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asilentandkindersea · 1 month

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beautiful stranger — c. berzatto

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬) : carmen ‘carmy’ berzatto x blackf¡reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬) : needle, blood, kind of ooc carmy.

(+𝟏𝟖) bear and berry au, where carmen get a tattoo on a whim, only to develop a precious friendship with his tattoo artist.

hi, welcome in the land of imagination and alternative universe. today, you are going to explore the stupidity of my brain and my overwhelming load of ideas. i’m very new in the xreader writing lore, first time i’m not writing an oc story so have as much fun as possible, like and reblog, it means a lot to me. kisses on the nose. <3

tw : not proofread, written at 2 am and clearly sleep deprived, appends a few years before the tv show, when carmen was being treated like shit in new york, english isn’t my first language !

the art of eye contact was something you mastered at. the depth of your irises staring down your interlocutors’ eyes for the time being. at first, carmen thought it was intimidating, and with time, while his cerulean eyes no longer fled from the hold yours had, he found out. noticing at first when the light of this small studio hit your irises that they held an hint of gold inside of them. it was more apparent during sunny days, when the ball of flame carefully lightened up your face.

your dark lashes battled softly every two seconds when you were focused, maybe more if he dared to look away for the spit of a moment. darting his eyes from your lashes to your nose, drawing the curves of your face, memorizing each of these part only to doodle them later on when shame was no longer in order. maybe it was the pinkness of your lips that captivated his sense, or it was probably the way you bit your bottom lips trying to focus when there was no sound other than your beating heart and his ragged breathing.

it was most definitely the way your nose crunched when you were showing a proud expression, seeing as the drawing on his skin only looked like you imagined it. he had to fight the urge to press a soft kiss on the wrinkles of your nose more than once, during the first few months. probably coming back at the studio was the worst idea, considering he was no longer focused on his cooking but mostly on the lock falling in front of your face. he might have pushed it a few times behind your ear while you where so focused drawing your next flashes.

was he always this pathetic before ? or was it the first time his focus had shift so intensively?

the first time he came at the tattoo shop was months after coming back from noma, and working in new york. he don’t really know how he managed to find the shop, to be honest, maybe it was while looking online, or while walking home after a boring day off. yet, even tho he never truly cared in the higher power, not once hadn’t he thanked the universe for making him walk into the shop.

new york always felt like home to you, only when it came to tattoos and illegal drawings at night in those dark alleys you so often found yourself in. maybe if you hadn’t taken a break from college after an injury you wouldn’t have met his ocean eyes, the kind of blue you only see in summer when you are in your hometown. nonetheless, you loved new york for the small aspects, and he was one of those.

it was a saturday, usually you were off the weekend, but the quietest of your apartment was driving you insane, and the walk from your place to the shop was short. your very much used converse on and a redbull in your hand, you found place in that room you secluded yourself most of the time. the light pink color emitting from your neons, the oh so many plants hanging around and an old frank sinatra vinyl playing, you were drawing a new flash.

something you loved doing, doodling tattoos no matter how silly they could be. fingers moving across the screen, feet tapping in rhythm to the music, and eyes focused on the drawing, nothing could’ve made you look up from that piece of art you were making. and yet, the ding of the bell announcing a new client made you jolt from your red seat, closing the ipad in a second before walking out of the small room you found comfort in.

a not-so-tall man was standing in front of the counter, a jacket thrown over his white t-shirt, and his curls disheveled — had he messed with it ? — his eyes beamed upon seeing you.

“hi. . . sorry. i—“

he was shuttering like a pre schooler, — that was cute— his hand moving to his curls only to nervously mess them.

“hello, do you have an appointment ?”

in his ears, your voice sounded sweet like honey. entrancing like the sea monster, the sirens pulling him towards the depths, enchanting him in a way that caused the tip of his hears to flush pink for a second. you were showing this infamous smile people would go to war for, and carmen berzatto was a goner.

“i don’t— sorry i saw the sight ‘bout the non appointment thingy and. . . i can come back another time or—“

“no it’s okay, my colleague is busy, and i’m not, what are you here for? a tattoo. . . a piercing perhaps?”

your irises staring down his cerulean one, he almost felt like drowning only to be trapped in the depths of your eyes.

“a tattoo, if possible.”

“m’okay pretty boy, i’m gonna need you to sign the consent form and then we’ll talk in my studio.”

his fingers lingered a second too long on yours, while grabbing the pen you were giving him. an electric shock went through your body, making your eyes go wide, only to bend over, searching for the consent form. the paper on the counter, only the sound of the pen scribbling down his information was heard. usually, you weren’t that shy, and yet… there was something this man had that made your heart run a marathon.

“alright, do you have an idea or something you wanna do?”

once again, your voice made his entire world shatter.

the studio was small, a faint smell of cigarette lingering the fake leather seats, covered with thrown pillows. posters, canvas, were on the wall, many were signed with your name, while others had name he couldn’t make out from where he was seating. carmy admires the decoration, in all honesty, he thought the room would look completely different, and yet…

“i got some you might like, but if you have an idea you can doodle it or describe it to me and we’ll go from there.”

it took you at least half an hour to decide on the tattoo. his shoulder falling in a relaxed manner each passing second, while his eyes wondered on the screen you were making what he had in mind, real. he noticed the way your eyebrows furrowed in focused, your feet bouncing in rhythm with the single playing over and over again, before you lifted your head with a soft smile filled with pride.

looking back at the drawing, he felt understood in an odd way. perhaps it was how you made his thoughts appear on the screen, or probably the way you were explaining the reasoning behind your choices. he clearly wasn’t paying attention to this part yet, far too focused on the black design to say anything.

lifting his head only when the vinyl was heard and your voice had disappeared, he finally snapped out of his daze, he found the strength to answer this silent question your eyes were asking him.

“i like it, yeah.. it.. yeah. that’s what i had in mind. can we.. like do it on my arm, right here?”

showing the top of his forearm, and the empty space, you nodded.

to be honest, the time to prep felt like a blur, as the conversation flew awkwardly at first, before the cooking subject came by. the fact that your parents had a cabaret intrigued carmen, and made him ask so many questions all at once. if there was one thing that never changed about him, was his insatiable curiosity, and knowledge. new kitchen, new food, new restaurant. always the first thing on his mind, and as you were moving toward the leathery table, the tray with your torture equipment (he clearly didn’t know the names of every stuff present on it) moving along.

he knew it was also time for the permanent drawing. from the moment the frank sinatra vinyl was changed for a the weeknd one — making your shoulders move at the first few notes while putting on the latex red gloves.

“why red ?”

he asked, the last time he had a tattoo done, the artist had black one.

“why not ? red is my favorite color.”

your chuckles made his shoulder drop, relaxed in this unfamiliar and warm room. his arms shaved, cleaned, the needle was right above his skin. your face close to his skin, dreadlocks pulled in a high ponytail, glasses on your nose and that little wrinkle of focus, he felt a pinch in his skin.

“hey, stand still pretty boy, m’kay ?”

and he did, ignoring the way his skin turned red each time the needle was piercing his flesh, only nodding and chuckling as the conversation goes on. surprisingly, he felt at ease under the sharp machine, and your — very — shitty jokes. he noticed the tissue used to clean up the tony drop of blood that left the open wound, noticing how you asked him if he was in pain each passing minute. even once you finished the masterpiece, he stayed on the table laughing at your stupid attempt to make him laugh — which worked because he was complaining of tummy aches with a smile on his lips —, you stayed in your studios even after closing hour, forgetting the existence of your colleague in the room next door, his cerulean irises fixated in your comforting eyes.

he didn’t know that entering this shop with the idea of marking his skin permanently with two angels and a sun, would give him someone to talk to for hours without catching a break.

#•🍓𖥻 ̨𖥔 bear and berry #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #carmy x fem!reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fic #the bear fx #i’ll put the credit for the gif & psd later !!! i’m gonna sleep #psd by kittenkaiju & gif by @thiscoldheart <3

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