#I’m rooting for you Carmen Berzatto | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spacecowboyhotch · 9 months

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The Bee and the Bear, Chapter 3: Like a Bear to a Hive

summary: carmy cooks Bee dinner.

pairing: carmy berzatto x f!reader (Bee)

contents: 18+/NSFW/heavy content/eventual smut, mention of suicide/mental illness, grief, longing, pining, angst, friends to strangersish to lovers, food and alcohol mention

wc: 2.7k

an: god i love these two so badddddd. i love their tenderness despite the awkwardness…i love how palpable how much they mean to the other is. PS this isn’t beta’d so if you see something insanely fucked pls let me know! PSS totto’s market is real and located in chicago…highly recommend it!

series masterlist

< | chapter 2: Back in the Beef

You can’t figure out what to wear. You’ve been back and forth, digging through your suitcase like a madwoman and standing in front of the mirror in your childhood room. This crisis is silly, it shouldn’t even be a crisis. Carmy has seen you in more than 80% of your wardrobe. Sure, you’ve gotten clothing for work, some racier things from your bar crawl days in undergrad. You’d brought neither of those categories with you– jeans and sweaters, a polished suit suit for Mikey’s funeral.

But, how do you dress for hanging out with Carmen Berzatto for the first time since you were just a teenager?

The answer is a paradox because its unclearly clear. This isn’t a special occasion and it is decidedly not a date. You’re a faithful woman, one who’s trying so desperately to protect your heart while simultaneously letting yourself have this. It feels pathetic to think about how long you’ve been waiting for a moment like this.

There was a time where missing Carmy completely consumed you. This is your way of letting yourself heal, or maybe it’s just going to make that feeling resurface when you inevitably go back home and history repeats itself. Your thoughts start to grow, mind swirling with doubt when your phone begins to buzz where its sat on your bedside table.

A picture of you and Kyle pops up on the display, his contact name a simple blue heart.

You answer it quietly, “Hello?”

“Hi, honey.”

“Hey,” You breathe, falling back into bed, giving yourself a reprieve from staring at every piece of clothing you’d packed.

“You sound tense,” And while he’s bringing it up, there’s no true concern that you can detect in his voice.

“No, not tense at all, just—pretty tired.”

It isn’t a complete lie. Despite feeling wired and on edge about seeing Carmy, there’s a heaviness to your limbs– fatigue from the last few days.

“Oh, are you heading to bed soon?”

You take in a shaky breath. Outright lying to him isn’t an option, you’re a good partner— a faithful partner, so you’ll just be honest. You close your eyes, struggling to keep your voice nonchalant, “Actually I’m getting dinner– well Carmy’s making dinner.”

Silence stretches between the two of you and you open your mouth to say something, anything but Kyle beats you to it.

“First time you’re seeing him since you moved out here, yeah?” He asks quietly. There’s a stillness in his tone that sends a chill down your spine.

“Yeah, it’ll be good to catch up with him. See what’s changed since we were babies.”

“And you still trust him? I mean its been–”

“He’s one of my best friends, Kyle,” You say quickly, before he can voice any of his opinions on Carmy or any of your other friends from home.

He doesn’t understand your bond with Nat or Carmy or Richie— hardly understood why you felt so compelled to come home from Mikey’s funeral when you hadn’t seen him in years. Kyle has no friends from his childhood, it’s just him and the steady, sterile climb into corporate America, full of empty smiles and cold happy hours. He doesn’t understand the warmth that ties you all together no matter how far you go, like the roots of a tree.

“One of your best friends? That you haven’t seen since before you could order your own glass of bourbon?” He challenges, chuckling under his breath.

“He means a lot to me. You know that.”

“How could I forget.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration, “Please, Kyle, it's not like that. It's never been like that. We’re platonic. I know it's weird for you but just– it's nice. To have him back after all these years. After losing Mikey.”

“Alright, I’m sorry. I know how much that little group of friends means to you even if they all have a weird way of showing it.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know when I make it home?”

“Okay. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Your conversation with Kyle feels like a cold shower. You’d just lied to him and now you’re second guessing everything. Should you really be doing this? Would this just be torture? Is having him in this way worse than not having him at all? Things with Carmy had never been voluntarily platonic.

Your phone buzzes and you think that its a text from Kyle– an overprotective “be careful” or “are you sure?”. To your surprise, its Carmy. Was he canceling? Why did that make your heart ache when you were just rethinking this yourself.

Bear 🤎: Looking forward to tonight. 8 still ok?

You stare at the text for several seconds, unaware of the soft smile that spreads across your face. He still has a contact photo– the two of you together for the last time before going off sitting outside the Adler Planetarium listening to the lakeside waves. Sugar had taken the photo while Mikey and Richie shadow boxed in the parking lot like a couple idiots.

Another text rolls in, pulling you from that memory.

Bear 🤎: We could do it sooner if you get tired early.

You: 8’s good, I still have to get wine.

Bear: See you soon.

You: Soon.

For a moment, you wish that you and Carmy were having lunch– you could take a walk down the Chicago streets, the wind whipping at your cheeks and clearing your head. But it’s nearly 7 and that wouldn’t be the safest thing to do. Finally you dress, settling on jeans and a chunky knit sweater that’s your favorite color. You bid your parents goodbye, ignoring their strangely wide smiles at the mention of Carmy and head for their car. Your favorite little store, Totto’s Market is just around the corner and you park the car and pop inside, needing to get in and out since your forgoed paying the meter.

Wine is an easy pick, one of your favorite whites that’s on the sweeter side. Dessert proves to be a challenge— Totto’s always has an assortment of killer pastries, flavorful ice cream and unique delicacies. You decide to play it safe with something you know Carmy will love: a orange and pistachio scone. He appreciates the brightness of citrusy paired with the earthy, salty pistachio, not to mention the buttery, crumbly scone. You’re out in less than 10 minutes and head towards Carmy’s.

When you pull up to his apartment building you do pay the parking meter, the hopeful part of you paying for a few hours. It could be something quick, dinner could be done and plated, awkward and over in no time. But you hope that that spark is still there, that he’s missed you just as much as you missed him.

He appears at the door pulling you out of your thoughts. He’s in a white t-shirt as always, but this one looks pristine with no wrinkles and is tucked into a brown pair of dickies instead of his usual messy jeans. He smiles bright, his eyes crystal blue, “Hey, c’mon in.”

“Yeah, sure,” You say awkwardly, following him inside.

“Whatcha got here? Lemme see,” He says, taking the bag from you once the two of you make it into the kitchen– you hope he doesn’t notice how slick your hands are, how they stuck slightly to the handles of the paper bag.His grin widens as he pulls out the bottle of wine you got, eyes flickering up to meet yours. “This is perfect.”

“Yeah? You’re not just humoring me.”

“I’m not, it’s a great pair with dinner. Sit,” He points to one of the bar stools tucked under the counter and you do, hoisting yourself up.

“What’s this?” He holds up the pastry bag, before opening it and inhaling. “Whoa.”

“Orange and pistachio scones. I didn’t know what you were making so I thought I’d go light for dessert.”

He gives you a nod of approval and sets down the bag, bending down to get a pot from the lower cabinets.

“I get to watch, hmm?” You ask, surprised but excited.

You hadn’t anticipated that he’d start cooking after you got there. Sure, he’d asked you to hang out but since then you’ve been wondering— is he doing this out of guilt? Out of pity? It had you thinking that he’d want to spend a limited amount of time with you, even with his enthusiasm. Your brain cycles through that back and forth, basking in his eagerness and questioning it many times in the span of minutes. But now you’re here. Now he’s cooking for you and those voices are a little softer in your head, overwhelmed by Carmy.

He shrugs, shifting awkwardly, “Thought I’d do it this way, for old time sake.”

“For old time sake,” You repeat quietly, watching as he starts to putter around the kitchen.

He heads for the fridge first, grabbing a couple wine glasses out of his freezer and pouring you both a glass before he gets started on prep. There’s soft music playing that you finally notice as you settle in, the gentle picking of guitar, accompanied by a piano melody.

“Actually…you still remember how to dice?” He teases, glancing over his shoulder at you, as he opens a container of eggs.

“Taught by the best,” You hop up, bringing your glass of wine with you as you join him at the prep station.

He looks smug for a moment before his brows knit together, “Wait— didn’t Mikey teach you how to dice?”

“I did say the best.”

He tries to look put out with you but the edges of his mouth twitch begging to smile. He nudges your shoulder, “Bull.”

“I think Mikey would disagree.”

“‘Course he would.” He’s quiet for a moment, squinting over at you, formulating his next words, “Where were you— when you?”

You take in a deep breath, shoulders dropping lower than before upon your exhale, “Uh, at work actually. Showing a new client around the gallery.”

“Sugar?”

“Richie. Sugar was…well she was telling you I’d imagining. Or falling apart. Both probably.”

“Yeah.”

The two of you slip into a comfortable silence, working at your respective stations. You glance over at him a few times, wondering if you should say what’s on your mind or leave it be.

“Say it.”

“Huh?” You finish chopping, looking up from the cutting board.”

“Whatever’s on your mind. You can say it.”

Incredible how after all this time apart, he can still read you like an open book. You shouldn’t be surprised since you can do the same to him…but what you’ve felt for him has always been different than what he felt for you. Right?

You sigh, shrugging a bit as you gather the onions you’ve successfully diced up in a pile, “Oh, uh, I was just…I realized I hadn’t said I’m sorry. About Mikey, I mean.”

He’s quiet for a moment, though his hands don’t stop working until he looks over at you, “Me too. For you. For all of us.”

“He’s your brother, Carm, you don’t have to extend me sympathy.”

“He meant a lot to you, too.”

You nod, staying quiet; there’s no use in arguing with that logic. He thanks you for dicing and tells you to go get comfortable on the couch while he finishes the rest. You protest insisting there's more you can do to help, but he gives you a no nonsense look pointing to the couch. You hold up your hands in surrender, grabbing your wine glass before taking a seat. From here you can still see him from the waist up and you watch him move around the kitchen. His quick, graceful way makes you realize that you would have just been in his way, slowing him down. As time passes his apartment fills with the scent of herbs, spicy chilis, aromatic tomatoes, and toasty bread.

Dinner is ready in no time at all– he isn’t an award winning chef for nothing– and you return to the counter when he plates the food at the bar. The two of you take turns talking, him first about the special changes he’s made to Mikey’s family spaghetti recipe, you about how well the gallery is flourishing, how its taking up too much of your time and that you haven’t gotten to create as much as you wanted in the coming months.

Your stomach is overtly full by the time you take the last bite, and you wipe the corner of your mouth with a napkin as you say, “I owe you for this, this was incredible.”

Carmy shrugs it off, “You’ve had this a million times.”

“Not from your hands. Not like this, all those tweaks you made shine through.”

It’s impossible to deny the flush that stains his cheeks but you do anyway, sparing your heart. “My hands aren’t special.”

You knock his shoulder with your own, tone teasing as you say, “Sure they are, they’re attached to you aren’t they?”

Carmy finds himself speechless, unable to do anything but stare at you in a mixture of shock and bashfulness. That soft pink blush deepens, and the plain evidence of your effect on him has your heart skipping.

You clear your throat, looking away from his gaze to fiddle with your fork, “I actually have something for you, give you an excuse to see me one more time.”

“I don’t need an excuse to see you.”

“Carmy,” You say knowingly and he dips his head a little in defeat.

“That’s the past. It shouldn’t have happened and– I’m sorry. Y’know, I’m sorry.”

Your gaze softens, and you reach out to squeeze his shoulder soothingly for a moment, “Don’t—like you said it's the past. I need to call in a favor so give me two days? Friday night?”

He melts under your touch, looking over at you with a soft smile, “Friday night.

“I’ll pick you up,” You offer.

“That much of a surprise, huh?”

“We can’t all cook the surprise, sometimes location is all a girl can have.”

“You’ve got more than that. Way more than that.”

“Oh really?” You roll your eyes playfully before meeting his gaze— its heart stopping. Sobering.

His eyes pierce into you, down to the softest part of your heart, the part only ever reserved for him. “Yeah,” He breathes roughly.

When had you gotten so close to him? You can smell his scent, worn leather and cigarettes, a hint of some citrusy cologne that he dabs behind his ears and the slope of his neck. His eyes are impossible to escape, a deep clear blue full intricacies you can’t look away from. Carmy’s just as entranced as you, drawn to you like a bear is to sweet honey. His thumb brushes your own, and you shiver, a soft jagged breath leaving you at his warm touch.

The spell is broken by the shrill of your phone, a telltale ringtone that has guilt blooming in your chest immediately. It’s Kyle.

Both of you lean away from each other quickly and you reach for your bag on the counter, fishing out your phone. “Sorry, it’s Kyle,” You glance at Carmy nervously, holding up your phone awkwardly before you answer.

He sees the heart by Kyle’s name and his own sinks into his stomach, “No, no, you’re good. All good.”

Carmy’s head feels as if it's about to burst, swirling a million miles a minute though he looks no different on the outside. Kyle? Who the fuck was Kyle? He was this out of the loop, had put so much space between the two of you that he doesn’t even know that you’re seeing someone? How long have you been together? Did you live with him? Did you…love him? Want to spend your life with him? Why would Sugar set him up like this— set you up like this, if you had someone?

He listens to you talk, the light that has been shining in his eyes from the moment you stepped into his apartment dimming with each word he hears you speak.

“Hey, honey. No, no, I’m just about to leave. Well, he didn’t start until I got here. Yes, I’ll call you when I’m home. I will. Love you too. Ok, bye.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, he just gets worried about me.”

“I’d worry about you too.” After a beat he murmurs, “I do.”

“I worry about you too,” You whisper shyly.

“Nothing to worry about here, Bee,” He struggles to keep his tone nonchalant.

The strain in his voice has you looking up at him. His eyes are cloudy, sad. He’s trying to keep it together as always and the sight has your will crumbling. You lean closer again, raising your hand to cup his cheek so that he has to meet your eye.

“You don’t have to pretend, Carmen. You know that, right?”

He swallows loudly, unable to hold your eye contact for more than a few seconds at a time. Nodding he places his hand over yours, rubbing it gently, “I know. But it’s easier that way. For all of us.”

Before you can formulate response he gives your hand one last squeeze and rises to his feet. “I’ll pack up some leftovers for you.”

And just like that, the moment is gone. That little glimpse of your Carmy is overshadowed by the one he’s become.

| > chapter 4: Like a Bee to Nectar

18+ carmy taglist: @treefingers , @mrsdominickstark, @princess-of-fanfics, @whore-for-murdock, @xxxstormyninixxx, @dreamingwithlens, @thecraziestcrayon, @jam1esl0v4, @lilylovelyxo, @jadeittic, @jotarokuj0, @bunnysthngs, @gcidrvsh, @mistalli, @luvr-bunnyy, @s3xymoonman, @cosmicspacewitch, @khena, @r0s3mm, @recklessgiraffelife, @i-am-typing, @salinaiacono6

If you ask to be added to the taglist but didn’t verify you’re 18+ you will not be added!

#carmy berzatto x fem!reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmy x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x fem!reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto fic #carmy berzatto angst #carmy berzatto fluff #the bear fanfiction #the bee and the bear #arson writes the bear #not sfw

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thatone-brightstar · 7 months

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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

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nolita-fairytale · 1 year

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comfort & chaos | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter five: called you again

summary: you and carmy try your best to repair the relationship... but it only leads to distance. you both make the mistake thinkin' the other is better of without you. (the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you)

warnings: angst, death, grief, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking, suggestive language

word count: 3.5k

listen to: supercut - lorde | speechless - lady gaga | call me back - young the giant | called you again - lizzy mcalpine

a/n: while i felt like i was dropping an emotional bomb on you with the last chapter, i didn't know it would have such an emotional impact. i just wanted to share that i write so much from my own experiences -- perhaps why some of the chapters feel so realistic. anyways, thank you for all of your kind words in regards to the last chapter. i didn't want to write the phone call, since after this part, 'make my heart surrender' begins / i write a bit of it in that story / it really made for a spicy dramatic ending.

on another note: it's me, hi! i broke my own heart writing this. high key like... i feel like i'm going through a breakup right now (i'm not). the next part will be a big time jump: it takes place after right after 'make my heart surrender' ends, where reader has just moved to chicago for carmy so you'll be glad to hear that i'm done hurting you and myself.

read: chapter four

April 2022

“Seriously, Carmy. I can’t thank you enough. You really saved the day,” Maya harps, reminding Carmy for the 100th time today that he single-handedly saved Passover.

“It’s nothin’ really,'' Carmy mumbles with a shrug. “I’m uh… gonna finish cleaning up in the kitchen. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Sure I can’t help?” Maya asks, giving him one last chance to say ‘yes.’

“No, it’s all good. I got a whole system,” he explains, a reassuring look in his eyes.

“Of course,” Maya replies, bowing out of the conversation.

She walks through her home towards the open double terrace doors that lead out onto the patio. You’re outside, shifted to one side of the large outdoor dining table, your focus unbroken as you stack empty plates, one on top of the other.

“Hey,” you say to her, a warm nostalgia about the way the spring air kisses your bare shoulders.

“So… Carmy really came through,” she starts, watching you for your reaction.

“Yeah, he did,” you reply simply, as if it’s just fact.

Maya half expects for you to say more, but she knows it’s been weird between the two of you since you slept together. She’s not sure why, but she’s always rooted for Carmy. Perhaps because you light up every time he’s around – every time you talk about him. Perhaps because she sees the way he looks at you, especially when he thinks you’re not looking. Because, even though he’s deeply imperfect, you’re good for him – and he, you.

“It’s all for you, you know,” she says, growing bolder in her reminder.

Her words stop you in your tracks. You stop working on the pile of dishes you’re creating, taking a moment to look up at your friend.

“Why do you think that?” you ask quietly.

“Because he took the night off to be here,” she answers, checking to make sure Carmy isn’t listening. “I mean, when have any of us seen him take any time off? He’s not doing it for me. I just think… it seems like he’s really making an effort to mend things.”

You nod slowly, processing what she’s just said. Carmy, in an effort to try to mend things, had joined you for a drink with some of your mutual friends from the restaurant. As Maya had lamented about the caterer falling through for her Passover dinner, he’d more than eagerly offered to step in, surprising all of you.

“Maybe,” you shrug, trying not to get your hopes up. “I don’t know. It’s still not the way it used to be.”

“Well of course it’s not!” Maya exclaims with a laugh. She sighs out your name, shaking her head as she continues. “You guys are… of course that would change things.”

“I think it’s just going to take a while…” you explain, your voice soft. “I uh. I should take these in.”

You collect your pile of dishes, heading back inside into the kitchen. You know you’re avoiding having the conversation with Maya, but the distance between you and Carmy has been so tough on you. It wasn’t until you took some space from him that you realized just how big of a part he’d been playing in your life. And now, he was grieving, and you’d both crossed the line that had complicated things.

It all just felt… messy.

As you enter the kitchen, you see Carmy standing there. He’s staged the kitchen for the most efficient dishwashing: one half of the sink is filled with to sanitize, the other to rinse, before loading up the dishwasher. You place the first stack of plates down on the kitchen island, making a sound that doesn’t even seem to grab Carmy’s attention. He doesn’t turn to you, doesn’t acknowledge the sound, so you decide to keep moving things in from outside instead.

You’ve managed to get all of the dirty dishes from the terrace into the kitchen, Carmy giving you a nod as he’d instructed you to place them down on the counter for him.

You put your focus on packing up leftovers in deli containers and making sure all the food that needed to be has been put away. Carmy’s loaded up the dishwasher but he’s got at least a dozen wine glasses that he knows need to be hand washed. You notice that he’s taking a break, pushing yourself to ask him, as if it’s going to be your only chance to.

“How are you?” you say, instantly regretting it as the words come out of your mouth.

He shrugs, unsure of how to answer the question, leaning up against the kitchen counter. You think it’s the only answer you’re going to get as he crosses his arms across his chest. You continue packing up the equipment that you and Carmy have brought over, while he manages to steal a few glances when he thinks you’re not looking.

He’s not sure what to say.

Hell, he doesn’t even know how he feels about it.

But something inside him is begging him to tell you – as if telling you will give him some kind of resolution. Like he’ll know what to do. Like telling you will bring him the comfort he’s so desperately been craving.

He opens his mouth to say something, noticing that you’ve kept yourself busy – almost as if you’re trying to stay out of his way.

He hates this.

He hates that you feel you have to tiptoe around him.

“Mikey left me the restaurant,” he confesses, the words tumbling out of his mouth like five hundred pounds of bricks.

“Oh wow,” you gasp, taking in what he’s said.

He nods, pausing before he speaks again. And it’s the first time he’s said it out loud to anyone:

“I think it’s time for me to go home.”

You don’t say anything back, because you’re not sure what to say back. You know he hadn’t gone home for the funeral, despite your insistence.

Why now? What did this mean? What would this mean? And when did he find out about the restaurant? You can’t help but feel like everything's falling apart, like this is the end. While you know he has to go home – you’re honestly surprised it’s taken him so long to come to this conclusion – it’s impossible not to feel your heart shattering into pieces.

Carmy was going to leave. You were going to stay. And you didn’t know where that left the two of you.

“Can I help – with the wine glasses?” you ask, focusing on the task at hand.

Focusing on the glasses may be the only thing that keeps you from crying.

“Yeah,” he nods, and you know it’s his way of trying to connect.

You work quietly, the only sounds in the background are the dinner party playlist that’s playing on a loop through the home’s speakers. You wash and Carmy dries, knocking out the remaining dishes that need to be hand washed, before packing up to go. Maya, of course, thanks Carmy again and again, while her partner, Patrick, compliments the meal, letting Carmy know he’s got to get some cooking tips from him.

As the two of you walk out of the door, brown paper bags loaded up with empty delis and equipment that you brought over to the house, Carmy stops before either of you can go your separate ways.

“Can I walk you home?” Carmy asks you, a hopeful look in his eyes.

You nod, “Yeah.”

May

Hope you’re doing okay. How’s home?

It’s about the third text you’ve sent to Carmy since he left New York. After letting you know he’d made it safely, you hadn’t heard from him at all. Sure it’s only been a couple of weeks, but it’s like as soon as he let you know he’d made it safe, he’d cut you off cold. To say that you’re angry would be an understatement.

You’re really fucking pissed off.

And you also know that underneath all that anger, is a fuck ton of hurt that you’d really rather not acknowledge – that you’re not ready to feel yet.

You don’t know how he’s able to turn it off – just pretend that the last two and half years haven’t been significant. That you haven’t practically been attached at the hip since the lockdown. That you’re not best friends who also just so happen to maybe be in love with each other.

Somehow, Liz has coaxed you out after a long night at the restaurant for a round of drinks with your coworkers. Something about a need to blow off some steam. Only a round has turned into many, and you just might have had one too many to forget about the searing pain you feel when you think about the fact that you may never hear from Carmy again. You’re waiting for your next drink at the bar, making a mental note that this has to be your last.

“How’s Berzatto these days?” you hear a voice ask, turning your head as you realize someone’s joined you at the bar.

“Uh.. yeah, I think he’s been really busy. You know… with the family restaurant. Getting adjusted, you know?” you lie to Nate, pretending that you’ve been in contact with him.

Nothing would sting more than to admit to Nate fucking Walker that Carmy’s ghosted you.

Nate laughs cooly, with a shake of his head.

“He hasn’t called you, has he?” he asks.

You don’t answer. But your silence is the only answer Nate needs to confirm his suspicions.

“Listen, can we just talk about something else?” you dismiss him, watching as the bartender returns with your drink.

The rest of your friends have started a game of pool, but you’re not in the mood for it tonight. Nate asks you to sit, so you do. You hate to admit it, but the attention feels nice, especially with how much you miss Carmy. It burns in your chest tonight, leaving you breathless. You’d rather be numb than feel this much pain.

You’re not sure how the conversation turns back to Carmy after an hour or so of conversation with Nate. Even though you said you didn’t want to talk about him. Even though you can see that Nate’s tired of hearing about him. You can’t help yourself when it comes to Carmy. Every little thing reminds you of him, and he just keeps coming up like word vomit.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to talk about him,” Nate reminds you.

You shake your head, “I don’t!”

Nate shoots you a look, before shaking his head, making sure to polish off the last of his drink.

“He’s an idiot,” Nate scoffs with an eye roll.

“Don’t say that,” you relent.

“I mean it. He’s a fuckin’ idiot!” he exclaims again, turning much more serious.

“Nate!” you protest lightly.

“I mean it,” he repeats himself, holding piercing eye contact with you.

Nate waits a beat, his eyes flickering from your lips back to your eyes as he leans in, lowering his voice.

“He couldn’t even see a good thing when had it,” he croons, leaning in towards you. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the fact that you just want to feel wanted, but you feel woozy – hazy, you’re head spinning with lust as you contemplate kissing him.

“Not even when it was right in front of him,” he adds, his lips so very close to yours.

Nate’s always been good looking. Your eyes flicker to his full lips and deep brown eyes as he towers over you from where he sits, knowing that he wants to kiss you. He’s just the kind of guy that knows he’s good looking – something you find terribly annoying.

“You’re so beautiful. I’m sorry that he can’t see it,” he practically whispers against your lips, so close that all the blood rushes to your head.

It just feels good to be wanted, to be seen. So you surge forward, closing the gap between you. As you press your lips against his, you can feel Nate smiling into the kiss. He’s a smug bastard, but tonight, you don’t care. You entertain the kiss for a little longer. At this point, you could care less that you’ve garnered the attention of some of your coworkers, that you’re just making out with Nate fucking Walker out in the open for everyone to see.

“You wanna go somewhere else? My place is around the corner,” he murmurs into the kiss.

“Sure,” you agree, you breath catching in your throat.

“C’mon,” he encourages you, with a nod towards the door.

Revenge, or the last of your gin cocktail, burns in your throat as you make a deal with the devil, following Nate out of the bar.

June

Carmy’s phone buzzes again, catching his attention as he takes another drag from his cigarette. He’s got one missed call from Sugar, a voicemail, and a text with a link to that meeting she won’t stop nagging him to go to. He’s just about to put his phone back in his pocket as it buzzes again.

He looks down.

Shit.

Fuck.

It’s a text from you.

His heart stops beating for a moment, just for a second, and he freezes.

Came across this article in the New Yorker about denim & rock n roll. Made me think of you.

Carmy’s eyes scan over the title: From the Working Class to a Fashion Statement: John Lennon, Elvis Presley, & Other Icons That Brought Denim to the Mainstream. There’s a lump in his throat. He’s been so focused on the restaurant, so focused on fixing it, that it’s been easy to compartmentalize, push any thought of you out of his mind. But as his thumb hovers over the article, daring to open it, he can picture it all so vividly. His head is filled with the image of you walking down Bowery, a few paces in front of him, clad in your favorite denim jacket of his as you tell him to ‘hurry up.’

And just for a moment, it feels so real. He can practically smell the New York City air. He can hear your laugh as you bump into him in the small walkways of each mom-and-pop dumpling shop. He can almost feel your skin brush against his as you scoot by him on the way to your table.

It becomes harder to push the thoughts of you out of his mind, the sobering reality that it’s been at least a month and a half since he’s talked to you.

She’s better off without me. Without this. Without all of this chaos, he thinks to himself.

He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted, hadn’t been in touch on purpose, and he had to admit, it was killing him. There were days where all he wanted to do was call you, ask how you were doing – days where the only thing that would bring him comfort was imagining you running your fingers through his hair while he bitched about the restaurant. Days where he wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch with you while you forced him to watch some violent action movie, and he’d watch you in awe. He’d call you a psychopath, when in reality, he was just in shock that someone like you could want to be around someone like him.

Carmy wonders if you miss him – if it’s killing you too.

But he doubts it.

You’re a fucking mess, he thinks to himself, coming to conclusion that you’re better off without him. Without all of this… mess… grief… chaos.

What would he even say?

Sorry I'm such a prick.

I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here.

I love you.

It becomes progressively easier to push his thoughts of you out of his mind, as he hyper-fixates on what needs to be done today: outsource bread, read over Sydney’s report because she’s probably right about the budget…. And what the fuck is KBL electric anyways?

Now that the impulse is gone to text you back, Carmy shoves his phone into his pocket, shaking his head as he finishes his cigarette and reminds himself again:

You’re better off without him.

August

“I don’t understand,” the exec chef says to you, his voice monotone. Something wild stirring behind his eyes in response to the notice that you’ve just given him.

“My heart’s not in it,” you explain, hesitantly. “And I know you accept nothing less than perfection. I just… need some time to figure things out.”

“You’re not going to find another job like this,” he reminds you, coldly.

You nod your head in response. You thought he’d say that.

“I understand, chef,” you reply, using your tone of professionalism in your voice as a barrier.

“I told her we could reevaluate in a month. I’m open to a rehire, should after your sabbatical, you come to the conclusion that here is where you need to be,” the head pastry chef adds.

Sabbatical.

Your head pastry chef is the only one using that word, as if they expect that you’ll come back. As if this is just a break.

But it’s not a break to you. It’s a much needed change.

Your exec chef thinks it over, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

“You’re an exceptional pastry chef, but your lack of commitment worries me,” he states plainly. “You’ll have to interview again.”

“I understand, chef,” you repeat yourself.

The conversation goes like this: you keep your cool, wanting nothing more than to get the conversation over it. It’s a daunting thing – quitting your dream job – enough as it is. Your head pastry chef fights for you, while the exec chef continues on his ego trip, as if you’re not sitting right in front of him. It’s not hard to tune him out. There’s a feeling inside of you, something telling you that you won’t be back, so the hoops he’s creating for you to jump through don’t seem to matter.

Your feet hit the pavement as soon as the conversation is over, and you can’t get out of the restaurant fast enough. Dinner service prep had already begun, and as you’d left, you understood there would be questions, rumors, strange looks from your coworkers. But you knew this was right.

Your heart hadn’t been in it for a while.

Not since it left and moved to Chicago and decided not to call you back.

You feel lost.

It’s not just Carmy. It’s not just the big changes and shifts you’re experiencing. It’s everything. You don’t know what the hell it is you want. And you’re brave enough to go searching for it.

You want nothing more than to call Carmy, to send him a text, for him to yell at you for quitting the job you both held in such high regard and tell you that you’re making a mistake. But the sting of the last time he ignored your call a few weeks ago stops you from picking up the phone.

Maybe he was only meant to be in your life for that chapter.

Maybe, as you leave the restaurant behind, you’ll be able to let go of him too.

Soon-To-Be Fall

It had only been a few weeks since you’d quit the restaurant, in those few weeks, for the first time in a long time, you were at peace. You’d gotten loads of calls and texts: a ‘just want to check in’ from your head pastry chef, a ‘you doin’ okay?’ from Tim, and a series of ‘can’t take no for an answer’ texts from Nate that you have no plans to answer.

The past few weeks have been filled with quiet. You’re enjoying your time, and you’re doing a whole lot of thinking about what it is you really want. You spend your Tuesday afternoon deep cleaning your apartment and listening to some of your comfort albums. It feels good to get to live slowly for once. It’s soon-to-be-Fall, even if the heat seems to be sticking around in New York City as of late.

You hear a ping coming from your phone as you close up the container filled with sanitizing wipes that you’ve been using. Making your way over to your small studio kitchen, you see a text from Liz.

Liz: I have the day off. Drinks & catching up?

You: Yeah. 7 pm?

Liz: Perf. I have restaurant goss. 👀

You chuckle in response to her text. Just as you’re preparing to type out a response, your phone buzzes again as a call comes through.

‘Carmy.’

Carmy is calling you.

Holy fuck.

It’s as if all the blood in your body rushes to your head and you have to try not to drop your phone. As it continues to ring, for a split second, you think about not answering. What if you didn’t? Send him to voicemail just like he’s done to you? But your curiosity gets the best of you as your thumb hovers over the ‘answer’ button. Had he heard? Was that what this was about?

You answer the call before you can talk yourself out of it, immediately putting it on speaker.

“Hi,” you say, your voice shaking a little.

And it’s as if all your troubles melt away as you hear his voice.

“Hi,” he replies.

a/n: hello! yes, by popular demand i'll be writing the phone call as a drabble. however, my first series i wrote about carmy, 'make my heart surrender' picks up right where this chapter leaves off. chapter six will take places after that story, so for those of you that have not, feel free to read it while we wait (w baited breath of course) for the final chapter of this one.

read: chapter six

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos @blue-weekends @rexorangecouny @ridingthehotmessexpress @the-nursery @strawberryalicia @astronautelilanded @veryplatoniccircunstances @fonteyn

#carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto headcanon #the bear headcanon #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy berzatto fluff #comfort and chaos

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ofbrokendreams · 9 months

Text

Everything, Everywhere, All at Once. Part Four

Part four of four of Everything, Everywhere, All at Once.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Hit up AO3 for the full fic.

TW: cursing, discussions of sex, discussions of abuse, discussions of mental health, discussions of drug use, discussion of suicide, depiction panic attack, pregnancy (let me know if I missed anything)

FUTURE TOGETHER

Aisha Antonia Berzatto is born on a rainy-sunny Tuesday afternoon. And Carmen’s a fucking idiot because he thought babies were like exclusively born at night or early in the morning. But his daughter, fuck, his daughter is born at two seventeen in the afternoon. And it was storming like crazy in the morning as he looked out the hospital window and Syd dosed as best she could and then it was sunny, the warm rays breaking through and landing on Sydney. He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t fucking been there.

But Syd opens her eyes and presses the nurse button. “I really, really, really need to push,” she says calmly and the nurse nods. The sun is shining for the hour it takes for Aisha to arrive and with her first little cry the rain starts again.

Carmen cuts the cord and hands her to Sydney who places her on her bare chest. And Carmy laughs, soft and real when her little nose crinkles and she roots (he thinks that’s the right word) around for food. Truly her parent’s child.

Carmy holds her a lot in the hospital. Won’t let the nurses take her and begrudgingly hands her off to Mr. Adamu (“Your mother would be honored, Baby.” He says when they tell him her name) and Sugar and Pete (“You really named her after this one?” Sugar asks with a laugh and Sydney shrugs “I wanted to name her Carmen straight out but he turned me down.” “God you really are love sick,” Sugar gags and its so childish and perfect.) and Richie (“She’s gorgeous, shit, look at all that hair- uh sorry, Cousins.) when they stop by individually. But he holds her and stares at her a lot.

She’s got dark eyes like her mother and her grandmother he remembers from pictures, a slightly different shade of beautiful brown than her grandfather. She seems to stare back at him all the same.

She’s perfect and beautiful and tiny. So fucking tiny.

They get to go home two days later. Syd does so well, she’s feeling okay she insists sore but okay, no tearing and the bleeding is what it is.

When they’re home, they sit together on the couch and just stare at Aisha in her little teddy bear onesie and matching hat. Her little yawns and lip smacks and curls of her tiny brown fingers. She’s got this full head of black, black, black hair that’s silky soft and Sydney thinks she’ll have curls closer to Carmy’s then her own. Her skin is so soft, only slightly lighter than Sydney’s skin tone which Syd says surprised her but makes Carmy happy. He’d love her no matter what color her skin was. But if he had his way she’d look exactly like Syd. But she doesn’t, not exactly.

He wouldn’t be surprised if people called Aisha Sydney’s twin in the future cause she does look like her mother but she’s got his nose. He whispers apologies into her sweet baby scent when he puts her into the pack and play bassinet next to their bed that first night. Sydney rolls her eyes when he gets into bed. “You’re very good looking, Carmy. Like I know-like how do you not know that? You’re incredibly handsome.” Carmy shakes his head and shrugs. “As long as you’re happy.” Syd rolls her eyes again tracing his nose with a finger. “I’m happy.”

“You’re very beautiful,” he says quietly a few minutes later in the darkness of their room. Syd hums and curls against him. Carmy thinks of the vice memo on his phone, the one where he told Aisha about that first time he saw her mother, of ‘oh no she’s pretty’, he wants to tell Syd what he thought even back then but it-its a nice secret just for him and Aisha. Just for the two of them to know how long he’s loved Syd.

They baptize Aisha in Sydney’s church because Carmy’s catholic in the way people say all Italians are which is to say he hasn’t stepped foot in a church since he was like fourteen and it was Christmas morning. But he’s been to the church Mr. Adamu and his wife went to and Syd grew up in a couple of times now. And it feels right.

Marcus hugs him so tight Carmy’s afraid he might bruise something when they ask him to be her godfather but he hugs him back. They’re friends, in a way Carmy doesn’t have to ask at this point, he may be his best friend outside of Syd and boss-employee only in a literal way (Carmy does employee Marcus). Professionally Carmy trusts Marcus completely and personally he trusts him in general (which for Carmy is practically everything). Sydney’s best friend Tori is her godmother and the two stand up at the altar with Syd and Carmy as Aisha cries, the pastor and the congregation chuckles.

They eat the best soul food he’s ever had in the church basement after service. He’s still not completely sold on church and faith but these people are good and kind and they love Sydney and Aisha and maybe even him.

And Sydney and Marcus and sometimes Sweeps, raz him about being a white boy but it’s nice somehow, it’s like funny. Like they’re sharing an inside joke. And it’s ten fold in her church but it feels like acceptance.

He enthusiastically agrees when a couple older ladies offer to help teach him how to take care of Aisha’s hair when she’s older. He knows Sydney’ll be able to teach him but he figures there’s wisdom in the village.

He wants to learn everything there is to know about rising a black daughter, wants her to be proud of her Nigerian and African-American heritage as much as her Italian.

He’s scoured all of Sydney’s cookbooks and recipes, memorized some of them.

Syd laughs at him sometimes, reminds him he has a lifetime to learn and sighs wistfully when he explains that he just wants Aisha to be happy and carefree for as long as possible.

Sydney thinks of the first time he helped her take out her braids. Both of them nervous and laughing at themselves. The first time he touched her natural hair and how he’d whispered almost in awe, “it’s so soft Syd, it’s beautiful.” And she’d felt her face warm and it was almost to much attention.

Ever since they started this, since they became partners in every way. He asks too many questions and wants to know to much. Is to earnest in his quest for cultural knowledge.

But then in her head she hears “I’m trying Syd. I’m trying and I just I need time and-“ and then she’s happy to explain this shit to him again. And he listens because he really does want to get this right.

It’s not exactly equivalent to sharing her whole culture with him but she asks him about Donna. She gives him a safe space to discuss anything he wants to, to give her any burden he wants to share. She asks him to explain what he now knows was abuse growing up. How it felt to grow up in that house, twelve years younger then the brother he idolized and only four younger then the sister that attempted to protect him.

She gives him space to talk about how hard it was when Mike cut him off, pushed him away and how he left and thought about never looking back but Chicago was his home. He admits late one night that he always knew he’d come back but he’d assumed it’d be in a box or some shit. But then it wasn’t him, it was Michael and it was shocking more so because he didn’t know it was coming.

Because Michael wouldn’t take his calls, wouldn’t talk to him and so he didn’t know about the drugs or the money and- She places her hand over his heart and feels the edge of his ring-her ring under her hand and the warmth of his skin under her fingertips. Their apartment is quiet then save for the baby monitor and Aisha’s soft baby breath and Carmy’s harsh inhales.

Life moves on, continues on.

Aisha grows daily and it makes his heart beat to fast when he thinks about it and if he’s fucking up but then like Sugar or Syd or fucking Uncle Jimmy at her first birthday are telling him he’s good, he’s doing good and people love him and his kid and his wife. And fuck he has a wife and a kid and an award winning restaurant.

They still fight, and it gets bad, sometimes about life and sometimes about their business. But they apologize and make up and promise to be better and they actually try to keep that promise.

And sometimes he gets so angry that he calls her by her full name, Sydney Berzatto. Its like a hard reset, allows him to recalibrate, to remind himself that he’s not fighting alone. Even when they’re pissing each other off and messing up and hurting each other they’re together, they’re partners, they’re a family.

He looks at all he’s built and had gifted to him. He misses Michael and his mom, who he’s had to completely cut out of his life for his own mental health. He’s guiltily grateful for the way things turned out.

When Sydney walked around that corner in The Beef he’d have given anything in that moment to have Michael back and not speaking to him just to have him alive. And now Sydney and Aisha are his whole world and it’s good and wholesome and bright.

Its beyond dazzling sometimes he can’t breathe with how overwhelmed he is by how good his life is now. Then he does breathe, he lives and keeps living.

#the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear fanfic #the bear fic #carmy x sydney #syd x carmy #sydcarmy #sydney adamu #carmen berzatto

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