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queers-gambit · 1 month

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Silence

prompt: ( requested ) anxiety plays tricks on your mind, making you mistake your boyfriend's stress for anger - at you.

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

word count: 2.5k+

note: it's short but to the point.

warnings: cursing, hurt and comfort, depiction of mental health: anxiety, slight self-destructive thoughts.

Silence could be a good thing.

Libraries were silent for ample focus. Theaters were silent during the showing. Sometimes, long drives were peacefully silent.

Silence could also be a bad thing.

Demanding an explanation and the silence stretches. The silence before a doctor delivers life-changing news. Asking someone if they're okay and they don't answer.

When your boyfriend, Carmy, had returned from work that evening, he slammed the front door, dropped his backpack, toed out of his shoes, and stormed around the apartment silently. He didn't greet you, didn't offer a kiss, nothing - just breezed past you as if a pile of dirty laundry he's ignored for the past two weeks. You watched him from the kitchen, sipping a glass of wine, worry sprouting in your gut and chest. It was obvious something was bothering him - but couldn't fathom what it was that made him ignore you; to make him not look at you one single time.

It was like you weren't even there with the way he projected his moodiness. Even on his worst days, he always always always greeted you with a kiss; but the lack of affection hallowed your chest into a pit, wondering what you had done to make him avoid you.

Suddenly, the silence was eerily deafening, coiling your stomach and pumping lead through your veins; no TV or radio switched on to fill the void and create passive, background audio. Carmy was obviously upset about something, but the fact that he didn't even look at you made you think he didn't want to talk. This worried you because before dating, you and Camry Berzatto were the best of friends; talking about literally any and everything you could think of. He came to you with every single grievance, every frustration, every slice of drama - so why wouldn't he now?

Unless... Unless you were the cause of his annoyance? The idea made the pit in your chest stretch to your gut - anxiety rapidly spreading, confusion warping rational thought into something darker and self deprecating. The idea of upsetting Carmy - or anyone, for that matter - was enough to bubble nausea and turn your skin clammy. Muscles tensed, eyes darted, and your mind was plagued with every single thing you had said or done in the past 16 hours.

However, your memory couldn't pinpoint any moment you could've upset him; things had been normal and easy-going lately, there being no clear indication you were the culprit of Carmy's anger. However, there didn't need to be anything clear because your mind was fully convinced you were the bad guy now.

After swallowing a gulp of wine, your eyes adverted to give him privacy and begin on dinner; being obvious that his phone was much more important than you right now. Unfortunately, when it came to picking which sauce to dress your meal with, you were forced to slowly enter the living room where your boyfriend had taken refuge.

"Hey, baby?"

"Hmm?"

You tried not to be offended by his lack of verbal acknowledgement, but your intestines flipped and grew heavy. "Uh, just wondering, you want the marinara or Alfredo tonight with the - "

"Doesn't matter, you choose."

"I mean, which would you prefer?"

"I just said it didn't matter," he repeated with a hardening tone, "it's not like it's a difficult decision to make."

You didn't want to make his attitude worse, so you backed off silently and returned to your task. Yes, yes, Carmy was the professional cook between you but that didn't mean he wanted to come home and continue the act. So, you learned a few new recipes to keep meals interesting - a feat your boyfriend didn't seem to appreciate or even recognize most days. Tonight especially.

Tension tangibly filled the apartment the longer the silence stretched. Your mind conjured a hundred questions at once, begging your mouth to run rapidly if it meant getting answers - yet your logic stuck the words in your throat, refusing to let them fly, and even shoving them deep down for your soul to hold.

You poured a second glass of wine, throat thickening with silent emotion. There was always the worry in the back of your mind that Carmy would one day realize you didn't fit into his life and would break up with you. Or that perhaps, his irritation tonight wasn't due to anything you did specifically, but instead, was attested to your normal behavior and quirks - like the want to talk throughout the day.

Blinking the moisture away, you remembered Carmy hadn't answered a single one of your texts the entire day - a normal act for you, but maybe one that now got on your boyfriend's nerves. You dished up dinner, standing in the open kitchen with two plates and feeling silly for the nerves prickling your skin. You barely noticed the slight tremor in your hands. "Dinner's ready, Carm," you alerted, leaving the plates on the kitchen island you normally ate at; distracted by the need to pour a glass of water.

When you turned, your heart stalled in your chest when you noticed his plate missing - locating him in the living room, again, and it being obvious he didn't intend to eat with you. Now you knew for sure, you had indeed done something. So, you gingerly took a seat and tried to take up as little space as possible; shying in on yourself, eating silently and quickly so you could do the dishes right after.

Sure, there was usually the rule that the cook didn't clean, but there was no way you were gonna ask Carmy to do the simple chore; afraid of pushing him over whatever edge he teetered at. After storing any leftovers, you started the dishwasher and retreated to your bedroom with another glass of wine and the intention to get a bath. You felt like a glaring inconvenience all of a sudden, regret inking your blood and reprimanding yourself for being so - so - so... Clingy?

Is that what it was? Did Carmy think you were clingy? Perhaps texting him throughout the day without him ever answering was the final straw of annoyance he felt toppled the haystack. You wanted to apologize and eliminate the tension, but couldn't necessarily understand what you were sorry for; thinking you were simply paying attention to him, being attentive and interested in his everyday life.

Maybe you needed to apologize for being suffocating? Was that it? Your love was suffocating him? Was he feeling pressured by you? Did he think you two too comfortable in this relationship? Was your wall of texts an indication you were more serious than he? Oh, God, was that it - did Carmy think you were getting too serious, too fast?

Granted it'd been a few years of dating, a lifetime of friendship before that - so how much more serious could you get? Why would your attempts of communication rub him the wrong way? How could the pair of you ever manage to fall off from the same page? Make him think you were pushing for something more? Didn't he know he was enough for you? Didn't he appreciate your presence? The want to be closer? Your desire to maintain the friendship your relationship was built off of? The appreciation you had for him? The support you wanted to offer?

You soaked in epsom salt for the better part of half an hour. Draining the tub, drying off, and changing into pajamas were done silently; feeling almost fearful to venture out of the bedroom to return your wine glass to the sink.

So you decided to just get in bed, figuring if Carmy was so angry at you that it resulted in him ignoring you, he wouldn't want to sleep beside you, either. With your thick framed glasses on, you nestled into bed with your newest novel, trying not to let your mind go into overdrive as your need to fix whatever was upsetting Carmy was overwhelming. Yet there was also the nagging idea that trying to fix whatever was 'broken' would've made things worse - again, resulting in you doing nothing and giving Carmy his space.

The silence haunted the apartment like a ghostly presence; leering over your heads, embracing you uncomfortably.

When the bedroom door opened, you masked your surprise and just read the same paragraph three times in a row - distracted by your boyfriend milling around, preparing for bed. Your eyes widened in shock when the bed dipped and shifted, jostling you as Carmy got into bed beside you, but you still didn't look up from your book.

"What're you reading, sweetheart?"

His mood swings often gave you whiplash. You glanced at Carmy, finger holding your place to let you fold the book over and present the title on the cover. You worried that anything you said and did could make this tension fester, so, you remained silent and went back to reading.

"Is it any good?" He pondered, watching your profile. You nodded mutely, lips slowly rolling between your teeth in a show of anxiety Carmy could now recognize. "Hey, hey, you all right, babe?" He asked softly, sounding mildly confused - perhaps even alarmed.

"Yeah, 'course," you mumbled.

"Well, how was work?"

"Fine."

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

There was a brief pause, then Carmy gently pried, "C'mon, baby, what's wrong? Why're you so quiet?" He chuckled gently, "Usually so talkative in the evenings."

You offered him a bewildered look with slightly pinched brows, swallowing nervously and slowly shutting your book to trace the spine mindlessly in an effort to distract yourself. Typically when anxious, your hands needed stimulation, something tangible to do and feel when your mind numbed with nervousness.

With a great deal of bravery, more than you thought was necessary to muster when talking to the person you love, you asked softly, "Are you mad at me, Carm? I mean, did I do something? T-To upset you?"

"Wait, what?" He asked in confusion. "Nah, baby, you didn't do anything, why would you even ask?"

"'Cause you've been ignoring me...?"

He scoffed, "Ah, 'cause I didn't answer your texts?"

"That, and you've been ignoring me in favor of your phone since you got home. Slamming doors, brooding in the living room, didn't eat dinner with me - got a little snappy when I asked what sauce for dinner? Feels like I did something but I don't know what, so I don't know how to fix this."

Carmy sighed, leaning back to the mound of soft and fluffed pillows you had stacked on your shared bed. "Shit," he breathed, huffing a dramatic sigh, "didn't even realize I was doin' all that, baby."

"If you're mad, just tell me what I did - "

"No, no, hey, hey, hey, hey," he rushed, turning on his side to look at you, elbow supporting his weight; clocking the glassiness coating your eyes. "You didn't do anything, baby, I swear. There's nothing for you to fix 'cause you didn't do nothin'. I just - I've been havin' a shit day, didn't realize I was bein' mean to you let alone that you'd take it to heart."

"Kinda hard not to when I'm the only one here."

"No, right, I get that," he sighed. "I'm sorry, baby, I know you get anxious when I shut down like that, but I promise, I'm not mad at you."

"Well, who else would you be mad at? I thought you were annoyed 'cause I was texting you all day. Thought I was, I don't know, being clingy or something since you didn't answer me."

Carmen frowned, "Sweetheart, no, hang on, listen to me. You didn't do anything to upset me, okay? I didn't answer you 'cause I dropped my phone in the sink and it got all glitchy, I couldn't answer you. I tried to fix it when I got home, but I think I fried it - should just get a new one. It was just one of those days that everything went to shit, it all built up, got the better of me."

You nodded, still looking dejected and making a shot of guilt plunge his heart. "You usually talk to me when you're upset," you pointed out softly, "and when you didn't say anything, I thought I was the reason you were upset. Figured you wouldn't talk to me if I did something to cause your attitude."

"No, hey, I'm sorry, c'mere, baby," he opened his arms and curled them around you when you shuffled into his chest. "Shit, I'm really sorry, I didn't even realize what I was doing - but Goddamnit, that's no excuse, though. I don't mean t'take my shit out on you, you don't deserve that."

"I just got a little nervous, maybe let my anxiety get the better of me."

"That's okay," he promised, kissing your forehead, "I can understand why. I was a dickhead, being snappy and ignoring you when all you do is support and love me. I'm real sorry, sweetheart," he sighed against your skin, tightening his arms to keep you cocooned in his warmth. "You know, you can always talk to me - don't gotta shut yourself down and avoid me."

"Do you even hear yourself? Should take your own advice."

"Yeah, I should," he smirked. "Hey, promise I'll do better not to shut down like that."

You nodded in acceptance, wondering softly, "Do you wanna talk about it? Whatever happened today?"

"Uh, nah, you know what? Think I owe you some cuddles, maybe a dessert? You know, to make up for my bullshit attitude."

"You don't have to - "

"I got you all worked up, feels like the least I can do."

With a hum, you smirked, "I won't say no to a slice of cheesecake."

"What baby wants, she gets," he grinned, a hand caressing your cheek to direct your eyes up to his. His thumb swept back and forth under your eye, "Still sorry about today. I didn't mean to be such an oblivious dickhead, I swear."

You nodded, "I know, baby. Just don't shut me out next time. Had me worried when you didn't even kiss me when you got home."

"A heinous crime on my part," Carmy smirked. "Should I remedy that?"

"I'd be offended if you didn't."

He chuckled and pressed his lips to yours in a soothing kiss, hand sliding to the back of your neck. It was a slow and languid kiss, something he took his time in engaging; lips sticking together, moving in-sync, creating chains of saliva when he pushed his tongue against yours. "Yeah," he mumbled, "I'm the dumb fuck who had you thinkin' I didn't want this from you." He pressed another kiss to your waiting lips, "You're intoxicating, baby - always want your kisses. Yeah? Always. The day I don't, take me out back like Old Yeller."

You wanted to voice that he wanted your kisses now until one day, he simply wouldn't - but refrained from doing so because you knew it was just anxiety talking. So, instead, you chuckled at his comment and leaned in to initiate your own kiss.

requesting rules and masterlist

FX's The Bear masterlist

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smokietaylor · 9 months

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You’re better than this (Carmen x Reader)

Carmy hires you to work at The Beef right after you graduated from culinary school. You know nothing about Carmen’s background other than he is a guy that gave you a job and you can finally start working in a real kitchen. Things get heated between the two of you. There is a reason that Carmy is being so hard on you that you will come to know later as the two of you argue.

NSFW Content

18+ only Minors DNI

Word count: 1,714 (and counting, current work in progress)

READ MORE HERE

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thatone-brightstar · 10 months

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Before You (Carmen Berzatto X Fem!OC)

It was Isaac before Carmy, and it was Ross before you.

Read part I.

Part II: January.

words: 3.4k

a/n: Thank you all so much for 200+ followers!!! Idk what to do in these situations but I'll celebrate by giving you more Carmy content! Slide into my dms with your prompt ideas and I'll gladly do my best to write what I can! Also: Image does not represent OC's skin type, just needed a summary pic. WARNING: Smut ahead, p in v unprotected sex (birth control is present but not mentioned), minors DNI but you'll do what you want so don't say I didn't warn you

This was not how she expected her New Year to go, dress hiked up to her hips, nails digging into his neck and shaking thighs painfully wrapped around the man continuously slamming into her. The lewd sounds he makes reverberate inside the small depot, echoing back into her dew covered skin and fueling the shivers traveling up and down her spine. Ross has always hated her name, but the way Carmy says it- blissed off his mind, crimson cheeks and pink pouty lips rounding over each syllable and followed by a breathy ’fuck’- god does he make it sound devine.

Her nails drive deeper into his reddened flesh and the pain of her grip tightens his fingers over the plush skin of her parted thighs. The flimsy fabric that barely covers her navel lets him see himself lost with each thrust, sight replaced with a gripping sensation, choking him with his own air.

There was something cathartically thrilling about their… situation. The sneaking around, the lingering stares each time she crossed to the depot and the tauntingly short uniform that made him visibly gulp. It all brewed thick inside his gut like he’d never known, the warmth of her lips weeks before had shaken the loose earth over his buried desires and there was no way he would get his fill from just the one time.

Unbeknownst to them, they had fallen into a clandestine rhythm. After closing, Ross would get in her car, drive a few blocks away and wait for Carmen in the warm comfort of the vehicle. Her pulse always quickened in anticipation around the ten minute mark, when she’d spot him in the rear view mirror, blowing smoke into the wind and hair disheveled after a hectic service. The drive to his felt longer each time, anticipation thick and pulsing in the empty space. They could never reach his place though, once she parked on the narrow alley beside his building, his fingers would wrap around the side of her jaw and her breath would be stolen by hungry tobacco scented kisses. She enjoyed the feeling of his needy hands circling her hips and pulling her over him, before his mouth attacked the frail skin of her throat.

But tonight felt different to her. The frustrations of a shitty service had Carmen on edge and he didn’t even give her a chance to leave as she popped her head into the empty kitchen to say goodbye. Instead wrapping his grip around her wrist to drag her into the small room and pinning her against a shelf with the strength of his panting chest. His usual doubtful behavior is replaced by strong and steady thrusts, ones that have the glass olive oil gallons behind her vibrating angrily. Her worry of them braking only lasts a few seconds, soon being pushed out of her mind by the constant pattern of his movements and the tightness inside her that’s beginning to burn.

“Fuck- Ross-” He moans into her neck as he speeds up his slams, breath blowing cold over the sweat on her skin.

The relentless strike of his hips on the base of her thighs paints the sensitive skin with a light shade of pink, causing a hiss from her when he readjusts his grip over the slick flesh.

“S..sorry- you good?” Carmen asks with slight concern, slowing down his movements and gulping the dryness in his mouth.

“Ye-yeah-” She reassures with a panting grin, eyes slightly glossy and mascara staining her bottom lashline. “Keep going, I like it…”

“Oh.. yeah- right okay.” Her bluntness gives him a blush that matches the underside of her thighs before resuming with a brutal blow, ripping a gasp from her lungs and making her breasts jolt with force.

Ross’ fingers tangle in the sweaty strands of his hair and pull him down to her awaiting lips, licking and nibbling over the delicate skin while his hands dent the muscle of her legs and his actions grow faster each time. With a string of groans pouring from her chest, she does her best to chase his hips with her own, striking a perfect spot each time. Her feet hook tightly at the base of his spine and this restricts his actions into shorter and faster shoves against that specific, beautiful spot that seems to split her in two.

An almost filthy cry bursts out when her orgasm shoots up from deep in her core, sparking in each nerve ending in her body and his hand flies quickly up to it to drown out the obscene sound. The remaining force in his last thrusts carries her back down into her body just in time to feel his fingers dig into her bruised skin. A throaty groan blows heavily over her collar bones before he slumps down completely with heavy inhales. She likes this part, when his shoulders lose tension and the beating of his heart doesn’t palpitate as hard against her chest.

He pulls out with a soft hiss but rather than make an effort to step away from the momentary comfort she provides, Ross feels his thumb brush gently over the red dents he produced; a clear contrast from a few minutes before. She tries to remain quiet so as to not ruin the moment he seems too caught up in, but his tender touch pulls an invisible string deep inside her and the fear of unwillingness to anything remotely close to a relationship triggers her mouth before she can stop it.

“You’re gonna leave a mark…”

“Hmm?” He pulls his head up to meet her eyes, bright pools of aquamarine absorb the little saliva left in her tongue and she swallows drily again and again.

“Your fingers…” She clears her throat. “They’re, uh, they’re gonna leave a mark.” Though that’s not really what she originally meant.

**********

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me!”

“No!” Ross groans towards her friend, trailing behind her as they both cross the entrance to the back of house.

The regularly hectic movement in the kitchen seems less so as service isn’t due for another few hours. There’s a thin layer of peace visible in the rounded backs of a few cooks as they ingest family, elbows glued to the long stainless steel tables. Ross moves to the water filter beside Frank’s station, ignorant to the glance he throws her way, but very present in Meg’s eyes as she gasps.

“Wait, was it Frankie? D’you finally cave?” Meg whispers beside her.

“Ugh, gross no. I’d rather stick hot coal in my mouth…”

“Okay, then who?”

Ross rolls her eyes once again. “I’m not telling you, alright?! So just- hop off my dick.”

“Oh c’mon, he had to be good if he left bruises like that…”

Meg leans down to inspect the lilac dents peeking ever so slightly from under the hem of her uniform. A hiss leaves Ross’ mouth and she immediately reaches down to swat her friend’s pointed finger off the darkest spot.

“All I’m sayin’ is, every artwork needs the artist’s signature.” Meg grumbles beside her.

“What artist?” The cook intervenes as he pokes around his own plate.

“Ross has a new boy toy and she won’t tell me who it is…”

She keeps her eyes trained on the slowly filling bottle, trying hard to tune out the teasing from the two idiots behind her.

“Y’know she won’t shut up ‘till you tell her, right?”

“I’m just hoping for her batteries to run out.” She assures with a flat smile, taking a sip from her bottle and leaning on the table in front of her.

“I thought you’d be more interested…” Meg teases, picking a piece of dried tomato from his plate and nibbling it through her smile.

She can see a slight tension in his jaw before he shrugs, eyes heavy on his dish. “We’ll find out eventually…” He answers under his breath, the words making Ross’ brows furrow.

“Meaning…”

Frank sighs and pushes his forearms off the table, finally looking up at her. “I mean- c’mon Ross, we know your type- plus, if it was one of these motherfuckers-” his fork drags pointing at the few cooks in the room. “-which it probably was- you know none of ‘em can keep their fuckin’ trap shut.”

If his comment struck a nerve, left it beaten and pulsing in agony, she doesn’t let it show. Instead, she rolls her eyes one more time and gulps down her water, drowning the many colorful swears with his name written on them. A prickling sensation covers her skin, the grip on her bottle going loose when she catches his persistent gaze falling heavily on her from across the kitchen. It washes over her for a few tender beats, and the water in her bottle no longer seems sufficient to cool the heat his strong stare ignites in her stomach.

Carmy doesn’t mean to stare, his eyes had just wandered, obliviously guided by the source of her vibrant voice, the private conversation not so private in the confinements of the blinding white room. A strange sensation flourished in his chest when Megan mentioned the bruises he had previously apologized ardently for and could hear Frank’s slight annoyance at them.

He doesn’t dislike Frank per se, he finds him irritating and obnoxious at times sure, but not to the point of hate. Right now however- as he appears completely entranced by her- Carmen can’t help the irritation beginning to course through him from the words he overheard. He knows they’re bullshit- the idea to expose her in such a way had no space inside his mind, Carmy isn’t like that- and with his own eyes roaming her tense features, he hopes that in the few seconds he allows himself to sneak a look, she can catch that. The unspoken assurance that she can trust him to keep whatever they have going on a secret.

“- are you even listening to me?”

Her friend’s voice demands Ross’ attention and he drags his eyes away, setting them back on the paper thin sweet potato slices gliding off the sharp edge of the mandolin.

“What- yeah, um… something about… your hair?”

“No dumbass- your psych exam, how’d it go?”

Despite his heavy attention to the task at hand, his ears can’t help but to tune back into the conversation as her sigh floats thick in the air of the kitchen.

“Failed it again… which is- fine-” She groans and reaches her hands to rub up her face in frustration. “-but that blows my second try so I only have one left or I’ll have to redo the whole course.”

Meg frowns up at her and reaches a hand to stroke over her arm. “You’ll do fine on the last one, I’ll help you study.” She offers with a kind smile. “Next one’s the good one… you’ll see.”

“Yeah… I guess'' Ross replicates her friend’s expression and takes another sip from her bottle, only half heartedly believing her.

“Yeah- we’ll both help you.” Frank adds, reaching his own hand beside Megs, a sly expression turning hers into distaste.

“Chef-” Three heads turn to the far left to see Carmen’s usual serious expression, making Frank immediately straighten his posture. “If you’re done fuckin’ around, that duck amuse in the walk in isn’t gonna confit itself-”

“Yes, Chef- sorry.”

“Thank you!”

Frank briskly picks up his half finished plate and disappears around the corner with a quick step, barely having time to throw them an irritated expression.

She feels it before seeing him. Only a wisp of white and blue flashes in her peripheral vision before he disappears behind her, the warmth of his extended digits pressing gently on her lower back and a soft ‘behind’ blowing on her exposed neck. Ross turns just in time to catch the artist’s eyes lingering on her for a sliver of a second, but it’s more than enough to spread a tingling sensation over the blossoming bruises. She doesn’t notice the change in rhythm inside her chest or the soft sigh that he pulls from her as he moves further away.

Meg’s voice is barely audible behind the thin ringing in her ears and it’s only then that Ross notices she’s been staring down the empty space of the corridor, Carmy long gone.

“What the fuck was that?”

It’d be a blatant lie to say she knew either. The way her hands had suddenly gone all clammy and her stomach had dropped to her knees with a simple touch was not characteristic of her usual hookups. The day prior’s fear resurfaces again and the erratic beating takes another definition as she swallows hard and turns to Meg with a thin lipped smile.

“That was um… the artist.”

**********

Roslyn never wanted a relationship, she didn’t need to be in one to know they were shit. All the effort it took to maintain a façade of contentment and joy just for it all to crumble down into nothing, made every cell in her body recoil in disgust. Besides, nothing ever made her believe in the fairytale and every couple she met while growing up seemed completely tired of each other's company. Why would she ever want to put herself through that most ancient form of torture? For what, just to not be alone?

Big whoop. She’d been alone most- if not all her life- and from the vast experience could confidently say it wasn’t as bad as people made it seem. Her own company was a hundred times better than some of the questionable creatures she found herself roped with.

Yet, despite all the reminders and admonitions that she ‘wasn’t made for that kind of thing’ and to ‘just leave what isn’t for you alone’, Ross could not contain the tumultuous thoughts banging heavily around her skull.

The shift had gone by quickly as she spent more than half of it in her head, finally clocking off autopilot once the crisp air brushes past her cheeks at the employee exit. The air comes with the lingering wisp of tobacco. Ross tries to disguise how accustomed she’s grown to the smell, breathing in deep and walking slowly in his direction. She throws a nod to her right, where Carmen stands leaning on a tree.

“Hey…”

“How was your shift?” He asks a bit awkwardly, pushing himself off and dragging his feet beside her.

“Fine, I think-” Ross stops abruptly.”-hey, is it alright if we like, don’t do anything tonight-”

“Oh shit- no I wasn’t here for-”

“It’s just, my head kinda hurts and-”

“Yeah, I get it- I wasn’t-”

“I also haven’t eaten so-”

“-I can make you some…thing.”

The silence is filled by tension as his words linger heavy in the air. They slipped past his mouth without contemplation and now weigh more with each second she doesn’t respond. Words turn to dust in the back of her throat- scratchy and uncomfortable- while she tries to come up with a lie on why she wouldn’t find it absolutely appealing to be cooked for.

“It’s okay, you spent the whole day cooking- you don’t have to….”

“I don’t mind it.” He’s soon to assure, keeping his eye contact despite the sharp shake of his head.

Her fingers grow sensitive at the constant assault of her nails, she huffs out a small breath of air and looks up at him. She can only hold Carmen’s strong stare for a few seconds, eyes wavering instead on the treetops above his head.

“No one’s ever really made me dinner before.” Ross delicately whispers her confession.

His offer’s dissected in her head for what feels like an eternity while he just waits in place, knuckles cracking at his sides. A slow smile finally covers her face, nodding gently to him.

“Okay…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He offers what she has come to know is his soft smile, at least what she can see of it under the dim lighting of the street lamp. The clouds of vapor emanating from both their chests pull her from the unintentional staring contest and she makes a following motion to him with her head.

“I-um- I left the car that way.”

“Right- yeah- okay.” Carmy’s nervous stutter widens her grin.

They begin to walk the few blocks in silence, he’s concentrated on the surrounding ambience- second cigarette in hand- while she attempts to ignore the alarms she has strategically set out, all in the name of self-preservation.

‘It’s just dinner’, she repeats to herself. ‘It doesn’t mean anything’.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” He speaks out, pulling her from her head. “And you can totally tell me to fuck off-”

“Probably will, but shoot-” She adds with a light laugh, tired eyes concentrated on their path.

He contemplates his words for a second, the dim roar of tired engines penetrating their small bubble of peace.

“So you really hate your job-”

“Ooh, hate is not a strong enough word-”

“-Okay, so you loathe your job-”

“There you go…” Her humorous smile triggers his usual small one, the tiny dimple on his left cheek guest starring just briefly but she takes a short second to admire it fully.

“Why do you stay?”

Ross contemplates his question while she plays with the strap of her bag, debating between the option she’s always used to deflect any sort of question, or to undust and pop the lock on the box where her truths lay hidden.

“Well you see, I have this horrible habit where I have to eat and-”

“Oh, fuck off- I’m serious.” His laugh is brief but genuine and it shudders something deep within her- it vibrates through her ribs and changes the tempo in her chest- an earthquake came and gone.

A slight sense of panic trails behind her external joy, looming just out of sight but present still. She sighs and gulps the tightness down, turning to the empty street before them.

“I wasn’t supposed to be there this long.” Ross finally confesses loud enough so he can barely hear her. “I'm majoring in psychology…”

“So this is temporary?”

“Yeah…” She sighs again, picking at the gel polish she gets specifically to avoid the bad habit. “It’s supposed to be, but I’ve been trying to get my license and failed my exams twice. I only have one more chance before I have to retake the course all over again.”

He’s silent for a while, staring at the grimey ground and searching his head on what to say. “I was always shitty in school… but maybe I can like, try and help you study? Some say it helps explaining it to someone else.”

Carmy’s voice falls into a whisper with the last sentence and draws her gaze away from her fingers and up to his concentrated one.

The way his attention falls solely on her- eyes never straining far from her own- heightens her senses and chills her skin past the warmth of her coat. All she can muster is a thin smile, because anything bigger would trigger the lever that’s already too tight.

“So psychology?” He changes the subject.

“Yeah, the-uh- child kind.” She awaits the usual taunt that comes with her answer- the ignorant thought that ‘why would children even need a psychologist?’- but it doesn’t. When she looks in his direction, it isn’t there either and she can’t decide if what he’s giving her is worse.

“That sounds pretty cool.” He says instead.

Ross’ brows twitch up momentarily, awe visible only for a few worthy moments. “Yeah it… it is.”

And says nothing else.

‘Don’t read too much into it’ Ross repeats to herself, as many times as needed to push out the ridiculous thought of anything more than what it is- just a casual thing- out of her head, on the drive to his place.

**********

Part III.

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha, @yum-yahgurt, @pussy-f41ry, @kirakombat, @redsakura101 , @hobisunshine13 and that’s it lmao

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aestheticaltcow · 3 months

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What Happens in Vegas Doesn't Always Stay in Vegas... Part 4

P 1 P 2 P 3

Carmy and Richie's pilgrimage to Washington DC... was it a mistake? Will Carmy do something regrettable? Will Richie do something equally as stupid?

Part 4 - DC in October

“Are you sure you even want to go Carmy?” Richie questioned for the thousandth time that day. Carmy rolled his eyes and pulled the sleeves of his navy blue sweater up. The two sat in the airport that afternoon. Carmy shrugged “I don’t know.” he answered lazily, looking over to Richie “Cousin, we could just go home- she probably wouldn’t notice you not being there.” “She would.” “Are you trying to win this girl back or somethin’?”

Carmy never answered Richie’s question. He laid back in his hotel room’s bed. He should have just blown off the wedding; Ellie couldn’t actually want a shitty ex fuck buddy at her wedding. He stared at the ceiling and contemplated his life decisions up to this point. What if he’d gone to Europe to chase Ellie? What if he’d kept texting her? What if he’d reached out to her more? He should have done better. Unfortunately, that was something he couldn’t go back and change. In a mere 24 hours, Ellie would be Mrs. Ellie Aurbey, and he’d never be able to hold her again.

Richie and Carmy stood at the bar in casual suits at Jack and Ellie’s rehearsal dinner, “What the fuck is a German hooker?” Richie laughed, staring at the wedding bar menu. Carmy shrugged, “We should leave. There's too many cops around here.” Richie looked around as he fidgeted with the menu in his hands. “Don’t worry, handsome. We don’t like it either.” a woman in a dark purple dress commented as she approached the two men. “Now this is a site for sore eyes, Carmen Berzatto in a suit at a wedding for Ellie.” Carmy rolled his eyes “Hi Jenny. Long time no see.” “So, is it true? You two got married in Vegas?” Carmy nodded “Yea. We got divorced over the summer, though.” “When Andy told me you two did something crazy- getting married wasn’t even on the list.” Jenny laughed playfully, pushing Carmy “Who are you, handsome?” she bit her lip, turning her attention to Richie. Carmy chuckled “Careful Cousin, she’s kinky.”

Carmy was alone on a balcony, staring out at a rose garden. “Didn’t think you’d come, Carmen.” Carmy looked over his shoulder to see Jack standing by the door. “I’m surprised you let her invite me.” Jack chuckled “You think I could have prevented this?” Carmy scoffed “True. She’s a strong-willed woman. I’ll give you that.” Jack stepped closer to the fence surrounding the balcony “Thanks for making the divorce easy. I would also like to apologize for arresting you. I just wanted to kick your ass when I found out.” Carmy nodded in acknowledgment of his apology. “You’re a lucky man, Jack. Ellie is a great girl.”

“You were right… that Jenny girl was kinky.” Richie laughed as he and Carmy walked toward the elevator the next morning. Carmy shook his head disapprovingly, “You wrap it?” “Of course. Don’t need two child support payments.”

As Ellie walked down the aisle in her pearly white satin off-shoulder gown, a veil that was practically a mile long decorated with subtle spider webs. Carmy smiled as he took in the sight. This was the wedding Ellie deserved, and he was envious of Jack in that moment. While the idea of a big wedding was Carmy’s worst nightmare- he’d do anything to make Ellie smile like that.

Their vows were sweet and short; Ellie laughed at Jack’s retelling of their first time meeting and blinked away tears when he promised to love, protect, and honor her until his final breath. “Do you, Elenor Sydney Marks, take Jackson Daniel Aurbery as your lawfully wedded husband in sickness and health for the rest of your days?” Carmy quietly slipped out of the hall before he could hear your answer. Coming here really was a mistake.

“Well, she’s married,” Richie said when he found Carmy outside smoking a cigarette. Richie followed in suit, “You were right. We shouldn’t have come to this.” “You love her or somethin’ Cousin?” Carmy shrugged “I don’t know… Seein’ her over the summer just like - I don’t know.” Richie patted Carmy’s shoulder.

“CAB, you leavin?” Ellie asked when she finally found Carmy awkwardly standing in the corner, waiting for Richie. “Yeah- gotta get back to Chicago.” Ellie nodded and smoothed down her dress “Thanks for coming, Carmen. If you’re ever in DC, come by.” Carmy nodded “Of course, El. You look beautiful, by the way… also now I know your last name.” Ellie smiled “Bye, Carmy.”

Richie stood back and watched Ellie and Carmy’s interaction. Carmy looked like a kicked puppy as he walked away from Ellie, “You okay, Carmy?” he shrugged in response “Don’t worry, kid. She’s just the one who got away.” Carmy chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe I’ll get married one day. I wish it were to Ellie, but she’s happy with that guy, and I’ll be happy with another girl.”

#the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto one shot #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy the bear #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x OC #richie jerimovich #the bear fan fiction #the bear fan fic #the bear fic #the bear fx #the bear hulu

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drabbles-mc · 4 months

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Home for the Holidays?

Carmy Berzatto x OC Kalia Mason

For @storiesofsvu Holiday Bingo 2023!

Warnings: 18+, language, smoking, pre-canon, light angsty moments

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: i have a whole longfic planned for these two that takes place way after this, but this little piece of their backstory has been bouncing around my head for weeks so i'm glad to finally be able to finish and post it!

The Bear Taglist: @garbinge @withmyteeth @darqchilddaydreamz @hausofmamadas @ashlingnarcos @narcolini @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

“No, no, I’m not,” Carmy shook his head as he paced back and forth in the alleyway behind the restaurant, “I’m not having this fuckin’ conversation right now. Mi—no, you’re not listening. You never fuckin’ listen I can’t talk about this right now.”

He pulled an aggressive drag from his cigarette as he listened to Mikey going off on the other end of the line. He’d been so engrossed in his argument that he hadn’t even heard the back door of the restaurant open and shut, didn’t catch the dull sound of heels against the blacktop. Turning around to start pacing back in the opposite direction again, he stopped himself short, mid-headshake, when he saw that Kalia had stepped out back as well. He didn’t say anything as he stared at her, now only halfway tuned into the conversation that he was having with Mikey. His brows separated, easing apart rather than being pinched in exhaustion, but the tension in his jaw still held.

Kalia didn’t say anything to him either. She walked up to him without a word and he handed his cigarette over to her. He watched her bring it to her lips, her actions much smoother and calmer than his had been just a few moments before. She folded one arm across her chest, holding her hand out for him to take the cigarette back. He did, noticing but not commenting on the slight smudge of pale pink left on the filter from what was left of her lipstick by that point in her shift.

The whole exchange only took a handful of seconds, but with how quickly conversations moved with Mikey, or any of the Berzatto’s, it was more than enough time for Carmy to lose his footing in the exchange. He realized that as soon as he dialed back into what Mikey was saying, flinching at the whiplash of it all.

Regardless of how much or how little he’d missed, Mikey had clearly picked up on Carmy’s lack of response and made a comment about it. He was still staring at Kalia when he snapped at his brother and said, “No, I’m not fuckin’ listening because you’re not listening to me either. I, I can’t, I’m not talking about this.” He sighed. “No, I’m not. I’m not. Know what I’m doing? I’m hanging up. I am, I’m hanging up the fuckin’ phone.”

Kalia’s eyes widened at the statement, although she couldn’t pretend that she was overly surprised by it. What was a little more surprising was the fact that he actually followed through. As soon as the last syllable left his lips, Carmy pulled the phone away from his ear and ended the call.

He let out a sigh as he shoved his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just tilting his head back and looking up at the sky like it was going to give him some calm, or clarity, even though in all his years it had never done anything of the sort.

Finally, he turned back to Kalia. He took another inhale of his cigarette because saying, “Hey.”

She laughed at the stark difference in pace and tone between his phone conversation and how he was speaking to her. “Hey.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Do you want me to ask about that or just…?”

He couldn’t help but to let out a chuckle when he saw the look on her face as she asked. Light-hearted but not cruelly so. Shaking his head, he finished off his cigarette and dropped it to the ground. “Fuckin’ Mikey.”

She tilted her head. “What’d he say?”

He sighed, leaning back against the wall of the restaurant. “He was asking about Christmas.”

Raising her eyebrows, she just managed a soft, “Oh,” not sure what else to say.

Things had been so new with them the previous Christmas—they had still been in a bit of a limbo. There hadn’t been any expectations, or any real discussions about the holidays. Carmy hadn’t seemed like he wanted to talk about it, so Kalia didn’t waste energy trying to pry. The stakes were different this year, though. She’d been meaning to get around to asking what his plans were, so it seemed like there was no time quite like the present.

“Never calls me any other month of the year to see how I’m doing. But, but sure, yeah, of course. Because he just wants to give me a fuckin’ hard time about it.”

“Are you going home for Christmas?” she asked. It felt like the answer should be obvious but she also knew him well enough to know that acting logically wasn’t always his strong suit. It wasn’t his brother’s either, apparently.

“N—I don’t know. I don’t fuckin’ know,” he muttered, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Do you want to?” she asked. The laugh she let out was more nervous than it was humorous. “Because it doesn’t really seem like you want to.”

He chuckled, unable to stop himself. He knew that she was right, but he also didn’t have the time or the energy to get into all the intricacies of Christmas with the Berzatto’s on their ten-minute smoke break.

“It’s gonna be a fuckin’ mess if I don’t go.” He paused, letting the footage play back of years past. “It’s a fuckin’ mess when I’m there too, though, so who knows.”

She let a few seconds of silence pass before making her offer. “If you don’t want to go, you can always come spend it with my family.” She laughed. “Or if you want a break altogether and want to spend it alone, I get that too.”

He smiled as he stared at her. There was some appeal to the idea of spending Christmas by himself in his tiny apartment. He didn’t even have a tree or a string of lights up—it looked the same way it did the other eleven months of the year. But it would be quiet, calm, things that his childhood home in Chicago never were even on the best day.

He’d only met Kalia’s family once, and he didn’t count it, really, because of the circumstances. He’d just been one face in a sea of many that day. Most of her relatives probably wouldn’t remember that he’d even been there, but Kalia remembered. That was all that really mattered to Carmy anyway. The only other way some of them knew him was based on whatever stories Kalia told them about him, or if he was passing through in the background of a videocall between her and her parents. The notion of going there for the holidays was kind of nice on one hand, but on the other hand it was absolutely terrifying.

Kalia saw him locking up and shutting down in real time. “You don’t have to decide right now,” she said with a laugh. “Just something to keep in mind. An escape route, if you need it.”

His shoulders noticeably relaxed as he nodded. “Yeah, yeah, right. Okay. Thank, thank you.” He cleared his throat as he forced himself off the wall. Gesturing towards the door, he said, “I gotta get back.”

Kalia smiled, nodding. “Go ahead. I still got a couple minutes before I gotta head back in, and,” she rolled her eyes with a laugh, “I’m using every single one of them.”

Carmy smiled and gave her a nod but didn’t say anything else. He walked past her, reaching out and brushing his fingers against hers, letting them catch for half a second as he passed. There was a smile on his face about it until he was back inside the restaurant and the door swung shut behind him.

He purposely ignored the slew of texts and calls from Mikey. He ignored the texts from Nat, too, although there were far less of those. The brunt of her wrath would come when she saw him in person next, whenever that was going to be. Every Christmas he always wanted to blow them off but he hadn’t ever found it in himself to follow through on it. He’d always string together a list of reasons why he had to be there. Always. Plus, if he was honest with himself, he never felt like he had a good enough external reason to bail, something outside of himself. But now it seemed like he did. He’d have to think about it.

It was a few nights later when he let himself into Kalia’s apartment. It wasn’t often that their days off synced up, so they made do by just stopping by the other’s apartment when they had the time, and more importantly the energy, before or after their shifts. It took some doing, but they’d figured it out.

“Hey,” he called out as he toed his shoes off just inside the door. He didn’t hear her respond as he walked towards the kitchen where he could see that the light was on, but he still had the feeling that she was awake. Turning the corner, he started speaking up again. “Lia? You—” he stopped short with a laugh when he got a good look at her.

She was leaning back against the counter right beside the stove with a pot in her hand, separated from her palm by a potholder. She was holding a fork in her other hand, and was currently halfway through eating another forkful of macaroni and cheese.

“Hey,” she mumbled through her mouthful of food as she tried not to send it flying everywhere.

Walking over, Carmy peeked into the pot in her hand. He knew what it was already before he even looked, but he still asked, “What’s going on here?”

She swallowed what was in her mouth so that she could laugh. “Mac ‘n cheese.”

His eyebrows lifted just slightly as a smile stretched across his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Want some?” reaching over, she opened the drawer that housed her silverware and pulled out another fork. “I’ll share.”

He shook his head but still took it. “Sure.”

“I upgraded, you know. No more of the single-serve cups that go in the microwave.”

He laughed as he took a forkful from the pot. “Upgraded to the box?”

“So as not to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

It was a comment that, coming from someone else, he would’ve taken to heart. If it’d been Mikey, or Richie, or anyone back home really, he would’ve snapped back. It would’ve been an argument. But it was hard to jump to being on the defensive with Kalia. It wasn’t that they never argued or got after each other, but she hadn’t ever been the type to make that her default. It was foreign, but it was good.

“Yeah, because everyone knows that boxed Easy-Mac is much, much better than the cups.”

“Obviously,” she said as she gesticulated with her fork.

Carmy smiled, talking through the forkful of macaroni he’d just taken. “Obviously.”

They fell into comfortable silence after that. Part of Carmy wanted to go and shower off the day, wanted to leave his t-shirt and jeans in a heap on the floor of Kalia’s bathroom to be dealt with in the morning, but he couldn’t manage to peel himself away from her. Not even an hour before, he’d had the executive chef breathing down his neck making him want to run into oncoming traffic, but that felt so far away now. Kalia was standing there in her flannel pajama pants and an old t-shirt that had more rips and stains than any shirt or apron Carmy had worn in the kitchen over the years. Her socks were fitting for the time of year, fuzzy, warm, and decorated with snowmen. Her apartment overall was much more festive than Carmy’s was, but that was a low bar. She looked so comfortable. All the time she looked so comfortable, even when shit was hitting the fan. He wondered how she stayed like that all the time. Maybe it was a family thing, because lord knew that him and his family couldn’t stay calm if their lives depended on it.

“Your parents wouldn’t mind if I came for Christmas?” he asked as he tossed his dirty fork into the sink.

Kalia tried not to look too excited, not wanting to get her hopes up too high. “They wouldn’t mind at all. They, you know, they really wanna see you.” She laughed as she scooped the last bit of macaroni onto her fork. “At this point, they probably think I’m keeping you hidden in my basement or something.”

He chuckled, finding a spot beside her leaning back against the counter. “Did you tell them your apartment doesn’t have a basement?”

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up.” There was a pause. “But yeah, if you wanna come with me to my parents’, you can. My car seats at least two.”

“Two plus whatever is living in your back seat,” he replied with a tiny smirk, recalling all the times she simply just tossed whatever was on her passenger seat into the back on the occasions the two of them would go to or from work together.

“You can just walk, you know,” she shot back with a laugh as she moved and set the pot in the sink to soak, too tired and lazy to wash it right in that moment. “Or I can strap you to the roof like a deer.” She walked back over, gently toying with his hair for a moment. “Curls instead of antlers.”

He shook his head, eyes dropping to the floor as he tried not to look as amused as he felt. Taking a deep breath, he looked back at her. “I’ll let you know in a couple days?”

She nodded. “Let me know in a couple days.”

Neither of them brought it up again in the wake of that exchange. The rest of the night went by. Kalia told Carmy the highlights of what had gone on in the dining room during dinner service. Front of house and back of house never had the same brand of chaos and stress going on, but both ends of the house were always kept busy. That was for certain. Carmy listened as he got ready to finally turn in for the night. Kalia was already in bed, sitting with her back against the headboard and blanket pulled over her legs. She had her phone in her hand and Carmy was shuffling around the room but none of it was enough to break the flow of their conversation. Not even when Carmy slid into bed under the covers beside her, blanket draped over him while he had his elbow propped on the pillow on his side of the bed, head resting in his hand as he listened, as they talked.

It wasn’t until two days and three phone calls with his siblings later that Carmy came to a decision. He didn’t know how to start the conversation with Kalia, so instead of getting into all of the reasons why, he just asked, “What should I bring? To your parents’ house, I mean. What should I bring?”

She paused the search for her car keys in her purse when she processed what he’d said. “What should you bring?” she repeated back, smile growing wider with each word. “I don’t…you don’t have to bring anything. You’re bringing me.”

He was watching the sidewalk pass beneath their feet as they walked to her car together. “No, no. I gotta bring something.” He paused, thinking about the types of things people typically brought to gatherings like this. “Wine? There a wine your parents like?”

She shook her head. “My parents don’t drink. No one, um, no one really does when they go to their house, either.”

Carmy raised his eyebrows just slightly. It wasn’t that it was strange that her parents didn’t drink, per se. But he just couldn’t fathom a gathering of his own family with no alcohol involved. He wondered if that would make everything worse.

He realized that he’d been silent for just a few seconds too long for it to be comfortable. “Heard. Right.”

“You don’t have to bring anything,” she emphasized again, “but I’m sure if you wanted to help with prep and stuff my mom would appreciate it. She always,” Kalia rolled her eyes as she unlocked the doors to her car and slid into the driver’s seat, “she always leaves the prep up to my uncle. And he always thinks it’s gonna take way less time than it really does. Which, you know, isn’t a big deal. We just eat a little later—that’s fine. But,” she turned the key in the ignition, “I’m sure he’d love a helping hand, too.”

“What do you guys do?”

“It’s kind of like a hot-pot situation, but not quite. If you see it you’ll get it. Actually,” she laughed as she drove down the road, “we usually do it for New Years but I’m working New Years this year so I convinced them to do it for Christmas instead. It’s like my favorite holiday meal of the year.”

They let the conversation end there, the music from the radio filling the car instead of their own voices. Part of Kalia wanted to ask Carmy what had him making that decision, but she stopped herself. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. And even the things that he did want to talk about, it was rarely something as straight-forward as simply sitting across the table from her and talking about it. It was a lot of off-hand comments and half-stories, a lot of interjecting things into the middle of rants. It was just on everyone else to try and keep up and keep track of it all.

Christmas snuck up on them faster than they realized. Even when they had been discussing plans and logistics, it had felt like some far-off thing. Then, in the blink of an eye, Carmy heard the sound of Kalia letting herself into his apartment on Christmas morning.

“Just me!” she called out as she undid the zipper of her jacket.

Carmy appeared, walking out of his bedroom with a bottle in his hand. “Hey.”

Walking over to him, Kalia couldn’t stop the warm smile that spread across her face. Carmy had on one of his nice sweaters and a fresh, dark pair of jeans. His hair was a little tamer than usual, but not so much that he didn’t look like himself anymore.

Leaning in, she kissed him quickly on the lips. “You look good.”

Carmy looked at her, feeling a little less nervous when he saw how relaxed she seemed. “You too.” Even though her jacket was covering most of it, Carmy still knew what sweater she was wearing—the fuzzy white one that went off both her shoulders.

He was still busy staring at her when she gestured towards the bottle he was holding. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” he held it up so she could read the label, “I just, um, it’s sparkling cider. Is, is that okay? I can leave it if—”

“That’s good,” she stopped him short, nodding and smiling in approval. “They’ll like that.”

His body visibly relaxed at that, shoulders loosening. “Alright, good. Yeah.”

“You need a few more minutes or—”

“I’m good,” he answered her question before she even finished it. “Let me just—my shoes, and, and yeah.”

“Take your time,” she spoke after him as he took off to grab his shoes and jacket.

The drive didn’t take as long as either of them thought it would. It was still enough time for Carmy to reach the brink of driving himself crazy as he sat jittering in the passenger seat. Kalia could only look over at him so many times while she was keeping an eye on the road in front of them, but even in her peripheral she saw him, numerous times, go to reach for the pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket and then stop himself. She wanted to tell him that it was okay, that if he wanted to have one she wasn’t going to kick him out of the car. But he knew that already—she knew that he knew that. Instead, she took one hand off the steering wheel and rested it on his leg. It got the bouncing in his foot to stop but then it just shifted upwards and into his fingers that began to drum against the windowsill.

“It’s not, you know, it’s not like it’s some big to-do. It’s just,” she shrugged, “Christmas. We get together and eat food. No crazy heaps of presents of anything.” She turned and looked at him for a brief moment. “We do secret Santa.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yep. We were all broke for a while. Some of us,” she lifted her hand from his leg and pointed at herself, “still kind of are. So it’s just easier that way. Less pressure.”

“Who’d you get?”

“My mom.”

The idea of that happening in his own life was enough to make Carmy’s stomach twist into a knot and it wasn’t even really happening to him. He pushed the feeling down as well as he could. “Wh-what’d you get her?”

“You!” she replied with a laugh. She shook her head. “Kidding. Kind of. But she is so excited to meet you.”

“Shit,” he said without thinking better of it. He froze up as soon as the word came out of his mouth, afraid of what was coming next.

Rather than anger, Kalia just met him with amusement. “She’s not scary. My dad isn’t either, really. My uncle is the one you should probably be worried about.” She paused, switching lanes on the highway. “It was funny, though. The first time I tried to tell her I was dating you, I said I was seeing the chef from the restaurant. And, and I had no idea why she got so mad about it, you know? She didn’t know you.”

“She got mad?”

Kalia could hardly talk through her laughter. “Yeah. Because the last time I talked to her about a chef,” she shook her head, “the chef from the restaurant, I was telling her about your asshole boss.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Now Carmy was laughing too. “She thought you were dating—”

“Yeah,” she cut him off with a laugh and a nod. “So, you know, no matter what you’re going to be better than who she originally thought I’d be bringing home on the holidays.”

“Jesus,” Carmy said as he shook his head, running his hand back through his hair. He had to admit, though, he felt a little better.

When they pulled into the driveway at her parents’ house, Carmy couldn’t stop himself from noticing the other cars in the driveway. Not what type of car or even what color, but just the fact that their driveway was full. He could feel the panic starting to creep back up his spine and out through his limbs. Kalia hadn’t even put her car in park yet and all he was picturing was all the years at his mother’s house, a full driveway, so full that they parked their cars on the sides of the street. The house was even fuller. Every year. So many people and so much noise. So much yelling.

“You ready?” Her voice, once again, pulled him out of his thoughts.

He turned to look at her, nodding although he didn’t know how much he believed it. “Yeah. Um, yeah. I’m, I’m ready. Are you?”

“Come here.” Still buckled in, Kalia leaned over, hand resting on the center console of her car, and kissed him. “They’re going to love you, Carm.”

He let out an unsteady laugh. “Let’s hope.”

Carmy trailed right behind her as she walked up the driveway. He watched her as she knocked on the front door, but that the formality was basically pointless because she was turning the knob with her other hand and pushing it open even as she knocked. She hardly had one foot inside the house and she was calling out, “Hello,” and, “Merry Christmas!” He followed close behind but didn’t say a word, just looking around the house instead.

“Hey!” a man called out as he poked his head out form around a corner. “Look who it is!” He walked over and wrapped Kalia in a tight hug, paying no mind to the knife that he was holding in one hand.

She laughed as she hugged him back. “Careful waving that thing around.”

“Not waving,” he said as he stepped back. Diverting his attention, he looked at Carmy. “You’re the guy, huh?”

Carmy’s eyes went wide, a scared fawn in the headlights. The man’s words didn’t sound threatening or accusatory in any way but Carmy still felt like he was on trial. There was only one correct response to that question and yet he still couldn’t spit it out.

Luckily Kalia stepped in to cover for him. “Can you try that again without the knife in your hand?” she asked with a laugh. Slipping her hand into Carmy’s, she said, “This is Carmy—the guy who is going to make sure we don’t start eating dinner at ten tonight.”

“That only happened once!”

“And I will never let you forget it,” she joked. Looking over at Carmy, she said, “Carm, this is my Uncle Rich.”

“N-nice to meet you,” Carmy said, pulling his hand from Kalia’s so he could shake her uncle’s.

“What’ve we got here?” her uncle asked, breaking off the handshake so he could gesture to the bottle that Carmy was holding in his hand.

Suddenly Carmy was overcome with the urge to throw the thing right back out the front door they’d just walked through. He didn’t want to hand it over, didn’t want to show it, afraid that it was going to be met with ridicule or disdain of some kind.

He fought through it, holding the bottle out to the man in front of him. He somehow managed to keep his hand steady, too. “Just, um, just some sparkling cider. Lia mentioned that you guys don’t really—”

“Alright!” he exclaimed, taking it with the hand that wasn’t holding onto the knife. “Good man.”

Then, like he was letting everyone know that the introduction and conversation was over with, Kalia’s uncle turned on his heel and headed back to the kitchen. When the man rounded the corner back out of sight, Carmy let out a breath that he hadn’t meant to start holding.

“See?” she said as she crouched down to start taking off her shoes. “Not that bad. He’s the…most…out of everyone. You’re gonna be fine.”

Carmy didn’t know how much he believed her, but there was nothing left to do but take her word for it now. He leaned down to unlace his shoes and at that point he knew that he was in it. He was trying to figure out what to say in response to her reassurance when she grabbed his hand and started pulling him deeper into the house.

It couldn’t have felt more different than being home. It couldn’t have felt more different than being around his own family. He’d hardly been able to spit out his own name to Kalia’s parents when he was introducing himself because of all the panic lodged in his throat. There was no way that her mother and father didn’t see it, didn’t hear the strain in his voice. They didn’t say anything, though, didn’t even give him so much as a sideways look about it. They were so kind, gentle even. Carmy knew that he would get around to appreciating that at some point.

He maneuvered his way through an initial round of small talk with the rest of Kalia’s family. He wasn’t graceful about it, and he needed ample assistance from Kalia, but he got through it. It felt foreign and uncomfortable but then he felt the way that Kalia was leaning against him as they all spoke gathered in the living room. Some people were sitting, others standing or half-perched on the arm of the sofa. There were snacks on the coffee table and gift bags under the tree. Music was playing at an appropriate volume and the conversations were loud but they weren’t deafening, weren’t at a volume that would raise anyone’s cortisol levels. It was all lovely and pleasant and yet Carmy had to make a conscious effort to not hold Kalia’s arm in a vice grip.

“Alright.” Her uncle interjected himself into all of the conversations that were happening as he entered the room, a stack of cups in one hand and the bottle of sparkling cider that Carmy had brought in the other. “First round for everyone is on Carmen. Don’t worry,” he jokingly reassured everyone as he passed around cups, “I already tried it—it’s good.”

Carmy could’ve sworn he felt his knees knock together out of nerves—it didn’t matter that everyone seemed perfectly happy and perhaps even excited about it. He felt like he was on trial. He worked through it as he took the cup that Rich handed him, watching him fill it with a generous amount.

“Kali said that you’re my hired help for the night?” he asked as he watched Carmy take a sip.

Carmy nodded, forcing himself to remember not to talk with his mouth full. That was the last thing he needed. “Yeah. I, I’ll even work for free,” he joked and hoped it sounded more confident than it did in his head.

It was passable at least, because Rich laughed as he set the bottle down on the coffee table alongside the rest of everything and motioned for Carmy to follow him. “Dangerous words but come on, then.”

Even though she had been right next to Carmy the entire time and saw everything, he still turned to Kalia and gestured towards her uncle, towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna…” he trailed off, letting the hand gesture finish the sentence for him.

She laughed and nodded. “I heard.” She paused, taking a moment to search his expression. “Want reinforcements?”

He didn’t hesitate to nod. “Maybe. Maybe, yeah,” he answered, laughing despite the nerves.

“Sounds good.”

“What?” Rich said as he watched them both walk towards the kitchen. “Don’t trust me around the kid with a knife in my hand?”

Kaila shook her head as she found a seat on the opposite side of the kitchen island from where the two of them would be prepping everything. “I don’t trust you around anyone with a knife in your hand.”

Carmy was listening to them, sort of, but most of his attention was focused on everything that was laid out on the island in front of him and the other counters in the kitchen. It was chaos, but it was organized chaos. Real organized chaos—not the chaos that Donna spent year after year trying to play off as organized. Even though Carmy had just set foot into the kitchen, he could see the underlying threads of order to it.

“What do you need help with?” Carmy asked, eyes still fixed on the cutting boards in front of him as he started to push up the sleeves of his sweater.

Carmy couldn’t see it, too busy trying to think his way through the next step, but Kalia was across the island from him, smiling. And Rich was standing to the right of him and also smiling. Rich reached behind him and pulled a knife out of the block and handed it over to Carmy. “Dealer’s choice.”

He was about to answer when he took a good look at the knife that was in his hand. “Oh, shit,” he said before he could stop himself. He glanced across at Kalia. “Your parents—”

“Fuck no,” Rich cut him off with a laugh. “I keep these here for me.”

Carmy looked at Kalia for confirmation and she nodded as she sipped on her cider. “It’s true.”

For the first time all night Carmy felt at ease for a moment, as close to calm as he ever really managed to get these days. “Alright. I’ll, uh,” he gestured with his free hand to the cutting board that still had a huge piece of meat that needed to be sliced through, “yeah.”

Rich slid the cutting board so that it was in front of him. “All yours.” He grabbed a fresh cutting board to move onto the next thing. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Carmy got right to work. Instantly zeroed in. He chuckled, waiting for Kalia to look at him. “Gotta bring him every year.”

She laughed and propped her elbows on the edge of the counter. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She sat and watched the two of them work. They were doing their own thing but somehow still in tandem with each other. She had never mentioned it to Carmy, but her uncle had spent most of his twenties and some of his thirties working in a kitchen. Never at the caliber that Carmy was currently operating at, but it wasn’t nothing. She never said anything, but as the minutes ticked by she had the feeling that Carmy could tell. Neither of them spoke about it but they each knew.

There was no ever truly being relaxed for Carmy. However the way he felt in that moment almost felt like he was cooking in the kitchen of his apartment, or Kalia’s. Not the same stakes of cooking at the restaurant, not the suffocating tension of being back in Chicago in his mom’s kitchen, or Mikey’s. He was listening to the way that Kalia and her uncle were chatting, the way that they would rope him into the conversation just enough to keep him included but not so much that he had to stop what he was doing. A precarious balance.

Carmy was listening to the two of them going back and forth about something that had happened at Christmas the year before when he felt his phone buzzing in the pocket of his jeans. He quickly wiped his hands on the towel hanging off the edge of the island before pulling his phone out. The world came to a screeching halt around him for a moment as he read his brother’s name on the phone screen. It shouldn’t have been surprising. If anything, the only surprising thing was that it had taken so long for someone back home to call him. His money would’ve been on Natalie.

He must’ve been standing there for longer than he realized, because Kalia spoke up, “Hey, you okay?”

Carmy cleared his throat, nodding as he rejected the call and put the phone back in his pocket. “Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

She wasn’t convinced, brows coming together for a moment. “You sure? If you need to—”

“I’m good, Lia,” he kept his voice quiet, not forgetting where he was, but firm enough to make it clear that he didn’t want to get into it all because of where he was. “Just Mikey.”

That answer didn’t do anything to quell her concerns. She knew that there was no such thing as just Mikey. She hadn’t ever met Mikey, or anyone in Carmy’s family for that matter, and she knew that there was a reason for that. He didn’t talk much about his siblings or his mother but there were a lot of moments when he managed to say plenty about them without have to speak much at all. Like the look in his eyes when he saw who was calling.

She knew it wasn’t the time to try and talk about it, so she conceded with a nod. “Okay.”

“Wanna grab stuff for the table, Kali?” Rich inserted himself back into the conversation, diverting it to a new direction with ease.

She hopped up from where she was sitting. “Sure thing.” She slipped behind Carmy to grab the bowls from the cupboard, fingers gently trailing over his back as she passed by him.

The kitchen fell silent once more when she walked out. Both Carmy and Rich went back to finishing up the last of the prep. Carmy was holding his breath as he moved the knife, waiting for the man beside him to say something, to start an argument. He wouldn’t have blamed him. He was used to it, anyhow.

Carmy was tense and braced for a cutting remark, thinking that was why Kalia had been kindly invited to leave the room. He heard the man next to him take a breath and he pinned his lips together in a flat line as he got ready to just get through whatever was coming next.

“Grab a couple bowls out of the cabinet behind me?” Rich said, no angry inflection to his voice at all. Carmy didn’t respond right away because he was still waiting for the hammer to drop. The only thing that got him into motion was the fact that Rich turned and actually looked at him. “Just need two more so we can bring these out. Big ones,” he said, gesturing to the last of the food they’d just finished prepping.

Swallowing past the panic, Carmy nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

He turned and went to the cabinet to grab everything. He had a bowl in one hand and just as he was going to grab the other from the shelf, it slipped from his grip and landed on the floor. It wasn’t a terribly far drop but it was enough to cause it to break, fracturing into pieces scattered across the floor.

“Shit, shit,” Carmy began stammering as he set the other bowl back on the shelf before he accidentally dropped that one too. He was too busy letting out a string of fuck’s and so sorry’s to realize that he was the only one who was worked up about what had just happened.

Kalia had heard the sound and spun on her heel immediately to go and make sure that everything was okay. “Hey, all good?”

“Sorry,” Carmy repeated over again as he stood up, a few of the larger pieces of ceramic in his hands. “I, I just, I fuckin’ dropped—” He stopped short, still shaking his head as he placed the pieces in the trash. “I’m sorry.”

Kalia’s heart clenched inside her chest, knowing that his reaction to such a small, fairly common, accident had to do with much more than what had just happened. “Carmen, it’s fine.”

“Yeah,” her uncle piped in, calm as ever as he brought over the broom and dustpan. “No big deal. Hey,” he chuckled, “least we didn’t have any food in it yet.”

Carmy forced out a short chuckle, not quite accepting that he was getting off the hook that easily. “Right.” His hands were all but trembling against his sides as he looked across the kitchen at Kalia. He didn’t want to step out but he also didn’t want to combust in the middle of her parents’ kitchen. He nodded towards the door. “I’m, I think I’m gonna just, real quick.”

She nodded. “You’re good.”

Rich didn’t say anything until he was done sweeping and putting the last few pieces of the shattered bowl into the garbage. By that point Carmy had slipped his shoes back on and stepped out the front door. He looked over at Kalia, silently but with a look on his face that asked the question for him.

“Christmas is hard. F-family is hard.”

He gave a nod of acknowledgement but didn’t say anything else about it. “Seems like a good kid.”

Her face softened into a smile. “He is.”

He pointed towards the door with the handle of the broom. “Go ahead. I’ll set the rest of this up.”

She gave him a quick hug to say thank you before she followed the same path that Carmy had just taken. She was pulling her jacket on over her shoulders as she stepped outside. Carmy was sitting on the front step of her parents’ house, one hand holding a cigarette and the other pressed to his forehead like it was the only thing stopping his head from rolling clean off.

She sat down next to him. Rather than saying anything, she let her leg fall so that it was resting against the side of his. They sat there in silence at first, just staring at the house across the street with it’s countless lights and so many inflatable decorations on the front lawn, the cords for them alone must’ve been a fire hazard.

Carmy offered the cigarette over to her out of reflex, exhaling a stream of smoke as he held his hand out to her. She smiled and took it, going back to looking across the street as she said, “Do you want to call them?”

He shook his head. He watched her bring the smoke to her lips before saying, “No. No, no I don’t think—no.” He paused, clearing his throat in an attempt to dispel his own awkward feelings. “Sorry about the bowl.”

She smiled at him as she handed the cigarette back. “It’s fine. There’s usually one or two fallen soldiers every holiday.”

He nodded, heart rate still spiked. “Right.” He took another drag. “They seem nice—your family.”

“Yeah, they’re alright,” she joked.

“Your uncle calls you Kali.”

She nodded, leaning against his side. “He does.” She tilted her head so that she was looking at him. “What about it?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just, I always—just something I noticed.”

“Well, when my sister was around having Luci and Lia would’ve been, I don’t know, borderline cruel?” she laughed. “So he settled on Kali for me. Besides, my uncle called you a good kid. So we’re both doing alright.” She watched as he smiled for a moment and snubbed out the last of the cigarette. “You okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. S-sorry. About all of that. And this.”

She placed her hand on his leg. “Wanna go eat?”

“Yeah.” He slowly stood up and offered her a hand to help do the same. “Thank you.”

She brushed off the backs of her legs. “Of course. You know—”

They both gave pause when they heard Carmy’s phone going off again. She saw him hesitate before taking it out to see who was calling even though they both already knew. Natalie’s name was lighting up the screen now. Carmy was picturing what his mom’s house was probably like at that point, certainly not as quiet and happy as what was waiting for him on the other side of the door that he was currently standing in front of.

“Do you wanna answer? Talk to them for a minute? I can, you know,” she gestured to the house.

Carmy thought on it until he missed the call. It was only then that he shook his head. “No. No it’s fine.” He shut his phone completely off. “I’ll figure that shit out later.”

There was a brief moment of hesitation but she nodded. “Okay.”

He watched her reach for the door. It took a couple seconds to for him to make his thoughts translate into motion, but once he did, he reached for her hand that wasn’t on the door. He pulled her back just enough to stop her from opening the door. When she turned around to ask him if everything was alright, he pulled her in and pressed a kiss to her lips that quickly turned into a kiss on her cheek as he wrapped his arms around her in a hug. He hooked his chin over her shoulder, squeezing her tight to him as he shut his eyes for a moment. She returned the embrace, matching his energy with one hand splayed across his back and the other resting on the back of his head.

When he pulled away, some of the tension was gone from his shoulders. Despite the gap between them, his fingers were still tangled with hers. He offered a small, almost embarrassed smile. “Thank you, you know, for, for all this.”

Her smile was wide, bright. Nodding, she leaned in and kissed him quickly on the lips. “You’re always welcome here.”

That was the last that either of them said about it before heading back into the house. As soon as they opened the door they could hear the sounds of bowls being passed around and set down on the table. Everyone was talking and laughing, all of the conversation condensed into one space now.

No one batted an eye when the two of them stepped into the dining room and found their seats at one end of the table. They got pulled right into the conversation like they had been there the entire time. Carmy’s leg bounced lightly underneath the table as he looked at all the food spread out in front of them all.

Managing to get himself out of his head for a moment, he accepted the bowl that was being passed to him. Kalia’s uncle nodded as he handed it over, following it up with a pair of chopsticks. “Know how to use those?” he asked with a laugh.

Carmy chuckled as he nodded, smile coming easier than he thought it would. “I do alright, yeah.”

“Good,” he remarked as he sat back down. Laughter was tinging his voice as he said, “Be a shame if you did all that work and you couldn’t eat any of it.”

“Yeah,” Carmy agreed, laughing along with him, “that’d be rough.”

He was so focused on the sound of everyone laughing and talking that he almost didn’t realize the way that Kalia placed her hand on his leg again. He didn’t notice it until he felt himself stop jittering. He turned to look at her, about to reassure her that he was fine, but she was already wrapped up in a conversation with her cousin. Carmy smiled, putting his hand on top of hers as it rested on his leg. She didn’t miss a beat in her conversation as she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. He felt a little more of the tension drip out from his shoulders as he settled into his seat, wrapping his head around where he really was.

#storiesofsvuholidaybingo2023 #the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x oc #carmen berzatto x oc #oc kalia mason #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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nuka-cherries · 5 months

Text

Sweet Like Honey

Fandom: The Bear (2022) Pairing: Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Aurora Saltillo (oc)

A double Michelin star(s) award winning pastry chef, Aurora Saltillo is adjusting to a complicated world without her mother and without Mikey. Just when she is barely starting to see process in The Beef, Carmy takes over and enters her life again.

Carmy, the same rival from culinary school. Carmy, the same cold-hearted bastard from New York City who took her dream job. Carmy, the same one who ultimately broke Mikey's heart.

Simply said, Aurora can't stand Carmy; Carmy can't stand Aurora. And now, they have to work together.

It only gets more complicated from there. \\\ Latina OC.

Lindsey Morgan as Aurora Saltillo.

Thank you @thatone-brightstar for the cheering! ily!

Spotify soundtrack here!

AO3 Link here!

Lindsey Morgan as Aurora Saltillo | Ming-Na Wen as Ming Saltillo

Aurora Saltillo contemplated every decision she had made up to that point in time.

Carmy was not a bad person. But when he got serious, he got serious. For Aurora, cooking and baking was fun. It was her joy. She made her own quinceañera cake when she turned fifteen. She catered meals for her family. Growing up with a Mexican biological mother and a Chinese adoptive step mother, she fully embraced both cultures and proudly incorporated both into her cooking.

That was, until she disappeared for two years following a personal crisis and a major breakdown after her mother’s diagnosis. And COVID. Can’t forget that. At least at The Beef, no one questioned her disappearance. They were there for her, unlike the culinary scene in New York. The Beef had her back.

Between losing her mother a month before Mikey’s suicide, there was too much going on for her to process anything.

Now, the kitchen was cleaned up and it has calmed down. Well, more like it had burned out.

Today was a fucked up day and those did not happen very often.

Aurora was too amped up on adrenaline to cry in the freezer. She was too devoted to Mikey to leave. Mikey should be in the kitchen, cooking with them, calming everyone the hell down and cracking jokes and being silly.

So, she numbly took a step back, looking at the recipe for pure disaster.

One energy drink, two stars, three major breakdowns and four tragedies later, Aurora found herself here. In the middle of the aftermath of an angry kitchen. The online orders got fucked up. Everything got fucked up.

Syd walked out. Marcus walked out. Everyone was angry. Richie was bleeding. Everyone was pissed off. But ultimately, the day was over and they could all go home and leave the stress behind.

Syd was not answering Aurora’s texts. Marcus sent her to voicemail.

It was a fucked-up day.

But at least there was tomorrow.

Aurora had cussed out Carmy in the kitchen once the last order was done. She kept it together. Then the onions had to happen. She fucked up an onion. She almost walked out. But she remembered where she was. She remembered who she was.

And she cussed Carmy out to the point even his ancestors must have felt the shame.

She was angry. They were both angry. Frustrated. Hurt.

Richie tried to lead her to the cooler and tried to have her sit there for twenty minutes. She only made it for five. She was too angry to even feel the cold.

“Nothing smart to say this time?”

Here we go…

It was going to be one of those exits, it seemed.

“Plenty,” Aurora said flatly. “Today was a fucked up day, Carm.”

“Don’t need the reminder.”

He did.

“No, you fucking do,” Aurora said. “You had two amazing chefs walk out on you today. Be lucky you didn’t lose three.”

“You were going to walk out too?”

“I was tempted.”

“Well, chef of the year goes to you.” Carmy exhaled the smoke.

Somehow, that was what got to Aurora.

“You know what? Do me a favor—no, do us all a favor—and go home, get the fattest fucking blunt, smoke it and chill the fuck out,” Aurora snapped. “Today was a fucked up day and your shitty attitude is what drove everyone apart. Mistakes happen! It happens! But you’re too much of a fucking egoistical perfectionist to realize it.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

Aurora ran out of steam. She let out a huff. “Fine.” She turned on her heels and began to talk to the train station.

“Wait.”

“What is it?”

“Marcus’s donut. It was…” Carmy trailed off. “It was good.”

A really weird olive branch.

“Of course, it was. Marcus made it.” Aurora tightened her coat. “Goodnight, Carmy.”

On a rough day like this, Mikey would have hugged her. Told her it was okay. He would have reassured her that everything was fine and to cool off in the cooler so she could get cooler.

Boy, did she sob at Mikey’s funeral.

She was broken. Everything was broken. Her best friend, lost and gone. The one who called her Rora. The one who called her the Little Lion, who liked to roar. Marcus held her in his arms for comfort and so she would not collapse again. Her mom, widow, held Richie’s arm.

She did not connect the dots about Carmy being the same Carmen from New York City, nor the same asshole from culinary school while at the funeral. She was too busy crying. She couldn’t compose herself for Richie’s sake, as much as she tried to tell herself to do so. All that was on her mind was Mikey. All she could process was Mikey. All she could think of was Mikey on the cold table.

Richie didn’t blame her either.

At his apartment after the service, she curled up with him on the couch on his lap, held each other in silence. Watched the Blackhawks game on low volume. Both of their eyes were swollen from crying. Throats numb from the sobs. He merely held her. Mourning for the same man who should have been alive. She fell asleep like that.

She woke up to Richie talking to Marcus in the middle of the night. About how he was worried about Aurora. About how he was in shock and felt like an endless nightmare.

Mikey stressed about The Beef. She knew that. She was the one sitting on Mikey’s desk trying to crunch the numbers on her calculator app on what supplies they could get in bulk from the dollar store. The Lion Perch, as she called it. She was an optimist. She was the one who was trying to fix it all alongside him.

She was the one who was with Richie when they identified the body too.

A month later, she returned to work at the Beef to Carmy trying to fix everything. The same Carmy who took her dream job. The same Carmy who despised her in culinary school.

Just like in New York City, Carmy was making it worse.

Her mom was in the kitchen watching the telenovela when Aurora got home.

“Ma, I’m home!” She loudly greeted.

“Hey baby!” Her mom greeted. “Dinner is ready. I made sesame beef.”

Aurora loved making dinner. It was one of her favorite meals to make, next to breakfast. But sometimes, her mom took over and unexpectedly made it. She said it was to vary the flavor. But Aurora knew it was to try to take the weight off her chest.

But her mom cooked something. She actually cooked!

This was a win. This was a big win. Her mom rarely cooked after her mama’s funeral.

“Fuck yeah! How was work?”

“Shit,” her mother said simply. “But I survived. What about you?”

It was horrible. I miss Mikey. I miss mom.

Instead, Aurora shrugged and laid her head on her mom’s shoulder. “I made it through.” She sat down at the kitchen table. “Come on, ma. I do not want to miss this part.” She gestured to sit next to her.

At least there was tomorrow.

#esme makes a text post #sweet like honey fic #the bear #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x oc

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moral-terpitude · 7 months

Text

Sabotage and Cigarettes

Gah, I didn’t need to write this, but I had to write it to get it out of my head, because sometimes writers block is another story that won’t leave you alone, ya know?

Pairing: Camry Berzatto x OC (Quinn Meyer)

Word Count: 771

Warnings: None

A/N: Tertiary to my theme with Quinn, the title is from Irish Goodbye by K.Flay with Vic Fuentes from Pierce the Veil.

“Why, uh, why do you wanna to work here?”

Quinn blinked, adjusting the strap of the backpack slung over her shoulder.

At the moment, it contained any valuable personal belongings she had, the rest of them, clothes, shoes, nothing particularly worthwhile, were locked in the trunk of her car, parked three blocks away.

She smiled, fiddling with the post of the lip ring that had just started healing. Enough that it didn’t hurt when she ate anymore, anyway.

“I, it’s going to sound super lame, but, I like food. My uncle, my mom’s brother,” she tried to not laugh at the conundrum of them both being called Pat, for short, “lives a couple hours away from my family. A few summers in a row I would stay with them and work at their pizza place. Which, wasn’t really my thing, but something about…” she shrugged, tailing off, staring out the front window at passerby’s on the street, “something about the chaos of it all on a busy night made my brain feel quiet. At peace.”

Carmen, the guy who only a few minutes prior she had only known as “Cousin!” according to a loud shout, nodded, taking in the words.

She didn’t even know why she asked.

Well, she did, actually. She needed a job. Quinn knew she couldn’t keep pissing through her savings after running away to Chicago after the mess of a breakup she had been through.

It was either Chicago or New York, and while her mother hadn’t seemed to give a shit, her dad hoped to keep her within driving distance.

So, Chicago it was.

She had just wanted to get lunch, walk around the city and eat a sandwich, maybe go to the library until just before it got dark and she would have to Velcro up all the covers for her windows and sleep with one eye open hoping to holy fuck someone didn’t try to break into her car.

Her dad would have a fit if he knew she was living in her car.

So, as she stood at the counter ordering her food, the lunch rush finally dying out (because she had learned from coming there three times in the first week of being in Chicago that the best time to come was midafternoon) when the words had fallen out of her mouth when Richie took her order.

“Are you guys hiring?”

Richie, who had mercilessly been trying to impress her since the first time she went there, handed her the Sprite with a chuckle.

He wasn’t very smooth, or subtle, but he was funny in his own way.

“What the hell you wanna work here for?”

“Need a job.” She slid down the counter, sipping the pop, leaning on her elbows, as she waited.

“Girl like you? Nah. You could go wait tables anywhere and make mad money.”

Quinn shrugged, tucking loose strands of purple hair behind her ears, “Yeah, probably. But I like food. I like to cook. I went through two years of a culinary arts program at the skills center when I was in high school.”

“Well, uh, sweetheart, I am not the one in charge of those kinds of things.” He fiddled with the sweatshirt zipper, yanking it up and down the same way someone would strum a guitar.

Quinn felt her brows go up, “So, who is then?”

He huffed, turning toward the back of the establishment before bellowing, “Cousin!”

The result procured someone who couldn’t be much older than she was, and wasn’t much taller, either.

Richie had awkwardly introduced them before getting the hint that he shouldn’t linger, which Quinn was thankful for.

“And, this is going to sound even more lame,” she continued, “but, this was one of the first places I ate when I came here, and I swear I could live on those fucking sandwiches. The Serrano peppers make it just hot enough that it’s not too spicy but actually has some flavor.”

Carmen chuckled, clumsily tousling the brown curls out of, what Quinn assumed was, habit.

“Okay.” He nodded.

“Okay?”

“Yes. Chef.” Carmen rubbed at his eyes, his expression had been somewhat tired looking the whole time, “Be here, tomorrow, 6 AM. And, please, make sure your hair is properly restrained before you come into my kitchen, I don’t need purple hair flying all over the place.”

Quinn nodded, vehemently, “Yes. Absolutely. Thank you.”

She took her sandwich from the counter, departing to a chorus of hooting and hollering from Richie, before rounding the corner, and realizing she had nowhere to go, and no one to tell her exciting news to.

That ended rather sadly and I didn’t mean for it to! I don’t know if there’s gonna be more. I really don’t, but enjoy I guess!

#carmy x oc #carmy berzatto x oc #quinn meyer #the bear #oc fanfiction #oc fanfic

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wolffininthestars · 2 years

Text

Bittersweet Series

Arcade Mayhem

Jenna walked the streets leading Ava to The Beef. It wasn’t unusual to be heading to the restaurant, where she grew up, just after Mikey’s passing and Carmy taking it over well Jenna was nervous to go. Nervous to see Carmy and have that high school crush flutter back in.

Ava started tugging at her coat pulling Jenna back to reality. “JJ is it Halloween?”

That’s when she saw a bunch of middle aged men dressed up standing in line to get inside.

“Freaks.” She mumbled under her breath as she tapped on the door smiling when Tina opened it.

That’s when she heard Richie and Carmy fighting as they came into the room.

“Why the fuck would you turn this into a arcade competition? Jesus Cousin.”

“Daddy said a bad word.”

That’s when Richie noticed his little girl smiling and waving at him.

“Hi baby.”, Richie walked over, glaring at his niece, placing his hands over Ava’s ears,”What the fuck is she doing here?”

Jenna rolled her eyes at her uncle as she noticed Carmy’s smirk but she was brought back out of her thoughts when Richie coughed.

“Aunt Tiff…” Richie eyed her knowing how she wasn’t supposed to call Tiffany her aunt anymore, at least not around him. “Tiff asked me to babysit and Ava loves the video games here.”

“See good for business!” Carmy grinned as he ran a hand threw his hair mildly amused.

Jenna eyed Carmy. “A five year old liking to play a video game, where her dad works and you having lined up crazy freaks are not the same. This is not San Diego comic con!”

“See, even JJ thinks it’s a bad idea.” Richie shouted. “She would know, making me buy all that shit for Dungeons and Dragons when she was younger.”

Carmy looked at Jenna. “D&D huh?”

Jenna lowered her head. “It was because of a boy.”

The boy had been Carmy, he had just left and Jenna had basically tried to find another boy to crush over and ended up liking a nerd. Turns out D&D was not the game for her and she was asked to leave the campaign after she killed half her teammates with a spell that backfired.

“Also Uncle you bought me those things without me even asking.”

Richie just put his hands up in defense,as if he didn’t know it was true, while walking into the kitchen.

Richie helped raise Jenna with his brother Marcus in prison. He would have done anything for the kid as he felt that she was his own daughter half of the time.

She truly felt like his first born daughter most of the time. Ava was more like a little sister to her and that meant the world to Jenna. In her books family was everything.

Jenna leaned down looking at Ava. “Can’t play the game right now Av’s. Go to uncle Mikey’s,” Jenna stopped talking as she looked at Carmen regret in her eyes. “Go to the office and get your coloring book.”

Carmy just glared at her, knowing that she upset him, but Ava, clueless to it all, walked to the office. That’s when Carmy quickly walked outside.

It was always like Carmen not to speak about his feelings. Most of the time it was Jenna who tried to get it out of him but usually failed. This time she knew to let him go off and figure it out on his own.

Carmy would often go off to reflect and calm down when they were younger. It wasn’t anything new. Now he was outside yelling at the cosplayers.

Jenna watched in horror when some guy started punching Carmy. “Uncle Richie!”

Before she even knew what was happening Jenna heard the gun go off. Of course her uncle would bring out his weapon.

Jenna heard Ava yelling questioning what was going on. “Stay in the back Av’s!”

She knew what it was like seeing your father holding a gun. Jenna was about three when it first happened and she didn’t want Ava to see this. Her baby cousin didn’t need anymore of a traumatic childhood then she already has.

Too many times Jenna had seen her father leave in handcuffs. She knew Ava had seen Richie and Tiff fighting before the divorce. All she wanted was to keep Ava safe and away from the pain.

Jenna sat in the dining area of The Beef while the morons played the video game. Ava was into the tournament watching as she colored.

She got up motioning to Sweeps if he would keep an eye on her cousin with his nod she made her way back into the office.

Carmy sat quietly with his hands holding his head up on the desk. He was mad at Mikey for leaving this place to him, mad that he was back, but mostly mad that he didn’t know how to fix this place.

He smelt her vanilla scent that she always wore, not even turning around to acknowledge her presence.

“I wondered what was in that box.”, motioning to the open blue cardboard box that he now knew held Ava’s toys.

“Mikey always seemed to buy something new every few weeks and hid it in there for Av’s.”

Carmy sighed, making Jenna put her hands on his shoulders. At first she held them in place but when Carmen relaxed into her touch she started rubbing his shoulders.

“You did good today.”

He huffed, “Barely made a profit more like it.”

“A little profit is better than how it was before.”

Carmy shook his head. “Says you butterfingers. What did you say that this wasn’t comic con? Of course you knew about that with your D&D playing days.”

Jenna lightly smacked his shoulders. “D&D campaigns and by the way thanks for that. You left me here to fend for myself.”

“We never hung out, Jens.” Carmy turned around now looking at her. “You were an annoying fourteen year old girl.”

Truth be told, Carmy never had any real close friends, just Mikey and his group. Jenna was probably the only real friend he had that he wasn’t related to.

She gave him a look. “I didn’t see you hanging out with anyone else?” Jenna leaned on the desk. “We walked home together, did homework together…” Carmen chuckled as she continued. “Okay I did homework and had to kick you under the table to focus on yours. We might have not had the normal stigma of friendship but that doesn’t mean I didn’t notice your absence.”

Carmen looked into her blueish green eyes and they were hurt he could tell. He never really thought that she saw him as a true friend. He was lying to himself about their friendship.

Carmy now felt uncomfortable and anxious. His breathing picked up as he fiddled with his hands.

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

Jenna put her hands in his own. “We were kids, Carmy I get it. Having a younger girl follow you around doesn’t scream the best kind of friendship.”

Her hands slowly left his, though Carmy wished they would have stayed like that longer. She always seemed to calm him down. Jenna ruffled his hair and sighed. “Go get some sleep Carebear. You look like you need it.”

He chuckled. “Ouch that one hurt Butterfingers.” She was at the door frame before he called out. “Jens.” Her eyes bore into his like they were hoping for him to say what she dreamt of. “Ah I guess thanks for being my friend.”

Jenna gave him a small smile and nod as she turned away. Friendship was a good start.

#jeremy allen white #lili reinhart #carmy berzatto x oc #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #the bear fx

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thecapricunt1616 · 1 month

Text

Allspice (c.b oneshot)

♡ O.S Inspo: Forever & Always - Fearless (TV) ; "Was I out of line, did I say something way too honest, made you run and hide like a scared little boy?" ♡ Pairing : CarmyxAFAB Reader as little physical description possible | She/Her pronouns used, NO use of Y/N :)

♡ Summary: You have a very successful Culinary Review blog, the social media manager of one of your new hometown restaurants 'The Bear' has been dying to get you out to try their food. But since the EC is a bit of an overzealous competitor, you end up having to go back for round 2- you end up having a delicious dinner, and a free show.

♡ W/C: 4,381

♡ Posted Date: 03/18/24

♡ A/N: FIRST THING: I am HORRIDDDD at writing Claire- I'm much better at writing Carmy cause were alot more similar- so this Claire isn't gonna be CRAZY canon, but I think she got the job done. Anyway- EEEEEP!!! Here is my VERY FIRST ONE SHOT EVER!! Inspired by my amazing, wonderful, PRECIOUS FLOWER @daysofyellowroses that can be found here :) AAAAA!!! My precious Rose I hope you enjoy this, It could ABSOLUTELY have a part 2 if y'all like it. I ended it here cause I'm sooo wordy and I didn't want it to turn in to a multi-chap. fic by mistake...but ofc if y'all want more just tell me and ill get RIGHT TO WORK!!! I really hope this comes off how I saw it in my head. There's no smut/sexy stuff, just mutual pining and flirty teasing, I hope thats ok!! aaa here we goooo!!! Enjoy <3

♡ Warnings for BTC: Swearing, Drinking alcohol (Literally it LOL)

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡

Being a Food Critic wasn’t an easy gig, as much as people wanted to believe it’s simply going to famous restaurants, trying their most popular dishes- and giving your opinion, it was much more then that.

Each and every aspect of the restaurant was under your review, from the second you walked in the door, you were judging everything. From the atmosphere, to the music, to the decor, to the comfortability of the furniture all of it, was to meet your expectations if the owner of the establishment wanted a good review.

Today was finally the day you'd review one of the restaurants that had sent 3 requests for you to feature a review of them on your blog.

The Bear. Interesting name, you thought.

With the rugged name- you’d assumed a more millennial hipster-New American vibe. But when you’d arrived- you were quite…impressed? That instead of leaning into that all too common aesthetic, it was more of a classy, comfortable vibe.

They’d not even had bear art, anything of the sort. It was pure comfort, mixed with subtle class. The kind that spoke to the cost of the dishes- but wasn’t in your face obnoxious. The only ‘Bear’ was the little golden bear embossed into the leather menu you’d been handed when seated at the table.

The way you did your reviews was…a tad unusual - some chefs in the industry called it ‘unfair’ but you called it…the fairest things could be. Instead of telling them when you’d be swinging by for a review since where’s the fun in that you’d call, make a reservation under some random name, and they’d know you’d accepted their offer when the review had been posted on your blog.

It felt most honest and fair because you were one of the most renowned food critics in the country right now. If they knew you were coming- any EC with a brain would spend the night before your arrival, prepping the entire restaurant and staff - assuring they’d be on their best behavior to try and squeeze a higher grade out of you.

But you were just a reader once upon a time, years ago- when you realized in culinary school that the making of the art didn’t interest you, it was the observing. Food wasn’t just about taste, but rather the whole experience. And if every famous food critic you’d taken interest in back in the day- never got a true experience due to their notability? You’d never have gotten into this field. So, you were most keen on keeping things fair.

A woman with mousey brown hair comes up to your table, dressed in the typical waitress slacks and black button up shirt. “Hello! Welcome to The Bear. My name is Sam, have you dined with us before?” she asks.

You sit up in your chair, peeling your eyes from the menu. You give her a small kind smile “I haven’t” you replied, urging her to continue her script.

“Well welcome in, we're so happy you chose to spend your evening with us. So for our menu” she opens it in front of you. “Here” she points “are our wine options, fabulous selection this month. Then we have draft beers right next to it. On the following page” she points “all of our craft cocktails, then this,” she points in the bottom corner.

“Our house cocktail - Just called The Bear. It’s wonderful, if you like old fashions you’ll love this - made with Bearface Triple Oak Whiskey.” She said and you nod.

“That please. That’s what I’ll start with” you said and she nodded.

“I’ll get that right in. But quickly, just so you’re aware” she flipped the page and pointed.

“These - are the dishes of the month. Each crafted by one of our two head chefs, they change monthly so if something calls to you I recommend you try- because it won’t be back” she said. You raised your eyebrows a bit in surprise and nod.

“Thank you” you said and she gives a nod before heading off to the bar to put in your drink order before heading off to tend to other tables in your section.

Having an alternating menu intrigued you, for such a high end establishment- one with a Michelin star at that- implementing such a menu would consistently have their star at risk. One dish, one app, one drink- that was not up to par and it would be revoked. You guessed the owners of this place liked living on the edge, as if being in this industry wasn’t already being constantly on edge.

You gaze over the menu, the Chilean Seabass sounded like a fair assessment. Seafood was quite difficult to get right, especially in the springtime before peak season, and you’d be able to judge the consistency of the chopping and such because there was a fresh tomato corn salad that came with it. That was your rule when you came to judge restaurants, one main course, and one dessert.

You’d felt like the main courses were the true stars of the show anyhow, and it would be unfair to muck up your palate with an app that was usually something easy to get right (since they were usually fried, covered in cheese, or some kind of carb). And the dessert usually showed the restaurant's creativity, which you loved to see, so 2 dishes was your max.

The waitress returns with the cocktail, setting it down with a napkin under it. “Here you are, now- have you decided on a starter?” She questioned and you shook your head.

“Straight to the good stuff, I’d like the Chilean Sea Bass please. And for dessert,” you flick the page and your eyes settle on the words savory cannoli - hmm, imaginative indeed. “And uh- The Michael Cannoli?” You said, shutting the menu and handing it to her.

She nods with a smile, jotting down the order into her notepad before taking the menu and holding it to her chest. “That will be out soon as possible. Enjoy your drink” she said and headed back to the kitchen.

You sit back sipping the cocktail and humming. She was right, much like an old fashioned, but floral notes. Almost…chamomile? Yes! That was it. Very interesting.

You slipped your iPad out of your bag, opening up your journaling app and grabbing the pencil out of the little sleeve. You quickly snapped a picture with your phone of the drink, airdropping it to yourself and adding it into the entry and writing;

‘To start; ‘The Bear’ house cocktail- initial thoughts ; not too sweet, strong (but not overpowering), chamomile? Some kind of herbal tea flower’

You take another sip, letting the flavors sit on your tongue a moment before swallowing. “Mmm!” You hum to yourself, finally realizing where the herby taste beneath the chamomile was coming from that gave it that oaky piney taste.

‘Angostura bitters- will confirm!!’ You wrote just as someone approaches your table. You look up to see a man, short brown hair, stubble. He was smiling, holding a plate.

“Hello! Here we have Arancini with our house-made pesto, courtesy of Executive Chef Carmen” he placed the dish in front of you next to your iPad. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly, looking up at him, scarcel confused.

“Wrong table” you murmured, thumbing the dish back in his direction lightly. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Nope- ah, he- he said this table.” He replied. It did smell fantastic, and any other day you’d never deny delicious, deep fried balls of risotto dipped in smooth, decedent pesto- but you’re working right now and it’s not fair.

“Well, you can tell him” you lifted the dish, offering it back. “I have a system. And I’m unsure how he realized that I’m coming here, tonight, but I dislike cheaters. And he should know if he’s read my blog- I don’t muck up my palate with grease before I try the main course.” The plate was so close to him now it was nearly digging into his chest.

He nodded quickly, taking the plate without another word and briskly walking back to the kitchen. You sat back in your seat with a slight scoff.

He thinks he can win you over just like that? How did he even know you would be here?

You picked up your pencil once again, adding a note.

For the chef; Arancini smelt delicious. Didn’t order it, so I didn’t taste it . Presentation wise; 7/10. Pesto looked like it was spooned in the dish a tad bit messy to me.

You smiled to yourself, you knew he’d read the final review once it was posted. And since he wanted to be a little cheater and get a overall higher score since he was trying to weasel you into trying extra dishes- you’d kick his ego down a few extra pegs for fun.

You sat, nursing your drink, adding extra little notes here and there, as well as editing a blog post about Ghost Kitchens you’d been working on and how they were ruining the mobile order industry on the side. You were so engrossed in the work, that you hadn’t even realized someone had approached your table until they cleared their throat awkwardly.

Your gaze slowly travels up, seeing a blue apron covering a white shirt, tattooed hands holding- your meal? Your eyes flicker up to his piercing blue ones. “Chilean Sea Bass” he sets it in front of you. You snort a laugh.

“Hm.” You look around before back at him “These people” you motion to the restaurant. “Other patrons. Which meals of theirs did you bring out- Chef?” You accentuate the last word, it was all too uncommon for a chef to personally bring a meal out to a table.

You swore even in the ambient lighting, his cheeks flushed slightly. “You- uh- you declined, my Arancini. Why?” He asked, holding his hands behind his back, the position making his already toned and tattooed arms appear more muscular. It makes him all the more impressive he has all these tattoos and still made it in this industry. I can only imagine the shit he got for them.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise at his boldness. “Because that’s Cheating. Mr.Berzatto. I’d assume you know my work well. Considering you know what I look like, so- why try to cheat? You know how I feel about appetizers. It’s a scapegoat.” You shrugged, locking your iPad when you realized he’d been peeking at the notes.

“Messy” his eyes narrow. He scoffs a bit, alluding to the note you’d written a short while prior “Messy?” He asks again, you laugh a bit.

“Mmhmm! Oh, was it you chef? Wow…I mean- now that I think about it” you shook your head, now just messing with him since you see how much he was dying to impress you. “I could’ve sworn- the pesto it just..was too loose. Overblended maybe? That’s why it was impossible to plate without making a mess.” You shrugged, cutting up your fish carefully and spreading the vegetables with your knife to observe the cohesivity of the cuts.

He scoffs, “too- too loose?! W-y’know what. No. No. It- you’re gonna try it.” He demands and you look up at him, nearly laughing at the seriousness of his tone.

“That depends. Bring me a pesto worth trying and I’ll think about it. Now” you wave him off casually “I can’t work with the chef over my shoulder. So- Shoo chef don’t bother me” you teased and he shook his head.

“Game on.” He muttered, heading back to the kitchen.

You smiled to yourself, the Arancini absolutely isn’t going into the review. But you’ll humor his ego by trying it.

You cut the fish thoroughly, checking the texture and the evenness of the seasonings slathered on the skin, writing little notes as you go along. The cuts of the vegetables were pristine. Nearly perfect. The only misshapen pieces were clearly cosmetic defects of the vegetable. The chef that cut these was immaculate with a knife.

When you took your first bite, you nearly moaned. The fish was buttery, the skin was crispy, slightly spicy, tangy, the flesh melted in your mouth. The risotto was so cheesy and buttery and wonderful. You could eat this meal every night for the rest of your life and never get sick of it. It was the best Sea bass you’d ever tasted.

You opened your iPad again, jotting down notes about the flavors, the mouth feel, all the usual points you hit in your review.

This meal is a 9.2 out of 10.

You write at the bottom. Very fair score, you never had rated something as a 10. Something being a 10 would be- you don’t even know what it would be. But it would be what the score says, perfection. And while this dish was wonderful, and very very good- it was not perfect. At least to your heavily trained palate.

You finished what you wanted out of the meal, pushing the plate to the side and not soon after, Carmen was back at your table. He placed the plate in front of you, 3 perfectly circular Arancini discs were placed equal distance on the plate, and truly beautiful pesto, sat in the dish alongside it. It frankly was immaculately plated.

“Unbroken pesto. Sorry again, about the last one.” He said, watching you carefully. You hum as you grab your fork, splitting one of the discs and digging out some of the risotto.

“Could be firmer.” You said, eyes flicking to his. He nods, clearing his throat a bit.

“It’s not- uh- it’s”

“Fresh” you finished for him, raising your brows and he nods. “So- since you’re frying it. You cook it for about..a minute- maybe forty seconds less than you usually would.” You said, daintily taking the bite off your fork.

“Heard..” he nodded, waiting for your reaction. You hummed a bit.

“Great balance of parm and butter though. I’ll give you that. Neither overpowers the other, that’s hard to do considering the notes” you added, cutting up the crust and tasting it.

“Mm-“ you scrunch your nose and his face visibly drops. “Mm-mm…no- not peanut oil…why would you do that? It totally overpowers the breadcrumb with this like…cheapy taste. I’d say it would be way better if you fried it in sunflower oil” you added, digging out more of the risotto and dipping it in the pesto before having a bite and humming.

“This though” you point at the little dish of green sauce with your fork. “This is great.” You add and he nods.

“Ok-yeah…ok…” he nods, rubbing his hand over his chin. “Thank y’for trying it.” He said and you nod.

“I’ll be back for a fair assessment. I think I’ll pass on the cannoli tonight, and just get the bill. Thank you” you slipped your pencil in the case before putting your iPad in your bag and holding your hands on the table in front of you.

“Y-y’re coming back” he said, sounding slightly surprised.

You shrugged “well- you clearly want a full review based on your behavior tonight, Chef. So I’ll humor you. I won’t tell you when of course, so just pray that it’s a day like today-“ you paused, looking around. “Where things seem to be running…alright.” You sat back in your chair casually with a small smile.

“I look forward to your review.” He gave a nod and headed back to the kitchen.

It was 3 weeks before you’d decided to return back to The Bear spring had quickly turned to early summer, and you thought you’d given enough time for your little conversation with the head chef to slip his mind.

It was 9:20, 40 minutes before closing. You did promise to come back at a random time, and no time is more random then a Friday night less than an hour before the kitchen closed.

You pulled open the door, stepped in and headed up to the host stand where the same man that originally offered you the Arancini stood. “The picky critic returns.” He said, tapping his pen against the reservation book absentmindedly.

“She does” you smiled a bit.

“Well lucky f’you cousin said you get a table any time, right this way” he leads you to a booth near the back, where you had a perfect view of the restaurant. Much cozier then before, right next to the doors of the kitchen where you could hear the back of house crew buzzing about.

“Same cocktail as last time?” He asked and you raised your brows in slight surprise as you sit.

“No waitress?” You asked, getting comfortable and setting your iPad down next to the empty plate.

“She’ll be over, just figured a friendly offer couldn’t hurt” he said with a small smirk.

You roll your eyes playfully. “House cocktail please, and thank you. But don’t count on kindness boosting your hospitality score-“ you stop, realizing he never gave you his name.

“Richie” he said, sticking his hand out to shake.

“Richie.” You repeat, giving him your firm professional shake.

“House cocktail comin’ up” he said and headed back to the bar. You mulled over the menu, lemon chicken picatta, that sounded like a perfect dish to judge this time around.

A few minutes later, Richie returns, setting the glass down in front of you. “Waitress should be by momentarily, enjoy your meal” he said, heading back to the host stand.

A bit after the waitress came to take your order, the restaurant had begun to die down. You were going to be the last person served tonight it looked like, since in 5 minutes they would stop seating people.

You added additional notes to your section about the cocktail, getting a better photo of it for your blog when you hear a bit of commotion up front.

You look up, to see a woman with curled brown hair in navy blue scrubs, her hands on her hips, talking with Richie with a frustrated look. There were tears in her eyes, you couldn’t help but tune in to their conversation.

“Richie, please let me see him- he- he hasn’t said anything and I…I just need to hear him say it to my face. Please!” She begs, tears were streaming down her face now.

Richie looks around nervously, tugging her to the side so they weren’t standing right in front of the host stand. You lean over just a bit- not so much it would be noticeable, but enough your nosy ears could continue to pick up what was being said.

“Claire. You shouldn’t be here…I’m sorry- he told me-he said that..that you can’t come here anymore. It’s too much and he will apologize when he can find the words. But he can’t. So please before he sees you. Leave” he said softly, attempting to soothingly rub her arm and she jerks away like his touch burned her skin.

“Fuck you, Richie. Get him. Now. I’m not working on his time anymore. This is my time now. I’ve waited around enough for him. I’m done waiting. Either get him yourself? Or I swear to god I’ll go in that kitchen and embarrass the fucking shit out of him” she hissed.

Your eyebrows raised, shit. Whoever fucked her over should at least be warned.

He snorts, clearly amused before stepping back and raising his arms in defeat. “Have at it ClaireBear.” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You think he’s gonna take kindly to you startin’ w’him in his house? Be my guest.” He shrugged, going back over to the host stand.

And then it clicked. She’s here for Carmen.

She laughed dryly, sarcastically, like a woman who’d had it. “You think I’m scared? Richie? You think I’m scared of little Carmy who couldn’t even check out a library book by himself? mm?” She goads him, arms crossed, chest heaving with rage.

His head snaps back to look at her, brows raised in shock. “Kid- I really think you should go calm the fuck down, because Y’re not gonna like the way that this conversation ends w’him- at all.”

And with that, she shoves open the kitchen door. You couldn’t just sit there and not watch- this was the juiciest drama you’d ever been privy to in person, and this means he’s single. You slightly curse yourself for being so giddy that this means the sexy chef would likely be on the market.

Your foot catches the door before it closes, leaning against the frame. She storms in, eyes frantically darting over the kitchen.

“Carmen.” She barks, the entire kitchen stops moving and looks at her, as if they were in shock and awe someone would ever raise their voice to him in such a way.

He rounds the corner, holding a pan of focaccia dough that he nearly drops at the sight of her. He blinks a few times, squeezing his eyes shut as if she’d disappear when he opened them again.

“The fuck are you-“ his eyes meet yours, his face going pale quickly, he looked white as a sheet. “Leave.” He orders her, slamming the dough down on the counter.

“Leave?!” She laughs coldly, “you’re gonna tell me to leave?! You’re a fucking pussy Carmen. A pussy. Y’know- it was charity giving you a chance. Pity work.” She spits and you blink a few times, taken aback by such harsh words.

Is she serious? She thinks anyone could believe dating a super hot, ripped, talented, chef prodigy - that was charity work in any sense of the word?

He scoffs, “Charity?” He chuckled dryly. “Claire- you begged me to fuckin’ be with you! You-you-y’re a fuckin gnat! Claire! You- all you do is-is fuckin’-” he runs his hand through his hair, his chest heaving in anger, “You dont know me, Claire! Alright? There- And I-I-I don’t want you i’m-i’m sorry-”

She laughed, shaking her head, tears streaming down her face. “You-” she whispered, her chest shaking with a sob. “You- fucker- I- I gave you a chance…” she whispered and gripped her wrist sadly. “I- I was there for you, Carmen- when no one else could fucking stand you.” she croaked.

“And I never asked for you too- please- just…leave me alone-” he shook his head. “Leave. Please…just-pretend we never happened, it was a mistake, Claire.” he breathed, clearly utterly defeated, and It sounded like he’d told this girl these same words multiple times.

“M-Mikey would be sick- Carmy, he’d- he’d hate who you’ve become…” she said meekly, and with that- something behind his eyes snapped.

“Claire I’m not DOING THIS I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKIN’ RESTAURANT. WERE OVER. YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME! YOU MEAN NOTHING CLAIRE!” He roars, the veins in his neck popping out, angrily and aggressively pointing to the door. “OUT. get the fuck out. G-get out, b-before I-I-I fuckin- holy fuck” he finds his composure once more, even though his breath was still ragged from his outburst, flicking his hand next to him his entire body trembling with panic.

She looks to her left and right, she’s not that-

Your thoughts were quickly proven wrong, when you see she was stupid enough to grab a pan off the stove to whip at him.

“Aht!” the spanish woman standing a few paces to the right said, quickly grabbing the arm with the pan and twisting it behind her back. “Drop it.” she hissed.

Carmen looks between the two of them, utterly in shock. “Y-y’were gonna hit me?” He asked her, face twisting in rage. “Fuck you. Fuck you Claire.” He seethed, taking the pan from his employees grasp and tossing it in the sink with a loud clatter.

“Get the fuck out” you told her, grabbing her from the handle of the woman who’d stopped the assault, shoving her towards the kitchen door and into the front of the restaurant. “Y’re a fuckin crazy bitch.” You laughed dryly, giving her a hard shove for good measure.

“Oh and who are you” she straightened herself out, pushing her bag up on her shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. Glad to see that Carmy still needs someone to protect him. I’ll gladly give up that spot.” she said, causing you to laugh.

“Oh my god- you are pathetic. He just spelt it clear as day sweetheart- you are over. O-v-e-r. He doesn’t want you babe! And no, he doesn’t need my protection- I was enjoying dinner and apparently a show until you went batshit bitch.” You snip, plopping back down at your booth.

She scoffed “he doesn’t want anyone. The only thing he wants - is to remain miserable. Good fucking luck, whoever you are.” She said before stomping out.

“Yo she was really gonna throw somethin?” Richie asked as he walked over. Thankfully, it was just you, him, and the bartender in the front of the restaurant.

You nod “thankfully she didn’t realize I was there- Carmen would have had a nasty burn, and a concussion.” You said, taking a large sip of your drink.

Carmen comes out, eyes meeting yours immediately. “Fuck- I- don’t worry y’re meal is comped and don’t…don’t worry about a review, i’m sorry- I-I guess it wasn't in the cards f’r us to be featured on y’r blog... I’m really so sorry… Shes- ah..” he rubs his arm nervously, trying to find the words.

“A woman scorned” You teased, and he snorts a laugh, nodding a bit.

“Hell hath no fury, right?” He joked, sighing a bit. “It’s uh…it’s my fault I guess…I uh- I should’ve dealt with that…I've been putting it off” he said and you nod a bit.

“You off the clock?” you looked at your phone for the time, 10:07.

“Shit- fuck- sorry- I’m so sorry- give me like- I was making y’r food…and then-” you shook your head, stopping him.

“No- No…I was uh-Asking to see if you maybe wanted to..have a drink with me? Not-not like…professionally…” you shrugged, stirring your half full cocktail with the bar straw that floated in it.

“Sure- uh…sure- I’d like that lemme..lemme go change, i’ll be right out” he nodded, heading back into the kitchen.

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queers-gambit · 1 month

Text

The Business That Pays You

prompt: ( requested ) not all disabilities are visible. being accosted for something out of your control angers the watchdog - your boyfriend, Carmy. additional request: protective Carmy.

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x disabled!female!reader

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

word count: 4.5k+

note: it's not the best, it's short, doesn't really focus on Carm being protective but it'll do for now.

warnings: incredibly niche, depiction of invisible disabilities from author's personal experience, need and use of medical equipment, author doesn't pay for therapy and projects hard in this, cursing, Lord's name in vain, strangers picking fights.

Your mother raised you to be poised, collected, personable. Your mother indeed raised a lady; someone was independent, who valued morals and education, who showed equal respect to both custodian and CEO. Your mother instilled a set of beliefs that you refused to dismantle; becoming someone who knew right from wrong, to be helpful, kind, compassionate, empathetic.

Your mother, however, did not raise you to be a bitch. She did not raise you to take other people's shit, she did not raise you to take life for granted; to walk away from confrontation as much as she taught you to stand up for yourself.

People saw you and made snap judgements; thinking they could manipulate and control you, offer harassment and instill a sense of fear in you. Your mother raised you to only fear the wrath of God, not the opinions of privileged, foul-mouthed nobodies who couldn't understand a Goddamn thing you endure. She did not feed you from silver spoons; you had no preconceived notions about life's realities, but instead of becoming pessimistic, you were extraordinarily optimistic because the world had enough negativity in it.

However, despite the strength your mother built in you, that did not mean you were indestructible or any less human than anyone else. You weren't some robot who could turn emotions off and operate mechanically, you had a heart despite how your mother tried to program it to keep you safe from emotional turmoil.

The world could tear anyone down, she didn't want you defenseless against forces that would take advantage of you; she understood there was often no say in how life played out, so, if she could, she wanted to prepare you for what you could control.

All that to say, your mama didn't raise no bitch - but that didn't mean your feelings couldn't be hurt. While graceful, you had both bark and bite; traits that came in handy when defending yourself against wrongful opinions that drained your energy. Since starting high school at 14, you were always the oddball out - the need for a medical aids making it that much harder to fit in amongst able-bodied peers. Since that age, you were accustomed to every Tom, Dick, and Harry voicing their opinion about you; constantly wondering what was "wrong" when you seemed perfectly capable to their naked eye.

They had no business being in your business. No right to know what medical complications you endure, nor the diagnosis bestowed or any explanation for why you needed medical equipment. Didn't stop anyone from voicing their questions, though, feeling some kind of sick entitlement to answers only you could provide.

You were human, why wasn't that enough? You were a person with real feelings, someone with a heart, someone who bled red and had a thick desire for friendship, love, and acceptance.

One look at you and people would think you're perfectly normal, until the days your chronic medical condition flared its ugly head and forced you to rely on mobility aids. You looked normal, but the truth was, you body was in a chronic state of malfunction and sometimes, you needed braces on your ankles, knees, wrists - shit, even your hips! They couldn't tell by looking at you, but the pain was insurmountable. They couldn't tell by looking at you, but you were at a constant disadvantage. They couldn't tell by looking at you, but life was a never-ending nightmare of confusion that made everyday a little extra complicated.

No, nobody could tell - until you were on the ground. Until you had a dislocated joint. Until you lost control of your body and were forced to operate with limited energy and capability.

As you got older, you learned new tips and tricks that could help navigate life a little easier. You made sure to prioritize your rest, drank two liters of water a day, tried to keep a balanced diet, always took your medicines, and exercised to the best of your limited ability. You did whatever was in your power to help yourself, but most people didn't see it this way.

A lot of people just saw you as an inconvenience, someone who complained a lot and held no stake in this life.

One of your newer accommodations was actually more of a necessity. A qualified rheumatologist recommended you get a cane to help keep your balance and prevent unfortunate injury - being a common occurrence for you. So, a cane was added to your inventory and holy shit, did you hate it. You were used to your disability being invisible, allowing you to just skate by under most radars, but with this mobility aid, you couldn't deflect anymore. You were victim to gossip, a spectacle for people to stare at, a curiosity people questioned without real regard to your emotions.

They figured since you were sick and had been for so long, you were at peace with what was "wrong" and wouldn't be triggered by their jarring questions. You hated it, being asked what was "wrong" with you, why you needed a cane when you appeared fit, how you split your lip or sprained your ankle, why you didn't play anymore sports and spent your free time at a hospital - not considering it wasn't a choice you made willingly.

They considered you selfish for prioritizing yourself; telling you that the world was cruel and unfair, that you weren't special, that you didn't deserve "special treatment" because your disability wasn't directly in their face.

They questioned why you wore braces one day and not the next. They wondered how you got sick to begin with. They wanted to know how bad it truly could've been if you still appeared well-enough.

Many thought you were lying about your disability, not understanding what a "flare up" meant; where your body had lulled into a state of homeostasis before being rattled into painful action. They didn't consider that your "normal" was probably on par with their "worst days". Their questions irritated you, yes, but their assumptions just straight up pissed you off - thinking their hour of Googling was enough to compete with years of attending specialty appointments with qualified physicians.

As a direct result, you developed the philosophy that you can't know something if you don't ask questions. However, now you just hated having the responsibility of teaching them thrust upon you when already being the patient - thinking it shouldn't be your role to play.

You already didn't ask for this illness, you certainly didn't ask to be the one that had to make people understand that you were still viable and worthy - like every other human being. You didn't think educating the ignorant should be your duty, but yet again, who better could understand and put everything in words? Who else could convey your situation, explain how you felt, narrate what you endured?

So, for years, you developed a sort of passive attitude, figuring if someone was curious enough to ask questions, the least you could do was answer truthfully to avoid speculations and assumptions. Perhaps it would make the next chronically ill / disabled person's life a little easier by lifting the burden of education from their shoulders. There was no use in feeling bitter anymore, this was your reality and there was no escape; so, your attitude softened and you became a little more open and forthcoming in your tribulations.

Something Carmy admired since the first day he met you.

It was natural for you to feel skeptical when a desirable, able-bodied, very attractive and talented chef took a sudden interest in you; fearing he had some weird kink or wanted to get his jollies by dating "the sick girl". He proved you wrong around every corner, and after keeping him at bay for several months, came around to the idea of going on a real date. This time, when he asked questions to better understand you, your answers were honest, raw, open, and detailed - wanting him to get the full picture to avoid surprise later down the line. It was the least you could do: giving him a look into what dating you would look like, providing every opening to let him run away.

If anything, it made Carmy cling to you tighter.

He impressed you by how easily he accepted your truth. Next thing you knew, the label "sick" or "disabled" was all but vanished from your mind; Carmy making you feel simply human and as if your state was more than enough for him. He treated you with compassion, and if you had a flare-up in front of him, he remained calm and level headed in order to best care for you. Didn't mean he wasn't afraid or startled, but he was at least capable to help in the moment and ensure your safety. That was something Carmy made you feel: safe.

Safe, understood, like you were enough. As if your condition didn't deplete you, but added to who you are.

Carmen Berzatto - or Carmy - was truly one of a kind. A man of rare stock and breed, someone you confided in and trusted; someone who never needed you to be anything more than what you already are. Yes, you were disabled, but Carmy made you feel alive, passionate, and excited to tackle each and every single day; a sensation you have not known since childhood. Since before your illness took over your life.

However, there were some days that even Carmy couldn't save you from. After being assigned your cane, you were recommended to a physical therapist, who taught you the proper ways to best utilize your new mobility aid. Never have you considered there to be logistics behind such a device, but after a brief tutorial, you could feel the difference in use and developed a sense of gratefulness for the helpful tips.

"One last thing," the PT informed you before you could leave, "I'm not saying you will, but a lot of our patients who have invisible disabilities have reported they've encountered individuals who harass them for using their aids in public."

You didn't put stock into his words, just nodding and using your cane to hobble to your car and get back home.

You honestly didn't even think about the warning for weeks... Until one day, you were boarding the bus with your cane and boyfriend with the intent of heading to The Beef to pick out appliances for the renovations. Carmy normally would've drove, but his car was at the mechanics - leaving you both dependent on public transportation like your days in college.

You panted lightly as you climbed the stairs, feeling more tired than a normal day, but still smiling and nodding at the bus driver, swiped your pass, and limped down the short aisle to an open handicap seat Carmy pointed out to you. With a breath of relief, you relaxed slightly to try and relieve tension in your muscles, boyfriend standing beside you to let your head rest on his belly; the bus making several stops before your destination.

When approaching The Beef, you pulled the wire, heard the bus chime in acknowledgment of your stop, and stood from your seat with Carmy's helpful hand in yours; stomping your cane to catch your weight when it lurched while trying to adjust to your new position.

"All right, baby?" Carm checked, eyes wider than normal; able to recognize a flare-up was working into your system as your weakness grew more apparent.

"Yeah," you mumbled, ignoring the sweat dotting your upper lip as your adrenaline was engaged in order to keep you upright.

"Wow," a snotty voice leered slowly, seeing an older, dark-haired woman eyeing you with a curled lip, "bad enough you stole a handicap seat, but you're really using a cane, too?" She scoffed, "Way to lay it on thick. You look absolutely fine, you don't even need that - "

"Excuse me? Do I know you? Did I ask your opinion?" You snapped, the bus going quiet as patrons eavesdropped on the confrontation. Carmy readjusted beside you, his anger and confusion flaring.

"Well, look at you," she gestured, "perfectly healthy but trying to lie about the state of your health? That's so pathetic! You don't even need that cane! Way to steal it out from under someone who does need it, no wonder Medicaid's all backed up. It's 'cause of people like you thinking it's cute and will get them attention or special treatment that the truly disabled can't get their necessary supplies."

You barked a laugh, cutting off Carmy's ready response. He glanced at you in confusion, only seeing entertainment marring yor features. So, you sneered, "Wow, didn't realize I was talking to Superman."

"What does that even mean?" She sneered.

"Oh, sorry, just thought that since you had X-ray vision and all, you must've been him. You know, since you have such an extensive opinion on my disability and all."

"Wow," her eyes rolled as Carmy snickered, "Millennials are truly the worst - "

"I'm Gen Z, bitch," you cut her off, "and just because I don't look like it in your untrained opinion, doesn't mean my disability is any less valid. You know, not all of them are visible - some of us suffer on the inside and hide the outside really well."

"Something you might wanna learn to do - got a whole lot of ugly you might wanna cover up," Carmy scoffed, shaking his head. "C'mon, baby, don't gotta stand here and listen to this kinda bullshit."

"I just think it's shitty of you to steal equipment out from under those who genuinely need it!" The woman continued, making you pause in slight interest. "You're young, your sprained ankle doesn't warrant a cane - you're just using it for the attention, probably want people to feel bad for you. What? Your little boyfriend doesn't dote on you enough?"

"Listen, lady," Carmy snapped, "we've been decently nice, but you're asking for us to get mean. Why don't you fuck off - you don't have the faintest idea what's wrong with her, I don't think you get to say what's necessary and what's not. You're not her doctor, you have no idea what the issue is, so, please, kindly refrain from imposing your bitterness onto other people. Mind the business that pays you, lady, and maybe you won't be so brash and cranky."

"Jesus, she sounds like my little brother when he needs a nap," you tacked on. "Talk about needing attention - throwing a public tantrum is definitely the way to do that."

"I'm just saying!" She defended, noting how the bus of patrons were glaring at her and shaking their heads, "You look perfectly healthy, there can't seriously be something wrong. You would look way worse if there was something real - "

"Jesus, fuck, use your X-ray vision, Superman, then maybe you'd see how brazenly wrong you are," Carmy snapped, your eyes rolling bitterly. You hobbling towards the door, Carmy's warmth at your flank assuring you he was following.

You offered stiffly, "And for whatever it's worth, I had a trained medical professional prescribe this cane as a mobility aid - I don't need some Karen on the bus offering unsolicited opinions."

"I am not a Karen!" She gasped shrilly, looking mortally offended. "You little brat!"

"Not doin' a damn thing to beat those Karen allegations, I see," Carmy chuckled, slinking an arm around your waist; feeling incredibly protective against these judgements. "You might wanna start minding the business that pays you - which certain, isn't us."

"Hope you have as shitty a day as your attitude," you wished her with a smile when the bus pulled up to the curb, easing yourself down the stairs and onto the sidewalk with Carmy's large hands splayed to ensure you didn't trip or fall.

"Jesus Christ," He cursed, glaring at the bus as it pulled away, "you deal with that kinda shit often?"

"More than I should," you shook your head. "Just - let it go, Carm, it doesn't mean shit. The opinions of one dumbass isn't seriously going to make me embarrassed to use my cane."

"Can't believe the nerve of some people," he shook his head, walking on the side of the street to keep you tucked into his side. "I'm sorry you gotta hear that bullshit, baby, Jesus. Only heard it once and I'm fuckin' pissed."

You weren't sure what you felt, but definitely prickly, irritated, annoyed, and very frustrated. Knowing Carmy was just as wound up helped you feel less alone, and the fact that he tried to protect you from the onslaught of rudeness made you a little fuzzy. Perhaps this world wasn't totally doomed...

However, it seemed that wouldn't be your only encounter with a loud-mouth Karen that day. After helping Carmy with certain designs and decisions at The Beef, he informed you that a health inspector was coming to run point and after, you could go home together and soak the irritated joints that were swelling to twice the size they should be. Richie promised to your two a ride home, revoking the need to utilize public transportation. You didn't mind the bus, but it was a helluva lot easier to get in or out of a car, plus it reduces exposure to nosy strangers, their stares, and any comments people might feel the need to voice.

You stationed yourself in the office with Sugar, helping her with anything she asked, and when you limped onto the main floor, you saw an unknown man and woman in pressed suits talking to Carmy and Richie.

You leaned on a counter and listened, cane stationed in front of you, sighing internally when the man eyed you with mild trepidation. You were so close to snapping, but didn't get the chance because he was asking decently kindly (as if you two were friends), "You okay, Miss?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, yeah," you nodded. "Is there anything I can do to help the inspection run smoother?"

"Do you work here?"

"My boyfriend owns and operates the place, I'm just here to help if it's needed."

"Right..." His head shook, shrugging, "Well, uh, no, ma'am, we're just about to finish. Say, if you don't mind me asking, what's with the cane? I mean, you look pretty young, why do you need it? I mean, is it even necessary?"

Carmy was at your side without you even noticing him approaching, arm sliding around your neck to dangle casually as his brows furrowed with mistrust. He asked stiffly, "What's it matter to you?"

"Well, I guess it doesn't, but I was just curious. You mostly see the elderly with canes, a little weird to see someone so vibrant using one, too. I mean," he eyed you up and down, "you look perfectly healthy in my opinion."

"I don't remember her asking for your opinion," Carmy snapped, arm tightening in irritation to keep you close to his side.

With a sigh, you pet his waist and revealed (a brief and condensed version of) your medical diagnosis, explaining what it meant and what symptoms you were forced to endure all day, everyday. "That good enough for you, sir?" You asked sharply. "Didn't realize medical doctors now did health inspections - bit of a step down, isn't it?"

"I'm not a doctor, I'm just pointing out, you don't look sick to me. I'm wondering why you would use a cane if there's nothing wrong? Look, I know about your illness - I have a niece who has the same condition and she's perfectly fine, doesn't need a cane - "

Carmy snapped, "The fuck are you trying to get at?"

"Carm - "

"No, no, fuck that," he deflected your words, "the fuck is this guy on? Where do you get the audacity to have an opinion on a stranger's health?"

"It's just weird and I'm familiar with the illness," he scoffed, your throat swelling with frustration and strangling any response you might've defended yourself with. Something in your chest warmed with anger, raising your heart rate and blood pressure.

It was as if Carmy could sense this, snapping at the man, "It's not just an 'illness', it's an actual disability, asshole."

"It's literally just an inconvenience, there's not something seriously medically wrong - you'd look a lot worse if there was. I mean, there are other people out there with your condition that don't need a cane or braces, and there's also people who need a cane more than you - "

"Disabilities can be invisible, you fuckin' dumbass," Carmy bristled loudly, making Cousin and the female inspector look over. "You got some nerve, don't you? Trying to have impose an unsolicited opinion on something that has literally nothing to do with you?"

"It was just an observation, sir - "

"That you didn't need to voice. You're being fucking offensive and insensitive, she answered your little questions - which is more than I would've done - so you can fuck off now. Nobody owes you - or anyone else - an explanation about their Goddamn health. It's personal and you're just an asshole for asking a stranger about it. Especially one that was just fuckin' standing here, minding her business - you literally came to her, outta your way, and started attacking her."

"I'm not attacking anyone - "

"We good over here, Cousin?" Richie asked with a growl, stalking over with a glare marring his features; female inspector silently following in obvious discomfort.

"Yeah, Cousin, just this dumb fuckin' asshole harassing Y/N about her cane," Carmy answered, neck and cheeks reddening from his anger. Richie and Carmy narrowed their eyes almost in sync, making the inspector hold his hands up in defense.

"The fuck he say?" Richie snapped.

"That she looks too healthy, how his niece doesn't need a cane and is, also, sick, oh, and that she doesn't need her cane - "

"Why? 'Cause you can't see whatever's physically wrong? So you think she doesn't need extra assistance 'cause you can't outright point at her disability?" Richie barked with anger, a vein bulging and pulsing. "Didn't know we had a doctor in the house, excuse the fuck outta us!"

"I'm not a doctor - "

"Oh, so, just a Karen who offers their opinion nobody asks for?" You finally chimed in after calming your emotions. "Or does that make you a Kevin?"

"No, I think Karen's accurate," Richie nodded at you, hands moving to his hips. "Always sayin' the wrong shit, imposin' themselves, right?"

"Accurate," Carmy snapped, dropping his arm to hold your waist.

"Look, I don't know why you're all getting so defensive! I'm the one with the experience, my niece is sick, too, I'm just trying to understand how you think you're different enough to need a cane," The inspector snapped, "I'm just saying, there's nothing actually wrong with her, my niece has explained the symptoms to me, so why use a cane? For attention?"

"Oh, this fuckin' guy!"

"The fuck did you just say!?"

"Dale," his coworker tried to intervene but was ignored.

"Oh, Jesus fuck!" Richie barked loudly. "Is he fuckin' serious? He bein' serious!?"

"'For attention'?" Carmy repeated over Richie, narrowing his eyes and bunching his brows, "Wow, that's fucking golden! Dude has one family member, had one conversation with her as a patient, and thinks everyone with that condition has the same disadvantages! The same fuckin' symptoms - you fuckin' poser!"

"Fuckin' bitch-ass-loser," Richie still ranted.

"Dumb fuckin' idiot. Who needs the attention now?" Carmy sneered.

"She's too young to need a cane and she doesn't even look - "

"Dale!"

"I think you might wanna fuck off outta here - right fuckin' now," Carmy seethed, "and be prepared when you see your boss next, we're gonna report your dumbass to your superiors. You're being condescending and rude, meddling in someone's health - which isn't remotely any of your business. She was nice enough to answer your stupid fuckin' questions, she even explained what was wrong, but you're still gonna shame her? 'Cause you think she looks fine and healthy?"

"Yeah, time for you to get the fuck out! The more I hear, the more pissed off I feel - get out, goodbye, fuck off, before I make this into a physical altercation," Richie growled, moving forward to coral the inspectors towards the door. He was yelling profanities, the male inspector trying to defend himself and his opinions; still trying to say you must've been faking the need for a cane since there was no way someone who looked like you could need it. The woman was apologizing profusely, but was drowned out over the Chi-Town accents yelling at one another.

When Richie slammed and locked the door, still mumbling to himself in anger, Carmy turned towards you and asked, "You okay, baby? Shit, I'm sorry about that - "

"Don't, hey, it's okay," You soothed.

"It's really not - I mean, Jesus Christ," he seethed, "what the fuck even was that? Twice in one day? Gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me."

"I can't say I'm surprised," you shrugged. "I was warned people get lippy when they see people like me, who don't outright look disabled but still need to use their aids."

"Fuckin' bullshit, that's what it is!" Richie raged in a rant. "How the fuck do you put up with that shit? I'd be swinging that cane around like a fuckin' nunchuck - Jesus - fuck these dickheads! Knock their dumb fuckin' opinionated asses out!"

You paused, slowly perking your brows as Carmy chuckled, "Ah, fuck, you just gave her an idea, Richie, Goddamnit. Am I gonna get a call from the cops to come bail you out after you go on a rampage with your cane as your weapon of choice?" He asked you.

"You might..."

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't, dollface," Richie smirked. "But seriously, babe, what the hell? Does that happen often?"

You sighed, admitting, "More than you'd think, more than I'd like to deal with. People don't believe what they can't see, so they can only go based on what they think they know."

"They don't gotta open their fuckin' mouths, though," Carmy shook his head, skin still cherried from his anger. "It's fuckin' rude - "

"People love having their opinions, baby, that won't change," you sighed, squeezing his waist. "But thank you, both of you, for coming to my rescue."

"You don't need rescuing," Richie sighed, hands back to his hips.

"Yeah, we know you had it covered, just fuckin' angered me hearin' that shit," Carmy scoffed. "You shouldn't be the only one defending your health."

"You want me to hit him with my car? Give him a reason to need a cane, too?" Richie offered, the two inspectors seen outside the window at their truck; exchanging heated words, arguing.

You paused to consider his offer with a hum, Carmy barking, "Hey, hey, no, no, no, bad idea, no hitting people with cars!"

"You're missing the point - it's giving that Karen a reason to use a cane, too, and for us to mock him that he doesn't look like he needs it."

"No."

"Bitch-ass."

When Carmy left you two alone to deal with something in the kitchen, Richie smirked and whispered to you, "I'm gonna hit him with my car."

"You're a good friend," you chuckled, his grin genuine as he offered his arm; letting you take it and limp back into the kitchen.

requesting rules and masterlist

The Bear masterlist

175 notes · View notes

smokietaylor · 10 months

Text

You're not the boss of me (Carmen Berzatto x Reader)

In an alternate universe, you are the newly hired chef at Daniel's. Everyone seems warm and welcoming except one chef with icy blue eyes and golden curly hair. Tensions are high between the two of you to the point that every interaction you have is a fight. That is until you discover why there has been so much hatred towards you since your interview.

Fun fact: This premise is actually based on personal experience. Albeit an exaggerated version of the truth and set more to fit Carmy's character. But it's the truth nonetheless.

NSFW Content

18+ only Minors DNI

Word count: 7,228 (and counting, Current work in progress)