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atrwriting · 9 months

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the bee, the the bird, the bear -- uncle!carmy x babysitter!you

as always, warnings: major character death, past child neglect and abuse situations, swearing, tooth-rotting fluff, and eventual smut

one

“mallory... what’s your favorite color?” you asked the young girl next to you, lightly gripping her hand.

“pink,” the young girl said, keeping her eyes straight ahead at the aisle before her.

you stared down at her and fought back the urge to sigh. you tried not to hold it against her, but mallory berzatto was a tough cookie to crack. in the few days she had been around, barely anyone reported on her asking for anything she needed or wanted. you knew it wasn't going to be easy, but it was growing difficult to continue to remind yourself of that. you didn’t have any experience in how to console a child as they’re experiencing grief, and you weren’t exactly sure how to do that in a target.

“i love pink,” you stated. “maybe when you get older, i’ll show you my favorite pink makeup.”

the girl only nodded. you glanced back down at her… almost wishing you hadn't. you didn't know if it was because it was the sight you were most worried for, but looking down at that girl made your heart hurt. all you saw in her eyes was vacant space. dark, blank, vacant space. it was like ghosts casted a haze over her brown irises… and you had no idea what to do. toxic positivity? offer to get her ice cream? you knew you shouldn't push as you couldn’t exactly blame her.

so you brought out the big guns.

“so, mallory…” you began. “do you like... starbucks?”

mallory’s head immediately turned on a swivel up towards your face, where you stood a foot or two above her. a small twinkle appeared in her eye, and you knew you couldn’t let it pass.

“have you heard of…” you began, wiggling your eyebrows. “a pink drink?”

——————

a little while after you had gotten home from target, mallory said she was feeling sleepy. she left you to go fall asleep on the couch in the living room. your next task was to do up her new room.

carmy had made sure to deliver a bed for his niece before you arrived. a quick vacuum and washing of the walls had been done before you were hired. you sighed, satisfied, before pulling out your phone.

you: i hope you don’t mind… but i bought pink wallpaper.

carmy: she like pink?

you: her favorite color

carmy: that’s fine then.

that was all you needed before you set right to work.

it took much longer than expected to perfectly set up the light pink wallpaper — but once it was finished, you immediately started on your other tasks. you found white bed sheets and a comforter with pastel floral designs that complimented the color of the walls. it was soft and airy and you hoped it would make the young girl feel better in her new home. it would be some time before carmen would be able to get furniture, so you bought a few of those cubicles with cute cloth drawers. they were trendy at the moment, but above all else: they were sturdy, cheap, and easy to put together.

you started folding the young girl’s clothes; tops, pants, dresses, skirts — the works. you weren’t sure of the girl’s situation before her mother had passed away… but the girl did not have many belongings after her mother passed. you were tasked with restocking the girl’s bedroom, including wardrobe, and that you did.

….while adding one princess costume. she said she liked tianna. so you bought it as a surprise.

he could take it out of your pay — if he really gave that much of a shit.

you had stacked a few books that you had grabbed from your younger years that your family had been saving — the books deserved more than just collecting dust. they deserved to be used by a young girl like mallory.

you grabbed what else you could, too — extra sheets, extra clothes, and a winter jacket on the smaller side that your mother had vacuumed sealed many years ago. winter wasn’t for another few months, but you didn’t want to see her without any of the things she needed.

it was growing late, but not close to the time that carmy usually came back to the apartment. mallory had slept through dinner — so for when she woke up, you made sure to prepare her one of your favorites from when you were a little girl: pastina. sure, it was good — but it was also quick, cheap, and easy to make.

you spied the little girl’s awakening state from peaking around the kitchen threshold.

“hungry?” you asked, trying to appear cheery.

“not really,” she whispered.

you clenched your teeth, not really knowing what to do. you didn’t want to force her… but she barely ate anything at breakfast, and hadn’t eaten anything at lunch. “what if… you tried to eat as much as you could, and then i could show you your new room?”

she tilted her head in curiosity. “my… room?”

you nodded, smiling.

“i shared one with my mommy before.”

you swallowed hard. you didn’t know what to say — so you pretended she didn’t say it. shitty, sure, but what else could you do? instead, you responded, “i hope you like the color of your room.”

her eyes widened as her mouth fell open. “what color!?”

you grinned, stirring the pot. “i’ll tell you after dinner! you think you want to try?”

she hesitated for a second, appearing yo consider her options. you raised your eyebrows at her, hoping to influence her in the right direction.

“okay,” she stated. “it better be pink!”

——————

carmen came home a few hours later. you were on the couch, flipping through one of your textbooks, when you heard the lock click and a man’s voice sigh and enter the apartment.

“hey,” he called, setting bags down on the counter.

“hey,” you responded. “i made mallory some pastina earlier — i made extra in case you wanted some.”

“thanks,” he responded, heading into the kitchen. “how was she today?”

“she was good.” you smiled. “seemed a little sad… but i think her new room made her feel better.”

“you already put it together?” he asked. carmen was spooning the leftover pastina you had made into a bowl for himself. the thought made you smile — an award winning chef eating your, in comparison, lame food.

you nodded. “yeah, shit, sorry — should’ve asked you before. i just figured because you were busy — that it would, um... it would help you out.”

he nodded, averting his eyes to the ground. he placed his hands on his hips as he considered your words. “no, yeah, yeah — you’re right.”

you shrugged, stuffing your books in your bag. “at least now you have time to do — other things with here. bonding, and stuff.”

he laughed slightly at that. “that… is proving to be difficult.”

you nodded. “movies are a good start. disney plus.”

he threw up a few lazy pointer fingers, quite literally pointing out that you had a good idea. “yeah, yeah, right… actually… would you mind setting that account up tomorrow for me? i’ll leave you the credit card.”

you nodded, and laughed a bit. “that’ll make her really happy. can i… be intrusive, for a second?”

he didn’t even get it a second thought as he shoveled food into his mouth. “shoot.”

“i know that you’ve got a lot on your plate,” you began, swallowing. “did you have a chance yet to… look into doctors, or dentists for her?”

his jaw tightened. “the social worker left a brochure, but, um — no, i haven’t.”

you nodded. “if you want… i could call around tomorrow. i know you’re busy.”

“fuck,” he groaned, his eyes averting aimlessly towards the countertop. his tongue poked out through his lips, and slid over the cracked skin as he appeared to be consumed by his worries. “i have to put her on my insurance.”

you swallowed again. “…leave me that number, too?… or, if that’s too invasive, uh—“

“no,” he interrupted, staring at you. he shook his head thoughtfully, as if to silently dismiss you worry. “that would actually be… really helpful. thank you.”

you shook off the praise, not wanting a blush to rise to your cheeks. “she’s super sweet. i just — want to help her is all. can i ask… what happened, to her mom?”

“drug overdose,” he answered plainly, nodding almost.

your eyebrows rose as your mouth fell slightly agape. that poor, fucking girl. you fidgeted with your fingers before you spoke once more. “she said that… she used to share a bedroom with her mom today. it’s not my business, but — i figured — you should know —“

“her mom stayed at the places she would score from,” he responded.

your jaw dropped. you couldn’t stop the words as they tumbled out: “that poor baby girl.”

he nodded then, placing his hands on his hips. you hadn’t known him for long, but it seemed like he did that when he was uncomfortable and/or didn’t know what to do. you figured he was also probably tired, and wanted to eat in peace, so you began packing your things to head out.

“hey, uh... carm?” you called, almost at the door.

“yeah?” he answered from the kitchen, as he unloaded the dishwasher.

“she’s lucky to have you.” you smiled at him as he was completely frozen in place, staring back at you. you closed the door behind you and left for home.

carmen didn’t know what to do with your words. he hasn’t really considered that, frankly, the girl, his niece, was lucky to be out of the situation she was — even if the berzatto family was a bunch of fuck ups who didn’t know how to control their emotions. carmen didn’t like to keep thinking about it, though — it had been hard to think about his niece, because then he usually thought of mikey — and that was too painful.

building the bear was… almost like closure. closing a chapter, but being able to look back at it fondly. however, when he was first introduced to his niece, who was the spitting image of his late brother… all of those thoughts crept back into him then.

staring at the little girl, mallory, was like the bear had never happened. the beef was still in existence; a flaming pile of shit, kicking and screaming. order was gone through the window, as was carmy’s small shred of sanity he had worked so hard to build and hold onto.

but she had smiled up at him, the first day they met — and he almost bawled his eyes out like a baby. a pathetic, fucking baby.

much like he had learned from construction of the bear, feeling collected and confident — bare minimum feeling okay — took time. a lot of time, money, and effort — but also time, and carmy could do time. he was barely at thirty, and some days he felt like he had no time — but he would make time. for mikey’s daughter — his niece, mallory.

he walked into mallory’s room after he had finished unloading the dishwasher. mallory insisted on keeping the door open with a super bright night light as she slept — so he only felt kind of bad walking into her room as she slept. he peeked around and his eyes widened.

it was like he had hired barbie instead of the girl next door studying for a law degree. the wallpaper was set perfect, faux dressers — he really had to get real ones, but that could wait — were set up and filled with clothes, there were books, toys, and it was decorated very nicely.

you had spoiled mallory.

you had spoiled mallory where carmy couldn’t find the time.

you had said before you had left that mallory was lucky to have him… but all carmy could think about, staring at his niece, sleeping peacefully despite all she had been through, surrounded by items and colors that looked like it was out of a magazine, was how lucky he was to have you to come into his life.

carmy was lucky to have you, and he would prove to his niece that he was lucky to have her around, too.

#carmy berzatto #carmy smut #carmy #carmen #carmen berzatto #carmy au #carmy fic #carmy fluff #sugar #richie #sydney #the bear

167 notes · View notes

freedomfireflies · 1 year

Note

Hi! Can you do a Richie Boyle smut short where he has sex with the reader who happens to be Francis’ sister because he is jealous about how close Francis is with his father?

“You again.”

The deep, salacious purr slips over your shoulder as you feel a warm chest press against your back.

You recognize the voice. The accent. The smell of his cologne, and the incessant need to seek you out just to intimidate you.

You don’t want to feel intimidated by him, but sometimes…you just can’t help it. Because despite Francis’s warnings, Richie has always had this…ability. This effortless talent to draw in the attention of everyone in the room.

Maybe it’s because they know he’s the son of one of the most dangerous mobsters in Chicago, or maybe it’s just his charm.

Either way, he certainly always has your attention.

“Richie,” you greet, willing yourself to sound uninterested. “You’re early.”

You catch his nonchalant shrug out of your peripheral as he reaches into his coat pocket to retrieve a cigarette. “Or maybe your brother is just late.”

“He’s in another meeting,” you explain, glancing back just in time to watch him light the object between his fingers. “He’ll be here soon.”

He takes a long, slow drag, eyes falling over your face before he exhales the smoke from his mouth and tsks, “Not soon enough.”

With that, he brushes past you and further into the warehouse, leaving you to stare at his back.

“Let me guess,” he calls over his shoulder, removing his hat and tossing onto a nearby table. “He’s with my pops.”

You straighten up, taking note of the slight edge woven between each word. “Yes.”

Richie chuckles. A dark, almost sarcastic sound. “Of fucking course. Always. S’always fucking Francis, isn’t it?”

You don’t really know what to say to that, but you suppose it’s more of a rhetorical question as he suddenly spins around to look at you.

“And let me guess…” he says again, now taking a deliberate step toward you just to watch your lashes flutter. “They sent you…to keep an eye on me.”

You go deathly still as he begins to approach. You don’t want him to know he’s right, but you suppose he’s smart enough to have figured it out.

Francis didn’t think he would. In fact, nobody suspects Richie of being sharp enough to do anything.

You don’t know him very well, but even you can see that that’s an unfair assumption.

“They sent you…” he continues, head cocking as he studies you, “to keep me out of trouble.”

He’s closer now. Much closer and your heart begins to race as the light catches the golden hue in his eyes.

You open your mouth, ready to respond, but find that you have nothing to say. What can you say? You can’t lie to him. He’d surely have you hung if he found out.

So, you go with Plan B. “They did,” you agree, breath hitching as you anxiously await his reaction.

He’s quiet for a moment, regarding you with what looks to be amusement as his tongue comes out to wet his bottom lip. “Yeah? You gonna keep me out of trouble?”

Again, you have nothing to offer him. No quippy remark, no argument—nothing.

And you want to berate yourself for the way you’ve gone so soft but there’s something…about him. Some shift in his demeanor that’s caught you off guard.

Francis has made comments about Richie for years. Calling him spoiled, weak, a waste of goddamn hair.

He’s painted him to be this narcissistic monster with no charisma or soul.

But the man before…is not the man your brother described.

This Richie is…well, breath-taking.

And he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing he sees. And perhaps that’s all part of some act, but…for right now…you choose to believe it’s real.

His hand lifts, long fingers finding your jaw as he follows the sharp curve to your chin. Then, he takes hold and tilts your head up.

“I asked you a question, mama,” he murmurs, and you swallow.

“I don’t think I could ever keep you out of trouble,” you answer honestly, and you’re rewarded with a proud smirk.

“Is that right?” he hums, letting his thumb ghost over your bottom lip. “Well…maybe a little trouble is exactly what I need.”

You straighten up. “Yeah? And what makes you think you could handle it?”

His palm instantly moves back to your jaw as he squeezes—hard. “Better watching your fucking tone, honey.”

“Yeah? Or what, Rich?” you retort, offering him a small but incredibly smug smile. “Hm? What are you gonna do without your little henchmen?”

He hesitates for no more than a second before he’s tossing his cigarette aside to grab onto both your hips and shove you back against the nearest support beam.

You gasp to hide an excited whine, the wind nearly knocked from your lungs at the force of his aggression.

His palm comes up to your throat, fingers tapping your pulse point as he squeezes just hard enough to make your head spin. “Say it again.”

You squirm, a needy pit growing in your stomach at the devious expression on his face. In his voice. His touch.

“Say it,” he hisses, lips dangerously close to your own. Taunting you with a taste. “Or beg me to prove you wrong.”

You’re practically panting, hands finding his shirt to clutch onto the material and urge him closer. “Rich…”

“What?” His head cocks, mouth once again dancing up in a condescending grin. “What, mama? What do you need?”

His fist snaps closed around your throat as you inhale sharply, your lashes fluttering until he’s satisfied with your reaction, and loosens his grip again.

“You,” you whisper, but it’s teetering on the edge of a whimper. “You, Rich…please—”

He kisses you, quickly, and fervently. And it’s full of unspoken desire and need, his tongue tangling with yours as you just about slide down the beam.

“Nuh-uh,” he growls, using the hand on your hip to force you back up. “Not going anywhere, sugar. Gonna stay right here. Where I can ruin you.”

And maybe you know better. Maybe you know Francis would never forgive you. Maybe you know that you’re only a pawn in the game Richie is so desperately trying to play.

But maybe you just don’t give a shit.

“Hurry,” you murmur, head falling back as he kisses down your throat. “They’re gonna be here soon. He’ll kill you if he knows.”

Richie’s arrogant reaction is obvious to you even without being able to see his face. “And who says I fucking care, hm?”

With that, he moves to your dress, bunching the excessive material up so he can slip underneath and find you.

His fingers drag deliberately slow along the band of your underwear. And when he dips down to tease your clit over the fabric, you gasp again and straighten up onto your tiptoes.

He laughs, too pleased with himself for making you fall apart so easily.

He was right. He could ruin you. He’s going to ruin you.

And perhaps that’ll come back to bite you in the ass tomorrow.

But for right now…

You wouldn’t have it any other way.