His skin is smooth with your slick and you can’t help but pull your finger back and pop the tip into your mouth, never losing his stare.

His neck loses grip of his head, messy curls falling in frustration because, how is it that the smallest thing you do can rile him up so fucking quickly? A death between your legs, he thought, would be the happiest demise.

With the thought present in mind, he circles your waist tightly and drags your body over his into a seating position. You throw your leg over his parted ones in sweet anticipation, knees hovering over the sheets while your arms fall on his shoulders and you pull him up to your mouth. The taste of peaches and tobacco mixing with your arousal have you panting and grinding your folds over the firm head of his cock.

“You want me to fuck you?” He whispers in between kisses, using all his strength to not slam into you already. He just loved to hear you say it, have your pretty lips pout around the word that had been used to taunt him for so long, needy for you to give it another meaning. "I gotta hear it, baby, c'mon-"

“Fuck yes, chef- please fuck me-” Your thighs quiver with want, mouth completely disconnected from your brain as the words tumble down. “Please, chef? Pretty, pretty please?”

His eyes grow soft and his dick hard at the way you whine your words, hips rocking along his length leaving him delirious and pussy-drunk before he’s even inside you. Carmy plants a firm hand at the base of your spine, using it to guide you down his stiff cock until the last bit of air is pushed out your lungs.

“Fuck-” You groan, throwing your head back then letting it fall over his shoulder as he lifts you up and lets you drop over and over again.

Your hands dig at his back, clawing over undried paint you’ve forgotten is there and smearing careless streaks of blue and pink over his chest. The beautiful sound of smacking skin and his breathy moans growing louder around you go straight to your core, igniting the tingling sensation that runs up and down your thighs once again.

His eyes can’t seem to look away from your face, too bewitched by the way your lips hang parted and the fine layer of sweat covering your skin. While his hand rounds your body and runs circles over your nub, his teeth latch onto the breasts bouncing in his line of vision, pretty bruises flourish and decorate the skin with his own personal mark.

“Bear- baby- fuck-” Fragments of a sentence is all you’re able to utter, pushed out and punctuated by the snap of his hips increasing in speed.

You feel every one of his thrusts too deeply inside you from that angle, along with the constant nibbling over your tender breast and you think you might just go mad from the overstimulation. You roll your hips along with his when the tension in your navel begins to grow. One hand circles his neck and buries inside sweaty locks while the other tries to grip onto the wall for any sense of stability. Your legs tremble, the tension builds and without warning, your grip on his cock pulls the air from his lungs as he feels you spasm around him and come with a gutural gasp.

Carmy digs into the skin of your hips lifting you up for a few more thrusts before the tightness of your walls grows too much. His neck flushes red with the force of his release, the groan vibrating next to your ear makes the thin hairs on your body rise with chills.

The drained energy finally catches up to you both and Carmy lets gravity pull him down to the comfort of the soft bed, holding you tight in his arms and pulling you down with him. You’re too blissed out to warn him about the paint still fresh, now pressing over the white sheets disparaging the bed.

It’s only when he turns to carefully place you beside him- arms secure around you- that you open your eyes and notice the array of smeared paint covering both your chests and around his neck. The laughs rippling from your chest are too contagious for Carmy to stay quiet, joining on once he gets a view of himself and the lilac prints around your face that match with the size of his thumbs.

“See?” He whispers once you’ve both run out of laughter, sapphire eyes dancing around your glowing face and hand traveling up to caress your cheek. “I was right about the abstract painting…”

"Yeah..." You grin back. "And so much for not wanting to get paint on the bed..."

**********

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha, @yum-yahgurt, @pussy-f41ry and that’s it lmao

446 notes · View notes

miwsolovely · 1 month

Text

—THE PAINTER

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader x luca davies-bernardi

series masterlist taglist next

summary: beautiful chaos.

contains: implications + mentions of abuse, ptsd, panic attack, pov changing, reader is sick and tired of everything but carmy makes her think

wc: 4.6k

a/n: im thinking of making this an au where luca and carmy are both the owners of The Beef (this takes place roughly before carmy turns The Beef into The Bear, but mc will be there to see it happen in this series)

a/n 2: i was listening to second best by laufey while writing this :((

a/n 3: posted on a whim so this is unedited bear w me

You could almost feel the cold waves embracing you.

Could almost taste the salt, feel the sting of saltiness in your eyes only to feel the droplets wash away on your face.

You felt as if you were flying. floating in air with your only worry being how you could get down. If you could get down. If you could get out of this feeling. This loneliness.

You would’ve stayed too. Suspended in the cold sea with only the feeling of the waves hitting your body, the sound of the waves hugging the shore, the wind singing in your ears.

You had no choice but to stay. Because even if you fell, there was no moon to pull the waves away from crashing against you. To pull you down underneath the water until your fingers barely grazed the surface.

So you stayed.

And your alarm woke you up.

You opened your eyes with a sigh, cringing at the feel of the cold nipping at your skin and the stabbing pain all over your body.

An old band t-shirt and shorts. The unforgiving chicago winter turning your fingers into ice, dark blue blooming underneath your nail beds.

You cringed as you tried to sit up, freezing fingers feeling at semi-aged splotches of blue and yellow and purple around your tired body.

It was beautiful. To a painter at least. To you in your own sick way. To find beauty in something so horrible. So inhumane.

They were the aftermath of a bad day gone horribly wrong. His day that went wrong. Because of this horrible day you knew you’d never forget, you ran, again.

Even though you knew what would happen to you if you were found. Even though you knew you would be found. You always were. Now you just take to taking extra, extra precautions and looking over your shoulder every five seconds, making sure your back is never turned facing an exit, memorizing every face that looks like his. You ran this time. You’re not going back.

You expected the cold wood floor to greet your feet as you stood. However you were met with plush.

You looked down and noticed the duvet that once protected your body from the cold of the night, was now on the floor seemingly thrown off of you.

He was here. Watching you sleep, watching you when you were the most vulnerable. Watching you like a predator stalking its prey, jowls out and salivating waiting to pounce.

You stared at it as you eyes welled up, flooded, and like rain your tears poured on the duvet. Unforgiving just like this winter. Just like him.

You sniffed and dug the heels of your palms on your eyelids, took deep breaths, in the nose out the mouth, and blinked your red rimmed eyes back into focus. You took another deep breath, and let it go.

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand and stood up, limping your way to your bathroom, ignoring the burning pain of your heart in its hard, iron cage.

***

Carmen could almost feel the fire at his fingertips.

He could almost taste the smoke, feel the sting in his eyes as they blurred and filled with tears threatening to spill from his crystal eyes.

He felt as if he were drowning, fingertips just barely grazing the surface of the water before he was pulled down again into the deep depths of the unknown. His mind.

He would’ve stayed there. Would’ve stayed and let the waves forcefully shove him under, let the burn of water rushing into his lungs engulf him. However, when taunted by the moon even the waves bow.

He didn’t like to admit it often (ever), but when he was surrounded by the people he loved, the people who cared for and about him, Carmen felt happier, lighter.

And his other half—oh, his other half looked at him and talked to him and cared for him and loved him even before he touched his skin.

Luca is his everything.

He wouldn’t know where he would be without him in all honesty. If anything happened to him he would—

His alarm woke him up.

He twitched and felt his lover’s body curl around him more. Legs tangled together and skin touching skin.

He cleared his throat and tried to clear the fog in his mind as well.

Luca shifted from his position behind Camren, tightening his arms around his waist ever so gently.

Carmen sighs and pats the arms bound around him gently. “C’mon big guy,” He said. “Every second counts, yeah?”

He earned a grunt in response.

***

They really need to hire more people.

Today was hectic to say the least. Angry customers, slow customers, customers that forgot their order and took to staring at his arms.

Customers that didn’t even look at the tip jar.

He didn’t know how Richie did it. Stared at customers with a fake smile who stared back without the smile.

Richie was home, taking care of his daughter Eva after she came down with a bad stomach bug. He was begging, almost get-down-on-your-knees begging, just for a week off.

“Carmy, Carmen please, just the week okay? I won’t—I swear to Saint fucking Joe himself, just the week and I won’t ask for anything else—”

“Cousin, cousin, it’s okay. Take all the time you need alright?”

He was ready to go outside, in the middle of the street, and scream until his own ears bled. Or, if push comes to shove, he could put up a “Help Wanted” sign.

Carmen closed his eyes and let out a deep breath from his nose and rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to soothe the sore muscles that took refuge there.

“Short-staffed?”

Carmen opened his eyes and immediately, he met the gaze of the woman in front of him.

She was wearing a turtleneck colored a dark chestnut. Suited her well, he thought. She had wide leg jeans from what he could see over the counter and—

And he’d been staring.

“Uh—” He let out an airy chuckle. “Yeah, how’d you . . .” He slowly removed his hand from his neck and placed it on the counter, warm palm meeting the cold surface of the counter. Trying to wake him up from this dream.

“Saw you and the other worker here runnin’ around like headless chickens.” She smiled. A pretty thing it is. “Thought you guys were short staffed.” She confessed.

Carmen smiled. A genuine one too. Smiled a smile that was meant for someone other than Luca.

“Well uhm—unless you’re out of a job and know where the tip jar is, you’re uh—you’re in luck.”

Carmy saw her eyes light up. He didn’t know, but that was the first time she smiled that much in a while.

***

You had seen him before.

You don’t know where, but his face was so familiar.

Yes, some people have “that face” where they look familiar just because the structure of their face looks like somebody else’s they know. However, there was nothing else like the way his eyes shined, or the way his nose was crooked probably broken a few times. Or the way he looked, the way he talked, the way he was looking at you right now.

Maybe you were too friendly? You wouldn’t know anyways, being deprived of human and social interactions for a long time, the years you were with him, turning easy things such as holding a conversation or starting one, tiring and making them out of your comfort zone.

A part of you, a tiny part of you barely even recognized, started conversation with him because you thought he was nice.

Not nice actually, kind. You could see he was kind because of the way he held the door for an elderly couple when he was on break, jogging over to the door and sharing smiles with them. You knew it in the way he offered to make sweets for a customers child’s birthday party after they expressed how they can’t find someone willing to do it. You could see it in the way he brang you your order with a tiny, shy, but genuine smile on his face.

Now the other part of you, the large, overwhelmingly scared part of you did it so that he’d remember you. Remember your face when he would see it on a missing persons poster, remember you so that if it came to it, when it came to it, he’d tell the police he saw you at The Beef on Thursday, May 18th at 3:47 pm on a sunny, yet cold day.

You let out a breath and peered at your sandwich, wrapped to go logo reading “The Beef” in bolded red letters.

Should you leave? It’d be weird to stay considering you ordered your sandwich to go.

You’re just taking up space.

Maybe you should leave. You’re not waiting for anyone, and no one is waiting for you.

You sighed and a man walked by where you were sat. Towards him, the kind man, the man with the mystifyingly beautiful tattoos, him.

You thought nothing of it, why would you have? it was all normal.

Until you saw his hair, the shape of his nose, his build.

Blond with defined muscles that seemed to almost rip the shirt he was wearing to threads. His large hands waving at the kind man at the counter, large hands that look eerily similar to his. Nose crooked like his, blond hair cut similar to his.

Him, him, him.

Your heart was pounding, beating like a drum, a bad storm with thunder that scares, imagining your tears melting on your face like how the rain would feel on your skin whenever he'd throw you outside in a bad storm to treat you a lesson. Unforgiving. Him, him, him.

You thought it was a mistake. That it really wasn't him, you were just seeing things. That's what you usually do in situations like these; you deny, deny, deny. Not everything is true in the true light of day.

But in the wispy shadows of night it's ironic how most everything comes to life. Everything you think to be wrong jump and pounce on you when you least expect it. When you're cleaning, cooking, doing chores, sleeping.

The ring on his index finger glinted and burned your eyes. Him. It’s him.

You remember, in the early stages of your relationship, when your eyes were being deceived by his sweet words and caramel eyes, when everything was good, his ring was always warm to the touch.

Either it was because he ran like a furnace in the coldest of nights, or the fact that he always had to be holding you. You, you, you.

But after, after the world around you burnt and his words were sharp and mean, his eyes turning dark like burnt, black sugar, the ring on his finger turned cold to the touch. So cold that it hurt. Whenever he would hold your face, force you to look at him, it hurt. His ring was always a reminder that no, you weren't safe, you never will be, and yes, you were in this forever.

"The only way," He'd say, whenever you got angry, whenever you'd try to run, whenever his anger simmered down just a tiny bit after delivering your punishment. "you'd be able to get away from me, is if someone drags you out of my cold, dead, fucking hands." And his ring was there, burning into your skin no matter how cold it was.

The creak of the chair in front of you shook you to your core.

"Hey, um, I thought you were really pretty and wanted to come over here and ask if you wanted to go on a date with me?”

Your head shot up. So fast it left your head spinning. your hands were shaking.

It wasn't him.

Whoever was above seemed to have favorites. Rewarding others but leaving you to suffer. Deceiving your eyes and making you see a burnt brown instead of a green so rich it came straight from mother nature herself, rewiring your brain so you would mistake brown for blond. Making you imagine things that weren't there. The ring on his finger was nonexistent. Nothing was there, you were wrong.

You were wrong and that left your heart beating fast, too fast, left you muttering a broken promise to the man, the innocent man, and walking away, running away, from all your problems, from him.

Him, him, him.

You don't know how, but after your burning muscles couldn't take you anywhere else, your tear stained cheeks getting wet over and over again no matter how much you wipe your face with your rough sleeve, you were outside, in an alley, breathing heavily. Your sandwich left inside the restaurant to get cold.

You held your chest with your hand, where your heart was, trying to calm it, trying to breathe. You just want to go home, you just want to go home. Home to empty, cold walls and broken AC, home to—

"You alright, love?"

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms !

- likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3 !!

©miwsolovely

#✿﹒the bear masterlist—📁﹒ ✧#౨ৎredamancy #creds to the maker of luca’s last name !!!#carmen x reader x luca #carmy x reader x luca #carmen berzatto x reader #luca the bear #luca the bear x reader #the bear #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmy the bear

61 notes · View notes

pattysplaceofplaces · 2 years

Text

Paper Hearts

Paper Star x Gender Neutral Reader

Finally, another caper. Paper Star was good at her job yet her unhinged nature caused her to be tied onto a tight leash. But now her little “timeout” was over and she was back on the scene once more.

The National Museum of color. The most vibrant place in the world filled with all forms of art. She hadn’t been paying much attention to Countess Cleo’s ramble but she wanted some sort of butterfly themed dress. She jumped down from the ceiling beams and onto the paint splattered floor. Paper Star loved chaos as much as the next villain but these colors were too much. At least she made it look flattering with pastels instead of throwing some colors together and calling it a day.

This mission was too boring for her. No sign of Carmen Sandiego or Shadow San? Of course they’d make her go on these types of missions. She had managed to snatch the dress and was about to make it to the helicopter yet something stopped the thief in her tracks. She had never seen anything like it.

A room that housed a large frame. Inside that frame was a landscape made purely out of folded paper. Hills with vibrant flowers and butterflies, trees that housed origami monkeys, and fish swimming in light blue water. She cautiously took a few steps closer, reading the name on the frame.

“Serenity Party by F/n L/n”

Who? Paper Star had never heard that name before. What an underrated gem. Surely their other works were just as good. She glided her fingers against the glass, wishing she could be in that picture. She had time to spare, she could take it with her, perhaps store it in her room. Although she knew VILE would most likely want it, or that she would be in trouble for jeopardizing the mission or whatever. “They always wanna ruin my fun..” She muttered to herself, cringing at the thought of your masterpiece being forced to attend Cleo’s villain dinner parties. “I’ll see you soon.” But not soon enough for her. She sticked a tracker on the back of the frame and made her get away. Once she was secure on the helicopter she took her phone out of her pocket. Time to do some research on a specific artist.

—-The Next Morning—-

“You’re quite lucky L/n. Only one thing was stolen and it wasn’t your work.” You let out a sigh of relief, adjusting your guest badge. “Now your meet will start soon. Be on the lookout for any suspicious characters.” You stood next to your piece, nodding. “Thank you.” You knew the manager wouldn’t hear your silent gratitude but oh well.

“The artist behind the art” meet wasn’t going very well for you. So many talented artists had crowds as they stood next to their work. Yet for the past two hours your area had been completely deserted. Some people would past by but not long enough for you to start talking about your piece. Maybe you shouldn’t have submitted your work at all. You knew the art director was hesitant to put it in. Maybe they were right. Origami wasn’t a real art. Painters, sculptures, fashion designers worked so hard. All you did was sit down and fold paper all day. Your parents were right, it wasn’t too late to change your major, to find a more successful career. You picked up the sides of the frame and went to take it off the wall but a chill and the blur of colors that rushed past you made you freeze.

“Hello?” You looked around, trying to find someone. You went to pick up your painting until you noticed something that had been pinned to your jacket. You held the origami rose in your hand, reading the ink that had been written on the stem.

“I look forward to seeing more of your work.

-Your biggest fan

P.S. Let’s hang out sometime.”

Paper Star knew she could get in huge trouble for getting close to someone who wasn’t apart of VILE but she could deal with it. This felt like something she absolutely had to do. There was something about you. Perhaps she did have a heart, one that she folded with blood red paper only for you.

#Carmen Sandiego #Paper Star #Paper Star Carmen Sandiego #Paper Star x reader #X reader #Carmen Sandiego x reader #Carmen Sandiego imagine #Reader insert #Villain x reader #Kinda Yandere? I don’t really know

68 notes · View notes