#AH!!!! CARMEN BERZATTO!!!!

[carmyboobear]

ALEXITHYMIA CH 1: onions, weed, and pizza

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 2 ch 3 ch 4

Summary: Carmy can’t put into words how he feels about his roommate. It’s only been a couple months, but here he is looking forward to going home and sharing a smoke with them. That’s all it is, though. There are no underlying feelings, none at all, even if everyone around him has something to say about it. 

Or: Carmy is repressed as ever, but through the combined power of vulnerability, weed, and the horny, Carmy too can find love. 

Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, cursing, yearning, repression, SO MUCH REPRESSION, angst, mental illness, canon-typical imagery, unresolved tension, for now, virgin carmy, use of weed, alcohol, all that good stuff, carmy character study, eventual smut, gender neutral reader, nonbinary reader, up to you

A/N: HI I've never posted fic on tumblr before but i deeply love Carmy...please enjoy!!!

CHAPTER 1: onions, weed, and pizza

It always stays the same. 

This is the thought that Carmy has when he wakes up, gasping for a chance to just catch his breath and keep it. It’s a kitchen knife twisting like a lock and key in his chest. It fits just right, as all awful and familiar things seem to do.

No matter how many times he wakes up, he’s never anywhere different. That drowning feeling suffocates him in his sleep and follows dutifully into his waking hours. He can’t remember when that haunting started, only that it’s always been with him.

He hates feeling like a drifter, like he’s lost (even though he is both of those things), so he picks a goal and runs after it like a monster. He’s an animal, hunting and working and bleeding until he fucking makes it work , because that’s who he is, and that’s who he’s always been. He can’t not make it work. Because if he can’t do it, then…then what was it all for? 

What is he even for?

These are the thrilling thoughts that serve as the background music to the swirl of his cheap morning coffee, oils rotating in a slow circle. He thinks about getting a nicer brand next time he goes grocery shopping. But that would mean change. That would mean less money on the restaurant, too.

Yeah, so it tastes like shit, but it doesn’t matter. Even if it mattered once. Less and less matters to him these days.

Mornings in Chicago are not technically quiet by definition, but when compared to other times of day, they are. Especially when most of his day is spent in the kitchen wringing out his throat. It isn’t bad to have a quiet morning by normal means, but for him…

The quiet is dangerous.

It’s not silent, but it’s not enough. There’s distant beeping of impatient cars. The whirring sound of the old AC unit. He tries to listen to them, but his rampant thoughts nonetheless rise above them all, buzzing everywhere with nowhere to land. 

A brief analysis of his thoughts reads as such:

Beef sandwiches eggs flour shipment Michael cigarettes smoking sore throat late shipment so tired not sleeping Michael Sugar Mom coffee tastes bad it’s too early my stomach hurts Michael fucking hates you Michael Michael Michael Michael Michael you piece of shit you fucking ki—

“Mornin’, Carmy.”

Until his roommate wakes up, that is. 

When he moved back to Chicago, there was a fact, plain, simple, and unchanging. He wasn’t gonna make rent on his own, not with the restaurant. Not with everything. So maybe he didn’t need to deal with a new roommate, but it’s not like there was a choice. It seemed bearable, survivable enough.

He keeps waiting for the thing that’ll make him grit his teeth, make him regret not getting a place on his own, but it never comes. They’re easy to live with. It’s so easy, as a matter of fact, that it feels strange. The difficulty that he was so certainly expecting just isn’t there. 

If anything, he looks forward to being at home. For someone who lives at work, that feeling is completely foreign.  

They don’t steal his food (not that there’s much). Instead, they cook him food, leaving heated leftovers on the stove on late nights. In Carmy’s case, that’s most nights. They don’t bring over obnoxious company and keep him up with the noise. Rather, he basks in their company, and they make a ruckus between their laughter. Their presence doesn’t stifle him, it soothes him, just like the candle they leave lit in the kitchen for him when he comes home.  They’re not just easy to live with, they’re good to live with, and that’s…

That’s been a hard adjustment, Carmy would say. It’s too much of a good thing that he’s not sure what to do with himself.

On those late nights, they’re usually fast asleep by the time he’s home. But as he sits and eats the leftovers they’ve kept for him, he wants to say something. Something about how a long time ago, there was once a Carmy who cooked for himself, who looked after himself, but that he’s not that Carmy anymore. That it doesn’t matter that he’s a five star chef and they’re just some guy in the kitchen, as they would put it, because he’s…

He’s grateful. Incredibly so.

And yet, the words will never come out. He feels the words tingling on his lips, but it feels scary. He can thank them as many times as he likes (which he does) but it will never capture what he’s really trying to say when he says thank you . There’s too many words, and it just can’t…it just can’t—

It always stays the same. 

“You’re up early,” he says to them when they enter the room. It’s a rare sight to see them up at the early hours he frequents. He sees the morning drowsiness in their mussed hair and big t-shirt stained with hair dye. They yawn back at him, nose scrunching.

Cute , he thinks, and he stamps it down as soon as it flashes through his mind. 

“Randomly woke up.” They fall into the empty seat next to him on the couch, and they rub at the crust around their eyes. “About to head off to work?”

“Unfortunately, yeah,” he replies. There’s a certain sentiment that lies on the tip of his tongue, something about how he wishes he could have a slow morning with them instead. Of course, he can’t voice it. He can’t even come close.

“The plague of the working man,” they sigh. “Well, I got an idea that might cheer you up.”

“...And that would be?”

“Let me paint you a beautiful picture,” they start. They clear their throat and gesture widely with their hands. He notices their chipped nail polish, the writing callus on their middle finger. “Imagine this—you come home from work, tired. You need to relax —something you need to do more often,” they add with a pointed look.  No comment. “And I have dinner ready. Some sort of soup, pasta maybe. I need to check the fridge.” They pause with a yawn. “And before we eat, we smoke a big, fat joint.”

He snorts as they finish, unable to hold back a laugh. 

“That’s a nice picture,” he admits. He doesn’t remember when he started smiling. “Y’know, I was wondering when the joint was gonna pop in.” 

“You fucking know me, man,” they reply, blooming with his interest, his smile. Not that he can perceive that. “So? Thoughts? Haven’t done that in a while, right?”

“Right, right,” he echoes faintly. His mind is already sorting through the pile of tasks on the schedule. “Well, I gotta go over this new recipe with Marcus, today,” he mutters, partially under his breath. “But before that, ingredient orders. And those invoices before the end of the day—and that, that toilet guy was supposed to come today…I think?”

“Dude, I do like, one task, and the day’s over for me,” they say sympathetically, and the look on their face is so serious that Carmy struggles to hide his smile. “You’re crazy.”

“I, I’ve seen you do tasks,” he argues. 

“Name one,” they argue back.

“You did two loads of laundry and did the dishes all before lunch time once,” he says, the memory clear and instant. “And when I woke up, you were vacuuming the whole place.” The immediacy surprises him, and it seems to surprise them, too. 

“Damn, I said name one , but I guess I’m just that good!” They laugh, a breathy, exasperated sort of thing. “Well, point taken. Anyway, it sounds like you’re not gonna be home early tonight.” 

“It is a Friday,” he says, “but…”

“But.”

“Can’t make promises I can’t keep,” he sighs, and shame melts over him like butter on a stainless steel pain. This isn’t anything new. 

“I know, I know,” they say, gracious as ever. “It’s okay. Such is the life of a business owner, yeah?” He searches for some thinly veiled shred of disappointment, frustration in their expression, but he doesn’t. No matter how many times he lets them down, the explosion he’s waiting for never comes. They remain patient, collected through it all. 

Says more about him than them, he supposes. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, “such is the life.” 

“C’est la fucking vie,” they say, and he laughs with a shake of his head. 

It can feel strange to laugh. He worries that the lightness in his chest will expand like a balloon, and he’ll float away. It’s uncontrollable, foreign. It should be scary, how his emotions lead him when he’s around them, not the other way around, but it’s not. 

It’s not scary to loosen up around them, and that’s the scary part. There are no words to describe why. All he can see is that the fear exists, stubborn and persistent. That fear is what makes him snap out of it, makes him look at the clock. He holds back a sigh. 

“Time to go,” he mutters, and they nod.

“And time for me to go back to bed.” They salute him. “Best of luck with your day, brave soldier. And just shoot me a text if you do end up coming back early, ok?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll try. And, thanks. You, you too,” he gets out. He stands up, readjusting the waistband of his pants. “I’ll, uh, see you later.”

“See you,” they say through a yawn, waving at him from where they’re lying down. They’ve taken his spot, sprawled across the couch, tangled hair flayed out on the pillows. 

Cute , he thinks again, and hearing the thought in his brain makes him wanna panic. 

He doesn’t wanna panic, doesn’t wanna think about it at all, so he nods, shuts the door, and heads out to work with a cigarette hastily lit in his mouth. 

By the time it’s Carmy’s lunch break, he swears his vocal cords must have snapped by how tight he was wringing them. 

The soreness has never stopped him from lighting a cig, though. As he stands outside in the back, finally forced to go on his 30, he smokes rather than eating. There’s a sandwich in his pocket, one that was bearing the brunt of test ingredients. He can feel the aluminum wrapping at his fingertips. 

Eventually, he does eat, though, because he sees the way his hands are shaking when he flicks his lighter. He doesn’t wanna shake when he uses a knife, so he eats. He tastes it, but he doesn’t really taste it.

In truth, he wasn’t even planning on taking his lunch break at all. Most days, he forgets about it. The kitchen’s always busy, there’s always something missing, there’s always something that hasn’t been prepped that’s ruining everything, the lights in the hallways keep flickering because they need to fixed, Fak’s supposed to fix them, but he can’t, because Richie’s still out getting the replacement bulbs, the pile of papers on his desk are bigger than he remembers, he doesn’t have enough fucking time—

But then he’s in the middle of chopping an onion, and the cutting board slips. The half-chopped onion and its sliced offspring scatter on the floor with the cutting board. The sound of its fall draws Sydney in like a whip. 

“You okay? Need a bandaid?” Sydney’s already kneeling by him, helping him pick the onions off the floor. 

“I, I’m fine, didn’t drop the knife,” he explains, and it feels like an ocean current is rushing by his ears. “Fucking, I just—such a stupid fucking—” He sucks in a breath and goes silent. 

His entire body feels tight, wound like a spring. He can barely fucking breathe. 

“Hey.” Carmy turns his intense stare from the onions to Sydney, and when he sees her searching expression, he remembers himself. “Maybe you should go take your lunch break.”

“No, I’m fine, really,” he repeats, and he feels like he’s heard this before. From someone else. He can’t remember. Who was it? “The onions—we’re behind on onions—”

“I can handle onions for 30 minutes,” she interrupts, decisive and firm. “Seriously.”

Carmy’s about to say something, but then he’s looking at the onion half in his hand. His hand is shaking. 

“Okay,” he sighs after a beat. “Okay, yeah. Sorry. For fucking up.”

“It happens. We all have our moments.” She shrugs. When he keeps standing there, she makes this shoo-ing motion with her hand. “Go on. Take your 30!”

So here he is, taking his lunch break a whole hour later than he’s supposed to. Although it’s better than most days where he doesn’t take it at all.

She wouldn’t have had to tell you to take a break if you didn’t fuck it all up, he thinks to himself, eyebrows knitted together. When the last time I’ve fucked up something so fucking easy?

He thinks about his dream from last night. A familiar sight of red fire and flames up to the ceiling, crackling so loud it sounded like screaming. The only good part is that when he woke up, he wasn’t at the stove burning his place down. It hasn’t happened at this apartment yet. Carmy hopes it never happens. 

Just get it together, he thinks. He aggressively taps the ash out onto the decrepit ash tray they have in the back. It’s full. You’re supposed to be at this shit. So just be good.

“Cousin.” Carmy snaps his head up, and Richie’s at the door, stepping out. His presence yanks him out of his inner whirlpool, a quickly descending spiral. “Gimme one.”

Wordlessly, Carmy hands him a cigarette. Richie plucks it out of his hand like a flower.

“You had a lighter, but no cigarette?” Carmy comments, squinting at Richie pulling a busted up red lighter from his jean pocket. 

“Shut up,” Richie mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. “Got the wrong damn light bulbs,” he explains unprompted. 

“Alright,” Carmy sighs. He has so little energy that the frustration bypasses him completely, diving instantly into deflated acceptance. “Just return ‘em.”

“Can’t,” Richie says, and when Carmy gives him a look, he elaborates, “no receipt.” 

“ Dude .” Carmy opens his mouth, but then he shuts it again. It’s just not worth it. “Thanks anyway, cousin. We’ll get it done.”

“Don’t fuckin’ thank me, you asshole. I didn’t do shit.” Richie nudges him, but like before, it’s not an angry thing. “Also, toilet guy’s not comin’ today.”

“The fuck? Why ?”

“Canceled,” he replies simply. 

“Fucking hell,” Carmy mutters under his breath. “Did he say when he could reschedule?”

“Not yet.”

“Great.”

“Yep.” Richie tilts his head up, blowing out a slow stream of gray cigarette smoke. “Might as well wait for Fak to get his ass back in town at this rate.”

“I guess.” Carmy sighs. He thinks about all the things he still needs to do. “I dropped this onion I was chopping, earlier,” he mentions out of nowhere. 

“Okay.” Richie gives him a look. “And? You bitches chop those things up faster than I could cut one in half.” 

“I dropped it on the floor,” Carmy tries again, but Richie’s expression remains unchanged. “I never do shit like that.”

“Well, cousin, you did.” Carmy feels something in him deflate. “What’s the big deal?”

“Nevermind,” he replies, because he’s a coward. “Just—just forget it.”

Silence. The spark of a lighter. 

“I’m gonna leave early,” Richie says, like he can just do that. Which…he can, Carmy supposes. “If no one’s gonna show up, what’s the point?” He slaps Carmy’s back, and Carmy doesn’t watch him as he heads back inside. 

Guess all I need to do later is get rid of those papers on the desk , Carmy thinks to himself, idly moving the shortening cigarette between his lips. Then that’ll be it, I guess.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s gone home early. It’s hard to even imagine what he does on days like those. Sleeping, probably.  There’s nothing much else for him to do, not with how tired he is—

Shoot me a text, okay?  

He hears them in the back of his head all of a sudden, and he remembers. 

Oh, he remembers, hands moving to take out his phone. Almost forgot.

“Sorry to bother you, chef.” Carmy’s not sure how he didn’t hear the door opening. Marcus’ head pops out, nose covered in flour. “Just wanted to let you know that we’re gonna need more flour for tomorrow.”

“Order’s not gonna come for a couple days. I thought we had an extra bag left,” Carmy tries, but the guilty look on Marcus’ face explains it all. 

“Dropped it,” Marcus grimaces, and Carmy’s already fucking over it. 

“We’re all fucking up today, chef,” Carmy replies, and the day goes on. 

. . . . .

It’s a strange, delightful miracle, but he manages to get out of the restaurant before the sun sets.

Considering their collective track record, the fact everyone was able to leave early was cosmic intervention. It helps that the toilet guy didn’t come, in an unfortunate way, but still. Standing outside of the restaurant in the evening like this feels…weird. 

It’s not that Carmy’s complaining about a nice thing, it’s just that he wasn’t prepared to have anything good today.

Shower, dinner, and weed, he thinks absentmindedly on the way home. He juggles the three around in his brain. Just the thought of it feels like relaxing. A little.

With company , his brain helpfully adds, and his stomach squirms. 

Self control, he thinks. He needs more self-control. He can’t just keep thinking of them so indulgently. He’s not allowed to think of them that way, because it’s not fair to them. Even if no matter how many times he chastises himself, it never works. Even if they remain in his brain like sun-spots in his vision. Even if it’s not his fault that he just can’t help it.

The thing is, though, it always is. Even when it’s not his fault, it actually is. Always.

You dropped that fucking onion , his brain helpfully adds for no particular reason. Fucking loser.

Fuck off , he thinks back as he approaches his front door. Predictably, it does not stop.

Just as his fingers search for his keys in all of his pockets, he hears something that makes him pause, hands stopped on his waist. It’s music, distant and muffled. They’re probably listening to music in the kitchen. He stands, trying to place the song, but he doesn’t recognize it. 

He does recognize the voice that’s singing over the music, though.

Oh, he realizes. That’s them.

The way their voice clumsily layers over the music shouldn’t make him pause like this. He shouldn’t be doing this, standing in the doorway and listening rather than opening the door. The keys are in his hand. This, this is a breach of privacy, he tells himself, feeling a little dizzy with distress, he just needs to just—

There’s an abrupt, loud clang, and he shoves the door open.

Concern is on the tip of his tongue, but it dies there. The source of the noise lays face-down on the floor—a pan sitting in what seems to be tomato sauce. The matter next to it is what makes the words evaporate from his lips, like they were never there at all. 

They’re kneeled down next to the pan, paper towels in hand, but all they’re wearing is an apron. 

His mind blanks. He thinks he stops breathing. He’s never seen so much of their skin at once. He needs to look away, he thinks, but his eyes keep traveling, traveling, and traveling. It just happens so quickly. He doesn’t mean to look, he doesn’t, but they’re right there and he can see right down their—

“No, I—I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were coming back early!” They exclaim, quickly crossing their arms over their chest, and that’s what makes him tear his eyes away. 

“I—I thought I texted you,” he says quickly, hot face turned to the side, “on my lunch—...“ He stops there, the memory reconstructing itself. 

He forgot.

“It’s fine, I just feel bad about dinner, and, uh—okay, I’m just gonna change real quick, and then I’ll clean this up,” they reply, words rushing out. In the corner of his vision, he sees their bare legs dart to their room.

It seems wrong to just stand here staring at the tomato sauce slowly expand outwards on the floor, so he cleans it up. A couple paper towels later, he’s gotten most of it, and they’ve returned with a change of clothes.

“Sorry,” Carmy starts right as they also go “I’m sorry”. He pauses, meeting their eyes. It’s a lot easier now that they’re wearing leggings and a t-shirt as opposed to, well, nothing. Not to say he doesn’t appreciate the leggings. 

“Sorry you had to see me like that,” they sigh. “I don’t—I don’t usually walk around the place naked, I just—I didn’t think you’d be back—“

“I should’ve texted,” he interrupts. He struggles to not think about them walking around the living room naked. “I forgot. But it, it’s fine. You’re fine. Really. Sorry for not texting.”

“Okay. Cool.” They exhale, a tired noise. “And it’s okay. It happens.” They look at the floor and make a sound of surprise. “Did you clean this up?” The look they give him has far too much gratitude, and it feels like a searing hot iron.

“Yeah, uh.” His hands are moving like he’s trying to explain something, but no words crop up. “Felt weird not to.”

“Well.” They smile, grateful. “Thank you. That was gonna be dinner, but…” They trail off, looking at the floor with a sour expression. “I fucked up.”

“It’s just that sort of day today,” Carmy mutters.

“Shitty day for you, too?” 

“Yeah. Lots of shit went wrong.” Especially me, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. “You?”

“Gotcha.” They shrug. “As for me—yeah. Really not my best day. It was just, uh, some family shit. You know how it is.”

Carmy makes a sound of acknowledgement. “That sucks.” He doesn’t know much about their family other than that they’re fairly shitty. It’s the same the other way around, too. 

“It’s whatever,” they say, even though it really isn’t, and he knows it. They look at the floor one more time before looking up at him. “Do you just wanna order pizza or something?”

“Yeah, I do,” Carmy replies, his words coming out much more despondent than expected. 

They settle on some pepperoni pizza from a place down the street. It’s a tried and true method—they deliver, it’s cheap, it’s oily, it’s cheesy, it’s good. Just talking about it makes Carmy taste it on the tip of his tongue. 

“You can go and shower if you want. I’ll get the door when pizza comes,” they offer. They’re standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up. 

“Okay, thanks.” Carmy pauses then, gears turning. He’s vaguely worried his memory is going to shit. “Did—did I just say I was gonna shower?” 

“Oh, no, you didn’t, you just always shower when you get home from work, right?” They say it like it’s the weather, like it’s familiar, and that’s when Carmy realizes because it is. After several months of living together, of course they’ve picked up on his habits. It doesn’t need to be a thing. There’s no reason for it to be a thing.

“I do,” Carmy replies faintly, and for some reason, that’s all he can say. 

“Thought so.” They look at him for just a moment, but it makes him feel like his body’s gone transparent. “I notice these things, you know.”

“Yeah.” Carmy looks at them when they turn back to the dishes, back facing him. “You do.” 

He tells himself he’s not gonna think any harder about any of it. He’s not gonna think about the singing, the apron, the way they just notice these things, but then he does. 

He’s in the shower, and he thinks about everything.

The water pressure is pathetic, but the warmth still feels nice. Between that and the sound of the running shower, it’s usually enough to quiet his thoughts. This time, though, it doesn’t. To his credit, he does try to think about anything else. 

He thinks about work, because he always does. He thinks about flour, about onions, about knives. He thinks about the shampoo lathered in his hair. He thinks about those lightbulbs they still need to get. He thinks about food. He thinks about them. He thinks about pizza. He thinks about the way they sing when no one’s around. He thinks about the way they know him. 

He thinks about them, knees on the floor only in a—

He thinks of bashing his head into the tile wall until he explodes.

“Shut the fuck up,” he whispers to himself, rivulets of hot water trailing down his forehead and dripping off his lips. “Shut the fuck up.”

The soreness is still present in his body, but that never quite goes away. He does feel a bit better now that he doesn’t have sweaty, sticky skin, though. It gets even better when he puts on a clean white t-shirt and his favorite sweatpants. It’s a nice surprise from his past self who did his laundry for him. 

This amount of niceness is okay. This is what he’s used to—a shower and comfortable clothes when he’s home from work. That’s enough.

He steps out into the kitchen with a damp towel on his head. He finds them sitting by their one shitty window that opens, pizza box in front of them and joint lit. It casts an orange glow to mix with the golden light from the window. 

“Hey, pizza’s here!” They slap their hand on the greasy cardboard box. “Just got this joint started for us, too.”

“So you weren’t gonna smoke it all on your own?” He doesn’t mean to tease, but he does. He slips into the seat across them, arms resting on the table they placed by the window. 

“I couldn’t smoke this whole thing even if I wanted to,” they protest. “Besides, joints are made for sharing. Here—now you get to take it. Isn’t that nice?” With their elbow propped up on the pizza box, they hold up the joint to him. The lit end of it sizzles a bright orange, emitting a thin trail of smoke up to the ceiling. 

“That is very, very nice,” Carmy agrees, taking it carefully from their fingers. Their face spreads into that contagious grin of theirs, and he’s far from immune. Sometimes he smiles so much around them that his face hurts, rusty and unused. 

Sure, he can blame that on the weed, but if he’s being honest with himself (a rare occasion), that’s a complete lie. Obviously the weed lessens the tension, the stress that winds him up tight. It’s not just the weed that gets him to relax, though. 

It’s them. There’s something disarming about their presence, something that makes him loose-lipped around them. Even when he’s sober, he finds himself feeling comfortable. He’s not quite sure how that happened, or if that’s ever happened. He supposes that isn’t a bad thing. Just something he’s noticed. 

He wonders if they’ve noticed. 

“You like the new rolling papers?” They tuck their knees under their chin, propping their feet up on the chair. 

“Hm.” Carmy lowers the joint from his mouth to give it a good look. He rotates it around in his fingers. “Strawberry?”

“Yeah, it’s strawberry,” they confirm, poorly hiding the excitement in their demeanor. Not that they were trying to. “Can you taste it?” 

He pulls from the joint, the edges of the paper sizzling red with the weed. It’s an even burn this time. He rolls his tongue around in his mouth after he exhales a cloud of smoke. 

“Still no,” he decides after a beat, and they sigh. 

“I don’t know why I ever get my hopes up.”

“I do taste something else in this, though.” He takes another hit, stews on it. “Lavender?”

“Shoulda known you would’ve gotten it on your first tray. Yeah, it’s lavender. I found some lying around.”

“You made this one pretty nice,” he observes, eyes tracing the shape of the joint. “Between the lavender and the new papers, I mean.”

“Well, y’know.” The smile on their face is small and shy. “I don’t smoke joints often, so I wanted to make it nice, and I, uh…”

They’re paused for so long that Carmy interjects. 

“And?”

“And I—want that joint,” they finally say, outstretching their hand. Carmy has a strong feeling that they weren’t originally going to say that, but he hands over the joint nonetheless.

“Strain?” He asks curiously. He can feel the body high creeping up his shoulders, fluid and light.

“The strain that gets you high,” they reply with a grin.

“Oh, thank god,” Carmy sighs in relief, and the way that makes them laugh… It makes his chest tight. 

“To actually answer your question, though—I dunno.” He likes watching the smoke drift from the tip of the joint as they talk, thin gray wisps in the air. “I think it’s a hybrid? Not sure if it’s more one way or not, though…”

“As long as it’s not the weed that puts you to bed.”

“Um…well, if you smoke enough of it, it can.”

They sit together like this for a while, just sitting and taking turns with the joint. It’s an easy, fluid exchange, flowing between them like smoke. No matter how much they both try to blow it out the window, it always comes back in. The smell of weed is strong in the air, earthy and pungent.  

Although he would never describe himself as a talkative person, sitting stoned across from them makes the words come out. Sometimes, he thinks he likes himself better when he’s high—his mind isn’t running circles around itself, and the soreness of his body just floats away. He feels more like a human than a poor imitation of one like he usually does. 

This weed smells kinda good, he thinks, and when they laugh, nose scrunched up, he realizes he said that out loud. 

“That’s literally what I’ve been saying,” they agree, a bright grin lingering on their face. “That’s how you know you’re a fuckin’ stoner!” 

“Feels weird to call myself a stoner,” he muses. He plucks the joint from their outstretched hand. It definitely looks shorter from when they started a moment ago. “But I guess…”

“If you like the smell of weed, you’re too far gone,” they say with a grave expression. “It’s so fucking over for you.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, equally as serious, and then they’re both bursting out into laughter. He likes the sound of their laugh—it’s unabashed, fills up the space. 

“Dude, I’m high,” they whisper after they both calm down, like it’s some sort of secret, and Carmy can’t stop himself from laughing all over again. “Oh my god. Are you high?”

“I—I think I might fucking be,” he gets out between laughs, and that sparks them straight into another cackle of laughter. He’s not supposed to be able to make others laugh, he doesn’t even make himself laugh—but then he’ll say something, and they’re lit up with laughter. 

“We need to eat this pizza now, ” they yell, projecting over their combined noise. They flip the pizza box open, and it smacks Carmy right in the face. 

“Oh,” he reacts mildly.

“Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine, it’s not like you punched me in the face,” he reasons, but their guilty expression persists. “It didn’t hurt, it’s just cardboard.”

“I’m sorry, I’m high,” they sigh apologetically. 

“I know,” he replies with a little smile. His eyes drift down to the pepperoni pizza sitting before them, glorious in its perverse amount of oil. “So, we’re gonna eat this, right?”

“Oh my god, yes we are,” they gasp, and the moment is forgotten. 

When he tears off a pizza slice, the cheese stretches in thin, gooey strings. They grab the slice adjacent to it to snap the strings in half, but they’re both leaned back in their chairs, pizzas in hand, and the cheese is still connected. 

“This doesn’t seem right,” Carmy mutters, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “We should’ve just cut it.”

“How could we have predicted this?” They pull their pizza further back, and the string still doesn’t break. “Wow. I’m honestly impressed. I don’t think it’s ever been this insane before.”

“I think we’d remember.” He’s not sure why he’s still talking and not just running his finger across the string to break it. 

“I think we would, too.” They snort, shaking their head. “This—this is some spaghetti type shit.”

“What? Spaghetti?” He’s genuinely perplexed.

“I—I mean like—that fucking disney movie. With the dogs.” They pause for a moment, mouth silently moving. “Fucking—lady and the, the truck—”

“Uh.” He has to hold back a laugh. “...The lady and the tramp?”

“ Holyshittheladyandthetramp ,” they blurt out in a rush, and the cheese string finally snaps in half. “…Well, I guess it’s not exactly like the lady and the tramp, then.” They take a large bite of their pizza, and it reminds Carmy exactly how hungry he is. 

“You mean lady and the truck,” he corrects, and he can’t stop himself from smiling. Especially not with how good this hot pizza is, delightfully salty and greasy in his mouth. 

“Shut up, I was trying,” they grunt through a mouthful of food. 

“How exactly is this like the lady and the tramp, again? Or, uh, not like it?” 

“Well, it was just like it, but then the string broke.” Somehow, they’re already halfway through their slice. “Could’ve been a beautiful spaghetti moment.”

“Spaghetti moment,” he echoes under his breath, holding back a laugh. “Remind me how that scene goes?”

They go quiet for a moment. It’s like he can see the gears turning in his head. If he’s being honest, he already remembers how that scene goes, but…he wants to hear them say it. He needs to hear them say it. 

“Uh, well, they��re…eating spaghetti. The titular lady and tramp.”  Their eyes are fidgety, flickering back and forth between their pizza and the window. “And they’re sharing the plate, the two of them. They’re eating together, and, um…” 

“...And?” 

They meet his eyes, mouth hanging open, and then they close it. 

“Um, I don’t remember, actually,” they say, shaking their head and blinking. He sees it for the blatant lie that it is, and yet. “Do, do you remember?”

As he stares back at them, unable to look away, he wonders. He wonders about what this really means. About if this really means anything at all, about if he’s going to find out if it does. 

“I don’t remember,” he answers quietly, cowardly, and neither of them say anything else.

Out of the two of them, they’ve always been better with recovering from awkward moments, so they do. They start talking about something else, and the world keeps turning. But in the back of his head, Carmy remains in that moment, unwilling to let it go. 

Why did you say that you didn’t remember? He wants to say. Why didn’t I say that I remembered how it went? Because I remember. They kiss—they fucking kiss. Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that what I wanted to hear?

But because he’s Carmy, he doesn’t say anything. He just eats.

He’s so hungry that the pizza disappears in minutes. It’s delicious, but he’s so high he’s not completely sure he can taste it. Somehow, it remains the best thing he’s ever eaten. 

The rest of the night is a blur. He remembers getting onto the couch at some point. They both decide on a random movie he doesn’t catch the name of. They finish off the joint on the couch together, sinking into its cushions. It burns hot in his throat as it reaches the end. 

And as it turns out, the weed he smoked is the one that puts him to bed. 

“...Ca…Car…” Someone’s calling him. “...Carmy, c’mon. You’re gonna complain about your neck tomorrow if you keep sleeping here.”

“Mhm,” he replies helpfully. He turns his head into the cushion. His body feels like an abstract blob, perfectly molded into the couch cushions.

“Okay, you made a good point. But. ” They laugh quietly, under their breath. “Movie’s been over for like 20 minutes now.”

“Mhm,” he repeats, nearly inaudible. He doesn’t wanna get up. Whenever he falls asleep, it always feels like he’s never gotten an hour of sleep in his life. There’s nothing he needs to think about, worry about. He’s warm and comfortable, and he doesn’t feel like letting that go just yet.

Everything goes silent again for a moment, save for the cars on the road. He begins to drift away again, slipping back into his dreamless sleep. 

But then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and it’s like a smoking brand on his skin. His eyes fly open and he jolts awake, jerking upright. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” they apologize, fretful. Between the dark of night and haze of sleep, they look pretty different. The blue light from the television is streaked across the blurry planes of their face.

“It’s fine,” he replies, drowsy. Speaking feels…heavy. Begrudgingly, he adjusts to sit up. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Weed,” they say with a shrug. 

“How, how long was I—?” He cuts himself off with a yawn, wide with condensation in the corners of his eyes. 

“Only like, 30 minutes.” They yawn back. Typical infectious yawning. “End of the movie sucked anyway.”

“Oh.” Pause. “What was the ending?”

“Love interest died,” they state plainly. “He told her about how he felt, got rejected, and then she died in a car accident. Pretty tragic.”

“Huh.” Carmy makes a face. “That does suck.”

“Yeah, a bit.” They’re idly fiddling with the remote, scrolling through Netflix without reading anything. “I feel like the movie was trying to say something profound about the unpredictability of life or something, but the writing was shit.”

“I guess it’d be too perfect if they got together,” he muses.

“I guess,” they echo. They turn off the tv, and the room goes dark. The only light is from the yellow street lamp right outside their window, wonderful in its inconvenient placement. It illuminates the shape of the back and leaves their face in shadow. “I think I remember how that scene went,” they say suddenly. 

“Oh.” Carmy’s heart feels stuck in his throat. “And how does it go?”

“Well, they’re—both eating spaghetti. Like I said.” They’re not facing him, leaving their face shrouded in shadow. He’s not sure if he’s imagining the shake in their voice or not. It’s beyond him why there would be any shakiness at all. “They somehow get the same noodle, so they, uh, kiss.”

“They kiss,” he repeats for some unknown reason.

“Yeah.” They let out a quick laugh, but it doesn’t sound like they actually find this funny. He wishes he could see the look on their face. 

“I don’t think pasta works like that,” he hears himself murmur faintly. For some reason, he can’t help but think that was the wrong thing to say. But he’s already said it. Maybe it’s the same reason as to why his heart is beating so urgently. 

“No, I, I don’t think so either,” they mumble. He refuses to place the way they’re feeling. 

I can’t fucking do this.

The thought resounds like a gong, hit with a mallet right next to his ear. 

“It’s late, I gotta head to bed.” It feels like someone else is speaking for him, moving his body for him. He can’t stop them. When he stands up, he avoids their face.

What the fuck are you doing?

Another thought resounds. He doesn’t respond.

“Right, I—didn’t even notice the time.” He pretends he doesn’t hear the strain in their voice. No, he didn’t word that right—there is no strain in their voice. “G’night.”

"Night,” he murmurs back.

This is enough, he tells himself as he falls into bed. His sheets are tangled. This is enough , he repeats, and it’s not because he’s scared, afraid, anxious, or any other stupid synonym. It’s because he believes it, needs to believe it. 

He tells himself, this is enough , even though he wonders, what is supposed to be enough? He doesn’t listen. He stamps down the protests, the thoughts that are out of line. The high usually helps with that, but it’s worn off, now just leaving him in a weary, sleepy state of things. 

This is enough, he thinks, and he falls asleep looking at their shrouded face behind his eyelids.

#carmy berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #lip gallagher #the bear fanfiction #hahaha i've been stewing on this fic since sept 2023 and now its here... i have like 2 more chapters written right now #they're around the same length #AH!!!! CARMEN BERZATTO!!!! #my writing #my fics #carmy #reader #alexithymia fic

[babycakezfix]

🍒Favorite Fics🍒

MDNI, 18+

all of the following contain smut

Last Updated: 01/30/24

*none of these are my works, just wonderful amazing fics that ive found, all credit goes to the wonderful authors, also none of the gifs are mine💋*

ps: I will continually update when I find more gold 🫶

Joel Miller

ONESHOTS

Dangerous - enimies to lovers, post breakout, slight angst, smut

Starving - strangers to lovers, smut, slight angst, post-breakout

For Science - friends to lovers, period sex, comfort/fluff

Crave - strangers to lovers, smut, sex worker reader

stranger than a stranger - manipulation, very dark joel, NONCON, perv joel, smut

patrol - caught masturbation, patrol w/ joel, smut

lazaretto - sex pollen, feral joel, !!!!NONCON!!!!

hunger - sex pollen, dubcon, after starving you and joel eat mysterious berries, slight brat!reader, age gap

healed - injured!reader, freinds to lovers, almost noncon (but joel saves reader)

one bed - smut :), stubborn joel (as always), pining (kinda)

alone and forsaken - cockwarming, hurt/comfort, horny!reader, their desperate

buzz - dbf joel, innocent (ish) reader, alcohol, smoking weed, age gap (legal)

truth or dare - dubcon!!! (but reader initiated everything), reader had a sex dream about modurn!au joel and was dared to see how far he'd go, age gap, rough, actually disgusting :)

SERIES

his favorite girl, part i - absolutely amazing, slight smutish? guitar playing joel, no outbreak au, angst

sensational; part ii - find part one on the fic, innocent reader, friends to lovers, smut, angst

Aches - perv joel (🫶), friends to lovers, innocent reader, smut

thoughts - part 2 to aches, friends to lovers, smut

monsters - enemies to lovers-ish, joel and reader clash, reader used to be innocent but now both her and joel are kinda "monsters" as the title says, but they both have a soft spot for ellie

teeth - tension finally breaks, smut, joel makes it seem like a business transaction but they are literally in love with each other <3

one thing i'm missing - literally the sweetest, most amazing joel fic out there. soft!joel, and soft!reader, they're blind, pining, hurt/comfort, eventual smut

feelings on fire - reader is back home from college to her extremely religious parents, joel miller is the new neighbor, corruption, age gap, inexperienced/virgin reader, joel kinda scares me in this ngl

Din Djarin

ONESHOTS

First - (a03 link) virgin din, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst

where to start - virgin din (virgin din owns my heart), slight dom reader, fluffish

virgin mando - virgin din, shy din, slight dom reader, fluff

holy terrain - friends to lovers, sex pollen, clueless readrr, reader gets sex pollen, smut

sex pollen - sex pollen trope, fluff, smut

in the darkness - slight noncon? but enjoys it? smut, jedi reader, entering mandos dreams

midnight excursions - late night surprises, friends to lovers, awkward reader, smut, slight dom mando

just like that - virgin reader, dom mando, one bed kinda, fluff, smut

body heat - filth, absolutely wonderful, dom mando, its cold, basically anything by @absurdthirst is actually amazing, please read their whole ass masterlist 🙏🙏

blue crush - sex pollen, dubcon, rough, it's your birthday

gut wrenching - sex pollen (theres gonna be a lot of these), dubcon, thigh riding, kinda mean mando

chemical feelings - sex pollen (again), mando affected, slight voyeurism

heat - broken air conditioning and forced proximity

to be taken care of - drunk!mando, soft din, drunk sex, feeeelinggss

just a little taste - inexperienced!din, brothel, sex work (but not reader)

focus - telepathic reader, established situationship, slight dom!din, fantasies

cherry waves - sex pollen, affected!reader, mando lends a helping hand

cutting it close - din and reader are bounty hunting in a busy club, they cant be seen, fake dating-ish?

somno - very!dark!din, NONCON, somnophilia, alcoholic reader

one stowaway, why not two - sex pollen, bounty!reader, service top din, helmet stays on, dubcon

take good care - sex pollen, dubcon, service top din, this is so good, please read

deep into the wilderness - sex pollen, dubcon, din gets bit by a snake, desert sex (tatooine)

Frankie Morales

SERIES

pt. 1 endorphins - addict!frankie, best friend reader, (sex instead of drugs), this fic is actually so amazing

pt. 2 addicted - shower sex, masturbation

Ezra (Prospect)

ONESHOTS

sex pollen - (what did we expect guys, im obsessed) dubcon

Bucky Barnes

ONESHOTS

dry humping - sub bucky, smut

win you over - bathroom sex, pining, distractions, fake dating

try to relax - forced proximity, enimies to lovers, locked in a room for hours, weed!use, slight? dubcon cause of said weed, pining

SERIES

kneel, pray and obey - father barnes, literally unholy, smut, innocent reader

unholy sacrifice - 3some, smut, unholy, smutttt, innocent reader

Natasha Romanoff

ONESHOTS

stimulation - sub nat, nipple play, smut, fluffish, established relationship

straight a student - dom nat, smut, teacher x student

Wanda Maximoff

SERIES

cute little family - dark, daddy nat, mommy wanda, wandanat, innocent reader, smut, part 1 is linked to fic

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto

ONESHOTS

the panic of love - fluff, angst, smut, very fluffy smut, feeelinggss (ik, but its worth it). hes such a gentleman

Tate Langdon

ONESHOTS

ouija board - tate has been watching reader for awhile, she and her friends decide to use an ouija board, kinda? dubcon?, soft!tate, smut

eyeliner - pining, idiots in love, tate being a teenage boy!, he's honestly feral in this one

Jimmy Darling

ONESHOTS

i held my nose and took a drink - this fic is so good trust me, reader is hypnotist, love potion (sex pollen trope), drunk jimmy, its sex pollen so dubcon, they've always had a crush on each other

chantilly lace - virgin!reader, soft smut, the tupperware party, friends pressure reader into seeing jimmy, jimmy being so sweet so charming so amazing i love him so much. oh also prostitute!jimmy

Kyle Spencer

(these are probably all going to be franken!kyle cause he's so babygirl)

ONESHOTS

in the end of the night, i can feel your warmth - franken!kyle, primal?ish?, kyle does stuff off of instinct, praise, sweet kyle, sexual guidance/coaching

feed my frankenstein - primal!kyle, franken!kyle, stripper!reader, zoe and madison are irresponsible(in this), biting, rough smut, blood

unsupervised tablet time - kyle somehow comes across p0rn on his tablet, he comes to you for help, slight dubcon? at the start, so fluffy, the fluffiest

Kai Anderson

ONESHOTS

howlin' for you - dubcon, slight NONCON? reader is winters best friend, rough, enemies to lovers (but not really), halloween :) this one is honestly so hot

Peter Maximoff

ONESHOTS

Bitchin - smut without plot, slight public stuff, he's so babygirl

sunlight - smut, clairvoyant reader, porn with plot, virgin reader, its honestly so good, please read it

SERIES

pt 1 pt 2 honeysuckle - sex pollen (I'm so sorry its my favorite) smut, porn with plot, this is amazing, beautiful, so hot.

#joel miller fanfic #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfic #ahs fanfic #american horror story #even peters #pedro pascal #bucky barnes #wandanat #carmen berzatto #kai anderson fanfic #jimmy darling fanfic #tate langdon fanfic #kyle spencer fanfic #frankie morales fanfic #ezra spector fanfic #ahs smut #tlou smut #pedro pascal smut #carmen berzatto smut #evan peters smut

[yandereunsolved]

#legend of zelda #loz #lu #linked universe #ahs #american horror story #the bear hulu #x men #yandere #charles xavier #lu wild #lu sage #jpm #carmen berzatto #kai anderson #my polls #random polls #poll time #feel free to ignore #fandom polls #tumblr polls

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

hi! i'd like to ask for a whiskey with carmen berzatto with prompt m. Keeping the relationship a secret

thank you <3

Lovesick.

warnings - not quite smut, but a little smooching. cursing.

ah sweet carmen. thank you for this request <3

3k celebration post here. 3k masterlist here.

"Behind!"

Carmy's fingertips graze across your back as he walks past you, featherlight and barely there.

It sets your nerves on fire.

You carry on slicing the tomatoes, mentally willing yourself to calm down. You seem to turn into a teenager when Carmy's around, all giggly and jumpy.

"Time for you to take a break," a warm voice mutters in your ear.

"I've got like an hour before I need a break, Carm."

"I said, time for you to take a break."

He presses a gentle kiss to your ear, chuckling when he sees you shiver. To anyone else, it looks like he's just giving you direction.

"I'll meet you in the office in five," you whisper. He's satisfied with your answer, slinking off to wait for you.

You barely make it to two minutes before you're walking across the kitchen, gliding through the door and closing it behind you.

Two rough hands find your hips, pushing you up against the wall. Carmy smashes his lips to yours, using your startled gasp as opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You tangle your fingers into his hair, tugging and pulling recklessly. Your leg hitches up around his thigh, desperate to get closer to him.

"You're all I can think about," Carmy whispers against your mouth. "Can't focus on a fuckin' thing when you're in the room."

You whine, tugging him back to kiss you again. You know this is risky. But you just can't help yourself.

"Come over tonight," you murmur. "Want you to fuck me to sleep."

He throws his head back and groans, gorgeous neck exposed and waiting to be bitten. You lean in and lick the expanse of it, tasting the salt on his skin.

Carmy brings a warm hand up to rest against your throat, smirking when you whine. He presses kisses to the spot under your ear, your neck, your collarbones. Just as he's trying to unbutton your shirt, the door swings open, scaring the life out of you both.

You shriek as Carmy jumps, light filling the tiny room.

"Well well well," Richie drawls, grin etched across his face. "What do we have here?"

"Is Carmy there? I need to ask him about-"

Sydney stops dead in her tracks, the corners of her lips curling.

"Does anyone else wanna come and fuckin' look?" Carmy groans, snapping at the two people stood in the doorway.

You hide your face in his chest, willing them to leave you alone. Or for the ground to swallow you up. Either works.

"Alright, alright. Let's leave these lovesick kids alone."

You never thought you'd see the day that Richie was your saving grace.

The minute the door swings closed, you can't help but break out into a fit of giggles. Carmy joins you, both of you crying tears of laughter.

Lovesick. He's probably right.

#carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto smut #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader smut #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto #the bear imagine #the bear x reader #carmy the bear #the bear fanfiction #jeremy allen white #murphy's 3k celebration

[thebearer]

fall into me |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: part 2 of follow me. your date with carmen.

contains: fluff. anxious carmen. mentions of mikey. but all fluff :)

Carmen was sure he was going to be sick. A new kind of sickness, where his stomach felt like it was going to fall out of his mouth and ass at the same time. He changed his outfit six times, slacks and a tie felt too formal. Jeans felt out of the question, and while the very cool guy on TikTok swore that slacks and t-shirts were in this season… Carmen couldn’t bring himself to wear it. 

So he wore his slacks, good shoes he still had from pretentious meetings in the restaurant, and his good button down, a steely type blue- the saleswoman told him it really complimented his eyes, then wrote her number on his receipt. Of course, Carmen didn’t call it. He’d never allow himself the simple pleasures like that. 

Carmen smoked the whole way to the restaurant, a bottle of cologne in his pocket, which he doused himself in on the corner, popping a mint. He saw you standing there, awkwardly on your phone by the light pole, head ducked to your screen in your black, silk, cowl neck dress. Carmen could feel his heart jump at the sight of you, cursing while he started to jog in the still new shoes. 

“Hey, shit, sorry.” Carmen apologized, his chest tightening and burning as he slowed in front of you. “I-I couldn’t find my phone.” Definitely not because I tried on a million different outfits and had a panic attack.

“Ah, so that’s why you didn’t text me back. Thought you ghosted me at your own restaurant.” You quipped, his heart plummeting, face falling with it. You grinned, shoving your phone in your tiny purse. “‘M fucking with you, Carm. I just got here.” 

“Oh,” Carmen sighed. “Yeah, good. That-That’s good. Do you want to go in?” 

“Sure.” You giggled. “After you, Chef.” 

“C’mon.” Carmen laughed lightly, shaking his head, hoping it would hide his burning cheeks. You were ahead of him, reaching for the door, his heart skipping when he saw it. “I got it!” 

You drew your hand back, looking at him carefully. The blush in his cheeks spread down to his neck. “I-I got it, let me get it.” Carmen nodded, pulling the handle. You glided past him, his hand ghosting on the small of your back, leaving you shuddering under his touch. It was casual, you doubted he even knew he did it, just a slight usher while he followed you in. 

“It’s so different being here at night.” You whispered to him, your arm brushing his while you walked to the hostess station. 

Carmen nodded. “I know, it’s, uh, it’s nice to see it like this, ya know?” He muttered. “See it from a customer’s perspective.” 

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” You asked, your head tilting to the side softly. “Why we’re kinda doing this?” 

Carmen’s heart fell, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He could feel his own mind racing. Of course, you didn’t think this was a date. Why would you ever want to be on a date with him?

“I mean, yeah, sorta. Here f’you too. To thank you for everything.” Carmen nodded, eyes cutting to yours. Fuck, he knew he needed to look at you, he wanted to look at you, but it was so fuckin’ hard. When you looked so pretty, so effortlessly calm and cool. It made him fluster. 

“C’mon, Carm. You hired me, paid me. And you guys have been so nice. Most places are… horrible. Act like I’m bothering them when they hired me. You’ve got a good place, great staff. I’m glad you wanted me to be a part of it for a while.” You smiled, stepping up to the hostess station.

Carmen could feel his heart squeeze, an uncomfortably tight realization that this would be the last time he saw you. He’d been running numbers all night, seeing where he could take cuts so he could keep you, but even then, you’d be gone for at least another two months since you already took another job. By then, whatever you had here, would be gone. 

“Ah, there you are, the VIP customers for the night.” Richie schmoozed, sliding behind the hostess stand. 

You grinned, Carmen’s eyes downcast making Richie’s jaw tick. “How are you two this evening?”

“Great.” You beamed. “Excited to try this place. I’ve never been here before. Heard it’s the best in Chicago.” You nudged Carmen playfully with your hip, grinning at him. 

He gave you a tight lipped smile, hands by his side, trying to nonchalantly wipe his hands on his slacks. Richie smiled at you, glaring lightly at Carmen. “Well, you heard right, sweetheart. We want your night to be extra special, so we have this booth back here just for the two of you.” 

“Hey, Syd,” Tina muttered, looking up from her plating to see your head pass with Carmen’s curly locks. “They’re here.” 

“Shit, are they?” Sydney turned, looking through the window. “God, Carmen looks like he’s about to pass out.” 

“Fuck, he does, doesn’t he?” Sugar huffed, her hands on her hips. 

Richie caught Sugar’s eye through the window, a flickering glance that told her exactly what she needed to know. “So, I will have the focaccia out for the two of you shortly. Can I start you off with anything to drink?” 

“‘M good.” Carmen muttered, taking the leather bound menu into his hands, knee bouncing under the table. 

You looked a little uncomfortable, eyes cutting to Carmen’s before a moment of hesitation flashed over your face. “Uh, I’ll take a glass of whatever you think would pair best with the meal?” 

“Perfect. I’ll have that out.” Richie smiled, hoping his silent screams at Carmen would be enough for him to catch on. Fak passed, slipping a piece of paper in Richie’s hand. Richie stepped away, reading Sugar’s scribbled writing: “GET CARMEN BACK HERE NOW!!!!” 

“Excuse me, folks,” Richie greeted apologetically, though the two of you weren’t talking. “Carmen, I hate to do this, but I need you just for a second, ok?” 

Carmen nodded, sliding out of the booth without so much as looking at you. Richie fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, it’ll just be a second. That focaccia and riesling are on the way.” Richie grinned at you, stepping beside Carmen. 

“What’s goin’ on? Did we run out of-” 

“-No, you fuckin’ moron.” Richie huffed, letting the door slam shut. “The fuck is your problem, huh? You’re not even- hey, send that to six with the Cakebread white, ok?- You’re not even looking at her, c’mon, Cousin.” 

Carmen blushed, running a hand through his hair. “What? I-I’m talkin’ to her-” 

“-No, you’re not.” Sugar snapped, rounding the corner. “You look like an ass, Carmy. You’re on a date with her and-” 

“-It’s not a date.” Carmen shook his head, brushing it off. 

Sugar blinked. “You’re on a date with her,” She repeated, her tone firmer- a mom tone she’d adapted since working here that would help with the baby. “And you’re acting like a total-total…” Sugar waved her hands, stuttering over the word. 

“Jagoff.” Neil added, passing through the kitchen for a moment before going out the doors. 

“Thank you! Yes! A total jagoff.” Sugar glared at Carmen. 

“I-I don’t even think she thinks it’s a date-” 

The kitchen erupted in groans, shouting at him irritatedly. “Look at how she’s dressed. If she thought this was a free meal ticket, she wouldn’t wear that. That is a date night dress.” 

“That’s true.” Sydney added. 

Carmen couldn’t help the way his heart flipped with excitement, looking out the window at you, sitting at the table, nursing your wine slowly- alone. 

“Cousin, c’mere,” Richie motioned him, leading him towards the office. “Look, I get you got this whole ‘I deserve nothing good’ doom and gloom attitude, but that right there. That’s good.” Richie jabbed his finger towards the door. “I see you, ok? You guys got that cute little texting thing goin’ on, alright?” 

Carmen stilled. He felt like a teenager again, being teased and tormented by Mikey and Richie about a crush he had. How the fuck did he know about your texting? “Look, if you let her go tonight without even trying, you’re gonna regret it. You only got one chance, cousin, do not miss your chance to blow.” Richie said seriously. 

“Don’t fuckin’ quote Eminem to me right now-” 

“-Alright, alright, but seriously?” Richie nodded into the office, the tiny frame that held Mikey’s note ‘Let it rip!’. Carmen felt his stomach turn, guilt trilling in it. He knew Richie was right and that fact alone made him queasy. “Listen to Mikey, alright? You can have good shit in your life.” 

Carmen looked at the photo, taking a grounding breath, Mikey’s voice ringing loud in his ears. “Let it rip.” Carmen muttered, pushing past the double doors back to you. 

“Oh, no way!” You laughed. “You don’t have TikTok?” 

“No, no. Don’t have time for it.” Carmen shrugged, sipping his water. 

“Then how do you watch our videos?” You asked, brow raising in question. 

“I click the link you send me and it opens up just on my Google or whatever.” Carmen grinned, shrugging lightly, popping another truffle fry in his mouth. He’d nearly fallen over when you asked for ranch, teasing you lightly. You’d only shrugged, sticking one in your mouth, declaring it would taste better with ranch. You were kidding, of course, it was perfect. 

“Wow.” You smirked, finger tracing around the rim. “You’re missing out. It’s addictive.” 

“Yeah? It’s weird too.” Carmen snorted lightly. 

“Says you! You’re Mr. TikTok Famous and you don’t even know it.” You pushed his arm lightly, trying not to gawk at how firm his biceps were. Sure, you’d definitely seen them while he was working, but… they felt better than they looked. “Should see how you’ve got everyone in a tizzy. Chopping onions and marinating wagyu.” 

Carmen laughed, cheeks reddening at the compliment. “Yeah, those comments were…shocking.” 

“You think?” You cocked your head to the side. “I thought they were pretty normal.” 

“Half of them were asking me to violently punch them.” Carmen laughed, eyes widening at you. 

“Well, can you blame them?” You grinned, leaning in closer. “You got nice hands. Of course, they’re going feral. I knew what I was doing with that shot. Giving the people what they want.” 

Carmen blushed furiously, hoping you couldn’t see under the low light of the restaurant. “Nah, c’mon.” He looked down at his fingers, etched with tattoos. 

“You c’mon.” You grinned, reaching out a little daringly to trace a finger over his veins. You’d blame the wine for your boldness, but Carmen shivered under your touch. “You’ve got hot hands. No wonder they all go so crazy. You’re a pretty chef with good hands.” 

Carmen knew you had to see his blush now, sure his body temperature went up ten degrees, heart beating so bad in his chest he was sure he wasn’t going to make it another course. “Uh,” Carmen laughed, running his free hand over his mouth, hoping to hide some of his grin. He didn’t dare move his hand from his. “Well, thanks, I guess. I, um, I wanna say I think the same.” 

You lifted a brow, biting back a laugh when he stuttered, his eyes widening. Your giggles were infectious to him, a stream of his own nervous laugh spilling out of his throat. “No, I-I meant- fuck, I meant… I, uh, I think you’re pretty.” 

There was a pause, your own teeth pulling in your lip, grinning shyly at him. “Really?” You asked. You felt like you were in junior high again, finding out the boy on the JV team like liked you. It was giddy, the feeling in your chest. Warm, your heart skipping a beat. 

“Yeah.” Carmen nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Beautiful, really.” 

“Well, thank you.” You grinned, hoping to hide your smile behind your own glass of wine. Fak came by, dropping your next course off, a temporary relief for the moment, letting the two of you get yourselves together. 

“You think he’ll do it?” Sugar asked, pretending to roll silverware while Richie handed them to her. A meaningless job that just so happened to be by the window, so they could see the two of you. 

“I dunno. Could go either way.” Richie sucked in a breath. “He seems to be close, ya know? Think he has it in him to do it, just… fuck, I hope he does.” 

“Me too.” Sugar sighed. “Can you hear what they’re saying? It looks… nice? So that’s gotta be good, right?” 

“Yeah, hopefully…” Richie hummed, squinting to try and make out the words you were whispering to each other. The two of you were pressed together, migrated together as the meal went on until you were huddled, like it was the two of you. 

“I really don’t want you to leave.” Carmen admitted, body pressed to yours, hand in yours in the dim light of the booth. Everyone had left, all the patrons shuffled out and escorted to their cars. Some of the kitchen staff went home, but some stayed, pretending to be extra tedious with their cleanup so they could see the two of you. 

“I know. I’m having such a good time with you.” You agreed, tilting your chin up to look at him, lashes batting, eyes a little glossy from the wine. 

“No- I mean, yeah I-I’m having a good time with you, too. But I meant… leave forever.” Carmen admitted, the lump in his throat growing more and more with each word. “I really liked having you here.” 

“I liked being here.” You hummed, tongue running over your bottom lip lightly. “It was a lot of fun. I liked spending time with you.” 

“Yeah? I liked spending time with you too. A lot.” Carmen admitted. “And I… I want to keep spending time with you?” It came out more as a question, all hopeful eyes and a rounded gaze. “If-If you want to-” 

“-Yeah.” You grinned. “I wanna keep spending time with you. I like being with you, Carmen.” 

“Yeah? Really?” Camren was half convinced he was hallucinating. 

“Yeah.” You nodded. “If you wanna spend some more time with me too. I’d like to get to know you more, and not to just write a staff spotlight on.” You giggled, his lips curling at the sound. “To, like, really get to know you.” 

“I would… yeah, I’d like that. Like to get to know you too.” Carmen nodded. 

There was a pause, the tension between the two of you was thick. Your eyes darted from his lips back to his eyes, already leaning closer. Carmen could feel his stomach lurch with nerves, Mikey’s voice ringing over and over and over. 

Let it fuckin’ rip, Carmen thought before he moved in, lips on yours. His hands were clammy cradling your jaw but you didn’t seem to mind, your own arms snaking their way around his neck, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss. 

“Holy shit!” Richie gasped, dropping the fork. “Look! Fuckin’ look!” 

The staff clambered around to huddle by the window, watching the two of you kiss, pulling apart with small smiles, before going back in. Carmen’s hands sliding down your back, your arms, your waist- fuck, he just loved feeling you like this, and he hadn’t even felt all of you. Yet. 

“He fuckin’ did it.” Richie grinned, awing at Carmen. “Hey, Sug, might be a bad time, but I believe I’m owed fifty dollars.” 

You pulled apart, grinning at Carmen, still huddled close together, his hands rubbing the silk fabric of your dress, your sliding through the curls on the nape of his neck. Your mind was dizzy, the rush of adrenaline, emotion, and buzzing from the wine. 

“What’re you doin’ tomorrow?” Carmen asked. 

“Nothing.” You hummed. “Why? You’ve got something in mind?” 

“Not-Not right now, actually.” Carmen admitted with a small laugh. “But I’d love to do something with you.” 

“Me too.” You smiled. 

Carmen looked around, catching his staff standing in the window, rolling his eyes when they darted after he caught them, scampering in different directions. “Um, it’s gettin’ kinda late.” Carmen looked at you, fingers drumming on his thigh- that was still touching yours. 

“Yeah.” You nodded, looking at your phone. “I guess I should go, and I’ll, um, I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

Carmen nodded, sliding out of the booth then offering his hand to help you. “Did you walk here?” 

“No, I took the L.” You walked towards the door beside him. It was quiet, the soft hum from the kitchen, the muffled clatters of pots and pans being put away. 

“Me too. I’ll ride back with you?” Carmen offered. 

“I thought you lived like three blocks away?” You giggled, tilting your head to the side. “And I’m in the opposite direction.” 

“Yeah, I-I do.” Carmen nodded. “I just… You shouldn’t ride alone at night, ya know? Shit could happen and… I don’t want it to. To happen to you.” 

You could feel the heat flushing through your cheeks, through your chest. You laughed lightly. “Is this your way of trying to come home with me?” You lifted a brow playfully. 

“No! No.” Carmen shook his head, flustered, which made you laugh harder. 

“I’m kidding, Carm.” You giggle, reassuring him. “But… if you wanted to come stay the night. Since it’s late… and you’re insisting on coming with me on the L.” 

“I don’t wanna make-make it weird, or come off like that. I-I really am… I like you.” Carmen stuttered. Fuck, there was nothing more tempting than that invite, but Carmen didn’t want to fuck this up. He really didn’t want to fuck this up. 

“I mean, stay over so we can talk more.” You gave him a pointed look. “We were having a good conversation. Weren’t we?” 

“Yeah, no, yeah. Yeah, we were.” Carmen stuttered, hand on the door, twisting the lock though his eyes never left yours. 

“So… You want to come over then? Finish telling me about Copenhagen? Please?” And how could Carmen say no, his head spinning with excitement when he walked out behind you, letting the door fall shut, your arm looping around his while you walked towards the L. 

Richie ran to the front, pushing the door open with Sugar and Tina, watching the two of you walk towards the station. “Good job, Cousin.” Richie muttered. 

#thebearer #carmen berzatto #bearblahs #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut #thebearerblurbs #carmy the bear #carmy smut #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #carmy x reader #sugar berzatto #natalie berzatto #richie jerimovich #sydney amadu #the bear #the bear fx #the bear season 2 #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto x fem!reader #carmen berzatto imagine

[wannabeschyulersister]

but I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day

“Who’s bright idea was it for us to have the party at our place?” You asked as you took a good look at the mess that was surrounding you.

“Richie. He somehow got out of hosting this year.”

“What a dick.” You joked. Well, kinda.

The staff of The Bear were known to party hard. It was evident by the state of your apartment. Everyone was excited to let loose and ring in the new year together. It had been a hectic couple of months to say the least.

New Year’s was one of your favorite holidays. It was a fresh start to new beginnings. It was also your third new year with Carmen.

“Where should we get started?”

Carmen wrapped his arms around you, “We should just go back to bed.”

“I would love to go back to bed but I can’t in good conscience knowing that we have a wreck here.” You told him as he kissed your cheek.

He groaned playfully and gave you a small squeeze, “I know. I forget that you’re a clean freak.”

“The faster we do this, the quicker we can get back in bed, Berzatto.”

“And what exactly would we do once we’re back in bed?”

“Well, I was thinking….”You leaned in closer and lightly grazed your lips against his. Just as he moved to seal the deal, you tilted your head back, “We can finally start that rewatch of Gilmore Girls.”

Carmen groaned and laughed, “That’s not what I was thinkin’ we should do.”

“Trust me, I know. You gotta get your mind out of the gutter,” you smiled, “Let’s have a game plan. Start in the living room and then finish in the kitchen.”

Carmen grabbed two garbage bags and handed you one. The both of you began picking up trash scattered around the room. You grabbed an empty champagne bottle and placed it in your bag.

“I loved the idea of people taking photos with the Polaroid this year. I’m sure we got some great shots.” You grabbed the stack that was on the floor.

Carmen moved closer to see the photos, “Is that someone’s ass?”

You chuckled, “That’s Richie’s.”

Carmen looked at you puzzled, “How the hell are you able to tell that his bare ass?”

“You can see the scar where Syd stabbed him.” You pointed out.

“Ah, yeah. Still creepy that you knew instantly.” Carmen laughed.

“Trust me, I hate that I knew it instantly too.” You glanced at the rest of the photos that were in the stack. One of Carmen and yourself caught your eye. Tina snapped the photo of the two of you candidly.

It had been close to midnight and Carmen didn’t want to let you out of his grasp before the countdown began. He wanted to savor the last moments of the year with you before ringing in the new one.

“I think we should put this one on the fridge.” You handed the picture to Carmen and it made him smile.

“Yeah, I like this one.”

“I’m glad that everyone felt comfortable here to let loose. Seeing everyone have a fun night after these last few stressful months was really nice.” You said as you grabbed the broom to sweep up some confetti. The glitter on the floor would be a bitch to clean.

“We have some more stressful months coming up,” Carmen added softly, “I hope everyone will be alright at the end of it.”

You knew he was mostly implying himself. The first year of a new restaurant opening was definitely one of the hardest. Trying to stand out from the hundreds and hundreds of already existing establishments was difficult.

Carmen put the stress of the world on his shoulders. You watched and held his hand through it all. There was nowhere else you’d rather be.

“Everyone is in a completely different place than they were when I first met them. I think you guys will be amazing and The Bear is going to be an absolute success.” You kissed his cheek and it made them a little rosy. He was so adorable when he blushed.

“You really think so?”

“Of course I do. I mean look who’s running the place. You and Syd. That’s a dream team if I’ve ever seen one.”

“You’re just gassin’ me up.” Carmen was never good at receiving compliments. That didn’t stop you from giving him dozens of them a day.

“No, I’m not. I’m telling you the truth,” you placed a hand on his chest near his heart, “I’m going to be right beside you through the good and the bad.”

Carmen placed his hand on yours. He didn’t outright say that he needed the reassurance but he was so thankful to get it. It was like you could read his mind.

He would often jump the gun and worry about things prematurely. You were the one to try and keep him grounded in the moment.

“I’m so lucky to have you.” He said softly before kissing you.

“Ditto, Berzatto. You’re stuck with me for life. I don’t ever want to not know you.”

“If I have it my way, you don’t ever have to worry about that happening.”

“Pinky promise?” You held your hand out with your pinky ready to lock with his.

“It’s a promise.”

#carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x (y/n) #carmen berzatto x you #the bear x reader #the bear imagine #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto

[nolita-fairytale]

make my heart surrender | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter four: friday

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

warnings: lots of swearing, angst, use of she/her pronouns, friends to lovers, smutty smut-smut, this is an 18+ chapter so minors dni, no use of y/n, second person pov

word count: 6.7k

summary: buckle up people, because this is a long one! tonight is the night: the night you and marcus' dessert menu goes live, the night you meet natalie berzatto, and the night that truths are revealed.

a/n: is it hot in here or is it just me? who's ready for some smut? this will be the last chapter i post till sunday/monday, so we can all sit with this. hear me out: it's not that i think carmy is really good at sex. but there's so much tension between these two, i think reader is good at sex, and there's something to be said for being so turned on by the other person that it just hits different.

and here is that song -- the jazz standard turned acoustic cover.

read: part three | masterlist

Friday

“Just remember that we don’t have to reinvent the wheel here. You just have to deliver a really damn good dessert time after time,” you instruct, setting Marcus up, pre-dinner shift. 

“I think we should focus on the burnt basque cheesecake in lieu of the classic. You already have a heavier lift on the bake for the chocolate cake. That way, whatever happens with the mixer, or the ovens… this version of cheesecake is pretty forgiving. And you don’t have to fuck around with a water bath just yet.”

“The tiramisu is perfect because it’s a no-bake option, and you can mix it up with different kinds of flavors – call it a special.” 

“Like what we’re doing Sunday?” Marcus suggests, in reference to the strawberry, lemon, and mascarpone version you be doing at the end of the week.

“Exactly,” you reply.

“Hell yeah.”

“It all fits into the menu so nicely too: elevated classics.”

“A play on tradition.”

“Exactly."

“Ah, I see you, chef,” Marcus nods along, excited about tonight’s R&D night. 

The game plan is to serve smaller portions of each dessert for the price of one, then get feedback by the end of the weekend. 

“Hey, family’s up in a minute. You guys ready to roll tonight?” Carmy asks, stopping by you and Marcus’ little pastry corner. 

“Yes, chef,” you both answer, in staggered timing. 

“She got me workin’ on a strawberry compote. Here, try it, chef,” Marcus encourages, grabbing a clean spoon and scooping out a spoonful from the deli container it’s been stored in. Carmy takes it, putting the spoon in his mouth and he tries the compote. 

“That’s gonna be really good with the tang and slightly bitter outside of the burnt cheesecake. Good work, chef,” he congratulates, inspiring a grin across Marcus face. 

“I’m learning so much from you. Seriously. Thank you, chef,” he says, turning to you. 

“Hey, you’re the one that made the compote,” you reply, redirecting the praise back to him. “Just sayin’.”

“Family’s up!” Sydney calls out to the whole kitchen. 

You lock eyes with Carmy, and he nods towards the front of house as if to say, ‘follow me.’ You and Marcus file in through the limited space that leads from the kitchen to the front counter, then finally, into the dining area of the restaurant. Carmy had told you all about the hellish remodel of this place – that the two tops, booths, and bar remodel had taken for-fuckin-ever. That it looked like nothing more than a diner with a few arcade games before the reopen. 

“Hey, thanks for jumping in so that Angel could cover me the other night,” Ebrahim says to you, as you find a seat next to Carmy, and across from Marcus. 

“Oh, it’s no problem. You feelin’ better?” you ask back. 

“Very much so. A little rest and a little maraq digaag and I’m good as new,” he answers. 

“What’s good, Jeff? Surprised you’ve stuck around this long. Glad we haven’t scared you away yet,” Tina greets. 

Carmy’s shocked, considering Tina rarely warms up to anyone. 

You chuckle in response. 

“It takes a lot more to scare me away, chef,” you reply, confident that you can keep up with everyone’s witty banter. Even though you’ve been welcomed in over the last few days, you know that they were a family before you came. 

And will still be one after you. 

Right. Because this is temporary. You’re only here for a week, you remind yourself. 

“Yeah, thought she’d be long gone after workin’ the line the other night,” Richie chimes in. “Especially considering she’s way out of your league, cousin.” 

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you,” Carmy shoots back, almost instantly. 

“I’m just glad you’re here now. Man, it’s been three days and you’ve leveled my shit up already,” Marcus compliments. 

“Besides, it’s nice to have some solidarity amongst the little boys club we work in every damn day,” Sydney points out, eliciting a scoff from Richie.

The two of you share a look, like a psychic high five or some shit. It begins to dawn on you that you could get used to this: this kitchen, these people….

“What? You got something against women supporting women, Richie?”

“Oh, so what? You’re the voice of feminism now, Syd?” Richie spits back. “Holy shit! Did you guys know that we were here in the presence of the new voice of-.”

You watch as Tina and Gary slump in their chairs, as if to say, ‘here they go again.’

“Don’t be such a prick, Richie. Oh wait.” Sydney challenges. 

“You know what-?” Richie starts up, before being swiftly interrupted.

“Damn, Syd. This is fantastic,” you interject, your voice louder than normal, in reference to her family meal. “These tostadas are fuckin’ perfect and I’m gonna need the recipe.”

Richie continues to go on about god knows what, distracting himself, as Sydney mouths a, ‘thank you’ across the table towards you. You nod towards her as if to say, 

I got you.

*

“Hey, I’m a little behind on plating. Sorry, chef,” Marcus apologizes, and you can tell he’s stressed. He gestures towards the plates that are ready to go out to the bar. 

He hesitates before asking, “Oh and uh… these ones are ready to go out. Can you-?”

“‘Course, chef,” you answer, a mini-pep talk coming his way. “But uh… before you keep going, Marcus, take a breath. I know you struggle a little with pacing – you want everything to perfect – but, it’s gonna come with practice and repetition.”

You can see that he’s flustered – a little frustrated even. 

“Expediting during dinner is a whole other animal, and it’s just night one. You got this,” you reassure. 

You and Carmy had such different leadership styles. While you both had come up in the same kind of kitchens, you didn’t like to yell unless you had to. You were here to teach, and you can’t remember the last time someone screaming at you had ever helped you learn something. 

You’re more than happy to support him by taking these plates out. You spent the first half of dinner service plating so that he could get some face time with customers – since you’d be asking for feedback. Then you’d switch halfway through service.  You also thought it might be good practice for him to lead, considering they’d need to hire more help with the new menus. 

You take a look at the ticket, one dessert tasting - two people - bar top, before taking the dessert plates out to the designated seats at the bar. There’s a gorgeous blonde woman sitting next to a guy in a sweater vest, as you make to approach the bar top. 

“Hi, you guys,” you greet, a cheerful smile on your face. “Sorry to keep you waiting. We’re testing out a few new desserts for our dinner menu, so I’d love to hear what you think.”

“Oh this looks great,” the woman says, looking at both perfectly plated desserts. 

“Here we have a burnt basque cheesecake with a strawberry compote, The Bear’s signature chocolate layer cake, and then a classic Italian tiramisu,” you explain, walking through each piece. 

“Wow,” the man marvels, almost as if he’s surprised. 

You share your name with them, and let them know that, if they have any feedback, that they can ask for you. As you turn to go, the woman calls after you, stopping you. 

“Wait,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “You’re Carmy’s friend.”

“Yes.”

“Pete, it’s Carmy’s friend!” she exclaims, nudging the man next to her with her elbow to try to jog his memory. “You know! The one that’s staying in our airbnb.”

“Oh!” he says, as the light bulb goes on in his brain. “Yeah, we’ve heard all about you.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman apologizes. “I’m Natalie, his sister, but you can call me Sugar. This is my husband, Pete.”

“Oh my god! Natalie! Yes, I’ve heard so much about you too,” you reply, finally registering that this was the same woman in family photos that Carmy had shown you years ago. “It’s so nice to put a face to the name. And great to meet you too, Pete. Seriously, thanks for letting me stay at the place. I mean, you really didn’t have to.”

“Likewise,” she says back. She scoffs before rolling her eyes and continuing. “Leave it to Carmy to ask us for a favor and not even introduce you to us, that soft shitty bitch!”

“Babe,” Pete starts. “Maybe we shouldn’t be so hard on Carmy, you know, in front of his-.” He gestures towards you and you’re not sure what he thinks you are to Carmy. 

Sugar brushes him off with a, ‘whatever,’ before you notice that they’re both in need of clean forks. 

“You guys need clean forks. I’m gonna-,” you start. 

“Oh no! I uh-, let me get it,” Pete interrupts, practically jumping out of his seat. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, leaving the two of you alone. 

You lean against the bar top towards Sugar. 

“Well, he couldn’t get out of here fast enough,” you say with a laugh, stating the obvious. She laughs with a nod towards her husband. 

“Yeah he’s… special,” she replies. “I think he uh, I think he just wanted to give us some time to talk.” 

You’re not sure what to say next, because you’re not sure what you and Carmy’s sister, one you’ve never met before, would have to talk about. 

“So how’s the place? Do you have everything you need or-?” Sugar begins, in reference to the airbnb. 

“Oh! Yeah, no it’s great. I’ve got everything I need. Again, thank you. You really didn’t have to do that.”

“No, we wanted to!”

“Thanks…” you trail off, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable – nervous, maybe? Yep, definitely nervous, you realize, as you begin to ramble. “It’s a really great apartment. Beautifully styled.”

What the fuck are you even talking about, you think to yourself.

“Oh, I did that! Styled it, I mean,” Sugar’s quick to respond.

“Oh, wow!” you say. Were all the Berzattos creative? “Yeah, I just-, I really appreciate it. Made getting out here a little easier.”

“No, yeah, it’s-, it’s no problem,” Sugar continues. “Really… anything for a friend of Carmy’s.” 

You’re not sure why it’s so awkward, and it feels like you’re somehow both dancing around something you’re not even sure you should be dancing around. 

“I hope you don’t think I’m a total bitch for saying this but,” Sugar starts, cautiously. While she doesn’t want to make her brother look like a total loser in front of you, she’s also unsure of how else to say what she says next. 

“Bear's never really had any friends… not a lot of them, at least. So I-. Thank you. I mean. For being his friend, I guess… is what I’m trying to say.” 

Bear.

You figure it's a family nickname. You wonder why you’ve never heard it before, and yet, it’s no surprise that he kept it from you. He’d been so evasive about his family when you’d first met. For a bit, it just felt like a topic that was off limits.

You take a beat, processing what she’s just said. In some ways, you always knew that Carmy was a bit of a loner, but you could feel the weight of what she’s saying – how much it meant to her. 

“I know he’s not always easy to love but. I don’t know. He acts like he doesn’t need people, and I know he does. I mean, people outside of this fucked up shit hole anyways,” she continues, gesturing to her surroundings. 

You agree with a small laugh, “Yeah, he can be a real dick sometimes. That’s for sure.” 

“Seriously. Thank you,” she says, genuinely. 

“Of course,” you reply, making sure she knows that her words mean a lot to you. You take a more playful tone as you continue. “To be fair, we did meet in another fucked up spot. Not so much a shit hole though.”

“Yeah, and there’s that,” she sighs, lightheartedly. 

“I’m just glad he has someone. He needs someone. Even when he doesn’t want to.”

The rest of dinner service is a blur, as your mind continues to incubate on what Sugar had said to you. You let your interaction with her sit there, but try your best to focus on supporting the rest of service. 

You all work together to wrap up the evening – a chaotic dinner service with a lot of lessons learned. You and Carmy are the last to leave as you notice he’s wrapping up a few things in his office. With your jacket on, backpack slung over one shoulder, you stop by to say goodnight before heading out. 

He’s sitting in the chair, furiously scribbling a few notes down on a few pages of graphing paper. Your eyes flicker over all of the silly doodles on the whiteboard behind him. 

“Hey,” you say, causing him to look up from his notebook. 

“Good service tonight,” he says back. 

“Yeah,” you nod in agreement. “Desserts were a hit.”

“I heard,” he replies. 

You wait for him to say more, only he doesn’t. 

“So, I’m gonna get out of here. Marcus is gonna fly solo tomorrow morning, so I won’t be in till the dinner shift,” you start, shooting him a polite smile. 

You take a few steps away from the office before he calls out to you. 

“Hey!” 

You stop, taking a few steps backwards so that you’re standing in the office doorway once again. 

“You hungry?” he asks, tentatively. 

There’s a look in his eyes that you can’t quite identify: a little nervousness, and something else you haven’t had a chance to name yet. It’s like he’s not ready to part ways with you yet. You smile back at him, hoping to quell whatever nerves he has about the question he just asked you. 

“Always, Carm.”  

You’re tired and your feet ache from a particularly busy service, but you’re not ready to part ways with him either.

“Watcha thinkin?” you ask curiously, sliding your other arm through the loose strap of your backpack. 

“Can I cook you something?” he proposes, hopefully.

You laugh. 

“Is that even a real question?” 

You wait for him as he wraps up his notes and gather his things. Carmy slips on his jacket and ballcap, ready to head home with you. On the way, he lights up a cigarette, offering one to you, but you tell him that you’re trying to quit – or at least trying to cut back. It’s not a long walk back to his place, and you anticipate it being something along the same lines as what he had in New York: facebook marketplace couch, minimal food in the fridge, a TV and a bed. 

Nothing else – just a place to sleep, before he spends most of his day at the restaurant. 

When you arrive, you’re not surprised to see that your assumptions were correct. Carmy flips on a few lights as you follow behind him. You drop your book bag onto his couch, slipping your shoes off and removing your jacket, as Carmy bee lines for the kitchen. You hear the faucet turn on as you tentatively explore his small apartment, before meeting him in the small kitchen area.

He takes his time, washing his hands, before drying them on a dish towel and throwing it over his shoulder. 

“So what are we makin’, chef?” you inquire.

“We aren’t making anything. You’re gonna sit right over here,” he begins, gesturing towards the area across from his gas stovetop. “Oh shit. Hold on. Let me grab you a-.”

“I’m good here, chef,” you interrupt, making a sound as you hop onto the kitchen counter. You immediately reach for the bag of chips he’s thrown onto it. It’s not even closed properly with a clip or anything so expect them to be stale as you pop one of the chips into your mouth.

“Sour cream and onion? Change up from your regular doritos, huh?”

A small smile spreads across his face as he moves around his kitchen, locating a quarter sheet pan. He opens his practically desolate fridge, pulling out a fresh brick of pecorino romano, guanciale, and a few eggs he throws right into the pint-sized deli container that lays on the sheet pan. The rest follow: an unopened pound of dried spaghetti and black pepper, before he gently places the sheet pan on the counter, beginning to preheat two pans on the stovetop. 

“Are you-?”

“Uh huh.”

You smile to yourself. He’s making one of your favorites: carbonara. 

The first time he’d made it for you, you had just started spending some of your days off together – had just agreed to be a part of each others' quarantine pods. You knew he had Italian-American heritage but it was blatantly obvious when you took your first bite.

“Holy fuck,” you had practically moaned at your first bite. “This-, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m pretty sure your talents are being wasted on fine dining, my friend. This is… this is fucking unreal, dude.”

You had tried to convince him that this is the food you both should be cooking, but he vehemently denied the idea, insisting the fine dining was the highest on the food chain and the only way he could make a name for himself. 

He’d been drinking the kool-aid. You both had. 

You sit quietly, as Carmy works. You watch as he cuts perfect lardons, then renders the fat from the cured pork bits. The smell of the guanciale begins to fill the apartment, and Carmy opens a window, just to let the smoke dissipate. 

“You can uh, put some music on if you want,” Carmy says, motioning towards the small bluetooth speaker he has on the coffee table. You agree to, hopping off of the kitchen counter and making your way towards his living area to set up the speaker.

You flip through your phone, looking for a good playlist to put on, settling on one of your dinner party playlists. The speaker booms with the sounds of an old jazz standard, redone as an acoustic cover, and you turn the volume up a little as the water for the spaghetti comes to a boil. 

You spend time looking through Carmy’s bookshelf. It’s filled with thick-spined cookbooks from James Beard winning best restaurants and chefs. You drag your fingertips over the spine of a few classics, but settle on a fairly new book, written by someone at the New York Times. 

“Do you have any other books besides cookbooks?” you call out to him. 

He lets out a dry laugh and you take it as a no. 

You make your way back to your spot on the counter, sliding the open chip bag over, before hopping back up to your seat. You flip through the cookbook as Carmy stays busy with the pasta. 

It’s quiet moments like these that you’ve missed so much. Some days the two of you could talk for hours about sous vide vs reverse searing, and the right way to make a fucking bearnaisse sauce. Other days, Carmy wasn’t much for conversation, and you loved those ones equally. Sometimes, you just wanted company, so he’d come over and work on a recipe and you’d read while he worked in your kitchen.

You could just be together, and it was nice to feel that again. 

No awkward tension of things left unsaid. 

But there was a different kind of tension that seemed to linger between the two of you and you wondered if it had always been there. Had you just never noticed? Between the little comments from Richie about being out of his league, and Pete’s open-ended ‘not in front of his’ you wondered if everyone knew something you didn’t. 

“Which one’d you go with?” he asks, continuing his graceful dance around the kitchen. 

“Korean American. Eric Kim. I hadn’t had a chance to pick up a copy for myself yet, actually,” you answer, flipping through the first few pages.

Your met with quiet as you continue your story.

“You know we’re kind of friends. We went out for drinks a few times. Before I quit my job. Went dancing in the east village and stayed out till two in the morning bar hopping and gossiping about our mutual celebrity crush, Timothee Chalamet,” you add, your attention still fixed on the vibrant, colorful food photographs. 

“Timothee Chalamet, huh?” Carmy asks, amused.

Your attention isn’t on Carmy, or what he’s doing, save for the sounds of him moving around the kitchen. That is, until you look up to find him unceremoniously close to you, peering over onto the page you seem so fascinated with.

“Jesus Christ, Car!” you gasp, surprised by his close proximity. Your heart was beating faster as he took a step back.  “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, his head hanging as he takes a few steps back. “Didn’t mean to.”

“No, it’s okay!” you assure. But it’s too late, so you change the subject, deciding to finish your story. “Anyways uh… I had to hang out with someone after you left New York. Make some new friends.”

“We both know you’ve never struggled with that,” Carmy points out, eliciting a playful eye roll from you. 

He returns with the most aesthetically pleasing twirl of spaghetti carbonara. It’s so perfect you almost can’t fathom eating it. He hands it to you, then returns to his kitchen counter, plating a second bowl for himself.

After finishing the second twirl, he carelessly tosses his carving fork into the sink, opening another drawer to grab two forks for eating.

“Come on. You don’t want it to get cold,” he encourages, handing you one of the forks. 

He waits patiently for you to try it first, so you dig your fork in, creating a spaghetti twirl that hugs the fork, before raising it up to your lips. You open your mouth, taking a bite, before closing your eyes in absolute bliss.

“I can’t fucking stand you.”

He smiles, and it’s the biggest smile you’ve seen on his face this whole week. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean. Fuck you. Like… absolutely fuck you.”

He laughs, finally picking up his own fork and digging into the second bowl he’s plate for himself. 

Holy fuck, is it out of this world.

“Like, do you think they’re such a thing as a talent aggression? Like a cute aggression, only I want to squeeze your head off because you’re so damn talented-kind of aggression?” you pitch your idea to him, playfully. 

He laughs, a blush spreading across his cheeks, “Uh… no. I don’t think so.” 

Carmy rests his back against the counter, as you eat together, side by side. You eat quietly, exchange looks and quiet giggles as the two of you finish your pasta, slurping up the cheesy, egg-yolk coated noodles. When you finish your bowl, you put it down on the counter next to you, throwing your head back with a sigh. 

“Thank you,” you say, fully satisfied as you feel the dopamine rush of eating carbs. 

“That good, huh?” he asks, a cocky smirk on his face. 

“So good,” you exhale happily, as you rest your head on his shoulder. “And you know it, you asshole.” 

He chuckles, turning his head towards you just as you lift your head off of his shoulder, your faces mere inches away from each other. You watch as his face turns a few shades darker, the blush across his cheeks running through his whole face. 

Are you two fucking idiots to pretend that you were just friends?

Yeah. Yes, you are.

“Sorry, I’m, I didn’t mean to um,” he stutters, beginning to pull away from you.

“Wait,” you call out, reaching out to stop him. You grab his arm. 

And there it is again… the tension. That thing that, even when you had talked it out, has remained between you two. He stops moving, his eyes fixated on your hand – the one that’s reached for him. The one that feels hot against his skin. 

“Carm, I-. Um, I’ve really missed…” you stammer through, trying not to sound as breathless as you feel. 

I’ve really missed you.

“... your carbonara.” He looks up at you with those beautifully sad, cerulean blue eyes, and if you weren’t breathless before, you certainly are now. 

“You should make this more often,” is all you manage to get out, and you know you sound helpless. 

He doesn’t know what to say back. That he can hear the ache in your voice – a yearning for him that he never imagined anyone could ever have for him. That it’d be world war three, trying to get a carbonara on the dinner menu. That screaming would ensue over a goddamn emulsion. That there’d be no way to pull this off authentically, and that he’d have to use heavy cream, and no fucking way would he compromise on that. 

On your favorite fucking dish. 

That he only has these ingredients on hand because he went out and bought them in preparation for your visit. 

That he only got them for you. 

Because he maybe only wants to make carbonara for you, and only you, for forever and ever. 

That he’s missed you too, and that wanting you is one of the scariest things he’s ever felt. 

His eyes flicker from your hand, the one still holding onto him, and then back to your face. He’s not sure what possesses him to do it, but he can hear his brother’s voice in his head, let it rip, pushing him to lean in – even closer towards you. You wrap your fingers around his arm, encouraging him closer to you – if it’s even possible. Your foreheads meet and it’s as if all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. It’s like your vision narrows and the dimly lit apartment has faded away behind you. 

It’s just you and him. 

You feel dizzy – in the most delicious way possible.

You’re not sure who moves in first, but the tip of his nose is ever so gently bumping against yours. You brush the side of your nose against his, neither of you daring to take a breath. 

“Carm?”

He doesn’t answer, so you gently begin to leave a kiss against the corner of his mouth. 

“This okay?”

Then the side of his top lip. 

“Mhm,” he nods, eager to continue where this is going. 

Then you pull back, pulling him towards you so that, as you remain perched on top of his kitchen countertop, he fits perfectly between your knees. You lean in to kiss him, and this time, it’s not as hesitant… not as cautious as you’ve both been. 

No, these kisses are different, each one opening up the door to more and more – more want, more need, more lust – and as it blooms, as it blossoms, you feel Carmy’s hand move gingerly to cradle your face as you fall down the rabbit hole. Your fingers tangle into his blonde curls allowing your sheer want for him to consume you. It’s lips, and tangled tongues, and tentative, soft moans as you continue to pull each other closer and closer.

And you slowly begin to understand: the lingering tension, the avoidance of labeling you from his brother-in-law, why he’s been terrified to say a damn thing to you this entire week.

As much as you tried, and as much as he’s tried, neither of you had put that night behind you. 

Sure, it was shitty timing, and sure he wasn’t in the right headspace then. But now? 

Now, could be different, if you’d let it. 

Carmy pulls away from you, reluctantly, his face hot before asking, “You uh, you wanna take this somewhere else?”

His tone is hopeful, as if he’s the teenage dirtbag asking the prom queen out – like if you heard him, and you laughed in his face, he simply wouldn’t survive it. 

But your response is quite the opposite, and he feels silly for worrying, as you manage a breathy ‘yes’ going back in for one more kiss. He gives you some space to hop off the counter and you grab his hand, leading him towards his bedroom. It’s not a huge place, so you put two and two together about where that is. Carmy leaves the lights off in his bedroom, the only glimmer of light either of you can see comes from the living room lamps, and the kitchen overhead. 

With his hand in yours, you pull him towards you again, and he’s more than happy to let you lead. You begin to kiss him, taking note of how perfectly his top lip feels nestled in between yours. He follows you down to his bed, hesitant to put his full body weight on top of you. You giggle into the kiss, pulling him down to you. 

“I’m not a porcelain doll, Carm,” you tease, gently. 

You feel his lips twist into a smile against yours, as he begins to leave sloppier, wetter kisses down your neck. You allow him to explore as his hesitation lessens, his hands beginning to bunch up the hemline of your shirt. Higher and higher. And before you know it, you’re taking it off, impatiently throwing it somewhere you’ll barely remember in the light of day. You pull Carmy back down for another kiss, this time with a little more intensity, as he covers his body with yours, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of newly revealed skin that he possibly can. 

You’re not sure when his shirt joined yours on the floor but before it registers, you’re running your fingers across the muscles of his back, exploring each peak and valley. You hiss in pure pleasure as he pulls down one of the cups of your bra, his tongue running across one of your nipples. You can feel him smile against your skin, a well-won reaction from the pleasure he’s giving you. His other hand reaches up to give equal attention to your other breast, and moments later, you’re both impatiently pulling your bra off. 

“Wanna try something,” Carmy murmurs, his eyes meeting yours. 

You can feel the wet heat pooling between your legs as you breathe out, “Okay.”

The anticipation is building in your body and you feel like your head might explode. Carmy busies his mouth once again, leaving kisses down your torso as his hands begin to fiddle with the button on your jeans. You giggle, more than willing to help him out as he gets them undone, lifting your hips so that he can slide them off. 

He’s hesitant, and you’re trying your damnedest to be patient as he takes his sweet time to marvel at your almost-naked body. 

“So fucking perfect,” Carmy whispers, in between leaving wet, open mouthed kisses across your hip bones. You can hardly breathe, panting out loud as he continues his exploration. You make space for him between your legs as he slips his hands into your panties, dragging a finger up and down your dripping sex.

He checks in with you, gauging your reaction, and you nod as he continues what he’s doing. 

“This all for me?” he asks. He means for it to sound confident, but as the words leave him, he sounds more surprised than anything.

Before you can answer, he’s pushing your legs wider, his tongue gently running across your clit, causing you to cry out to the gods. He’s tentative at first, but it doesn’t take long for him to gather up the confidence to keep going, with the noises you’re making. At first it’s all tongue, licking, circling and flattening up against you, but you’re losing your mind as he adds his fingers back into the mix. His fingers are buried deep inside of you while his lips and tongue are bringing you far past your edge.

It’s as if the only words you can remember are his name, and ‘fuck.’ 

You feel his lips curl into a smile against you as he murmurs, “Just wanna make you feel good.”

You can feel it – your climax – building up, and Carmy groans, rutting his hips into the bed as he can no longer ignore how hard he is. 

“Carmy, yes. Don’t stop, please. I’m-,” you beg, your voice shaking.

And he has no intention of stopping till he gets what he wants – till he makes you cum. He works you through your orgasm, groaning against you as you cum on his tongue and around his fingers. You swear for a moment that you can’t hear a single thing as stars fill your vision. As you come to, it starts with only the sounds of the heavy pants that escape your mouth. Carmy sits up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 

“Holy fuck,” you say, breathless. 

Carmy lays over you once again, kissing you, and you can taste yourself on his lips. 

Your hands fumble with the button on his jeans and you order, no patience left in a single cell of your body, “Off. These need to come off.”

He chuckles, hurrying through the removal of his jeans. You’re so eager to feel the weight of his body on top of yours again that you pull him back down to you before he’s even able to properly take them off. 

He’s kissing you again as you reach down, grabbing his hard length through his underwear. He’s thicker than you remember. You slip your hand into the waistband of his briefs, causing him to grunt. He hisses your name as you wrap your soft hand around his dick, bucking his hips into your hand. 

“Do you have a condom?” you ask, desperately. “I wanna feel you, Carm.”

“Mhm.”

He doesn’t keep condoms around. It’s not like this happens very often for him. But Richie had thrown a pack of condoms at his head the minute he found out that the friend that was coming to visit was a girl. Richie had teased him with some stupid quip like ‘don’t forget to wrap it up, cousin. No one wants a mini-eleven madison park dickhead running around here.’

He hadn’t expected this to happen. But it’s not like he’d thrown the condoms away either – tucking them into the single drawer of his nightstand. 

You wait as he reaches over and pulls out a condom from his nightstand. You want to ask him about why he has them, but as long as you get to feel him, you’re not sure you care. 

You’ve been here before with him, but this is different. He sits up on his knees and you follow him, pulling his briefs down properly and giving him time to roll on the condom. He follows you back down onto the bed as you wrap a leg around his waist so that he can fit perfectly between yours. 

He waits a beat, and then you feel his thick tip pushing against you, causing your breath to catch in your throat. He rubs the head up and down your slick core, before slowly beginning to push into you. 

You both gasp at the feel of each other. 

“Fuck. You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he moans, dropping his head into the crevice of your neck. He hopes you can’t tell how utterly helpless he feels.

You hiss at the way he’s stretching you open, the pads of your fingertips digging into his arms. You’re holding onto his arms for dear life as he fills you all the way to the hilt. You let out another moan as you as he stays there for a moment. 

“This okay?” 

You nod, pulling him down to kiss you again. You start moving your hips against his as Carmy gives you shallow thrusts. 

“Hold on,” he breathes out, holding your hips down for a moment. “Just-, just give me a second.” 

And you do, allowing him to collect himself, before he’s giving you shallow, gentle thrusts. 

But you’re in desperate need for more. 

“Carmy?”

“Yeah?”

“Fucking move.” 

Finally, finally, he pulls almost all the way out, before driving himself back into you, earning a cry from you as the pleasure is just too much. 

“Oh fuck!”

You want more. You want everything and all of him and so much more. And he gives it to you, continuing to check in that what he’s doing is okay. Before you know it, you’re begging him to go faster, harder, convincing him that you’re not fucking breakable and that you want more, grasping at the sheets and his biceps, and his curls –  anything you can hang on to as he’s bringing you over your edge again for the second time tonight. 

You’re crying out his name as you cum, and Carmy thinks it may be the sweetest, best thing he’s ever heard in his life. He fucks you through your climax, beginning to slow down the pace of this thrusts. He pauses, kisses you long and hard, passionately pausing just to be in this moment with you. 

“Carm?” you manage to get out. You wonder if he can hear how much you want him just by the sound of your voice. 

“Hm?”

“I wanna ride you,” you say, and you can feel that your words have gone straight to his dick as he twitches inside of you.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

The two of you clumsily change positions – him on his back staring up at you in awe, like how the hell does that perfect, beautiful, creature want to be here with me now? You reach down, guiding him back inside of you and you’re both gasping at the contact. You begin grinding your hips against him, watching his eyes roll back as you make your movement a little bigger. 

“Jesus Christ,” he sighs out, the pleasure of it all taking over his brain. 

You know he won’t last much longer as you begin to ride him, rocking your hips back and forth. Carmy hands are on your hips, then running up and down your torso, grabbing your tits, and then they’re pulling you down to him for another passionate makeout as you continue your movements. You can feel his thrusts becoming more erratic as he starts thrusting up into you. You keep riding him, reaching for his hands and placing them along your hips. 

“Show me how you want it,” you whisper in between kisses. 

“I think this is nice,” he manages to say. 

“Show me how you want it, Carmen,” you demand, emphasizing your need for him with use of his full name. “Let me make you cum.” 

You squeeze his hands against your ass, egging him on, and he’s not sure what he’s done to deserve this. He holds onto your hips, before thrusting up into you, setting a bruising pace as your moans become louder and louder. You scream out his name, as he brings you closer and closer to your high, chasing his with him. 

He grunts, his thrusts becoming sloppier, messier, more desperate and you let him use your body in the most delicious ways. 

“Are you gonna cum?”

Instead of answering, he’s driving into you like a fucking mad man, and you’re riding him through his high till you both collapse. 

Carmy lets out a strangled moan as he cums, so you begin to slow your movements. You’re breathless, hunched over him, your foreheads touching as you exchange a laugh.

It's a kind of 'I can't believe we just did that' kind of laugh.

“Holy shit,” he says, shaking his head. 

“Yeah,” you agree, a stupid, blissed out smile on both of your faces.

“That was-.”

“Yeah.”

You get off of him, allowing him to get up and dispose of the condom. He’s not gone long before he returns to you, wrapping the both of you up in his sheets and into his arms. It feels unlike anything you’ve ever had. 

It feels… magnificent. 

“Stay with me tonight?” he asks, leaving a few soft kisses along your shoulder. 

“After that?” you giggle, as his lips against your neck begin to tickle. “You’re not getting rid of me, Berzatto. Not a fucking chance.”

read: part five

taglist: @lazypeachsoul @bookwormvoyageuse @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney

#carmy berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #the bear marcus #sydney adamu #the bear tina #richie jerimovich #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut

[flavor-of-the-week-writing]

Sleepless Nights • Carmen Berzatto

Pairing: Carmen x Reader

Tags: Fluff, angst if you squint

- - - - - - - -

Carmy’s cuticles were raw, bleeding slightly from the way he bit at them with nerves. His hand shook as he brought the cigarette up to his lips, inhaling deeply and letting the thick smoke fill his lungs. The light of the moon and the dim street lamps danced across his features, highlighting the strong curve of his jaw as he grit his teeth, the steep slope of his nose, the deep furrow of his brow.

You approach him slowly as he sits on the edge of the window, his feet dangling down to the fire escape. You lean against the doorframe, arms folded across your chest as you study him.

“Can’t sleep?”

His expression softens, all attention now on you. He looks on affectionately, admiring the way his T-shirt hits your hips, the pale blue panties just visible under the hem.

“Hey. C’mere.” He discards the cigarette, letting it fall through the cracks of the fire escape and holds out his hand to you. He gives you a small smile. It’s unconvincing, doesn’t reach his sad blue eyes, but he’s trying. “Why’re you up, sweetheart? Should be in bed, it’s late.”

“I could say the same to you.”

You take his hand and he pulls you closer, making room to settle you on his lap. The night air is cold against your bare legs but Carmy’s skin is always inexplicably warm to the touch. His strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you tight against his chest.

“I’m just, ah… thinkin’.”

“Mmhmm,” you hum softly in acknowledgment, your palms pressed against the bicep that’s cradling your tummy. “About what?”

He hesitates to answer your question, his body stiffening and pulling you tighter before he finally relaxes.

“Mikey.” You nod softly, pressing your forehead against his cheek. “It’s his birthday soon.”

It’s always hard to know what to say when these things come up. This is only the second birthday of Mikey’s that you’d been with Carmy. Last year he had chosen to isolate, sleep the day away in his bed and pretend it didn’t exist. This year you wanted it to be different.

“Why don’t we do something for him?” You offer softly, caressing your hand across the veiny skin of his forearm. “We could bake a cake. Blow out the candles and make a wish for him.”

Carmy sighed, nuzzling his nose into the soft hair at the nape of your neck. He breathed in a few times, the sweet scent of your shampoo and perfume filling his senses.

“Maybe.”

That was enough for now. You crawl carefully off of his lap and back into the apartment, keeping your hand wrapped around his wrist. You tug softly, a small comforting smile on your lips.

“Let’s go to bed.”

Carmy didn’t resist your pull, letting you tug him inside and back to bed. He made a mental note to close the window as soon as you drifted off again. He knew that sleep wouldn’t come for him tonight but right now, settled in the soft bed beside you, your breathing calm and steady, the angry voices in his head seemed to get just a little quieter.

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #the bear #Carmen Berzatto x reader #Carmy Berzatto x reader #Carmen Berzatto fluff #Carmy Berzatto fluff #the bear fanfiction #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #Carmy berzatto blurb #carmen berzatto blurb #Carmen berzatto oneshot #Carmy berzatto oneshot

[thatone-brightstar]

carmy + ‘spit on my mouth’ if that’s up your alley 🫢

a/n: i think this is probably my favorite one i’ve written. just so ughhh🔥🔥 definitely up my alley anon.

Amy's kinktober alphabet blurbs w/ special guest Carmy Berzatto! (5/6)

Don't forget to like and repost or comment with the one you like the most! PS. Imk if you wanna be added to the taglist!

Warnings: Minors DNI, p in v unprotected sex, creampie, choking, semi public, oral sex (both f and m receiving), knifeplay, spit kink, knife play, fingering, I'll add more tags as they add up.

(open 4 the nasty)

Q is for: Quicky.

‘Your sister-’ You breathed out through sloppy kisses, feeling his hand climb up the side of your thigh underneath your dress. ‘-Carm, they’re in the other room.’

‘Jus’ wanna kiss you…’ He breathed back against your lips, through the trajectory of his hand promised something else.

You gasped again as the pad of his thumb applied enough pressure to your center and your knees almost buckled under you. He took the opportunity to slip his tongue deeper into your mouth, caressing the soft inside of your cheek with the tip.

‘Carmy.’

‘Baby.’ He repeated in the same whiney tone, one hand on the back of your neck, while the other continued the torturous motion between your thighs. ‘No one’s gonna notice if we’re gone a few minutes.’

He rubbed and pushed deeper into you and your hands fell instinctively to the button on his jeans.

R is for: Radish.

‘Say that again?’ Carmy asked with a teasing smile, knife motionless over the root on the cutting board..

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms at him. ‘Stop making fun out of me!’ The accent was barely noticeable through your rushed words, but Carmy always caught on to every nipped word or rolled ‘r’ you let escape.

He chuckled lightly and put his knife down, moving to your side and caging you between the L shaped counter with this arms.

‘I’m not making fun of you... I think it’s adorable.’ He compliments, palm cupping your chin and raising it up to meet his baby blues. ‘Please?’

A tiny smile betrayed your stand and you took a heavy exhagerated sigh, rolling your eyes again. ‘Radish.’ You repeated, trying to avoid the vibration the first letter caused on your tongue, but failing terribly.

Carmen chuckled again and you threw your arms up in frustration. ‘Ay ya! See! You just wanna make fun-’

Before you could push past him, he wrapped his arms around your waist and locked you in place. ‘Not makin’ fun- I’m not makin’ fun!’

S is for: Slippery.

The idea had wedged itself into your brain, causing your cunt to squeeze around the girth of his cock and a groan to leave his mouth at the tight sensation. Your nails dragged over his shoulders and up his neck, pulling his head down to your hungry lips. His movements stuttered slightly from your passionate kiss and he cupped the sides of your face with his hands.

‘Spit in my mouth-’ You muttered bravely, chest heaving and eyes glaced.

‘What?’ Carmy asked, still dazed by the kiss as his hips picked up their speed.

‘I want you- shit ah - spit in my mouth-’ You repeated and circled your thighs securely around him.

With a sudden hunger over his eyes, he took a hold of your jaw with one hand and tugged your face up towards his. ‘Open.’ He comanded and you followed, letting your tongue hang out.

You saw the translucent bubble slip past his lips and directly onto your awaiting tongue, then you pulled it back into your mouth and swirled it with your own. Withought braking eye contact, You tilted your head down and let the spit dribble down your swollen lip, transparent string slipping past your navel and lubricating his throbbing cock.

‘That’s the sexiest shit I’ve ever seen-’ He barely managed to say, before forcefully pulling you forward and quickening his thrusts.

T is for: Tattoos.

‘-due next week, so we could use someone at the door.’

Carmen’s voice drowns behind your dirty thoughts, attention fixaded on the way his tattooed fingers curl around the carrot. Your distraction comes from memories, the feeling of the same digits flexing and sissoring inside your tight pussy makes your legs press together to dull out the ache.

‘So?’ He asks after a couple seconds of silence and you only notice he’s waiting for a response because his hands have stopped moving.

‘Wha- oh yeah, sounds great…’ You repspond casually and straighten your back, ankles locked together still.

He eyes you curiously, then runs his tongue along his bottom lip and sucks it slightly. The look he’s giving you does nothing for the growing need in your core and you eye the empty office past his back.

‘Can we… talk privately. In your office-’

‘Yeah- yeah sure.’ He doesn’t even let you finish before hes dropping his knife and undoing the knot at the front of his apron.

U is for: Underwear.

Moan after moan, his gently kisses had you breathing out the prettiest sounds he had ever heard. Still, his hands fidgeted nervously with the hem of your dress at the idea of taking it further than just making out on your couch. Your thighs laid spread out on each side of his hips, dress riding up with every roll over the hard demin jeans.

‘I really want you…’ You confessed against his stubble and peppered kisses along his jaw until you reached his ear. ‘D’you want me, Carmen?’ You asked and licked the outlike of his ear.

He couldn’t trust his words, only nodding fervently and digging his fingers into the plushness of your thighs. He clearly heard the crinkles of your smile, then you pulled away and off his thighs. His confused expression was quickly answered by your devious grin as you stood fully and made a movement with your head that urged him to follow you.

He stayed glued to the couch, watching you stroll barefoot in direction to your room. You pulled the hem of your dress over your body and he was pushed back by the image of your naked skin under the dress, denim now uncomfortably tight around his groin as he quickly moved to follow you into the hallway.

__________

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne , @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha , @yum-yahgurt , @pussy-f41ry , @kirakombat , @redsakura101 , @hobisunshine13 , @feyhunter78

#the bear fx #kinktober 2023 #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy smut #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #the bear tv #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmen berzatto smut #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto headcanon #carmy berzatto smut #kinktober #amy writes #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #the bear fic #the bear headcanon

[collecting-stories]

Peaches & Cream - Carmen Berzatto

Summary: Carmy talks the reader into making family and their relationship takes a turn.

A/N: I don't know if I like this installment as much as the other two but I'm running with it. Also, the actual dessert made is from Carolina Gelen and it's fucking delicious!

The Bear Masterlist

✰✰✰✰

You shook your head slowly back and forth, with what you were almost completely positive was a look of abject horror plastered across your face as your eyes met Carmy's blue ones. If there was one thing, anything, that you absolutely did not under any circumstances want to do it was cook in The Beef's kitchen. 

"No."

"It's not like you haven't cooked for everyone out there before," Carmy replied, leaning against the door and crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Yeah, but like...at my place...not like, seriously," you mirrored his image, leaning back in the office chair and crossing your arms. 

Carmy smiled, "family isn't serious." He said it in that way that suggested he'd caught you out. Like you were trying to pull one over on him but he found a loophole at the last second. He looked too triumphant for his own good. 

"Cars..." You groaned, there was no way you wanted to do family. When Syd did family it looked like some fucking five star gourmet meal. Even Ebra cooked up some really wonderful food for family. You had cooked at home, sure, but not in Carmy's kitchen. "Fine...but when it's shit-"

"It won't be," he replied and you practically felt the air knocked out of you. As if those three simple words had the power to truly dictate what sort of cook, chef, you were. And maybe they did because you felt ridiculously confident after he said it. 

You abandoned the paperwork to the office and followed Carmy into the kitchen. His attention didn't last long, immediately pulled to something else as Tina called him over to taste the potatoes she was working on. Your unexpected entrance into the kitchen didn't go unnoticed by Marcus or Syd or Tina, all three of whom followed you with their eyes as you went to the family shelf. You were positive you looked a little more than unsure of yourself as you pulled ingredients off the shelf, trying to think of a recipe that you could accomplish, that would taste good, and that might impress Carmy. 

-

"What?" 

"What?"

"People don't usually make that face after someone kisses them...unless like, I read the room wrong and I wasn't, or you didn't want me to kiss you," you stammered, eyebrow quirking as you stared at Carmy. Ever since the first Sunday Night Dinner you'd been thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. Probably ever since he first walked in The Beef and introduced himself to you. And maybe he hadn't been thinking about kissing you for that long but you thought maybe he was thinking about kissing you lately. Or not and you were atrocious at reading what vibe other people were projecting. 

"No, no...I mean, I, no, I wanted you to...I wanted to kiss you. I liked it. Ah..." Carmy inhaled, held his breath for a second and then exhaled. "I uh, you taste like peaches. It's like, really fucking wild, just like straight up peaches...like, not like chapstick shit or something but like actual fucking peaches." 

"Oh," you stopped yourself from laughing, "I uh, I ate like frozen peaches before you came over." You tried to explain. It was the most bizarre semi-compliment anyone had ever offered after a kiss. Probably in the history of the world. 

"Yeah?"

"I was trying this recipe-"

"What was it?" He looked over the back of the couch toward the kitchen as if a plate would be waiting there on the island for him to sample. 

"It's nothing fancy," you promised, a regular disclaimer whenever you made something new and let Carmy try it. You got up from the couch as you explained the recipe you'd seen online and had attempted to recreate in your own kitchen before Carmy had come over. Aside from the peach, which was frozen in your freezer, everything else was assembled. 

Whipped cream went in the bowl first, then the peach shavings, scrapped off a whole frozen peach like you were zesting a lemon, and then brown sugar syrup that you'd made earlier. In the short time it took you to assemble the dessert, Carmy came over to the island, leaning against the counter and watching you walk. 

"Here," you slid the bowl over and handed him a spoon from the utensil holder that sat in the middle of the island. He took it from you, his focus already zeroed in on the dessert sitting before him. The assembly was no five-star NOMA dish but you thought it tasted pretty good earlier and hoped you'd made it just as nicely the second time. 

The first time Carmy tried anything you made him your whole body had felt like it was on fire. Burning with nervous anxiety eating at your stomach. Now, you thought you should probably still be nervous but you weren't. Somehow you didn't have any of those nerves anymore. Or at least, they weren't turning over your stomach anymore. Instead it was just excitement, watching him taste the food that you prepared for him. 

"Well?"

With little actual warning, Carmy laid his spoon on the counter and leaned forward, kissing you this time instead of the other way around. You kissed him back, your hand moving to hold his face, fingers brushing the curls at the back of his neck. You'd be lying if you said you weren't a little dazed as he pulled away from the kiss, blue eyes shining with amusement as he smiled. Like really smiled, you noted. 

"Yeah, that's the peach I was tasting." He finally said, taking another bite of the dessert, "fire, by the way."

"Awesome," you stumbled over the word, not entirely sure it was the correct one to encapsulate the moment. 

-

You knew Marcus was hovering over you without needing to turn around, but you did anyway, twisting away from the focaccia bread that you were kneading onto the sheet pan to look up at him. "What?" You asked, unable to stop yourself from smiling when you caught the amused look on his face, "what?"

"You're doing family?" 

"Yeah, why...you have a problem with that?" You asked, trying to sound confident. 

"No...this looks good," Marcus replied, checking on the focaccia once more before stepping away from you. "What're you making?"

"Chicken parm sandwiches?" You replied, more as a question than a statement. As you slid the pan into the oven Marcus took a once over of the other ingredients on the counter. 

"You making your own mozzarella too?" He asked, sounding impressed that you were going to tackle something that complicated. 

"I am," you said, pulling a 'can you believe it' face, "Carmy showed me how to a couple weeks ago-"

"Carmy showed you how to?" He replied, the tone of the question teasing. 

"Don't you have like...something to do?" You asked, looking back at his station. 

You might've spent most of your shift in the back office but you knew that everyone in the kitchen was talking. It started with Richie, way before you and Carmy had kissed. He'd come into the office when you and Carmy were sitting in there and however you both were acting Richie had interpreted it as flirting (which was impressive considering how awkward you and Carmy flirting was). Richie being Richie, spread the news to Tina and Ebra and Sweeps, then Marcus heard about it and Sydney. Even Fak got filled in on the apparent 'romance' that was happening. You suffered through embarrassing comments every time you were remotely close to Carmy in the kitchen until finally everyone pretty much got used to the fact that you were pinning and probably never going to make a move. 

Or at least, you hadn't expected to ever make a move. He just looked so good sitting there on your couch and you'd been thinking about him for a long time and you were positive (at least 99% so) that recently he'd been thinking about you the same way. It was a long shot probably, cause Carmy was almost impossible to read unless he was yelling about food, but it worked out. 

"Are you doing family?" Syd asked. She was doing checks, purposely saving Marcus for last so she could see what you were up to. She'd seen you come out of the office with Carmy and go over to the family shelf, surprised since you never seemed eager to be anywhere near the kitchen during work hours. (Syd had come back for her headphones once and seen you and Carmy in the kitchen together, generally being cute...which she pointed out to you later on). 

"Yeah?" You felt even more unsure of yourself when she asked than you had when Marcus had asked before. 

She nodded, looking over the ingredients you had out. "Dope."

"Thanks," you laughed. 

You weren't surprised, considering how hectic you knew the kitchen could get, that you didn't actually see Carmy again (aside from glimpses as he moved back and forth from the kitchen to the counter and back) until family. And technically, once you'd plated family and called everyone out to eat, he was nowhere to be found. Richie told you he was having a cigarette around a mouthful of chicken parm sandwich so you plated some for him and carried it outside into the back alley. 

Carmy was sitting against the back wall, a plastic container of water in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He had his head tilted back and his eyes closed like he was maybe trying to catch a few seconds of rest before dinner rush. 

"Hey," you tapped his shoulder and Carmy started, opening his eyes and looking up at you. 

"Hey," he replied, laying down his container of water and taking the plate from you. He balanced it on his knees and picked up the sandwich to look it over. "What've we got?"

"Chicken parm sandwich on pistachio focaccia bread." You replied, "Richie said I was 'going all out'."

Carmy took a bite and you watched as his face change from neutral to slightly pleased. The look you knew meant that he liked something. "This is good, this is really good." He replied earnestly, taking another bite. "Did you make the mozzarella?"

"Does it taste bad?"

"No," he shook his head, looking away from the sandwich and up to you, "you could've kneaded it one more time, it's a little soft."

"I wasn't sure," you admitted, "you'll have to make me mozzarella and tomatoes again and show me how to make it." 

He'd shown you last week, when you were at his apartment for a change. He was in the middle of making dinner when he realized he didn't have mozzarella so he decided to make it, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to do. Or at least the most normal thing in Carmy's. 

"You heading back inside?" He asked as you reached for the door handle. 

"Back to the office, where I belong." You replied. 

He waved you back over, tilting his head back to look up at you when you were standing in front of him again. You took the silent invitation and leaned down to kiss him. "I won't taste like peaches this time." 

"It's not a stipulation," he joked and you smiled into the kiss. 

Eventually, sooner rather than later, you knew everyone in the kitchen would find out that you were dating. Probably everyone outside of the kitchen too, once Fak knew that you were together it was only a matter of time before everyone Carmy had ever met found out that he had someone in his life. 

"Okay," you sighed, reluctant to pull away but knowing there was a stack of invoices you needed to look through, "eat your too shitty sandwich and get back to work chef."

"You bossing me around now?" He laughed, stubbing out his cigarette and following you back through the door into the kitchen. 

Everyone else had finished eating and were back to their stations. Tina looked over first when the two of you came in and you smiled, "Carmy said it was awful and I'm never allowed in the kitchen again."

"I didn't say it was awful-"

"The mozz was a little soft but the focaccia was insane," Syd pipped up in your defense.

"I didn't say it was awful," Carmy repeated, nudging you with his elbow when you smiled at him.

"He didn't say it was awful," you admitted, "he did say the mozzarella was soft." 

"Why you being a fucking hardass about some cheese?" Richie called from the counter, coming over and throwing an arm over your shoulders, "I'm fucking shocked as it is you got this one to go out with you, now you're gonna be insulting?"

Carmy flushed red, whether because of Richie or because of the whistle Sweeps gave at the previously unconfirmed news that the two of you might be something, "can we get back to work chefs?" He finally said, moving away from you and over to one of the stations, grabbing his knife to start prep. 

"Guess that's my cue to get back to the office," you joked, slipping out from Richie's arm.

#collecting stories imagine #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x y/n #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto fanfic #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto fic #the bear imagine #the bear fanfiction #the bear fanfic #the bear fic

[observerofstuff]

Chamomile

Sometimes, the only thing that can help is a cup of tea.

For context, this is set during Season 1 when the restaurant is still The Beef. This is the first time that I'm writing anything for Carmen or, generally, for The Bear. I hope you enjoy this lil blurb!

Ps. Apologies for any spelling mistakes or grammar errors, this is being written at 3am.)

Carmen Berzatto X Reader WARNINGS - None. Fluff. Vague mention of anxiety.

~ ~ ~

“Chef?” 

No response. 

“Chef.” 

Carmen was slow in lifting his head, exhaustion evident in the dark bags under his eyes and the slump of his shoulders. A part of you felt guilty in intruding on the peace of the office. It felt as if the tiny office was a pocket of stillness that existed amongst the chaos of the restaurant. In the months that you’d been working at The Beef, you often noticed Carmen retreating there after the lunch rush in hopes of escaping the bedlam, even for just a second. 

“Uh, I made you some tea… Chamomile and Honey.” 

The idea had struck you whilst you were taking your break and, despite the confused glances from Ritchie, you were sure that it would help Carmen. At least, you hoped that it would. Now, standing in the doorway with a steaming mug in your hands and under the tired gaze of your boss, you felt unsure. Afraid. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. You carefully place the cup on the edge of the cluttered desk with a shy smile before hastily walking out, not waiting for Carmen’s reaction. 

It takes a moment for Carmen to reach for the drink. He had been trying - and failing - to get through the never-ending pile of paperwork when you knocked on the door. If he hadn’t been exhausted, Carmen might’ve offered a small smile at your kind gesture. At the first sip of tea, Carmen found himself sinking back into the chair and his eyes fluttering close. Ah. That was what he needed. The tea warmed Carmen from the inside out; easing some of the pressure constricting his chest and it became easier to breathe. Sweet and floral scents fill the air, a stark, but welcomed contrast to the stale and musty smell of the office. 

“Yo, cousin!”

Of course.

Carmen keeps his eyes closed and tightens his hands on the mug in hopes of clinging to this feeling for a little longer. It doesn’t work. Richie calls again and Carmen has no choice, but to abandon the tea on his desk. To grow cold and remain unfinished.

~

#The Human Writes #Carmen Berzatto X Reader #Writing #Fanfiction #Fluff #Gender Neutral Reader #The Bear #X Reader #Carmen Berzatto #Blurb #Fanfic #Carmy X Reader #Richie Jerimovich

[superhoeva]

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄: 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

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⬩ pairing(s) carmen "carmy" berzatto x musician!reader, luca davies-bernardi x musician!reader, sebastian "sebby" garvey (original male character) x musician!reader

⬩ warning(s) language, emotionally toxic relationship, sad girl!reader (but it's okay bc it's gonna get better!), nervous!scattered-brained!carmen, sweet!luca, anxiety, mention of injury (burn), smoking (mentioned), some smut, (bad unsatisfying) penetrative sex (p in v), protected sex, bodily fluids (mentioned), oral (m receiving), delusional bf syndrome, negative feelings during sex

⬩ author's note it's here! it's here! finally had some time to sit down a finish this, and i'm excited!! next chapter will have heavy luca and carmen interaction with reader to make up for seb in this chapter lol. make sure to heed the warnings before you read! hope everyone enjoys &lt;3

⬩ word count 2.4k

Carmen traces the pattern on the stair runner—a deep, wine red with flickers of brown and gold—to steady his breathing as he and Luca follow you up the stairs to the bathroom.

Beets for red.

The three of you together in the small bathroom is a tight fit, but you make it work. Carmen, standing stiff with his back to the sink while you make a b-line for the aloe vera and cotton balls that sit in a nearby cabinet. Luca takes a spot leaning against the doorframe, curious eyes watching you as you move. 

With your back turned, you don’t see the two catching eyes. Luca gives Carmen a quick raise of his eyebrows. Carmen responds with a widening of his, and they just barely return to their normal size by the time you turn back around. You set down the contents in your hand–a bottle of aloe vera, a few cotton balls, and a large band-aid the men didn’t notice you grab–onto the counter next to Carmen before holding out a delicate hand.

“May I?”

Carmen stares down at where your palm lays outstretched before him. It takes a long second for him to even think about moving. Another moment ticks by and Carmen finally raises his hand to put in yours. His skin jumps at the feeling, breath coming out shaky.

He thinks you’re going to say something about him. Make a joke about how long he took to give you his hand, but you do no such thing. All you do is give him a small smile and begin your work.

The men let you coat and dab at Carmen’s hand in the quiet. You’re about halfway through when you decide to break the silence.

 “So how’d this happen?”

Your question falls soft onto Carmen’s ears. His has to blink a few times, as you’re looking over his hand with such care. The mark is an angry red and stings like a bitch, but your gaze makes it a little easier to bear, which only further ruffles the nerve bumbling around in Carmen’s stomach. The aloe vera does some work, too.

“We, uh, we work in a cellar,” Carmen mumbles back, not really thinking. Both he and Luca see you pause to process the information, then simply nod, accepting it with ease.

Luca almost laughs as he clarifies, “we work in a restaurant that happens to be in a cellar.”

“Ah, okay,” you nod again. “What’s that like?”

“It’s…” Luca trails off, searching for the correct work. “It’s intense.”

A short chuckle from Carmen. His way of adding that’s a understatement. “It’s great, though. We love it,” he finishes for Luca, who nods in agreement.

“That actually sounds really cool,” you admit as you place the band-aid onto Carmen’s skin, and smooth it over. Luca grins a little. Carmen bobs his head, unable to look you in the eye.

“Yeah, yeah, it is. Cool,” Carmen parrots, eyes finding the courage to look into yours. “And, uh, thank you for this. Really, thank you.”

You have to remind yourself to breathe as you gaze back at Carmen. The blues of his iris are something magical and incredible and moving. Your body forces you to swallow before you reply with a kind, “you’re welcome.”

Carmen’s middle jumps at your words. Suddenly, the bathroom is three-sizes smaller than when he’d entered and there’s not enough air for him to function properly. He blinks at you one last time before heading for the door. Luca steps to the side to let Camren through, who remembers to throw you one more thank you before he’s hooking around the bathroom exit and back down the hall.

It’s just you and Luca now. He gives you a sheepish smile, eyes flicking to what you’ve left on the counter. He’s over and clearing the small mess of loose band-aid wrappers and used cotton balls.

“Oh, you don’t have to…” you start, but Luca is dropping the piled waste into the garbage can. “...do that.”

Luca shrugs, brushing off his hands.

“It’s the least I could do. And I know Carm already said it, but thank you for helping him out. That burn would’ve just gotten worse and worse if not for you.”

It’s your turn to shrug.

“It was no trouble,” you promise. “Happy to help.”

Luca smiles at you, again, and fuck if that doesn’t make you feel good. A tick of silence passes, and you can’t think of anything to say.

“Can I walk you back down?”

You warm at the inquiry, nodding at him with a shy smile. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

The two of you trail downstairs in a quiet that doesn’t make your stomach turn, and it’s refreshing. It allows you to breathe and take in the tattoos across Luca arms as the swing just beside yours. They’re similar to the ones you saw dancing across Carmen’s skin. You wonder if they got any of them together.

When you return to the hallway between the kitchen and the main room, Luca’s mouth opens a bit, like he’s looking for something to say. To keep the two of you in the moment, but he’s interrupted.

“Where’d you run off to? Been looking for you.”

It’s Sebastian, striding down the hallway and up to where you and Luca stand. The violinist doesn’t even glance at the man on the other side of you.

“Hey, I was just–”

You don’t get a chance to finish your sentence before Seb is speaking again.

“Think I’m ready for that drink now. Just a beer or something, but make sure it’s cold, yeah?”

A nod from you. Luca doesn’t notice when you glance at him as you head back for the kitchen. Sebastian is already looking back at him. The two share a long stare before Luca smiles to himself and leaves Sebastian to follow you into the kitchen.

You startle at the unexpected, “who was that guy?”

Your spin reveals an awaiting Sebastian. He leans against the frame of the entrance, arms crossed and head tilted as he gazes at you. His eyebrows are pinched together in that way that makes you feel on edge. How your father looked at you when you were younger. You have to swallow before answering.

“I don’t know,” you mumble with a shrug. Turning your back on Sebastian, your eyes falls back on the drinks in front of you. Beer. He wanted beer. A cold one. “Just friends of some friends here, I think.”

Sebastian nods slowly. When you spin to hand him the bottle, he’s still looking at you. It’s different than before, though. His eyebrows have smoothened. His shoulders droop a little easier. And there’s something softer in his eyes. Yet the knot on your stomach doesn’t want to go away.

“What?”

Sebastian just grins at you.

.・゜゜・

“Okay, off,” Sebastian groans out, pulling his dick from your face for what feels like the hundredth time. “Shit, off, don’t wanna come yet.”

You wipe away the spit collecting on your chin with the back of your hand, and hold back a huff. Sebastian pants above you, slacks and belt bunched around his ankles. He glances down at you and smiles like he did back in the kitchen. A hand on the back of your head guides you back onto him. You suck and swirl and work with more energy than you thought you were going to be able to muster.

“Fuck, just like that. God, yeah. You love my cock, don’t you, baby? Love it so much, you’ll suck it anywhere. Even in Arya’s basement.”

Sebastian sees you roll your eyes and nearly loses it. At the moment, he’s completely incapable of realizing the action was out of anything but pleasure.

“See, just like I said,” he grins even wider. “You love it.”

Just upstairs are the rest of the guests. They are sprawled out around Arya’s cozily-sized living room. Across the couch, love seats, and even on the floor as they converse over drinks and more drinks.

“So, uh, how do you know each other again?”

Carmen asks, sitting to the left of Luca. On the other side of the older man is a guy named Kaj. His shoulder length hair is tied into a low bun, revealing an aged scar that scratches across his cheek, and a few freckles here and there. The three men are squished on one edge of the brown couch, a little warm from all the bodies in the room.

“Okay, so you remember that little kiosk I told you I worked at when I first moved here? While I was doing nights at the Thai place?”

Carmen nods at Luca.

“I worked there with him,” Kaj continues before plopping the olive from his small glass of vodka in his mouth. As he chews, a giggle leaves him. “And we fucking hated it. Couldn’t stand our boss.”

“That’s actually how we bonded–stealing his cigarettes and smoking them out back when he wasn’t paying attention.”

A huffed laugh leaves Carmen. “Damn. What’d he do to make you hate him so bad?”

Luca and Kaj share a look and a shrug. Finally, Luca sighs. “Was just an asshole. Got off on keeping us late just to do busy work he didn’t feel like doing. Always angry. Got pissy anytime he saw us smiling, just shit like that.”

“Hm,” Carmen thinks, raising his hand to scratch the back of his head. “Yeah, no. No, I’d steal his shit and smoke it, too. Sounds like a dick.”

Kaj smiles in agreement, but it falls when he sees the bandage on Carmen’s hand.

“Shit, what happened to your hand?”

Carmen pauses to follow Kaj’s eyes.

“Oh, uh, i-it’s nothing,” Carmen sniffs, shaking his head. “Burned my hand at work. No biggie. Someone here helped me patch up real quick.”

Something flashes behind Kaj’s eyes. It makes Carmen squirm.

“Ah, so that’s what you were doing with her.”

“With who?”

Carmen’s throat squeezes when he hears Kaj say your name. It's Luca's turn to squirm, but for a different reason.

“Yeah, she put some aloe on it. Got him all fixed up,” Luca glances at Carmen’s burning face, before remembering something. He leans in a little closer to Kaj and lowers his voice. “But hey, what’s the deal with her and that guy?”

Kaj has to think for a moment, then his eyes widen. His face reads amused as he looks at Luca.

“That guy?” He laughs. “You mean Seb? Sebastian Garvey?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Luca shrugs. Is he supposed to know who that is?

Another laugh leaves Kaj.

“They've been together for a while. Long enough to live together. They got a place down the road from here. Met at university. That’s why we’re here tonight, Seb just finished his junior recital. Everyone wanted to celebrate and, even thought she hates him, Arya has the nicest place, so…”

Luca takes in the information slowly. As he thinks to himself, someone taps Kaj on the shoulder, calling away his attention. Carmen still stares at Luca, wondering about the look on his friend’s face.

“What’s up?” Carmen questions. “You good?”

Luca barely nods, sending Carmen a tight smile. “Yeah.”

Carmen doesn’t break his stare from Luca, who’s still deep off in thought. He sniffs.

“It’s getting kinda tight in here. Burn one?”

A few seconds pass before Luca answers. “Sure, yeah. I’ll meet you out there in a second.”

Carmen leaves one last slap on Luca’s shoulder before shuffling his way out of the main room. He blows out a quick breath, and tries to shake out the nerves.

His steps thump against the wooden-floor, echoing all the way down to the basement, where Sebastian sloppily pounds into you from behind.

“Shit, sorry,” he huffs, dick slipping out a thrusting against the cheek of your ass. Again. “Fuck.”

He takes a second to slide back inside you, and returns his hand to your waist. A tumble of moans leaves him as he resumes his thrusting. His hips snap back and forth, and it feels kind of nice at most.

Not great. Not horrible. Just nice. Enough to drag one tiny whimper from you when he just barely brushes against your spot. A rush of frustration soon follows that numbs away any other pleasure that tries to sort its way through your tense body.

A broken moan from Sebastian pulls you back into the present. You push out a wail, hoping it sounds real enough to Seb.

Who are you kidding?

Of course, he’ll think it’s real. It’s not like he’s noticed the fabricated-nature of your sounds of pleasure before.

As you predicted, he doesn’t get close to catching it, too preoccupied with keeping his own moans to a minimal volume. His are real and you think it should make you feel better. It never does.

Sebastian tenses, and you can feel his cum seep into the condom you had to remind him to wear. You try to match what leaves him, forcing out a few more oh fucks with a sprikle of yes. He grinds into you one final time, a hand reaching around to guide your lips to his.

A few quick pecks are pressed into your mouth before he finally pulls back and out of you. Another shudder racks his body and he pulls you back to him.

“You’re amazing,” he mumbles with a heavy breath, softening-dick hanging between the two of you. “Fuck, that was great.”

A smile lifts the corner of your lips as you readjust your clothing. One more kiss is pressed against your cheek, Sebastian telling you, “I’ll see you upstairs, okay?”

And with that, he’s gone. Skipping his way up the steps as he zips his pants, and out of your sight. You have to blink. Then blink again. And again.

Your eyes dance around the room, to the trash can a few steps over. At the top of the small pile inside is the used condom. Shriveled and dirtied with Sebastian. Biting your lip, you push away the thought about feeling similar in a way. You crouch and make sure it’s covered by some loose papers and tissue.

Next, you make sure to straighten everything back to how you found it. Both an old habit and out of respect for Arya. You straighten the chair Sebastian had scooted out of the way–for reasons you know nothing about–and the blanket that sits atop it.

One last glance around the room gives you a chance to take a few deep breaths. To steady yourself and squeeze your hands a few times before slowly making your way to the steps.

You freeze at the bottom of the staircase. Grasping the rail for dear life.

© superhoeva

#the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #luca x reader #chef luca x reader #carmen berzatto #luca the bear #chef luca #au: rule of three

[thebearer]

thinking abt milf!reader and dilf!carmy fucking in her mom car on date night 😵‍💫😵‍💫

minors dni 18+

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, hold on." Carmen hissed, head ducking low, you still lodged between his legs. He was hunched over you, uncomfortably in the backseat, pants undone around his thighs, your hand palming him through his boxers.

Carmen's hands twisted with the lever in the back, pulling and yanking on the small handle. "This shit... Swear to God, it never fuckin'- ah!" The second row seat folded, falling back with a satisfied clank! into the trunk. "Here, baby, lay back here f'me." Carmen rasped, pushing back so you could shimmy to the open seat, past the car seat on the right side.

Sugar had graciously agreed to babysit for the night, staying with baby Teddy while you and Carmen went out for a proper date night. Letting Carmen wine and dine you, taking you to a fancy restaurant, sitting in a back corner booth. You sat next to him, his hand on your thigh, pouring your wine into a glass. You let him cut your quail, he could always do it so quickly. Plus the way his hands flexed, veiny and precise with movements. You were sure you were dripping though your dress.

Your head was dizzy with wine, pulling Carmen into a sweet, deep kiss by the car. An SUV, the Mommy Mobile is what Richie deemed it. A mom car, reasonable and appropriate, safe for a baby. Plus, it had lots of room.

“Hurry, Carmy.” You whined, feeling him shuffle between your legs, pushing them apart. “Need you, honey.”

“I got it, I got it, let me just.” Carmen pulled himself out, jerking himself a few times. “Fuck, you ready? Good?”

You nodded, wiggling your hips closer to his. Carmen hunched over, pushed himself into you slowly, letting himself fill you up with every slow roll of his hips into yours. You gasped, back arching off the car’s interior, grabbing at Carmen’s arms.

“Fuck, ohmygod, Carmen that feels good.” You gasped, nails sinking into his skin.

“Good? It’s good? Doesn’t hurt?” Carmen had been scared to hurt you since Teddy. You supposed it was rational, he’d seen you practically ripped apart with Teddy, nearly passing out in the delivery room. The doctor had cleared you weeks ago, but still, Carmen was nervous.

“No, baby, feels good. S’good, Carm.” You whined, clenching around him. “Move please.”

Carmen let himself fall on top of you gently, his chest to yours, forearms propping himself up. You whimpered gently, his hips rolling, chest rubbing against your sensitive nipples still sore from Teddy’s feedings.

“God, I missed you.” Carmen groaned, pushing himself deep inside of you, hips rolling slowly. “Missed having you like this.”

You grabbed at his hips, moving to his ass, pressing him deeper inside of you. You just wanted to feel him for a moment, feel him inside you, how good he made you feel.

“I missed you, baby.” You whispered, looking back at his dazzling eyes, still shining in the dark of the car. “So much.”

“You feel amazing.” Carmen groaned, his forehead to yours, shuddering breath on your lip.

“Still?” You laughed lightly, whimpering as his cock brushed your sweet spot, leaving you gushing.

“Fuck yeah, still.” Carmen muttered. The sound of your wetness, the squelch from him fucking you, oh it was sick and beautiful to Carmen. Made his cock twitch inside of you. “Still the best pussy on earth. Even better now.”

You laughed, one arm wrapping around his neck. “Thank you.” You grinned. “Got a pretty good dick, Berzatto. Feels- oh! right there, Carm- Feels good.”

“Good?” Carmen repeated. You nodded, eyes pinched closed in pleasure. He moved, pressing your legs up, hoisting one over the back of the seat. “Let me make you feel better.”

Then he was fucking you, a new angle that had your eyes rolling back, gasping and writing in pleasure in the back seat, one leg wedged behind the car seat, the other gripping the back of the baby mirror on the seat while Carmen spilled inside of you.

#thebearer #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto fic #thebearerblurbs #dad!carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto blurb #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto the bear #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #carmen berzatto x fem!reader

[writeroutoftime]

tutoring

pairing: carmen berzatto x reader (requested by: @zablife)

summary: culinary school is hard, but luckily carmen is there to help you through

warnings: none

words: 0.9k

a/n: Lee, I'm sorry this took a little while for me to get out, but thank you for sending this my way, it was a lot of fun to write!! I was even searching 'a day in the life of a culinary student' to figure out what it might look like for them, lol! anyway, please enjoy!!

oOoOo

The blare of your alarm was the first thing that greeted you every day at 4:30 in the morning. Feeling as though your hand was made of lead, you reached out from underneath the covers and slapped it off, a groan not too far behind. As much as you longed to slip under the covers for another hour, you knew it was imperative you get to the kitchen and practice long before any of your classmates got there.

Throwing on your uniform, you made the short walk to the school's kitchen and quickly pulled out your cut boarding, knives, and vegetables. You took a moment to catch your breath and began practicing your dicing. It wasn't long before the knife slipped from your hand and you let out a shout, pushing away from the counter.

Tears of frustration welled in your eyes, and you let them fall thinking you were the only one in the cold, industrial kitchen. However, you quickly discovered you were, in fact, not alone when the there was a lot clattering from the other side of the room.

"Shit." someone whispered, obviously trying to hide.

"W-who's there?" you called out, quickly wiping away any evidence of your meltdown.

It took a moment, but a figure emerged from behind one of the refrigerators, raising his hands in faux surrender. "Ah, I'm really sorry, I wasn't trying to spy on your or anything."

You quickly recognized it as Carmen, from your classes, his blue eyes instantly recognizable. "It's okay, Carmen. W-what are you doing here so early?" you asked, trying to keep the attention off of you.

"Haven't been able to sleep." he shrugged. "Figured I'd come down early and set up before first lecture. What are you doing here so early? y/n, right?" he asked, pretending he didn't know your name or that he had recognized you even from behind.

Sheepishly, you glanced to failed dicing. "Just, you know, practicing." Embarrassed to admit to your faults when you had seen Carmen's flawless skills in the kitchen.

There was a long stretch of silence as Carmen looked at you, glanced to your station, and then back to you. "I could, um, you know, help you out." he offered. "Only if you want, and I'm not saying I like know everything or whatever." he quickly amended, looking rather frantic.

A small giggle slipped past your lips, and Carmen decided it was his new favorite sound. "That'd be great." you whispered, smiling your thanks.

"Oh, okay. Cool." Carmen said, almost surprised that you had agreed. "Why don't, uh, why don't you show me what you were doing, and we can see where to go from there."

Nodding, you picked the knife back up and continued to try and dice, trying to ignore Carmen's eyes watching you. No, watching your knife skill, you corrected yourself. Eventually, Carmen cut in with some advice, and continued to help you out. This went on for almost an hour until more students began to trickle in, setting up their stations before lecture.

"Same time tomorrow?" Carmen offered.

"Oh, no, I don't want you to have to get up so early every day. just to help me out, Carmen." you said, not wanting to scare Carmen away.

"I'll be up already, I promise." he said, trying to ease your worries. "And, uh, you can just call me Carmy. You know if you want."

You bit your lip to stop your smile from growing too large. "Okay, then, Carmy."

Carmy's tutoring continued on for the next few weeks. Each time, just after 5 in the morning, just the two of you in the kitchen. As time passed, you found yourself excited for your alarm to go off so you could spend some time with the curly-haired chef.

Slowly, your confidence grew in the kitchen with Carmy by your side. Patient and kind, Carmy always offered constructive criticism, never tiring when you asked him to demonstrate a technique just one more time. And if either of you noticed the way he began to stand closer and closer while watching you - enough you could feel his warm breath on your skin - neither of you said anything. But the conversation was easy and comfortable, and you, nor Carmy, wanted to let this opportunity slip away.

It was one morning, some weeks later, you found yourself with Carmy drinking coffee, instead of practicing. Your skills were nearly on par with Carmen's, and you suggested treating yourselves to coffee instead, just this once.

"So, what made you decide to apply to culinary school?" he asked.

"Cooking was such a huge thing for my family. You did it to show someone you loved them, you cared for them. And I wanted to take that feeling and offering it up to everyone. But no one in my family was a professional, so all the yelling and technical aspects of culinary school can be a bit jarring." you explained. "What about you?"

"Uh, my older brother has a restaurant. I loved watching him cook, too, and I wanted to follow in his footsteps. Show him this is something I can really do." he told you, staring deeply into his coffee cup.

You smiled at the vulnerability in his statement and reached across the table to squeeze his hand. "I'm sure he's so proud of you." you smiled.

Carmy relished the way your hand felt covering his, and opened his mouth to say something, but you pulled away, bashful, and downed the rest of your drink. "Wel, we better get to lecture, huh?" you asked, seeming more nervous than Carmy had seen you in weeks.

He made a mental note to ask you about it after class, and though he didn't know it yet, the day would soon go down as one of his favorites, when you finally kissed him in response to his question.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear imagine #rita writes

[loveforcarmen]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 - CH. 2

- 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 | - 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘰 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘰𝘤 𝘤𝘰𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳

NOTE: new chapters will always be posted on wattpad first!

please lemme know your thoughts on this chapter once you finish, thank you!!

There was little breakthrough of a friendship between Margaret and Carmen. He didn't go to another meeting and she stayed out of his way. It was easy like this. Pretend the other didn't exist.

-

"Why the fuck is no one avalible for catering today?" Carmen yelled out as he walked into the kitchen with the calendar in his hand. He skimmed over it 3 times now to make sure he hadn't missed anything but no. Almost everyone was not able to help with catering today.

Tina shrugged, "Someone's gotta manage the kitchen while you're gone." she babbled her spoon around as she spoke, "Everyone can't have taken off, that's ridiculous." she added

Before Carmen could speak, Ebraheim walked by with a box, "Corner!" he called out. He set down the box by the back door, "I don't do kids man,they don't know how to eat food properly. Always have it all over their face." he said as he stood back. Tina made a face, silently agreeing with him.

"Only super young kids eat like slobs." Sydney cut in, walking over to Carmen to look at the spreadsheet. He showed her in defeat. "Ah, wait." She pointed a finger at a name and lit up. Carmen shook his head, looking up her. She nodded rapidly and called Margaret over.

"Sydney, no." he said under his breath before Margaret approached them. Carmen let out a sigh and he made sure Margaret heard it.

She did. She made a sour face towards Carmen then turned her attention to Sydney.

"You're free today, right? You up to help Carmy with catering for a kid's birthday party?" she asked, waiting for her response. Margaret's eye flicked over to Carmen, then back to Sydney.

"You can't do it?" she asked.

Carmen threw his hands up, almost in relief, "See, she doesn't want to do it." he looked at Sydney, "I can do it by myself, it's no problem." Carmen started to turn around but stopped by Sydney as she put an arm out in front of him.

"Weren't you just complaining not even 5 minutes ago how no one was available to help you today?" She raised her eyebrows, knowing she had Carmen in a hole that he would not be able to get out of.

He gently pushed her arm back down to her side, "I wasn't complaining, I was just questioning why everyone wasn't available for today."

"Sounded like you were complaining, Cousin." Richie called from over the counter. Margaret say his head pop up from the ground.

"Richie, shut the fuck up!" Carmen yelled back, which was responded with a snicker from Richie. "Fuckin idiot."

"You wanted help," Sydney turned Carmen's body back towards Margaret, "There's your help."

He groaned but didn't resist the idea of Margaret helping. Kids were a lot and it would be nice to have an extra set of hands. He stared at her for a good 5 seconds before he made his decision.

"Go start loading the boxes into the car out back. The boxes are towards the front of the car, come get me when you're done." Carmen ordered. Margaret bit her lip, hard, but didn't object. She brushed past him, making it known that she was annoyed with him bossing her around like that. She went out the back doors and began to load the car up.

Sydney looked at Carmen with a disappointed "mom" expression, crossing her arms, "Go help her." She pointed to the door, waiting for Carmen to leave.

"I got stuff to do in here. She'll be done soon, she's a quick worker." Carmen shrugged. He retreated to his office, closing the door with his foot. He flicked on the plug-in fan and began to organize the stacks of bills he'd been tackling for the past couple weeks. He had waited around 3 minutes before Margaret came back to get him.

They both changed into their regular clothes, but brought their aprons with them. Margaret had decided to go with a patterned sweater, paired with bootcut jeans and black doc martens that had a singular star on the toe.

"Margaret and her fucking stars." He thought to himself. He thought it was extremely tacky but he would never tell her that.

They loaded into the car in silence, stacking the boxes in the trunk just right so they wouldn't topple over on the drive there. Margaret hopped in the passenger seat and Carmen in the drivers. Almost the entire ride there, the pair rode in silence with the radio playing softly.

"YOU'RE LISTENING NEW HITS ON CHICAGO'S 9.31 FM. THIS IS ANDERSON PAAK. THIS IS "THE BIRD".

Margaret leaned over to turn the volume up then began to hum along to the song. As soon as she moved away, Carmen switched the volume off. "Stop humming." he said, resting his hand back on the steering wheel. He propped his head up with his other hand, clearly tired of this arrangement already.

Margaret turned to look at him, offended that he turned off the radio. She reached for the volume on the radio again to turn it back up, but Carmen put his hand over the volume knob, stopping her hand.

What he really wanted to do was swat it away.

"Why do you hate me?" Margaret asked as she settled back into her seat, "I've done nothing. You haven't liked me since day 1 when I came in to train." she rested her hands on her lap, "you can move your hand, I won't touch it."

He huffed, pulling his hand away "I don't hate you." Carmen replied bluntly, staring ahead at the road.  Margaret stared at him, squinting her eyes in an attempt to pick up on any tones of sarcasm but there was none.

She turned away,  "Well you sure act like it. You barely talk to me, you always seem annoyed when I'm around and you didn't even want to work with me today for this catering thing." she spat.

Carmen let out a small laugh, running a hand through his hair, "Well you don't exactly go out of your way to talk to me."

"Because you've made it obvious that you don't want to talk to me, so I don't bother." Margaret paused, letting a smile creep on her lips. "I'll make you a deal."

For the first time the entire car ride, Carmen looked over at her. "I'm listening." he looked back at the road.

"If today goes well, like no fuck ups or fights, we have to promise each other that we will attempt to become friends. Or at the very least, coworkers who can have a friendly conversation every now and then." she paused and looked over at him, holding out her pinky, "Deal?"

He kept his eyes on the road but responded, "Deal." Margaret cleared her throat to get his attention on her. He glanced over and saw her extended pinky. He rolled his eyes, looking back at the road, but offered up his pinky. They interlocked fingers and Margaret sat back in her seat satisfied. Carmen reached over and turned the radio's volume up.

For Margaret's sake.

-

The catering for the party was going smoothly. Conversation between the 2 was a bit rocky at the start but they found their flow within the hours of having nothing to do but talk. They had resorted to asking each other absurd questions along the lines of,

"Would you rather 2 extra hands or an absurdly large head." Margaret would ask. Carmen would really think before responding, "2 extra hands, it's like having another chef in the kitchen."

The party was starting to wind down, so Carmen and Margaret began to pack up for the evening. They worked quickly, developing a system so they could efficiently load everything into the car in the smallest amount of time.

Both desperately wanted to get out of there and go home for the day. Unfortunately, they had left once rush hour traffic had started. This tacked on another 45 minutes of sitting in the car together. Neither of them could think of a conversation topic they hadn't already talked about.

"Who was your person?" Margaret asked, interrupting the silence. She looked over at him timidly.

"My person?" He glanced over at Margaret, clearly confused by her question. Her eyebags were extra dark from her lack of sleep these past couple weeks, paired with party today.

She looked away, unable to hold eye contact, "The reason you go to meetings." Carmen studied the side of her face for longer than he wanted to before looking away. He was silent for a bit of time after that.

"My brother. He uh..." he began to say quietly before trailing off. He smoothed his hair as a resort to calm himself down.

"Take your time, Carmy." Margaret said, testing the waters using his nickname. His nickname coming from her mouth was a foreign sound for both of them.

"Suicide, shot himself in the head." He said, beginning to tap his fingers against the steering wheel. Margaret gave a slow nod, looking back at him. She scanned his face for emotion but there was nothing. "Left that shithole of a resturant to be and a fuck ton of debt to me though!" he said a bit louder than he intended to.

Margaret turned away and looked out her window. "Who was your person?" Carmen asked as traffic finally started to move.

"Is." she corrected, "But he feels dead to me. My father, a severe alcholic." she said, without adding detail. Carmen could tell she did not want to expand on it so he didn’t press.

Traffic had quickly picked up and they were approaching the restaurant before the silence became unbearable. Carmen parked the car, and got out to begin unloading the boxes. Margaret joined him, tossing the empty boxes in the recycler and bringing the leftover food into the kitchen. It was quiet, the staff winding down since closing time was nearing.

"Hey you!" Sydney greeted her. Margaret turned around, "How was that?"

"I'll tell you when I'm done," Margaret called back as she left for more boxes.

She walked around to the trunk of the car to see Carmen closing it, "All done." he said walking past her. She nodded then went to retrieve her belongings from the car.

When she came back inside, Sydney was at one of the tables eating and clearly waiting for her. She waved Margaret over, patting the spot across from her. Margaret walked over as Sydney squirm in her seat like an excited child.

"So," She held her finger in front of her face while she chewed. She swallowed then continued her sentence, "How was it?"

Margaret drew in a deep breath before answer, "Surprisingly good?" She cocked her head and her pitched raised slightly at the end of her sentence, "There was really no fighting." she nodded, grabbing a fork and eating off of Sydney's plate.

Sydney clapped her hands together, "So it worked!" she exclaimed, "I gotta tell the rest of the kitchen."

Margaret set down her fork and grabbed Sydney's arm as she stood up, "What worked?" she asked

"Our plan." Sydney sat back down, "It's been really obvious that you and Carmy do not get along. It was leaving a sour feeling on the rest of the kitchen so we decided that you and Carmy needed some "bonding time", if you will." she said, making air quotations. She wiped her lips with a napkin.

"So that's why everyone took off today..?" Margaret closed her eyes and shook her head, "You little shit stirrer, what if your plan backfired and Carmy still hated me after the event?" She playfully smacked Sydney’s arm.

Sydney stood up with her plate and utensils, patting Margaret's head, "Well, it worked well enough because you're using his nickname now."

Margaret opened her mouth to object but realized Sydney was right. They did make breakthrough with their friendship, finally.

Margaret followed behind Sydney to the kitchen, setting her fork in the sink. She then went to the lockers where Carmen was putting his things away. She walked over to her locker without a word, neatly folding and setting her apron away. She grabbed her coat and closed her locker with a hard kick.

"Good job today, chef." Carmen's voice made her turn around.

"Thank you, chef," she smiled at him, "but don't forget our deal." she added. Carmen just shook his head at her comment. "Night."

"Night." he replied, buttoning up his jacket. He felt his eyes on her, which caused him to look up, his face saying "what?".

"You going to a meeting tonight?" she asked. She waited for his response. Part of her hoped he would be there, the other part did want him there at all. That was her safe place and she didn't need him invading it.

"Nope." he said shortly, closing his locker. She felt the knot in her stomach loosen at his response. He walked past her, heading to the front to leave.

She trailed behind him, "Why not?" she questioned.

He opened the door, holding it open because he knew she was close behind him. She followed him outside, thanking him for holding open the door. "Cause I don't want to." he replied as he grabbed his pack of cigarettes. He fumbled through his pockets for a lighter when Margaret tapped his shoulder, holding up his lighter. He glared then mumbled a "thanks" and lit the cigarette.

"Can I have one?" she asked, half joking. Carmen looked at her unable to tell if she was being sarcastic. He wanted to laugh. He could not imagine Margaret, out of all people, to be a smoker.

"You smoke?" he lightly laughed, the cigarette hanging loosely between his lips.

"Yeah." Margaret lied through her teeth, "not that much though." Carmen quietly snickered to himself as he pulled a cigarette from the pack. His hair flopped onto his forehead as he lit it and handed it off to her.

She look at the glowing cherry at the end. She put the cigarette to her lips then inhaled for much longer than she should've. This had resulted in a massive coughing fit to rack from her body. "How the fuck do you smoke these?" she managed to say through her coughs and sputters. She held out the cigarette to give to him and turned away to cough.

Carmen took the cigarettes from her fingers, replacing his dwindling one with her fresh one, "When you're an anxious mess with a dead brother, you'll understand." he took a draw from the cigarette, blowing it away from Margaret so it didn't waft back in her face.

"You won't ever have to worry about me stealing your cigarettes." she joked as she pulled out her phone to check the time. "I have get home. I have a cat to feed. Bye Carmen." she gave a small wave before walking in the opposite direction Carmen was heading.

"Bye." he watched her walk away before turning around and walking to his apartment.

END

-

NOTE: so what did we think of this chapter?? i had a fun time writing it! i apologize if there's spelling mistakes, i only proofread my stuff once 🫣

with love,

marley

#carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto the bear #carmen berzatto one shot #carmen berzatto headcanons #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto #carmy x fem!reader #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy x reader #carmy x nyc chef #carmy berzatto fluff #the bear one shot #the bear fanfiction #the bear hulu #the bear fandom #Spotify

[marvel1012]

Sins of the Father - Pt. 1 "Richie"

Synopsis: AU 3rd season episode of The Bear. Carm makes a startling discovery, and must navigate the fallout.

Warnings: just a lot of cursing and smoking for this installment (later parts will also have drinking, mentions of domestic violence/crime)

Word count: 1,993

Author's note: This is my very first fic posted to Tumblr, honest feedback appreciated but please go easy on me! I'm new to The Bear fandom and have hyperfixated this silly AU fic into existence, if it sucks then I probably won't bother posting the rest. I hope you enjoy this long, strange trip :) (Oh, and I had to make up a first name for Mr. Berzatto because nobody says his name in the show. Cheers!)

Part 2 | Part 3 ___________________________________________

The sound of a few distant gunshots echoed around the alley behind The Bear, but it had that bouncing, ricochet quality that meant it was far enough away to be someone else’s problem, not his. Carm took a last drag on his cigarette and tossed the still smoking butt to the pavement, stomping it out with the sole of his non-slip sneaker. Exhaling the last of the drag, he glanced over at the lone streetlight above the parking spot. It was strobing, the ancient bulb still trying to provide light but dying nonetheless. “I’ll have to get the city out here to fix that,” he thought.

“Hey Carmy, somebody’s out front to see ya,” the new guy, Connor, had his head stuck out the back door. 

“What? Who is it?” It was the middle of the night, an hour or so after service ended. Who would show up to the restaurant at this hour, asking for him? 

“I dunno, he says he’s your dad? Or somethin’?” 

Carm felt like he’d been punched in the stomach and slapped across the face simultaneously. 

Not ready…

Why now…

Why here…

On his sharp intake of breath, Connor’s eyebrows lifted in confusion. “You want me to tell him to get lost, errrr?” 

“Ah, no. No, that’s okay. I’ll— I’ll be right there.” 

Connor nodded and stepped back inside, leaving the door open for Carmen to follow. Carm rubbed hs index finger against his bottom lip, considering the empty doorway. Not ready…

As he passed through the kitchen and toward the front of house, the flurry of activity that usually followed dinner service was winding down. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sydney and Marcus talking low about something over near the prep area. He did his best to hide the fact that the thought of them dating, of them being together, made his blood boil. What right did he have to be jealous, though? It’s not like he deserved someone as beautiful, smart, and talented as Sydney. He was broken, and the whole debacle with Claire had proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt. Marcus is good for her, she’s good for him, and I’m not good for anybody.

Passing into the dining area, he noticed a chair that hadn’t been pushed in. Someone must have missed it when they were straightening up. He stopped to put it back where it belonged. Old habits. Or maybe just stalling to avoid the awkward interaction he was about to face. Taking a deep breath, he hit the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of The Bear, expecting to see the father he barely knew, the one from the pictures, the one that had walked away from him and everybody else all those years ago. 

But what he got was– someone else. 

Instead of broad shouldered, salt and pepper haired Jerry Berzatto, he of the deep set, dark eyes and craggy features that looked so much like Mikey’s it hurt, the man standing in front of him, taking a long drag on a Parliament, was pretty much the polar opposite. He was on the taller side, close to six feet, slender build but still muscular, kind of a wiry guy. His wild shaggy hair, haloing his face in the glare from the streetlight, was gray, but more like a light brown gone mostly to lighter blond, not like it had once been black. Not like his dad’s would have been. 

“Heeeey, you must be Carmen, the head honcho. You got one for your old man?” The stranger popped his cigarette into the corner of his mouth and took a step forward, offering Carmen his now free right hand for a shake. Instead of doing likewise, all Carm could do was stare. Stare directly into those piercing blue eyes– his eyes. The world tilted on its axis, and he took a step back. 

“Wh-who the fuck are you?” 

The man’s lopsided grin fell, and he reeled his hand back in, reclaiming the cigarette. “What? Didn’t your Ma tell ya I was gettin’ out this week?” He paused, looked for recognition in Carm’s eyes. Seeing none, he threw his hands out. “Didn’t– didn’t your Ma tell ya anything?” Silence. The stranger rolled his eyes. “Sheeezus, that is just like crazy Don. Just like her, that fuckin’ broad, I swear,” he rubbed his lips with the fingers of his free hand, clearly agitated. 

Just like I would do. 

What. The fuck. 

“Who are you, man?” 

His question was ignored. “I bet she ran around the whooooole neighborhood tellin’ everybody that you were Jerry’s kid. And just who did that crazy bitch think she was foolin’?” He gestured broadly toward Carm, “I mean, look at ya.” He shook his head in apparent disbelief, taking another long drag. Then mumbled under his breath, more to himself than anything, “Jerry’s fuckin’ kid, heh, get fucked.” 

Taking in the ratty bomber style leather jacket and threadbare jeans that must have come from some lower end thrift store, like the Goodwill down on Washington, the gaunt, sunken cheeks and hollow eyes, the badly faded neck tattoo that could have been a pair of dice, once, possibly? Or maybe they were dominoes? It all suddenly clicked into place. Carm’s rage flared, hot and jagged. 

“Look, I don’t know who the fuck you are, or what kind of shit you’re tryin' to pull, but you need to get the fuck away from my place. Whatever you’re sellin’, I don’t want it. Did somebody put you up to this? Did Richie put you up to this?” 

The man cocked his head to the side, any and all traces of friendliness suddenly evaporated. He flicked the cigarette into the gutter, took another step forward as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. There was anger now, barely simmering under the surface. “Look, I may have been doin’ time for the last 30 years and maybe I coulda called once in a while just ta ask about ya, but me being gone doesn’t change the fact that I’m your Dad, and-'' he stopped, stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket, looked down at his busted Nikes, and sighed. Although it obviously pained him to swallow his pride, he had to admit defeat. Softly, almost a whisper, “And, well, I guess I could use your help. Maybe a job washin’ dishes or–” 

And there it was. “Get the fuck away from my restaurant. If I ever see you near my place again, I’m callin’ the cops and tellin’ em that you’re down here flashin’ women on the street in front of my place of business. They’ll get here quick.” 

The stranger’s mouth set in a thin, hard line. Even that small detail struck Carm as vaguely familiar, as if he’d seen the expression somewhere before. You have. In the mirror. The tall man retreated a couple of steps backward on the sidewalk, shaking his head again. “I should have known. I should have known you’d be just as psycho as she is. You go ask her, ask her about Sam Miller. If she hasn’t pickled herself by now, she’ll tell ya exactly who I am.” 

He turned on his heel, and Carm released the breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. What the fuck is going ON? Without waiting to make sure the guy kept walking, he bolted back into the restaurant and locked the door. 

“Cousin? Everything okay out there?” Richie was standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen, looking concerned. 

“No, ah, yes, no. I don’t know.” Carmen leaned against the door, pressing his forehead to the cool glass. He was still gripping the deadbolt, as if he thought Sam Morris was coming back to try to force his way inside. 

“What’s goin' on?” Richie moved across the darkened dining area, coming to stand beside him. He peered through the tinted glass, straining to see out. 

“My, well, my uh,” Carm swallowed, started again, “It was some crazy guy that showed up, trying to say he was my dad. Did you like, pay some guy to fuck with me?” 

Richie got very still. He didn’t say a word, just stared. It looked like all the blood had drained from his face. That, or he’d seen a ghost. 

“Richie.” 

Nothing. Richie Jerimovich speechless was a scary sight to behold.

“Richie? Do you know who that guy is?” 

His brother’s best friend finally turned to look at him, and there was so much sadness there. Whatever he was about to say, he didn’t actually want to say it. The reluctance was palpable in his voice. 

“That guy,” another pause, he really didn’t want to have to say this, “that guy is your dad, Carmy. Your real dad.” 

“No, I don’t believe you. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Carm.” 

“Nuh uh, there’s no way. I don’t– I can’t– I-I”, he could feel the panic rising in his chest, tightening, getting harder to take a full breath. He was getting out of control again. 

“Carmy, calm down. It’s gonna be alright,” Richie pulled a chair over to where they were standing, “here, sit down for a second.” 

Carmen sank into the chair, hand pressed to his sternum, rubbing. Just focus on breathing, in and out, in and out. Don’t think about those eyes. Your eyes. Don’t think about that, think about anything but that. 

“Look. Me and Mikey were just kids when all this went down. We were old enough to know that some shady shit was happenin’, but the adults didn’t really tell us anything. Sam was a guy that worked with your dad doing electrical stuff. Remember? And your mom worked in the office for the electrical company? Before they bought The Beef?" he stopped to make sure Carmen was lucid enough to be getting all this. He sure as shit did not want to repeat it. 

“Uh huh,” Carm nodded to show he was following along, and for him to continue. Focusing on Richie’s voice, on his words, was helping him calm down.

“So, from what I know, Donna and this guy had some kind of thing goin’ on, behind your dad’s back. It didn’t last long but it was, ya know, long enough, obviously. Anyway, your mom got pregnant and that Sam guy split. We never saw him come around again.” 

Carm stopped rubbing his chest and looked up, “So Mikey knew. And you knew. Who else knows? Does Nat know?” 

“Ah, no I don’t think so. She was still really little when all this was going on. Nobody ever talked about it after, either. I think we all wanted to forget that it happened, and move forward with like, life, ya know?”  

Carmen couldn’t help but grunt and shake his head at that one. Sure, just forget it all happened. Just move on, pretend it’s all okay. Except it wasn’t, not for him. This changed so much.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. How could I not know? I always looked different from them, felt different from them. Never really fit in. Not really.” 

“I don’t think you wanted to see it, Cousin.” Richie put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you head home, me and Syd can make sure everything gets finished here and lock up. If that prick has the nerve to show his face again, I’ll make him wish he hadn’t.” 

“Yeah, okay.” As he headed toward the back of house to grab his stuff, he paused. 

“Richie?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Don’t tell anybody else what’s goin' on. This is my business, and I don’t want any drama. Not Fak, not Syd, and definitely not Nat. Please.” 

“Of course, Cousin. Whatever you say.” 

Carmen nodded, and turned to leave. 

To be continued....

#the bear fx #the bear au #carmy berzatto #richie jerimovich #richie the bear #carmy the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear fic