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krirebr · 3 months ago

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I'm Feeling Like I Never Should

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x female reader

Word Count: ~1.3k

Summary: It's bad enough you've been forced to be at this charity gala, but now you have to deal with your ex, Ransom.

Warnings: Explicit language, anxiety, insults, bad parents All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

A/N: This is for @stargazingfangirl18 Siri's Birthday Bonenanza!!! The prompts I used were seeking comfort (or sexy times) from an ex and “Goddamnit, will you just fucking let me do this for you?” which both screamed Ransom to me. 😂 Thank you for hosting such a fun event, Siri!! I hope you had a great birthday!

Thanks as always to @paperweight91 who has an endless supply of patience for talking through ideas with me and helping me whenever I'm stuck.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

The noise from the party floated down the secluded back hallway, muted but still audible. You took a deep breath, leaning against the wall. You really hated these things. Too many people. Too much smugness. You didn’t understand why you couldn’t all just donate to charities in private. That’s what the internet was for. But no, you had to watch each other do it to prove how good you all were while eating canapes and drinking too much in designer gowns. You really hated these things.

And your parents knew that. Your mom, especially, knew exactly what rooms like this, full of distant acquaintances and strangers, did to you. Knew how hard forced mingling was for you. Knew the way it made your chest ache. And still, she’d insisted. And then she’d–

You wiped the stray tears from your face. It was pointless to get upset over things she’d always done, over a person who’d never change. You should know better by now.

The door at the far end of the hall opened and you reflexively looked over at the noise to find Ransom Drysdale standing in the doorway in a tux. Shit. Shit. He, of course, had seen you too and now he was striding over.

“Not fucking now, Ransom,” you whined, but of course he didn’t listen. He’d never fucking listened. Not when you were kids and knew him in passing. Not for the entire time you’d dated as adults. Why would he start now?

“Wow,” he said, gesturing to you with a crostini in his hand. “There’s a party going on out there and you’re playing wallflower in here? Color me shocked.”

“Yeah?” you said. “And what are you doing in here? Trying to find a caterer to pay to blow you?” No one could get your back up like him. He’d always brought the vile out in you.

He gave you a mean little smirk. “You rather I slipped you a fifty instead? Your mouth always was one of the best things about you.”

You felt your skin start to heat in embarrassment (and something else you had no interest in naming) as you growled, “Fuck off, Ransom. I’m sure this building has other hallways for you to lurk in. Please just leave this one to me.”

You looked down, waiting for him to leave, but he didn’t move. Instead, you felt his intense stare on you. When you finally looked back up, his gaze was softer than you expected. “Is it your mom again?” he asked.

You pushed yourself back into the wall, for lack of anywhere to hide. It was easy to forget when he was such an asshole, when all you did was trade barbs, how much he’d seen, how well he knew you. All you could do was shrug, with a quiet, “You know how she is.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Still wants a mini-me instead of an actual human daughter?”

You sighed. It was too much, too real, to have him here like this. You almost preferred it when he was insulting you. “I really just want to be alone right now, Ran. Please.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, shaking his head. His voice was so sure, firm.

“Excuse me?” you bit out, the acid coming back.

“If I leave you alone, you’re just going to stand back here and spiral until you’ve made yourself completely fucking miserable. To the point where it’ll take you days to come out of it. That is not what you actually want.”

His certainty lit a fire inside of you. “I know,” you growled out, “that you think you know everything, but you aren’t actually the expert on me, Ransom.”

“Aren’t I?” he asked, with a hint of that smirk returning. It made you want to punch him in his beautiful face.

“Just leave me the fuck alone.”

“Goddamnit, will you just fucking let me do this for you? I know it’s been a while, but I know you. Better than any of those assholes out there.” He threw an emphatic arm back towards the party. “Including your fucking parents. You can talk to me.”

“And say what, Ran? That she’s still dragging me to these things even though she knows what they do to me? That she’s decided that there’s not much to brag about in a single daughter to her society friends, so these fucking events have become matchmaking opportunities too? That she will never tire of reminding me just how much I’m not the person she wants me to be? It’s just the same old bullshit. It’s not your problem anymore. It barely was even when we were together.” You sagged back against the wall, all of your energy leeched out of you.

Ransom was quiet for a very long moment. You hoped that meant he might leave, finally seeing what a lost cause this all was. Instead, when he finally spoke, he said, “She always really hated me.”

“Yeah, Ran,” you sighed. “She hates a lot of people.”

“No,” he said, with a smile that still had a touch of meanness to it, but, as always, you could somehow tell that none of that meanness was directed at you, “what I’m trying to say is I bet it would fucking piss her off if you walked back into that party with me on your arm. Spent the whole night with me. Left with me, even. I bet she’d be so angry. I bet it’d ruin her whole fucking week.”

You burst into laughter. You couldn’t help it. No one could do petty like Ransom. You’d forgotten how fun that could be. “Yeah? That’s why you want to hang out with me? To piss off my mom?”

“No, that’s why you want to hang out with me. I want to hang out with you because you’re always the hottest person at these things.” And then he gave you the most shameless once-over you’d ever received.

“Oh my god,” you chuckled with an overly fond eye-roll, despite yourself. He was always just so Ransom. The things about him that pissed you off and drew you to him in equal measure never changed. You were sure they never would. “What about you? I’m sure you have lots of people to piss off. How are Richard and Linda?”

He gave you a bright smile. “Oh, just the absolute fucking worst. As ever.”

You laughed again. “Glad to hear we’re still in the same boat, at least.” You pushed yourself off the wall and took a step closer to him, feeling like you might finally be ready to venture back into the party. “What were you doing back here, anyway? Do you need to finish finding whatever it is you were looking for?”

Ransom glanced away from you for just a moment and then shrugged. “Nah. I was bored out of my mind out there and then saw your mom swanning around, in rare form even for her. Figured I’d probably find you back here.”

You touched his arm without thinking, warmth spreading through your chest. “Wait, you were looking for me?”

He shrugged again. “I know how much you hate these things. Thought you might need checking up on.”

All you could do was stare at him, all the best feelings from your time together rushing back over you. “You’re very surprising, Ransom,” you said, quietly.

He shook his head with a rueful grin. “No,” he said, “definitely not that. I’m just the same old asshole.” He offered you his arm. “Come on, let’s see if we can make that vein in your mom’s forehead throb.”

Tag list is open

@stargazingfangirl18 @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @midnightramyeoncravings @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @ronearoundblindly

#happy birthday siri 2024 #siri's birthday bonenanza 2024 #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale x you #knives out #reader insert #chris evans fanfiction #i'm feeling like i never should #kris wrote something

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thatone-brightstar · 2 years ago

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The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 8: Bear Cubs

Words: 4.1 k

Summary: New opportunities present while ghosts from your past reappear.

a/n: The closer I get, the harder it becomes to write i don't know what it is but I hope you still enjoy. Commenting is always appreciated!

PS. Reader is latina in this cause Carmy seems like the type of man to appreciate a little melanin, okay!

WARNINGS: Smut ahead, oral sex (male receiving),semi public, minors DNI but you'll do what you want so don't say I didn't warn you

Summer came into Chicago with rain. Endless droplets poured in all directions with help from the constant wind, soaking everything and anyone that found themselves unlucky to not find shelter in time. You would regularly find the rain charming, relaxing on a day when all you had to do was enjoy the rhythmic patter and drown yourself in cups of tea. However, you dreaded the days when you had to go out and your sneakers were not a barrier thick enough to keep your socks from absorbing all the moisture that splashed onto them.

The rain from that day had fallen extra heavy, enough that you had to pad around in your socks once you reached the gallery and wait for your sneakers to dry.

“How about these?” Marjorie asked, standing over the set of frames laying on the floor.

“Aren’t they a bit too grim for a charity event?” You asked with your head tilted as you inspected the set of six paintings that depicted the progress of a horse’s rotting corpse.

“Yeah…” She hummed then advanced to the next set of frames with you padding behind her. “Y’know I was thinking..call me nosy, but I’ve been taking a peek at your canvas in the back..” She confessed and your eyes shot from the golden shades of a sunset to her face.

“I’ve uhm, been staying a little longer after closing… I hope it’s not a problem..?”

“No, of course not!” She answered and a wave of relief washed over you. “I actually wanted to offer you the last spot.” She said simply, turning to you with a stop.

You stayed silent for a moment, trying to process her words. “I’m sorry, what?” You asked through a nervous laugh, ‘there’s no way I heard right’, you thought.

“Well, Joy sent me a couple pictures of your works before hiring you and the one in the back sealed it. Your style is absolutely lovely and I believe you could make a great closing set for the showing.”

The moisture in your mouth had evaporated and traveled up to your teaducts where it threatened to spill. You felt like a fish out of water with the way your mouth kept opening and closing because, even though your head was racing with thoughts, none seemed to want to come out.

“You don’t need to decide now, of course, but I do need an answer by next week or we’ll have to go with the decapitated horse-”

“No! No, no I’ll do it!” You said with too much excitement to keep still, throwing your arms over her delicate shoulders. “Thank you Marge, thank you!”

She laughed along with your excitement and softly rubbed your back. You mentally reminded yourself to call Joyce and thank her for the push of bravery she had given you.

“D’you think I’ve given you enough time?” She asked after letting her go and beginning to pick up the paintings that you wouldn’t be using anymore.

“Yeah- no, I think three months is more than enough.” You assured, with the ideas already swirling in your head.

“And if you know of anyone who can cater, let me know. God knows what some people have in their heads these days that they wanna charge you your firstborn for a few canapes! Ridiculous!”

She began ranting on how some places wanted to charge more for their reputation than the actual quality of the food and you immediately thought of offering The Beef. Sure, the menu wasn’t nearly as luxurious as needed to cater a charity event held yearly for Chicago’s socialites to feel better about ‘giving back’, but you were more than confident in their ability to handle the challenge - especially considering that Carmy came with a built in reputation from his time in various awarded restaurants. So with a little push in the right direction, you pulled out your phone and after browsing through his feed, you showed her pictures of a few dishes he had crafted.

“Oh, wow.” She marveled, adjusting her glasses over her head. “That is beautiful…”

“I can ask him when he’s free for a test try if you want. They could really benefit from the promotion.” You confessed.

“Yes, please. Tell me when your ‘friend’ is free.” She teased and you’re glad your hair covered your beet red ears. You nodded in response, face beaming with a smile.

“Hmm, I see you two all lovey dovey when he picks you up, you make a beautiful couple, by the way.” Marjorie whispered, then sweetly patted your blushing cheek.

You finished picking up the paintings and wrapping them up for storage in the back, then said goodbye for the weekend and made the short walk in the rain to the restaurant, where you had agreed to help out for the rest of the day.

You reached The Beef huddled under your blue umbrella and by the back door, you shook out your hair from the few droplets that managed to wage their way through. The team was just about to take family by the time you crossed into the kitchen and greeted everyone leaving their stations. You found Syd and Carmy by the front, discussing some new dishes she wanted to add to the menu but he wasn’t quite sure about. You didn’t want to interrupt so you stood a couple feet behind, waiting for their conversation to end.

“Can we please just discuss this later, chef? I plan on adding it -I really do- but new dishes means new products and that means spending money we don’t have right now.” He said while rubbing his temples in frustration.

“I thought you said we finally had a parachute?”

“Yeah and it’s barely keeping us afloat as is. If we spend any more now, we’ll need a fuckin’ miracle to keep this place open.” He whispered harshly, looking around until he spotted your head behind Syd.

“Go take family, okay? We’ll talk about it later.” He ended the conversation then stalked up to you and leaned down to whisper “Can I see you in the office in a sec?”

His stare was so intense that all you could do was nod slowly up at him and when he walked away and you turned to Syd, her expression was just as confused as yours.

“Try to keep it in your pants, maybe.” She said amused, crossing her arms and leaning against the expo.

“Who knows, maybe I can get your risotto on the menu.” You answered back with a wink and turned to walk in direction of the office.

“That would be a miracle” You heard her whisper before turning the corner.

Carmy had his back to you when you entered the office. One hand rested tensely on his hip while the other seemed to rub away an incoming headache. You closed the door softly, then moved to rest your forehead on his strong back and caressed with open hands from his sides to his abdomen.

“Everything okay?” You asked, but the ragged breaths you felt him take were enough of an answer.

He took your hands and pulled them tighter around himself as he let out a sigh. “It never is, is it?” He answered with a slight snigger while turning in your arms and taking your head in his hands to kiss you.

You smiled into the kiss and as a sudden idea popped into your head, you began pushing him back until he dropped onto the squeaky old office chair. He smiled confused when you disconnected your lips to turn the lock on the door, then moved back to his side.

“Well I may have two good news that might cheer you up…” You spoke in a sultry voice as you stroked from his chest up to his shoulders and back down. “...but maybe they can wait ‘till after.”

“After what…?” He asked, however, his question was answered the second you stepped in front of him and dropped to your knees without a word.

Carmy straightened up and sucked in a sharp breath at the stunning sight of your torso resting between his parted thighs. You kissed him again more fervently and scratched a trail up, over the hard denim of his black jeans and to the buckle of his belt.

He sighed your name between kisses. “-Everyone’s outside..”

A cheeky grin spread over your face as you finished undoing the button on his jeans. “Don’t make too much noise, then.” You purred with a scrunch of your nose, holding his gaze for a few seconds to make sure he was okay with it.

“No one’s ever…”

“I can stop if you don’t-”

“No-no, I just…” He licked his bottom lip and let out a breathy laugh looking into your eyes. “I kinda had a dream about this… once.” He spoke slowly and a red tint covered his face.

Your smile grew even wider at the thought of poor sweet Carmy, dreaming about you blowing him in his office and how now you were kneeling -very real- in front of him. You palmed him through his jeans with connecting sight and it surprised you how hard he already felt under the denim.

“Well then, I’m flattered to be your first.” You whispered.

Carmy’s Adam's apple bobbed in his throat and he swallowed dryly as you released him from the pressure of his jeans. His eyes were fixated on each of your movements, the way your lip caught on your teeth and how warm your hand felt over his throbbing cock. You looked up at him through your lashes and smiled one last time before bluntly licking a stripe along the length of his velvet skin.

“Sshit-” He hissed, throwing his head back, then remembered the team was only a few yards away and bit the inside of his cheek to muffle the remaining sounds.

The soft skin of your hand stroked him at a slow pace, while the other massaged his thigh tenderly. You gave the pink tip a couple kisses, the taste of his precome coating your tongue, then wrapped your lips over it and sucked him into the warmth of your mouth. His hands had fisted at the side of your face, knuckles gone white from contained strength as you bobbed your head rhythmically.

“I’m not gonna break, y’know?” You breathed out while your hand continued the steady movements. “Go ahead.”

He hesitated for a second before reaching out to feather his thumb over your bottom lip, then extending his hand from your cheek to the back of your neck and pushing you down, back to his lap. You swallowed him gladly, the force of his strong hand applied a new pressure that made you take him even deeper than before and the knot in your abdomen tightened. His soft groans were muffled by the skin of his palm as he clamped it hard to ensure no one outside the room could hear him and how he was falling apart under you.

The thought was ravishing, to have this strong, fucked up and touch starved man trembling in pleasure from just your mouth made your chest swell with pride and your cunt squeeze in anticipation. Too bad you didn’t have enough time or you’d gladly throw everything on the desk to the ground and let him take you on it. You let your thoughts run wild with the idea, speeding up the pace to replace the growing ache between your legs.

His hips stuttered with the constant movements of your tongue and the grip he had on your hair tightened, teeth biting down on the back of his hand from the overstimulation. He knew he was close, but could do nothing more than keep pushing your head down and his hips up to continue the friction. His stomach spasmed with the force of his breaths, you took your hand from his thigh and slipped it under his shirt to run your nails over the sensitive skin.

“Jesus Fuck-” He groaned into the skin of his hand and that was the only warning you got before the thick hot liquid trickled down your throat in short bursts.

Carmy’s grip loosened over your head and you pulled away but kept flicking your hand slowly to ride out his orgasm. His head was thrown back and covered in a thin layer of sweat, the tense expression on his eyebrows long gone. He hissed softly when you put him back into his jeans, the cotton of his boxers too rough on the sensitive skin.

“Better than your dream?” You teased while wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and standing back up.

He let out a relaxed laugh and pulled you by your hips, kissing over your clothed stomach. “Like, by a thousand.” He responded, then pulled you down and groaned into your mouth when he tasted himself. “D’you think they’ll notice if we bail?” He asked against your lips.

“Yo, horndogs! Put your clothes back on and come out! We open in ten!” You heard Richie’s booming voice through the thin wooden door, followed by heavy knocks.

“I think that’s your answer.” You kissed him one last time and turned to the door, readjusting your hair.

“You never told me the good news…”

‘Right, that’s what I came in here for…’

“Remember the charity event I told you about?” You asked and continued once he nodded in agreement. “Well Marge offered me the last spot.” He stared blankly at you. “My paintings are gonna be auctioned at the event!”

He took a split second to react, but soon his brows raised in surprise and he circled his arms around your waist, lifting you from the ground in a tight hug.

“Baby, that’s great! I’m so fuckin’ proud of you!” He cheered, kissing the top of your head. You felt as if the skin on your cheeks would rip from the force of your smile.

“Wait that’s not all-” You laughed as you freed your head from his grip and looked up at his beaming face. “I may have gotten you guys the catering gig for the event.”

“Wait, seriously?” His grip loosened around you and you took advantage of that to turn to the door and step outside to wash your hands, Carmy following close behind.

“Mhm! She wants to see some options first, but I just know you guys are gonna kill it, so it’s practically in the bag.”

“What’re we gonna kill?” Marcus asked, popping his head around the corner of his station and causing a laugh to leave your chest.

You turned to a silent Carmy. He leaned on the wall with his hand resting over his chin and smiling mouth. You mouthed a slow ‘what?’ that he just answered with a shake of his head and wrapped a single arm around your shoulders, kissing your head again and whispering a soft ‘Thank you’ into your hair.

He let you go after a few seconds and you walked to the front with a glowing smile, setting up for the presumed ‘hectic day’, though with the way the sky seemed to be pouring down, you doubted anyone would be stepping foot inside.

**********

You were wrong, so very very wrong. But you would not let anyone know that as you took what seemed like the thousandth order, especially not Richie - who was already having a day picking jokes at you. ‘Haven’t seen you in a month hun, got a lot of ‘em saved up’ he said two minutes after walking through the door.

“What can I getcha?” You asked the next person in line.

Greetings had been lost, maybe fifty or sixty customers back, when you switched with Richie so he could wait on tables because the ipad had gone ‘crazy’ and it was ‘messing with his vibe’, or whatever the fuck that meant. So after clearing the screen from the usual grease, you took his place by the til and began taking the overwhelmingly large amount of orders.

It was only until the rain turned into a light drizzle, when the line grew shorter and the room less crowded, that you finally felt your phone vibrate with an incoming call from an unknown number.

“Richie! Cover for me, I gotta take this!” You called over the noise without waiting for an answer and walked into the kitchen with your phone to your ear. “Hello?”

A sudden rush of sharp chills prickled through your skin as the voice on the other end called your name.

“I-Isaac?” You asked, taken back because there was no way in hell that it could be him, not when you had blocked every one of his attempts to contact you.

“It’s been a while…” He said and you could hear the sly smile behind his words.

You felt the remains of your lunch slowly burn a path up from your stomach.

“Yeah, let’s keep it that way.” You answered as frigid as possible before hanging up and lunging to the bathroom to spill the undigested meal.

“Yo hurry up, I need to- shit you okay?!” You heard Richie’s voice over by the door you had forgotten to close.

You spit the last taste of bile from your mouth and flushed before putting down the seat and slouching defeated over it. The sudden squeak of kitchen shoes vibrated and soon Syd’s head appeared behind Richie.

“Shit- hey you okay?!” She asked at the same time Richie said “So… what- you pregnant?”

“She’s not pregnant you fuckin’ moron!” She yelled at him and pushed him out, closing the door in his face. “You’re not pregnant, right?” She asked, immediately squatting beside you.

“No Syd! I’m not fucking pregnant!” You answered through soft sniffles.

“Okay… what's wrong then?”

“Isaac called me.” You said after a few moments of silence.

“Psycho ex, Isaac?”

“Psycho ex Isaac.” You confirmed with eyes fixated beyond the floor and legs bouncing in anxiety.

“Okay… chill it’s not like he’s gonna come looking for you.” Syd said, trying to calm the evident panic attack bubbling under your skin. “Besides, Carmy wouldn’t let him stand in a ten mile radius of the restaurant, anyway.”

Your head shot up from the floor to look at her with worried brows.

“Because he does know…right?” She asked and the look of guilt slapped on your face was enough of an answer.

She threw her head back and stood with her hands on her hips.

“Dude, why haven’t you told him?!” She sneered with a whisper.

“I-I just couldn’t find the right moment-“

“There is no right moment! Just gotta throw in the bomb and hope for the best!”

“Yes I know, Syd! But I just- I couldn’t bear the thought of him thinking the worst of me, okay?!” You stood up from the seat in defeat and wiggled in the small space to reach the sink and rinse your mouth from the bitter taste.

“And now it’s gonna be worse cause you’ve waited this long.” Syd whispered behind you.

Three knocks at the door interrupted your answer and you looked up at Syd with a terrified look in your eyes. She mouthed a frantic ‘what do I do?’ before calling out a wobbly ‘uh… busy!’.

“I know you’re both in there, open up.”Carmy called with a heavy sigh.

She shrugged her shoulders apologetically and opened the door to a worried Carmy.

“Cousin said you were throwin’ up, everything okay?” He asked as Syd slid past him through the narrow opening, turning to you and pointing with wide eyes towards Carmy.

“Fucking Richie… yeah, something I ate, probably.” You tried saying while patting cold water on your skin to reduce the heat rising rapidly.

“Sure? You don’t look too good…”

He turned you to him by your shoulders and cupped your warm cheeks in his hands, looking over your face in concern.

“Yea- yeah, ’m fine. Probably just a one time thing.” His eyes roamed over your face with a creased brow, not fully convinced of your statements.

“You can head home if you’re not feelin’ up to it…” he suggested.

“And miss your stupid cousin telling everyone I’m pregnant, yeah no chance.” You said with a smile and the slight crinkles by the side of his eyes returned. “Besides, they’re gonna start thinking you got favorites.” You joked and laid your head softly over his chest so he couldn’t see your own worried expression.

He rubbed your back slowly, the measured rise and fall of his breathing calmed you down, but only slightly. You could still faintly hear Isaac’s voice bounce off the walls in your head, overpowered by Richie chanting through the kitchen about the little bear cub you were gonna have, and -for the first time since you met him- you appreciated the loudness of it.

The rest of your non-shift passed by in a blur of grease covered sandwiches and slight forming headaches, courtesy of the lack of food in your stomach and Richie’s constant teasing. There was a point in the afternoon, where your patience had grown too thin and you ended up punching him hard on the arm. It did nothing to him, of course, but it did help in reducing your stress on the train ride back to Carmy’s place.

“Maybe I should get some rain boots…” You commented after making your way inside the empty apartment and immediately kicking off the damp shoes.

“What, like Coraline?” He asked from the kitchen, surprising you. “What?” He asked again when he saw your amused expression. “You think I just watch food movies?”

“I dunno, I assumed you’ve seen Ratatouille but that’s like about it.” You joked.

*********

Carmen had probably used his stove a total of three times since moving back and before you started spending the night regularly, not counting that time he almost set his kitchen on fire while sleepwalking, but you didn’t need to know that. He even made an effort to keep his fridge stocked with other things that weren’t half full cans of Coke or stale bread and that he could actually make into a real meal.

When you arrived home -cause that’s what he liked to call it now- you tried to convince him that it wasn’t necessary to make dinner. But you hadn’t eaten anything all afternoon and it would have been completely fine if he didn’t know, but he did, and letting you go to bed on an empty stomach was not even an option that crossed his mind.

He liked cooking for you. It was the only way he could express how he felt. When words seemed too complicated to string together in coherent sentences, that stuck like thick honey to the roof of his mouth, he cooked them. Whisked them together with a bit of salt and pepper then fried them until crisp, and fed them to you on his best tableware; hoping this way you could understand all the messages his mouth failed to explain.

‘Only if you eat with me’ You had whispered as you took the skillet off the flame for the second time, a determined glow heavy in doe eyes and he knew that in a relationship with two people pleasers, arguing over who cared more for the other would be a lost cause. So he settled on making something quick and joined you on his small living room floor, where you sat with your feet wrapped in a blanket, computer and a couple of his cook books, drawing out ideas on what he could offer for the gala.

“Don’t we still have, like, three months?” He asked with a heavy sigh that came from stretching out his tired legs.

“Yeah.. but this way you’ll have more than enough time to see what works and what doesn’t.” You shrugged your shoulders and took a bite from your plate.

He chewed in silence, mesmerized as you lost yourself in the rabbit hole of all the different options they could serve for the event, flipping through his books and putting little colored post-its on the ones you liked the most. He had never seen you this excited and it brought a feeling to his chest that, if he didn’t know it was because of you, he’d probably confuse with heartburn.

Still, he couldn’t shake the looming sensation off his shoulders, the idea that something lurked around the corner, waiting to pounce. Like how he felt before Sugar called him about Mikey, and when he first learned that The Beef was now his.

For his peace of mind he decided to blame it on anxiety, he had grown so used to always being alert that his body felt wrong when it wasn’t. 'Its probably just a gut feeling' he thought, and he was never that good at reading his gut, anyway.

Chapter 9.

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha and that’s it lmao

#carmen berzatto x reader #the bear & the fox #carmy berzatto #carmy smut #the bear & the fox #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x you #the bear fx #the bear tv #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto x reader #fanfiction #fanfic

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anxiouspotatorants · 2 months ago

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Marty headcanons because I’m still mad about the awesome genuine opposite-gender friendship we were robbed of:

He often gets leftovers from his catering gigs, and whenever he has a movie night with Rory he brings them over and they pair canapes with regular condiments.

Him and Rory do a lot of study sessions together. Rory doesn’t actually need it, but it helps her feel closer to being where she thinks is the ideal image of academic life (cramming with your study group f ex). Marty is very motivated by having Rory beside him, if only because her insane productivity makes him feel like he should step up his game.

At some point Marty takes a Film and Media Studies course for fun. Probably something like «Classical Hollywood Narrative 1920-1960».

Paris and Marty are all caps FRENEMIES. As in it goes beyond the sassy hostility we briefly see on the show. Like full roast sessions. Possibly dead serious hostility that takes a 180 turn to loyalty and admiration if they catch anyone else mock the other person.

Madeline and Louise visit the girls on campus once and insist on going out to drink and party, which inevitably leads to Madeline hooking up with a confused but here for it Marty. He asks Rory for updates about her and her number for weeks until Rory finally rips the bandaid off and explains how Madeline and Louise work. Both her and Marty are surprised by how little he’s hurt. He’s still a little offended though.

The scarf TM is a initially conscious choice to try and look more studious and refined but with time he collects weirder and weirder scarves that he rotates on prancing about town. Yes Paris bullies him for it. And yes he throws her macaroni collages back at her.

#I will really never let the potential of this silly guy friend go will I #also nobody mention season 7 Marty he does not exist he is a very bad and embarrassing fever dream #gilmore girls #marty gilmore girls #gilmore girls headcanons #my headcanons #the let rory gilmore have male friends tag

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 2 years ago

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Force of Habit Part Four

Previous Part | Masterlist

Pairing: Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only

Notes: Hi welcome to the final part enjoy thank you for reaaaaadiiiiing

Warnings: Mentions/descriptions of anxiety; fluff; explicit sexual content—oral sex, fingering, vaginal sex

Summary: Maybe your dry run of the dishes should’ve given you some indication of this, but there’s a little part of you that’s unnerved by how…Easy this all feels. You won’t deny that there’s still some low-level of swirling anxiety in your belly, but it’s assuaged by the fact that whatever happens tonight, you’ve been through way worse. You’re certain that by the end of the night, you and Berzatto will both be a thousand dollars richer, and neither of you will cover yourselves in cold Au Jus and go running into the walk-in.

“Can you help? I’m like—I am so screwed it’s not even funny.”

Emma’s voice is tinny and desperate as it comes through your phone. You’re still looking at the menu that she’d sent over before calling. You bite your lip as you consider it. You could swing it, but it would be tight. You can either implore Crispy’s owner to close up early on a Saturday, or leave Steph in charge for the evening. You’re not sure which would be worse. Besides, you can’t cater a gourmet dinner service by yourself.

“I’ll give you two thousand for the night,” Emma adds, “All cash, under the table.”

“Christ, Em. Who the hell are you working with?”

“Oh my god, yes or no, babe, I’m desperate here.”

“Okay—okay, lemme make one other call, and I will get back to you in—” You glance at the time on your phone before raising it back to your ear, “Like, an hour, okay?”

“Ugh, fine.”

You roll your eyes, hanging up and lowering your phone again. You swipe through your texts, tapping on Carmy’s contact and raising it to your ear again. It rings three times, and you think it’ll go to voicemail until he answers—

“Yeah?”

“Hey. Can you pull a job with me this Saturday? I know it’s super short-notice,” You hurry to add, “But my friend needs a favor. It’s a small wedding service for twenty at this fuckin' bougie hotel. Two thousand, all cash, even split.”

There’s a pause on the other end; you can hear the slight scritch of him scratching his head.

“Menu?”

“Pre-selected. I can send it to you now,” You add, pulling the phone back from your ear and putting it on speaker. You pull up your email, tapping on the menu and forwarding it to him.

“Time?” He asks.

“We’d be let in for prep would start at four, service would start at five-thirty.”

“...Even split, all cash.”

“Yep.”

“...Caviar-topped canapes…Grains salad…Duck confit spring rolls…Skirt steak with paprika butter…” He mutters, reading some of the menu to himself. He pauses before speaking up again: “…We springing for ingredients?”

“Nope. Already ordered and paid for.”

“The hell happened?”

“The chef has some family emergency. My friend didn’t go into all the details.” You bite your lip. “Like I said, I know it’s super short-notice, but I need an answer like, ASAP—”

“I’ll do it.”

“...For real?”

“Yeah. Are we meeting there, or do you wanna do a dry run, agree on plating?”

“That’s probably a good idea. Crispy’s is closed on Tuesdays, so if you wanna come by some time then.”

“You’re closed?”

“It’s been our slowest day. We don’t even get delivery orders. I usually come in to do a deep clean and inventory.”

“Okay, Tuesday. Is it gonna fuck you up for Wednesday if we do it kinda late?”

“Pffft, please, Berzatto. On holiday weekends, we used to get, what, three hours of sleep from leaving for close to going in for prep? I can handle it.”

“Hey, sorry for askin’.”

“Forgiven. Lemme know what time is good for you and I’ll circle back with Emma, let her know there’s gonna be two of us.”

“Sounds good. Thanks.”

“Thank you.”

You hang up, drawing in a deep breath and pushing out a long, slow breath through your lips as you look down at your phone. You feel a vague queasiness wash over you—and you’re not sure if it’s the cuisine, or the thought of being in the kitchen with Carmy again, or both.

“Where’s the gremolata for the, uh—”

“Halibat?” You fill in. "Working on it."

“How long?”

“Thirty seconds, chef.”

He doesn’t gripe with your use of chef this time; it’s right in this context, at least. You walk around to Carmy’s side, setting the bowl down beside his elbow before walking to the stove to turn the skirt steak. You glance back at Carmy, unable to help yourself. You watch him lower a clean spoon into the bowl and raise it to his lips, taking a taste—and then dip his head in a nod. Some little part of you that had gone dormant goes warm, vindicated.

“Skirt steak?” He asks.

“Just turned. Two minutes out, chef.”

“Heard, thank you, chef.”

You nod a bit to yourself, drawing in a deep breath and turning back to the pan. You can hear the scratch of Carmy’s pen on the printed menu by his station, no doubt taking stock of how long it’s taking you.

“Paprika butter?” You ask.

“One minute out, chef.”

“Heard, thank you, chef.”

The kitchen smells fucking delicious. With the restaurant closed, there are no other sounds besides the bubbling, sizzling, and crackling of food being cooked. It’s almost calming—almost. You just have the skirt steak to plate—and then you’re set.

“Skirt steak is ready, chef,” You announce.

“I’ve got the sauce. Walking.”

“Heard.” You wrap a dishcloth around the handle of your pan, walking the skirt steak up to the station and setting it down. Carmy takes the steak up, cutting it and eyeing the inside. Your stomach roils with nerves, eyes darting between the steak and his face.

“This is perfect, chef,” He says, plating it. You have to fight back a grin, mumbling a, “Thank you, chef,” As Carmy spoons the paprika butter over the steak. He jots one more note down on his menu before he stops the digital timer that you keep in the kitchen. The two of you look over the six plates in the window—three appetizers and three entrees.

“Wanna do the tasting in here?” He asks, glancing over at you.

“Nah, no point when there’s an empty dining room. C’mon,” You nod, taking up two of the appetizers and one of the entrees. “We can put it out on the bar.”

It’s a little surreal, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Carmy and taking bits and bites from the plates of food that you just cooked. In New York, you only ever took small samples of what you’d made to ensure quality. Now, you get to eat the whole damn thing.

“Should probably make the paprika butter first,” You comment, pushing some chicken onto your fork. “It can stand for, what—Four hours? It won’t be there for nearly that long.”

“Mhm,” Carmy nods, still chewing. “Prep the spring rolls, drop them as people get in…Put the farro on right after we make the paprika butter.”

“Give it time to drain and cool. And the gremolata after that.”

“Yeah.” Carmy reaches out, snagging his beer and taking a pull from it to wash down the caviar. “I think the chicken scarpariello’s gonna be the biggest hurdle.”

“Agreed,” You nod. “It needs the most handling.”

“Garnishes should be easy. Oven-roasted vegetables and sauteed spinach—”

“Just need the odd look-in and turn.” You reach across him, plucking up the last spring rolls and biting into it with a sigh. “These are fuckin’ good,” You mutter around the mouthful as you set the second half down on your plate.

“You know the chef that canceled?”

“Nn-nn,” You shake your head. “I think they’re a friend of Emma’s.”

“How do you know Emma?”

“We went to college together. She was a business major. She started her own event planning business, like, right as Covid hit.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. She’s keeping her head above water,” You shrug. “But it was touch and go there for a while.”

“...Why’d you ask me for help?”

“Because I needed it.”

“Why me instead of one of the other chefs you know?”

You glance over to find Carmy’s eyes wandering you, though he doesn’t meet your gaze when you look at him. You shrug, turning back to your plate.

“I knew you’d take to the menu quickly,” You admit. “It’s the kind of stuff you’re used to.”

“The kind of stuff we’re used to.”

You smile a little. “I don’t know if I’m that used to it anymore.”

“The skirt steak and I both disagree with you. Your instincts are still there.”

Your smile widens, unable to help the bubbling of your flattery.

“Well. Thank you to you and the skirt steak.”

Carmy’s smile widens as he straightens up and reaches out, taking the last of the duck confit spring roll off of your plate and popping it into his mouth.

“Dick,” You grumble. Carmy grunts in agreement, sitting up and plucking the last piece of skirt steak with his fingers. Before you can stop yourself, you lean in, catching hold of it in your teeth and slurping it into your mouth. Your lips, tongue and teeth brush against the swell of his fingertips as you lean away again. You raise your thumb to your lips, swiping away the stray sauce as you lean back. You swallow your embarrassment along with the steak, swiping your tongue over your lips.

“Payback,” You slide off of the barstool and begin to gather up the dirty plates. “Never steal my fucking spring roll again.”

“Heard,” Carmy chuckles. You try not to overthink the way he smiles—or the fact that he raises those same fingertips to his lips to lick off the remainder of the sauce.

On the day of the wedding, you half-expect Carmy to turn up with his hair slicked back, like you used to see—slicked back hair, and a pristine white uniform. But Carmy is in the clothing that you’re slowly becoming more accustomed to seeing him in: dark jeans, a white t-shirt, and a blue apron. Between the two of you, prep goes smoothly. You speak little, save for asking what one or the other is doing, or may need help with. By the time service starts, you’re beginning to tingle with nerves. But Carmy’s call of, “I need two orders of spring rolls, one grain salad, one order of canapes,” Starts your engine.

“Heard,” You call back, rounding to the frier.

“How long on the spring rolls?”

“Eight minutes, chef.”

“Heard, thank you, chef.”

Maybe your dry run of the dishes should’ve given you some indication of this, but there’s a little part of you that’s unnerved by how…Easy this all feels. You won’t deny that there’s still some low-level of swirling anxiety in your belly, but it’s assuaged by the fact that whatever happens tonight, you’ve been through way worse. You’re certain that by the end of the night, you and Berzatto will both be a thousand dollars richer, and neither of you will cover yourselves in cold Au Jus and go running into the walk-in.

By the time the last appetizers have gone out, you feel yourself beginning to settle into an easy rhythm with Carmy. You’re each flurrying around the kitchen, in near-perfect sync. Sure, now and again you’ll get in your own head about something, but Carmy usually snaps you back out, asking for a time on an item, or murmuring, “Behind,” and resting his hand on your lower back to keep you steady as he passes.

That’s new. Carmy has the same officious speed and manner in the kitchen, but there’s never been a consistent level of close proximity. And you’ve never felt so calm in a kitchen with him before—well, not a professional kitchen, anyway. Your personal kitchen is another matter.

By the time the two of you send out the last round of entrees (three halibut, two steak, two chicken scarpariello), you shut the burner under the cast iron skillet off and sigh softly. You scrub the heels of your palms over your eyes, loosing a sigh that turns into a yawn.

“...Doin’ alright over there, chef?” You hear.

“Yep. Just taking a breath before we start clearing up.” You tip your chin up, lowering your hands and giving him a small smile. “You go ahead and have your cigarette,” You add, nodding to the back door. “I’ll get started in here.”

Carmy seems to consider for a moment, glancing over in the door’s direction as he fiddles with the tasting spoon in his hand.

“I’ll wait,” He finally says. “I’ll get started with the sauce station if you start with garnishes.”

You’re surprised, but you nod, straightening up and turning.

“Heard.”

“...Think we’ll get any cake?”

“Fuck, I hope so. Did you see it when it came in? It looked fuckin’ good.”

“You gonna gripe at me if I want a drag of that?”

Carmy chuckles, pushing the smoke out as he does.

“No,” He shakes his head, holding the cigarette out. You plop down beside him on the bench outside of the venue, taking it from him and drawing in a drag. You damn near groan as you tip your head forward, smoke pushed out through your nostrils.

“Haven’t gotten a new rubber band yet?” He asks. You smile.

“I have, but…I don’t know. This was always kinda our thing, right?”

Carmy doesn’t answer right away, leaving you to stare at the smoldering tip of the cigarette in silence. But after a few nerve wracking moments of quiet, he offers, “...Yeah. Was.” He reaches out, fingers pressing against yours as he gently pries the cigarette from your fingers. You bite your lip, looking down at your empty hand and wiggling your fingers a touch. “Could work out a new thing if you’re tryin’ to quit, though.”

“New thing like what?”

You see Carmy flick the cigarette away. You frown, watching the half-finished butt fall to the ground.

“Dude, what the hell, that was a perfectly good—” As you turn your head, your argument kicking up, Carmy’s hand raises to cup your cheek. The way he draws you in feels so effortless—like every action you’ve ever seen him make in the kitchen. His hands are warm, and smell like smoke and garlic—there’s a hint of the cake icing as he slips his tongue between your lips. Your eyes blink in surprise once before sliding shut. You lift a hand to hook in the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer. The two of you scooch closer on the bench, knees knocking as your kisses deepen.

You lean back first, tongue brushing against Carmy’s lip as you lick your lips. You give a short dazed nod, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah,” You manage. “Yeah, that could work.”

You feel tired as hell. Usually after a service like this, all you want to do is take a long, hot shower and curl up in bed. Now, nothing of the sort is on your mind. Your hands fumble with your keys as Carmy presses up against your back.

“Having some trouble there, chef?” Carmy teases, nose nudging against the hinge of your jaw. You let out a shaky laugh, shaking your head. You force yourself to focus up, looking down at the keys.

“No trouble at all, chef,” You bat back, finally slotting your key into your apartment door lock and shoving it open. It whacks back against the wall with a bang that’ll surely annoy or alarm your neighbors, but you can’t bring yourself to give a shit. You half-stumble into the room, turning and pulling the key from the lock as you turn to grip Carmy’s shirt. He wraps his arms around your middle, just managing to keep you from toppling over. You slide your hands up into his hair, curling your fingers in the strands. Carmy tips his chin up a touch, catching your lower lip between his teeth and giving it a tug. You whine softly at the sting. You reach back ,unwilling to let go of Carmy or break your kiss, absently whacking at walls to find your bedroom doorway.

You lean back just enough to kick your shoes off and tug off your shirt. You reach for Carmy’s shirt, too, but he takes hold of your wrists before you can pull his shirt up and off. Your breath catches in your throat as Carmy tucks your arms behind your back, holding them there and forcing your chest against his. You shiver as his thumbs sweep tenderly across your wrists. Carmy tips his head from side to side, giving you darting, quick kisses. You lower your eyes to his lips, tracking their movement, as if you can anticipate which way he’ll lean next. Carmy intertwines your fingers as he dips his head, pressing a kiss to your jaw before slipping his lips down further. You close your eyes, tipping your head, as if you need to entice him further. The shifting sensation of his tender brush of kisses blooms into a sharp heat as Carmy nips and tugs at the skin there.

“Fuck,” You shiver, fingers twitching around his. Carmy grunts against your skin, pulling away with a final kiss before he lifts his head. He rests his chin atop yours, lowering your heads and guiding your gaze back to his.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” he murmurs, “You pull any’a that yes chef shit in here and you’re gonna get it.”

The warning sends an intrigued chill down your spine, and makes you smile wide.

“Well sorry in advance, chef,” You murmur. “Force’a habit.”

Carmy groans low in his chest. He teases his tongue across your lips before he lets go of your hands. You can feel him working at pulling off your bra, but you’re more focused on taking off his shirt. You scrabble at the fabric, nails scratching slightly over his side as you pull. He moans, sinking his teeth into your shoulder before he tugs and snaps your bra strap against your back. You wince, reaching back with one hand and deftly undoing the clasp before leaning back to shrug it off. Carmy doesn’t gripe at the assistance, just tugs his shirt up and over his head before flinging it aside.

Carmy shoves at your hips, pushing you back to the bed. When your knees hit the mattress, you sit almost obediently. You lean in, pressing gentle kisses along his belly, and over the thin trail of hair tracking down to his pants as you undo his belt, button and zip. Your hands smooth down, massaging his hardening cock through his jeans.

You grin as you hear Carmy hiss a swear out under his breath. You shove at his waistband, grasping his cock as it bobs into view. Taking him in hand, you tip your chin up, peering at him from beneath your lashes as you swipe your tongue along the underside of his cock. Carmy draws his lower lip between his teeth, his hand lowering to rest on the back of your head. You fight off a smile, focusing on bobbing your head and teasing him with your tongue.

Carmy’s fingers flex against the back of your head as you hum around his length. Your hands shift away from him, pushing his pants further down around his thighs. Carmy wriggles a touch as he stepped out of his shoes, nudging them aside. You draw off just enough for Carmy to shove his pants down the rest of the way before he steps up between your legs again, his hand back on your head. You begin to bob your head, taking hold of the base of his shaft and twisting your wrist.

“Fuck, just like that—Don’t say it,” He warns as you turn a mischievous eye up toward him. You grin wide, drawing off of him and lapping at the head of his cock. He pushes out a shaky laugh, eyes bright as he watches you. You lean up, pressing a kiss beneath his belly button before you tip your head up, your hand still working over Carmy’s length.

“Lean back,” He urges, nodding you toward the mattress before crouching down and gripping at your leggings, “And get these off.”

You scooch back, wriggling out of your leggings and undies and kicking them off. You squeeze your thighs together, honing in on the slick throbbing between your legs. He slides his hands up your legs, pushing your thighs apart as he kneels down on the bed. You groan softly as he shoves your leg up to bend at the knee. You let your thighs splay, elbows propping yourself up to watch as Carmy slots himself between your thighs.

He trails his knuckles over your wet, plumped cunt. Your pussy throbs as he leans in and teases the tip of his nose along your slit, then tracks the same path with his tongue. You want to tip your head back, to sink back into the mattress, but you keep your eyes on Carmy. He meets your gaze so rarely, but now he holds his eyes steady on yours. Your gut swoops at the sight—at the way his eyes are bright in the dark room. Carmy parts his lips, lapping broadly along your cunt.

You bite your lip, quieting a moan as you push your hips down against his lips. Carmy flicks his tongue against your pulsing clit. He groans against you, tipping his head to and fro, laving your lips. You hiss softly, reaching down and sliding your fingers through his hair. You give his hair a harsh yank, pushing your hips down against his questing lips and tongue. Carmy’s eyelids flutter at the pressure and sting. His groan muffles against your skin before he draws off with a slick suck. He raises two of his fingers, teasing them along your opening. He takes your clit between his lips, sucking it harshly as he sinks the fingers down to the knuckle. You whimper, back arching up off of the bed. You slide one of your hands from his hair, thumbing and tweaking your hardening nipples.

“Oh, my god,” You breathe. You roll your hips down into his mouth and hand, cunt fluttering as he stretches your aching hole. Carmy pumps his arm steadily as he swirls his tongue teasingly around your pussy. Carmy presses impossibly closer, sloppily sucking and lapping your pussy as his nose pushes against your mound. You can feel a familiar coiling sensation in your belly—one that you want to chase—but you reach down, gently pushing at his forehead. Carmy leans back, blinking up at you. You push yourself up and lean down, nudging your nose against his.

“You gonna fuck me?” You murmur, and grin as Carmy hurriedly pushes himself up to kneel over you.

“Condom?” He asks. You twist to the side, reaching into the drawer of your bedside table and rummaging around for a moment. Carmy’s hand lowers between your thighs, thumb teasing gently over your clit. You lean back with the foil packet. You rip the packet open with your teeth, taking the condom out and rolling it down over his throbbing cock. You grin as he twitches in your hand, your eyes lifting to his. Before you can tease or sass him, Carmy cradles your jaw in his hands, catching your lips with his. The two of you groan as he slips his hot tongue against yours, sharing the taste of you. You lower yourself down onto the bed slowly, a tingle running down your spine as you feel the head of Carmy’s cock brush against your tender pussy.

Carmy breaks your kiss as he lowers his head, mouthing and sucking kisses to your breasts. He takes himself in hand, tapping the head against your clit. You whine, wriggling down against him.

“Cut it out,” Carmy murmurs, slapping your hip.

“Fuck me.”

“So fuckin’ impatient—”

“You’re right there, Berzatto, c’mon, just fu—”

Your demands go quiet as Carmy shoves his hips forward. Your lips, parted from complaining, push into an o at feeling of him filling you so completely.

Oh my god, and, move, and right there all sit on your tongue, but you can’t bring yourself to say a damn word. You just heave in a deep breath, eyelids fluttering as Carmy lowers himself down over you. His chest brushes against your sensitive breasts; his hips press flush against yours.

“Nothin’ to say now, huh?” He murmurs against your jaw. You huff out a harsh breath, cunt fluttering as Carmy shallowly rolls his hips. “Smartest fuckin’ mouth off the line, quickest fuckin’ hands in the kitchen and you got nothin’ to say?”

You whimper, turning your head into Carmy’s shoulder as he begins to fuck you with short, harsh thrusts. Your hands curl around his shoulders, nails sinking into his skin. Carmy slides his hands beneath your head, cradling your head. You press your chest up against his, tipping your head back into his warm, steady hands.

“Hmm?” He hums, right up against your ear. “Still nothin’?”

You curl your legs around his, a hand sliding up into his hair as you give it a tug.

“Harder.”

Carmy’s expression goes stony at your order, and a smile flickers across your lips for just a moment before his hips snap harshly against yours.

You sigh softly, shifting your head on your arms. You’re belly down in bed, sleepy, and sore. You smile as you feel Carmy slowly trail a finger down your spine before he palms one of your ass cheeks. You give a little wiggle, and grin when you hear Carmy chuckle. He presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder before nuzzling the same spot tenderly.

“So, just so I know,” You mumble, turning your head toward him, “Is the post-job tradition just gonna be the making out, or all’a this?”

“All of it,” Carmy answered steadfastly, lips brushing your skin. “You do a real good job, we’ll do it twice.”

You scoff a laugh, rolling onto your side.

“You telling me I didn’t do a really good job tonight?”

“‘Course not,” Carmy coos, palming your hip and easing you back onto the bed as he covers your body with his. “I’m giving you a heads up for round two.”

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#Carmy Berzatto x Reader #Carmy Berzatto x You #Carmy Berzatto/Reader #Carmy Berzatto/You #Carmy Berzatto fic #Carmy Berzatto imagine #Force of Habit

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yourprivatechef · 3 months ago

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How to Choose the Best BBQ Catering Service in Melbourne

BBQ catering in Melbourne has become a popular choice for outdoor events, offering a relaxed and enjoyable dining experience. Whether you're planning a corporate gathering, a wedding, or a casual backyard party, BBQ catering adds a unique touch to your event. With Melbourne's diverse food culture, BBQ catering options have evolved to include a wide variety of flavors, catering to different tastes and dietary requirements.

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Many BBQ caterers also offer side dishes, salads, and desserts to complement the grilled items, providing a well-rounded meal for your guests. You can choose from a variety of fresh, seasonal ingredients that reflect Melbourne's rich culinary culture, making your event menu both exciting and delicious.

Stress-Free Event Planning

One of the biggest advantages of opting for BBQ catering in Melbourne is the convenience it offers. With professional caterers handling the food preparation, cooking, and cleanup, you can focus on enjoying the event and spending time with your guests. BBQ catering companies bring all the necessary equipment, including grills, utensils, and serving ware, so you don't have to worry about logistics.

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Ideal for Outdoor Events

BBQ catering is the perfect choice for Melbourne's vibrant outdoor culture. Whether it's a park, beach, or backyard, Melbourne’s beautiful outdoor spaces provide the ideal backdrop for a BBQ feast. The city’s moderate climate allows for outdoor events throughout most of the year, making BBQ catering a versatile option.

In conclusion,

BBQ catering in Melbourne offers a fantastic way to elevate any outdoor event. With customizable menus, a variety of catering options, and a relaxed atmosphere, it’s a great choice for anyone looking to host a memorable gathering. Whether you’re planning a corporate event, family reunion, or wedding, BBQ catering provides an enjoyable and stress-free dining experience for both hosts and guests.

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treason-and-plot · 2 years ago

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Bunty is relieved that Georgina is looking a lot happier when she returns from the bathroom; she was worried earlier that she may have overstepped the mark and that Georgina was going to lose her cool and berate her in front of Sophie, (or forbid her from attending the wedding, as she had threatened to do last week!) but it seems that common sense has finally prevailed and Georgina has realised that Bunty only has her best interests at heart!

“Oh, you should have started without me,” Georgina says, seeing that their food has arrived. “Yum, your bouillabaisse smells absolutely delicious, Sophie! I must try that next time.”

“Have you and Vincent given any thought to your wedding catering?” Sophie asks as they eat.

“Not yet,” says Georgina, pausing in her chewing to give Sophie a friendly smile. “What are the most popular choices these days?”

“Well, of course, the traditional plated three-course meal option will never go out of style,” says Sophie earnestly. “But something a bit more casual like passed canapes and appetizers are increasingly popular, particularly when you combine them with cocktails! And a lot of couples these days are also choosing food trucks, which can be really fun and quirky-“

“We will most definitely not be having food trucks at Georgina and Vincent’s wedding, thank you Sophie,“ says Bunty with a short bark of shocked laughter. “It will be formal, served, plated meals. And we’ll be engaging a top-notch caterer. That goes without saying!”

“I couldn’t agree more, Mother,” says Georgina. ”Anything else would be just unthinkable.”

Twenty minutes later Sophie says regretfully that she has to leave because she has an appointment with a client; she gives her business card to Georgina and says with touching sincerity that she hopes to be able to meet with she and Vincent very soon, and that she cannot wait to help them get started on their wedding journey!

“Thank you,” says Georgina. “Vinnie- Vincent and I just need to sort out a couple of things first, and then we’ll definitely be in touch!”

“What kind of things do you have to sort out?” frowns Bunty after Sophie has left.

“Nothing that you need to be concerned about, Mother,” says Georgina. "My goodness, is that the time? I'd love to stay and chat some more but I have to get back home and help Vinnie shovel manure!"

#Georgina #Bunty #Sophie #interlude in appaloosa #5 years later #sims 3 #ts3 #sims 3 story

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canapeuae · 1 month ago

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softquietsteadylove · 8 months ago

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I’m glad you liked the idea!! The result was so perfect and sweet as usual. Here’s another if you’re interested/have muse! Words: curiousity, animals, whispering

Gil gulped, trying to focus on plating more appetizers as the guests mulled about. For the most part, they were scattered around the rest of the sprawling estate, but some of them had gravitated towards the kitchen naturally out of eagerness for the next round.

And they kept whispering.

He couldn't make out what they were saying, of course, but Gil knew when he was being whispered about. He had grown up as a husky but strong boy who loved cooking, he was no stranger to feeling like an animal in a zoo. But the scrutinising glares of a couple dozen millionaires were more than enough to put him on edge.

He dabbed at some sweat on his forehead and heard a giggle behind him. He was glad he had the steam and stove and various other heat sources to blame for the flush in his skin. Clearing his throat, he turned with the platter in hand. "More hors d'oeuvres--canapes with cavier and brie crostini with blackberry and prosciutto."

"How delightful!"

"Wherever did Thena find a specimen like you?"

"I simply must get the recipe to my own chef!"

Gil just smiled, setting down the platter for them to maul at will. He slipped backwards, eager for the refuge of the inner kitchen again. When Thena had described this as a 'monsters' ball' of a soiree, she wasn't kidding.

She had warned him that the guests were technically allowed wherever they wanted to be, including his own space, as much as she wanted to discourage it. There were also warnings about how rude they could be, even if the words were polite, as well as not to let any of them subtly try to poach him from her.

As if that were possible; he had no desire to work for anyone but Thena.

Only a few more hours and it was over. Even if there were still guests lingering, Thena had made it very clear that he could leave after 11. It was pretty sweet, all things considered. It wasn't uncommon for the chef to be stuck there catering to everyone's desires until guests had left, and then clean up after everything too.

"Sir, the food is being received splednidly!"

"Jesus!" Gil cursed, gripping the pocket of his chef's jacket over his heart as Karun - yet again - materialised out of thin air. He glared at him, "dude!"

Karun just chuckled, though, not minding the casual speech in the least. "The Madam is the envy of all present, thanks to you and your recipes, sir. I have heard only glowing reviews throughout the party."

Well, no chef disliked hearing that. And if the guests weren't going to compliment him so honestly, then at least he could hear it from someone he trusted. They hadn't said anything bad of course, but even when they were saying nice things, he really felt like he couldn't believe anything any of them were saying.

"The Madam knew, of course. I have never heard her praise anything so highly as your food!"

Sometimes Gil really wondered if Karun exaggerated Thena's words, at all. She was just so quiet, so hard to read. It was hard to imagine her going on at length about...well, anything. And yet Karun made it sound like it was something she gushed about.

"Where is Thena?" Gil asked, even looking around in hopes of catching a glimpse of her bright blonde hair. He wiped his hands on the towel tossed over his shoulder. "I haven't seen her since the doors opened."

She had stopped by before getting ready, while he was still preparing everything. She had seemed a little nervous, actually, hovering around his prep work as if to procrastinate putting on her fancy dress and doing her hair.

"Ah, the Madam has many guests to entertain," Karun lamented, although still with the same immovable smile on his face. He straightened his bow tie. "Although, she did mention fetching something from the wine cellar."

"Huh," Gil murmured, still wiping his hands, mostly to occupy them with something. He didn't have anything on the fire currently, although he had considered that he could use some sparkling just to float on top of the personal panna cottas. "Maybe I'll see if she needs a hand with anything."

Gil walked down the stairs to the fancy underground wine cellar with heavy steps. He just needed a second wind to get through the rest of the evening. If he could have a little snack and push out the desserts then he would have a clear board. There were dressed up wait staff walking around with drinks and trays of his food anyway.

Maybe Karun had planned it, but Gil turned the corner and found Thena. She was seated on one of the crates yet to be unpacked, probably full of bottles that cost more than his whole salary. She was hunched over a little plate of food with her legs crossed, the slit of her dress exposing the length of them, while also pooling unceremoniously on the floor with her heels. Her hair was still pinned tightly at the back of her head, although he was guessing that the sparkly clip sitting beside her had been in it until she got down here.

She still looked gorgeous, although he had to admit he was more fond of the way she looked first thing in the morning, enjoying one of his omelettes.

"Oh," she looked up, not rushing to polish her appearance again. She rearranged her dress somewhat, starting to slip her stocking feet back into her shoes. "I was-"

"Hey, it's okay," he rushed. He could only assume she had taken off the high heels because her feet were killing her. "I won't tell."

She smiled at him, thankful for his secrecy. She did indeed slip her feet back to the tile floor, holding her rations preciously. "Did you come to escape them as well?"

"Escape them?"

She glanced upward in the direction of her own party, "the animals."

Gil snorted. He had certainly thought of them as such, but he hadn't exactly thought Thena did too. At least, not so literally. "I thought you knew at least some of them."

But she looked downtrodden, bordering on miserable. Gil immediately thought of the times in his life when he felt like a shy little outcast, sitting alone at lunch or being excluded from playing with others. "I suppose I am acquainted with a few of them. But this is largely a networking event. It is my turn to host it, nothing more."

He didn't exactly know everything about Thena's super fancy lifestyle. Actually, he knew very little about it. But he was confident in saying that she didn't ask for any of it, let alone like it. "Really sounds like more of a pain in the ass, than anything."

He usually didn't swear in front of Thena (his boss). Well, he didn't always talk in front of her at all. But she smiled again, her finger playing with a sprig of green onion that had tumbled off a canape. "I would have to agree."

Given that this was the most he and Thena had ever exchanged in terms of words or conversation, Gil decided to push further. He abandoned the search for champagne in favour of leaning against a stack of crates facing her. He slipped his hands in his pockets, although he immediately wondered if it was coming off as 'trying too hard'. "Is there anyone here you like at all?"

She looked up, stared him dead in the eyes, and said, "you."

Gil blushed.

Thena looked down at her lap again. She didn't rush to correct her statement, but her fidgeting with her plate increased as she brought her knees closer to her chest. "Not that I make for good company."

"What?" he laughed, hoping she would follow suit. "I'd rather be down here with you than up there, anyway."

She didn't quite take it as the compliment he intended, but she did look up again. Her lip set in a firm line, "have they been pestering you? I did attempt to make it clear that you were to be left to your work."

They had circled him like sharks observing a wounded dolphin. "I haven't really noticed them."

Thena scowled down at her beet cured salmon rosette. "Not one of them is of the mind to brush elbows with their own staff. I knew that your food would entice them into playing nice, but I did hope they would have some decorum."

He definitely got the impression that, while happy to sing his praises here and now, working for them was probably a nightmare. He would much rather be here with Thena, hiding from her own guests like ne'er do wells under the bleachers.

Thena blinked as he stole the rosette right off her plate. "I beg your pardon."

He gave her a grin, chewing it thoroughly. It turned out well! "What?--you were just playing with it. Someone should enjoy my work."

Her lips tugged up again and he really noticed how the red colour made them look even fuller than usual. "I did not realise my secret stash would have to be shared."

Gil shrugged, leaning forward to steal something else. Despite her teasing reproach, she leaned back and offered her plate to help him select something. He grabbed the remaining half of a mini buratta with a disk of tomato gelee and air crisped basil. He'd never created such pretentious finger food in all his life, but that was exactly what the animals wanted, according to Thena.

"I took two of everything and came down here nearly an hour ago," she confessed, hanging her head in guilt. She finally picked up the blackberry from her crostini and ate it. "Mingling with them is simply beyond my threshold for suffering."

She said 'they're a bunch of assholes' so eloquently.

"I guess I don't blame you," Gil chuckled, taking the rest of the crostini she had left after claiming just the fruit from it. "It's your party, your house--if you wanna play hooky, then who cares."

"Play hooky?" she furrowed her brows at the expression.

He laughed again, which she seemed to take as a scathing mockery of her ignorance. His expression softened and he leaned off the crates.

Thena drew her shoulders up but ultimately made room for him on her crate as he sat down next to her. It was neither too small nor comfortably large. He managed not to touch butts with her, but there was nothing he could do about his shoulder brushing hers.

He glanced at her from his position of having to somewhat perch himself on the corner, "aren't you cold?"

Thena's cheeks took on the most charming shade of pink he'd ever seen in his life. Now that he was closer to her, he could see the faint tremor in her hands and shoulders. She looked down at her plate again, positively mortified. "Freezing."

Poor thing was so eager to leave her own party that she would rather freeze by herself in the wine cellar than mingle a little. Gil immediately wished he had something on under his chef's jacket (although that would only ever create more of a sweating problem).

Gil put his hand on hers, which really was startlingly cold to the touch. "If you don't wanna come up to the kitchen, I get it. Some of your guests do keep poking their heads in."

That certainly was enough to keep her rooted in place.

He gave her frigid hand a squeeze, "but I'll bring you something, okay? Something to warm you up in hiding."

Thena looked up at him as he stood, preparing to leave her again. Those big, dazzling green eyes of hers pleaded with him, "hurry back?"

He would let all of the desserts burn if he had to. He lingered at the door just to wave to her, "I'll grab more rations for us too."

The brightened expression on her face at the promise of his lengthened return was blinding. It was more than enough to convince him to set the desserts out all at once and whatever happened, happened. As far as he was concerned, the guest of honour was down here freezing her butt off, the least he could do was grab a cup of hot cocoa and his hoodie and some more snacks for her.

#Thenamesh Hamptons AU #poor Thena has negative social skills #of course she would rather hide in the basement than attend her own party #everyone attending is just some rich asshole anyway #so their families know each other so what #Karun knows she's hiding from everyeone #and he knows just the cure #so he goes into the kitchen and says oh hey I think I saw Thena going downstairs #Gil: great I just happened to need something down there totally unrelated #I love this prompt so thank you #Thena doesn't really want any of them talking to her sweet and funny chef #she finally gets the chance to talk to him and it's because she's having a terrible time #little does she know Gil is like this is my chance #he pulls everything out at once and tells the catering staff this is what everything is I'll be back whenever #if they ask for something I do not care #he comes back downstairs with a nice hot mug and puts sweater over her shoulders and presents more snacks and desserts for her #and Thena falls even more in love with him #I mean they have an appropriate and professional relationship #Karun isn't matchmaking at all

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