#Carmen Berzatto x you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ambitiouspotions · 3 days ago

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HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS | CARMEN BERZATTO | ONESHOT

summary — carmy is finally home for the holidays and you, his childhood friend, are invited to the berzatto christmas dinner

word count — 10.2k

warnings — angst, mentions of addiction, family chaos, written and added to season 2 episode 6 so like you know strap in (of course all credit to the wonderful creators, writers, producers, and directors for the fuckery of the episode they created)

author’s note — yeah, anyways have fun! also going by the basis that carmen is at least 15 years younger than mikey!

“hold on, stall for me, i heard them saying my name,” carmen requested, pausing your conversation to make his way to the front door to ask his older siblings why they called upon him. you tilted your head, not being able to even deny his request before he went outside. you pulled at the sleeve of your knitted green sweater, only letting the headache-inducing arguing mixed with a symphony of christmas music filter through your ears.

you roamed the trays of cheese and crackers as he was away, the fak brothers yammering in your ear about a potential business reselling baseball cards on ebay.

“apparently, i’ve been placed on mom duty,” he muttered as he came back to join your side. he smelled faintly of cigarette smoke when he returned. who could blame him? 74% of the american population were also in agreement that the christmas holidays were the most stressful time of year.

the rest of the berzatto family was staggering through the den, quick quips flying from their mouths as they interacted with each other. lee was trying to pass off a bright red, piping hot dutch oven to everyone he walked past, finally settling on sugar to bring the dish to the kitchen. you felt bad for her. she already confided in you the moment she saw you. she was so nervous about ruining christmas because of her impulsive tendency to ask her mother if she was okay. it was a surprise for her to see carmen again after he had been in copenhagen, but an even bigger surprise when she learned carmen was bringing you to a family dinner.

you, peach, well that’s what mikey had deemed you after a particularly embarrassing accident in the neighborhood. the nickname stuck over the years, and now the entire berzatto family was keen on calling you peach rather than your actual name. you were caught in the middle of this entire night, avoiding your own family for personal reasons, and already regretting saying you’d be there for carmen. you had enough of the berzatto stress working for mikey at the beef. none of that was ever mentioned to carmen. the past nine months, in between your college courses, you were bagging sandwiches and helping the patrons of the beef while listening to richie and mikey’s bullshit.

you didn’t expect carmen to call so late at night. you had gotten a few random, nondescript texts from him over the months he had been away, but never expected his next time to contact you would be over the phone asking you to join him for christmas dinner with his family. so, there you stood, trying to make conversation and witty banter with the friends and close relatives of the berzatto family because carmen was so terrible at socializing. they were all happy to see you in some weird way, like a blast from the past, the nostalgia of “peach and bear.”

carmen was in the kitchen, but he wouldn’t allow you to step a foot into the war zone of a thousand unlabeled timers, splatters of sauce, overfilled oven, cluttered stove, drunken and mentally ill donna, and the unprepared seven fucking fishes. it was loud enough to overhear donna barking orders to an already panicked carmen. jimmy was brave enough to walk in to get olives for his cocktail, spouting promises to keep his hands to himself. though he had extra courage taunting donna about what they were going to have for dessert, lucky for him, she had taken his teasing calmly.

the kitchen was heating up as more people went in and out. you didn’t dare. the faks, donna yelling for mikey, and sugar.

ugh, why natalie?

why did she have to leave you and enter the trenches?

“ma, are you good?” sugar questioned, her voice rising over the kitchen timers, fak brothers, and donna. “ma?”

no, come on nat, no. you told me that you wouldn’t do that.

“yeah, yeah, we’re good.” carmen insisted. his next move was to attempt to direct his sister to the garage for more paper towels. he was already doing well guiding donna’s attention away from natalie.

you had only zoned out for a second when michelle and steven were asking about your college career. your head whipped, excusing yourself quickly from the new york-dwelling cousins.

“okay, this is why, this is why i didn’t want to come home.” carmen’s voice rang through your ears, his annoyed stutter making his older brother and mother begin to argue over his impoliteness on christmas.

you stood on the outside edge of the entrance of the kitchen, playing with the ring on your index finger as another timer shrieked through the kitchen. you wanted to step in, but everything seemed to be moving so quickly. they were being so condescending, leaving carmen to stand up for himself. mikey had a full mouth of food urging his younger brother to say three simple words. carmen’s unamused face said it all as donna egged him on as well.

carmen clearly gave in to the taunting because his next words were “i love you.” his tone said it all. he was becoming very agitated. his mother wrapped him in a hug, glancing in your direction.

mikey placing a quick and vexing kiss on the side of carmen’s head muttered “so happy the bear's home,”

“happy, happy to see you too, peach,” donna added, now averting her attention to the grossly jammed stove.

“yeah, you too, see dee,” you emphasized, blowing her a kiss as her hands covered in batter hovered above carmen’s shirt collar as she held him in her arms for a moment longer.

donna and mikey cared for carmen, but they didn't understand him. though, you didn't quite understand carmen either. he was always trying to prove to his family that he was the best, but being the best now meant that he was too “fancy” for them. you wished he could stay away from the overbearing chaos his family brought, but apparently, it was better for him to only come home once a year to stay in their good graces.

now, donna was trying to gain carmen’s attention, but little to her knowledge carmen was paying attention to her. he was trained to continuously be moving in a busy kitchen, but donna saw that as a sign of disrespect and avoidance. she forgot her train of thought, though carmen who had been paying attention, got his inebriated mother back on task to explain freeing an oven spot for another dish. donna’s orders, although scattered and frantic were being heard by carmen. he wasn’t going to let this be another year of disaster.

you were glad he could understand donna because even after years of knowing the berzattos, donna was a character that you never quite understood. after all, no one ever bothered to discuss her deep-rooted issues. you had the liberty of learning of her crazy antics on your own accord after overhearing stories and occasionally witnessing smaller bouts of her rage. donna’s illness was unspoken, but maybe that was for the best. she clearly didn't want to be helped or think she needed help.

the pregnant tiff entered; she was always nice, but even with the upset her baby was causing her she seemed in better spirits than anyone. she could have an escape away from family and friends while she pukes her guts into the toilet. donna was determined for carmen to understand that tiffany was not okay. she had thrown up! she needed to be cared for!

tiffany wasn't helpless, but it made donna feel better about herself to worry for someone else other than herself, for once. maybe donna just wanted to seem like she cared and truly didn't? you never knew where to place her.

the timer again! donna was questioning her own directions as she tried to remember what dish she needed to tend to. carmen had remembered because, through his conversation with tiff, he managed to make his way to the stovetop. richie had blocked carmen, setting him back for a few moments. he was quickly back on track. natalie had come back with the paper towels, and your eyes were set on her. you saw her gaze at the open bottles of liquor. you blocked the view of her as she poured the toxic brews down the sink. hopefully, with less liquid courage, donna would settle down.

the entire time as you blocked the wandering eyes in the kitchen from natalie’s liquor-guzzling drain your mind was fixated on carmen’s precise movements. he never seemed to waste any time.

“my timers are going off!” donna exclaimed to carmen, as if her disorganization was her son’s issue. carmen stood up for himself again as he finished tending to donna’s mess to make tiffany, who was already making her way to the bedroom to lie down, a sprite.

carmen was facing ridicule again. he was a chef, having staged in a very elite restaurant, and they were surprised that he could make fucking sprite. did they think he wasted years of his life to be mediocre? none of them knew that he had the terrible and compulsive need to be better than the environment he was raised in. you felt that since carmen was on donna duty, you had to be on carmen duty. you were invited to family dinner, but you extended your invitation to your remaining brain cells that were urging you to protect carmen from the wrath of his family.

you never understood carmen’s perspective. you had begged carmen multiple times to get away from the shitshow the berzattos produced, but he never listened. he always came circling back each year and looked to you for an answer as to why his anxiety was so terrible. maybe it was the universe’s way of a practical joke. you were avoiding your own family and now had to deal with carmen’s family.

you folded your hands in front of you as you faced richie and donna. “you have to give him some credit for working at noma.” your comment was overlooked the moment natalie started questioning her mother’s wellbeing. carmen heard this, giving you a quick glance.

sugar, why? leave donna the fuck alone. i know you are trying to help, but fuck off, sug.

“nat, she’s fine,” you squeaked out as donna pulled natalie closer. she took it better than expected, but as richie started asking about the tradition of the seven fishes, you could’ve sworn donna was being interrogated. her exaggerated body movements and the close proximity to richie’s face were enough to make you stand on edge as carmen began muddling the limes and lemons for his homemade pop.

let it be, rich. let her have her stupid traditions and let it be!

lee chimed in ready to explain the biblical part to richie’s question, though adding more than necessary.

“...makin’ people feel like shit, holding everything in and then letting it out inappropriately, raging, pouting, screaming, making scenes. you know all the italian classics?” lee chattered on and on, hinting obviously towards donna’s behavior. she didn’t notice, but if she did she paid him no mind.

donna stood in the middle of everyone’s conversations, watching lee and richie steal a bite of food as another timer rang, carmen adjusting the “proscuit” and the “mortadel” by order of his mother, and richie now taking the glass of sprite.

carmen slid over to you, offering a tasting spoon of some concoction from the stove when he had a moment.

“why is no one listening to me?”

here we go.

you were bracing for impact as donna, richie, and carmen tried to figure out why her temperament wasn’t as mellow as it had been just a few seconds prior.

over a pot that she never mentioned until now? classy, donna, really classy.

richie took that as a sign to leave. he didn’t want any part of donna’s delusional shenanigans.

“he’s going to move the pot, dee dee,” you said defensively as carmen lugged the white stock pot off the burner and to an empty space on the counter. you could tell carmen was getting close to a breaking point as he stormed out of the kitchen. he put his hand up to you, stopping you from following him. you knew after years of being friends with him it was best to let him simmer before trying to immediately help him.

as donna spouted multiple thank yous, you slipped out of the hell hole of the kitchen to the bathroom. you knew better than to bother carmen when he was seemingly about to burst.

to your surprise, when looking in the mirror, you were still put together, tugging at the waistband of your jeans to waste more time collecting yourself. though as you dilly-dallied in the bathroom carmen was being hazed by mikey and richie. when you exited the bathroom natalie was lingering in the hallway waiting for you, swiftly taking you with her upstairs to tiffany.

mikey and richie were face to face asking each other if either one of them had told carmen the good news.

“why are you guys fucking with me?” carmen asked, his tone raising as the annoyance continued.

“no one’s fucking with you!” the friends said in unison.

“why would you think that?” mikey pestered carmen, taking a step closer to him.

“‘cause you’re always fuckin’ with me, that’s why i fuckin’ think it,” carmen spat back, his entire body tensing. he wanted them to stop with their anticipation and tell him what was so important.

“it’s a good thing! it’s a good thing!” they insisted, attempting to calm carmen down. carmen was standing stiff, his face reading as unimpressed and blank.

“just take a break from being a mopey little fuck,” mikey urged carmen as richie tried to quiet the youngest berzatto brother.

“we’re trying to tell you that peach is the love of your fucking life.” mikey’s voice dropped lower as he told carmen. he didn’t know where you were located in the house and didn’t want you to overhear as he told his brother the information.

“dude, i don’t have a love of my life.” carmen’s shoulders only seemed to tense more as they spoke.

richie was wearing a shit-eating grin as another timer echoed through the house.

“she’s been working at the restaurant,” mikey interjected as richie pumped his fists. “the body is banging!” he exclaimed as mikey mocked the word "banging” to carmen.

“she’s hot as balls. dude, that tip jar is always fucking full every time she picks up a shift.” richie reiterated excitedly as he bent closer to carmen.

though your normal attire had always been comfortable and mostly consisted of oversized garments, working at the beef transitioned your working attire to a more fitted attire due to having an overwhelming amount of regular male customers. your school loans had to be paid somehow.

carmen’s entire face was contorting upon hearing their comments about you. he wasn’t stupid. he knew you were attractive, but knowing his older brother and his married friend were ogling over you was disgusting. and wait? mikey said you were working at the restaurant? why the hell were you in that goddamn restaurant?

“she’s like a waitress in a fuckin’ porno,” richie continued, mikey following suit again “she’s all that and a fuckin’ basket of biscuits, bro.”

“oh, oh,” mikey started to speak again, inching closer to carmen’s face. “by the way she’s like a legitimate fucking wizard.” richie agreed with mikey, beaming as he spoke.

“w-wait, what did you say to her?” carmen stammered, looking at the two friends frantically. “you’ve been working with her? what did you say to her?” he needed to know. dear god, he needed to know why it was such good news and why it was so important that they tell him that you were the love of his life. what did they do this time?

“she picks up a shift when she doesn't have class,” mikey said casually, though carmen’s voice was rising in a panic.

“what did you do?” he asked, his eyes darting quickly at mikey and then at richie. “what did you do?” he demanded, barely able to catch his breath.

“bro, this is a once-in-a-million opportunity for you to score with a woman that’s stacked physically and mentally,” richie explained nonchalantly.

“homie, you’re having a fucking child,” carmen said his brows furrowed together trying to comprehend the fucked situation in front of him as another timer ended and sent the dinging through the hallways. “why are you even talking like that?” carmen questioned with a huff.

“it’s done,” mikey confessed, taking a step back.

“who asked you to do that?” carmen petitioned. he was furious. why the hell was his brother meddling in his life?

“i put in a good word,” mikey said, attempting to brush off carmen’s anger.

“nobody asked you to do that,” carmen countered sternly.

“she told me you two were in touch, so i told her about how you always had a little crush on her.” mikey smirked as if he hadn’t just released embarrassing information.

mikey wasn't lying, upon telling him that carmen had invited you to family dinner a few hours later, he and richie were trying to offer carmen up as the main course. you managed to walk away from the conversation unscathed, but mentally trying not to admit being too interested in what they were saying. you weren't going to seem like a lovesick fool and admit your feelings for him to his older brother and family friend.

“i feel like you’re breaking my balls.” carmen clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as more information came out. “i don’t understand why you always do that,” carmen grunted, continuing his heated rambling. “like, why are you like this?”

“she’s hot now, carm. she’s hot now,” richie said, circling back to where the conversation had started, trying to urge carmen to think of something positive.

“stevie was with us!” mikey exclaimed, already calling steven into the heated conversation.

“i don’t need steven to come over here,” carmen hissed, throwing his arms up as steven rounded the corner.

“would you tell him about peach at the beef?” the friends said, filling steven in on their topic of conversation.

“oh, y/n? peach?” steven asked, being confirmed with nods by richie and mikey. “she’s wonderful–”

carmen stared blankly, how had you agreed to come to christmas dinner with him knowing mikey had told you about the crush he used to have on you? he was filtering out the words steven was saying as richie and mikey started talking over each other.

“she’s a deeply good person,” steven said, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other around an overfilled glass of red wine. “i can see why you’re in love with her–”

“i-i’m not in love with her, though, that’s what i’m saying,” carmen pressed further, wishing that someone would listen to him. “where did you guys get this from?”

“you used to have all those drawings,” richie commented, though carmen’s anger and embarrassment spiked as he pointed a finger at the group of men in front of him.

“that’s what i’m fuckin’ talking about, though!” carmen’s voice was rising every second, but luckily for him you, natalie, and tiffany were in donna’s bed catching up with each other as carmen only got louder.

“that’s what i’m saying! that’s why i think you’re fucking with me!” carmen was speaking so rapidly. he could barely keep up with his words as steven, richie, and mikey began to chuckle.

“you used to give me a fucking hard time about it.” carmen retorted again, backing away from the three of them. mikey was pestering carmen by trying to grab his face as the cycle of another timer was over. carmen was begging for him to stop touching him as steven mentioned that mikey had the conversation with you handled.

the timer kept ringing as mikey inched closer. carmen was swatting his brother’s hands away as a spoon flew towards the men.

“the fuck?” steven murmured, turning on his heel to look at donna. “auntie d, did you just throw a spoon at me?”

that was a hell of a way to break up a conversation. donna demanded that the sprite richie was toting be brought to his wife and that carmen was needed back in the kitchen.

“ma, you gotta chill, mom,” mikey said walking towards donna, repeating himself as she urged him not to speak to her that way.

richie bent down, holding one of carmen’s shoulder’s firmly. “we’re not done with this peach thing.”

“you’re fuckin’ breaking my balls,” carmen said, his voice had lowered again, though he did not look pleased.

“no, i think, i think it’s just a big misunderstanding,” richie admits, taking a final peak over steven’s shoulder before resuming his task of bringing the sprite to tiffany.

steven nodded to carmen. “carm…this is a good thing.”

carmen was looking past steven’s striped shirt and large square glasses as he spoke. he didn’t care what anyone was saying to him about you. he might have been overly defensive in that vomit-inducing conversation, but maybe that was because he did care about you.

you and natalie had filtered out of donna’s bedroom as richie knocked on the door, leaving the couple to their own devices.

the entire time you had sat on the edge of the bed with the other two women, carefully looking around the jaguar-infested room. it was so dramatically gaudy and over the top. though, donna being donna, would most definitely have it decorated the way she did.

the conversations were light at first though when tiffany mentioned richie previously telling her that michael had told you of the childhood crush carmen had on you there was nothing other than laughter. the laughter was refreshing from the overwhelming dread that was lingering over the home. it was as though being with family, this family, in particular, was a death sentence to any participant.

you weren't oblivious to carmen's obvious staring and stuttering, though even in the present day nothing had changed. except you left out the part where you mentioned that you were always stealing sneaky glances at carmen as well.

in the kitchen, an artichoke topped with breadcrumbs fell to the ground. donna was on her knees cursing as she began to clean it. lee rushed in to help her. he made her laugh. donna was laughing and smiling. that brought her temperament down. lee not only helped clean the kitchen mess, but donna’s attitude as well.

though now donna was shoving her long red nails into lee’s face insisting that she didn’t need a job opportunity that he had smoothly worked into the conversation. mikey had walked into the back and forth with lee and donna, questioning if they were arguing again. lee casually picked up the dropped artichoke, looking at mikey, and merely commented that he had only been cleaning a mess.

mikey had started the smart-ass remarks with lee, slamming the bottle opener for his beer cap on the top of the fridge. donna was still on her knees as she yelled for mikey to be kinder. lee murmurs about a lack of christmas spirit in the home but continues with his cleaning duty with donna.

the fak brothers and michelle were hidden in the bathroom, smoking a joint. they were bantering, reminiscing, and then finally in agreement. agreeing that donna was going to blow her lid. the real question now was when?

donna was cracking lobsters, progressively becoming more intoxicated by the second. you leaned against the counter watching carmen pace around the kitchen, trying to keep up with the list of demands from his mother. natalie insisted on helping, to which donna immediately declined.

jimmy entered the kitchen again. while donna was distracted, natalie looked at you and then motioned to carmen. she wiggled the half-consumed bottle of wine in disbelief. her eyes were wide upon finding that her mother had ingested another ridiculous amount of alcohol.

“...sugar instead of salt and the gravy tasted like fuckin’ hawaiian punch,” donna recounted the story of how natalie got her nickname to jimmy, casually tossing the lobster shells away as she spoke.

“at least she's not peach because she ripped her pants open to show everyone her peach underwear during the neighborhood garage sale when she tried to run on the treadmill mrs. troisi was selling,” you retorted, a hint of red filling your cheeks as jimmy patted your shoulder. mikey never let you live it down, though when most people heard the name they luckily thought it was because you were a metaphorical peach in your personality.

another timer altered the kitchen, donna shooing carmen away to fetch tiffany some saltine crackers to go with her homemade sprite. you stayed with natalie, assuming it would be best for carmen to have a minute away from family. donna went on another spiel, asking to be reminded what her timer was for and to make sure someone told her to put the bread in the oven.

carmen stood in the pantry with mikey, his agitation showing. he voiced his annoyance about being unable to work with him at the beef, though he didn’t bring up the fact that mikey was allowing you to work there; he was still stewing on that new factoid, not even having mentioned that he knew it to you. he never returned to the kitchen. mikey wanted more for carmen, just as you did, but his own personal reasons he didn't reveal were more to the reason he didn't want carmen in the restaurant with him.

sitting in the den as michelle went on some ridiculous tangent about her last name and a random woman who knew about bears, you could only agree that it was better than still being in the kitchen with donna and natalie. you finally started to relax for the first time that night, your legs crossed comfortably as you sunk into the couch cushions. lee started jabbering about sports when mikey walked past them. he looked rough. he looked off; something wasn’t right.

donna yelled from the kitchen, cursing loudly, making steven begin to stand, wanting to offer her a helping hand. even your eyes widened at this fact. how was he still going to go in there even after everyone was begging him not to bother her? steven was nice, but oblivious to the true ways of donna. you had figured it out for yourself many years ago, and now steven was about to as well.

with carmen still not back in the kitchen, donna was unraveling. she burnt the fish from the oven, staggering around trying not to drop the hot tray before slamming it on the counter, causing her wine glass to topple onto the floor. natalie was frantically trying to clean the glass shards as donna claimed that no one ever offered to help her.

donna was rambling wildly, holding natalie’s face harshly as natalie pleaded with her mother that she was okay and needed to settle down. steven, of course, was now learning his lesson as he offered his help.

“get the fuck out!” donna voiced loudly, steven standing shocked only nodded his head, awkwardly backing out of the kitchen. natalie was breathing heavily as she took the glass-filled trash bag out of the kitchen, muttering to herself as steven stopped her before going out the door. steven was now using his kindness to natalie’s advantage, wrapping her in a tight hug.

back in the den, everyone was uncomfortably listening to mikey’s incoherent story. his words were misplaced and jumbled. talking with his hands was not uncommon, but they never seemed to sit still, even if they rested they were jittering.

“we’ve heard this story a million times,” lee said, interrupting mikey’s retelling.

“no, uh, let him finish,” you spoke up, though lee only rolled his eyes.

you looked at mikey, wrapped in his brown tassel blanket. everyone trying to defuse the potential situation as mikey only seemed to be becoming more irritated the longer he went without talking.

“you sold the car and then you find the horse,” lee announced, summing up mikey’s story quickly. he sipped his drink as mikey threw his hands up in defeat, sarcastically congratulating him on ruining the moment.

lee started recounting mikey’s multiple failed business plans. michelle was trying to center the conversation back to a safe spot as jimmy walked in to join them, the tension was still present but the bickering had silenced as michelle welcomed jimmy.

“what’s going on in here?” jimmy questioned, mikey immediately perked his head up.

“this jagoff is talking shit,” he muttered about lee. lee tried to lighten the mood, playfully pointing to himself and repeating the nickname.

“i guess about how i, like, don’t finish shit,” mikey said, his expression was blank.

jimmy was in agreement, softly speaking as he nodded. mikey wasn’t the most practical of businessmen.

pete came bursting in toting a wrapped tuna casserole. like pete, you didn’t understand why there couldn’t be eight fishes, but knew that if everyone was telling him it was a bad idea then it was true. you followed the basic rule that if donna had a particular tradition to never break it. you didn't think it was necessary to cause anyone in the berzatto family any extra anger; they had enough of it genetically engineered into their veins.

carmen came to announce that dinner was ready and they were needed at the dinner table. michelle was warning everyone not to tell carmen what was in pete’s hand, but when he looked at you he rolled his eyes.

“tuna casserole,” you breathed out, a cough backing up your words. carmen began berating pete for bringing the dish. who knew that eight fishes could make someone an asshole? apparently, the berzattos knew this fact, and anyone not related to them was left to cope with whatever hell eight fishes would bring.

“don’t let her fucking see it,” carmen warned him as he walked out, though you were following behind him. natalie swiftly took the tray and threw the casserole out the door.

the table was cluttered, everyone basically sitting elbow to elbow as they all were seated. you nudged carmen with your foot and his head raised as he exhaled. you could tell this family gathering was screwing with his head. he nudged your ankle to acknowledge you, though you couldn’t tell if that was enough to settle his nerves as he mentioned going to get his mother to sit down.

carmen was once again in the kitchen. his pleas were not enough to make donna come to join the table. she would only go when she was ready. he was feeling guiltier by the second as she wouldn’t join them for dinner. he finally returned to the table, seeming more quiet than before.

steven was volunteered to say the prayer but quickly declined. michelle took his place asking about the seven fishes. lee butted in with his biblical nonsense, a fork then thwacking him in the head. everyone's face dropped at the sudden interaction. no one liked where this was headed.

mikey mimicked the sound of a buzzer. his eyes unfocused and overly amused by his actions.

“did you just throw a fork at me?” lee asked, whipping his head around to look at mikey.

“i did,” mikey said a bit too proudly. his elbows were on the table and his hands were folded until he started to speak. speaking wildly, incoherently, and maybe a little too loudly.

jimmy peeked his head forward. “what are you doing, michael?”

“he started it, uncle j,” mikey waved his hands to lee.

“mike just–” carmen started to speak until lee chimed in. “don't throw fuckin’ forks at people.”

mikey began to mock lee for speaking. richie bent his head down, trying to contain a laugh of nervousness.

“hey, fak. you using your fork?” mikey hinted. neil fak stuttered for a moment before admitting that he needed his utensil. fak tried to convince mikey not to take the fork, but soon the silverware was inching away from him.

“please–” fak mumbled, trying to keep his voice neutral. it was as though he was trying to defuse a bomb.

“i just need to borrow it for one second,” mikey said, raising the silverware in his hand and waving it teasingly. you were now chirping with the rest of the crowd for him to set the fork down.

it hit lee in the forehead again.

“i threw the fork, lee,” mikey said, covering his mouth as he spoke. his wide eyes fixated on lee.

“cousin, you're scaring the normals,” richie jests, trying to lighten the mood.

“mikey–” you uttered, clearing your throat, though he didn't pay you any mind.

your eyes were fixed on mikey. your hand was under the table rubbing carmen's knee gently. you now understood more of the reason you needed to be present for him tonight. carmen massaged his temples, shutting his eyes tightly.

“you see, i can throw forks ‘cause this is our father’s house,” mikey was blabbering. that disturbed look in his eye still present.

“rich,” lee called upon mikey's friend, hoping he could do something to stop mikey.

“my father's house,” mikey continued.

“we have lift off,” commented michelle.

lee pestered mikey again, but not in some playful way. a true jab about his stories again. the laugh mikey was not out of fun. mikey was hunched over as he chuckled.

“tell a story about how you're living with your mom and you're borrowing money off of her and other suckers who'll listen to your bullshit,” lee spat, silencing everyone else at the table for a moment.

“lee, shut the fuck up,” jimmy warned, though he was silenced the moment lee pinned him as one of the suckers mikey was mooching off of.

“unc, it’s fine,” mikey said, a wide smile across his face, though his face dropped as lee continued to speak.

“because this guy's nothing and he's nobody,” lee taunted. mikey's mouth was agape, but lee continued. “and i know you're-you're scared and you're afraid, aren't you, michael? and michael i don’t know what the fuck you’re on, but whatever it is, if you can hear me through the fog, throw another fork at me and you're gonna get fuckin’ rocked.”

lee and mikey stared at each other for a moment. no one else dared to make any sudden movements. you halted rubbing carmen's knee, like everyone else you were wondering how far the situation was going to escalate.

mikey rubbed his beard, just under his nose. “hey petey,” he coaxed. pete was reluctant to look at mikey.

“you think i could just, like, borrow that for one second? i just…” there was a small clattering of utensils as mikey picked up pete's fork, and an even louder bunch of voices chimed in to warn mikey to halt his actions. you knew that this wasn't going to stop mikey. mikey had already made up his mind after the first fork he threw.

mikey looked at natalie, his fork in position for launch. she was begging him not to throw it. he stopped moving when she spoke.

“i love you, okay?” sugar spoke softly, though mikey never lowered the fork.

“i love you too, sug,” mikey had a nod going as he spoke, the fork still tightly in his hand.

“i'm begging you,” sugar expressed sternly, though ot raising her tone.

steven gave an embarrassing laugh. “i'm sorry. i giggle when i get nervous,” he admitted, glancing around at the family next to him.

mikey was taken out of sugar's trance. he was waving the fork sporadically as he spoke. he was assuring steven that it was okay for his outburst. though as he kept insisting that it was okay to laugh jimmy spoke up. “michael, i need you to calm down, buddy, alright?” jimmy much like everyone else, was uncomfortable with the tension-filled room.

“mike–” carmen warned, his brother,

“there’s other people at the table, i need you to calm down,” jimmy explained, peering around the table at the confused and frightened faces. “you're being a bit of an asshole,” jimmy added, hoping mikey would see how unacceptable his behavior was.

though, mikey, high on whatever substance he was on started smiling again. “thank you, uncle j, but i'm fine.” no one could believe this fact seeing as moments before he launched two other forks across the table at lee's head and was still holding the third.

after a sarcastic comment from lee, jimmy confirmed that along with michael being an asshole, lee fit the bill. mikey also thanked jimmy for that comment. just a table with two assholes and a bunch of bystanders internally pleading that mikey would drop the fork that was in his hand.

“go ahead,” lee taunted. “let's go,” he coaxed. “fuckin’ throw it.”

mikey licked his bottom lip, the fork still waving in his hand. “yeah?”

“yeah, throw it or put it down,” lee threatened. it was followed by a weak chuckle from mikey.

“you bite lee? is that what you do?” mikey counters, his eyes darting around the table before going back to lee.

“for fucksake, your mother's been workin' for fucking days, making this meal. have some respect. there's other people at this fucking table!” jimmy scolded mikey.

“throw the fuckin’ fork,” lee insisted, though his hands went to cover his face.

“oh, would you look at that? i didn't throw it! i didn't throw it, you fuckin’ pussy!” mikey was towering over the table as he rose from his seat, aiming to throw it again. he only got louder and more entertained in this sick game as lee went to cover himself again. “you fuckin’ flinched! look, you did it again, you fucking pussy!” mikey announced louder, flicking the utensil again.

“throw it,” lee grunted as mikey sat back down. “i'm not on anything. i flinch,” lee threw another verbal jab in mikey's direction. “i still--my brain's connected to my nerves, you monster.”

“yeah, i'm a monster, lee,” mikey mocked. the entire table was in disbelief as the argument continued.

“you're a loser fuckin monster,” lee remarked with a sneer.

“nobody wants you here with your big fuckin’ mouth,” mikey said, puffing his chest out a bit more. “with your big fuckin’ mouth,” mikey repeated with a scoff. he slammed his hand into the table, making a few glasses shake.

“fuckin’ throw it,”

“yeah?”

“go ahead, fuckin’ throw it you fucking animal,”

“yeah?” mikey was screeching in a similar tone to that of a rabid animal.

“yeah, make it about you. make christmas about you,” lee sneered. “throw the fucking fork.” he urged again. though lee didn't stop talking. “you’re nothing.”

“you’re nothing,” lee reiterated. “you're nothing.” a third time. lee paused, gritting his teeth. “you are nothing.” and again. “you’re nothing.” lee didn't stop. mikey's eyebrows fell as lee said it again. “you’re nothing.” lee continued to repeat those demeaning words until donna walked into the dining area.

everyone was applauding her, putting on a happy face, wishing her a happy holiday and a merry christmas. donna looked as though she had been crying, her makeup smudged, and her blonde hair looked like she had been pulling at it with annoyance.

cigarette in one hand and wine in the other, donna sat at the head of the table closest to the china cabinet. it was deadly silent.

“what'd i miss?” she interjected the silence with a giddy tone in her voice.

lee looked to donna, “nothing,” he commented, waving his hands though his tone was not as fierce as it previously was with mikey.

“i missed something,” donna insisted, knowing the chaotic household was never so silent.

“no, no, no,” mikey denied, luckily donna didn't press any further. “stevie's about to say grace, ma,” he added, waving the fork.

steven was trying to politely decline, but the more steven said no the more mikey wanted to press him.

“just fuckin’ say the thing, okay?” mikey urged, as his mother pawed at her hair.

michelle in hopes of keeping the table at a simmer presses further for steven to say the blessing over the food. steven, as awkward as he is, took the challenge, although he was most likely following michelle's lead in wanting mikey, lee, and donna to act semi-normal for the rest of the night.

“hey, uh, it's great that we're all together, um, and healthy, i think,” steven began, michelle producing a slight giggle as he spoke. “uh, no one’s si–physically very sick.”

was he referring to mikey or donna or both? hell, maybe he was referring to himself and decided to include the rest of the group with him because it was probably true.

“i'm so grateful, um, for this beautiful meal,” steven paused looking to donna, “and donna, um, what an incredible job donna did. and i-i could hear in there. it sounded very hard and it's just gorgeous,”

donna had an impeccably large smile on her face, pride washing over her as her painstaking work had been acknowledged. her hands clasped together with gratitude as though she had won the oscar nomination for best actress.

“and is he still holding the fork?” steven asked nervously. mikey looked up, the base of the fork shoved in the center of his praying hands.

“sure is,” jimmy confirmed, steven paused for a moment before finding his way back to his prayer he wasn't prepared for.

“okay, um, listen” steven announced, though he was stalling for more time to find another topic. stalling to ensure that mikey would put down that goddamn fork and allow dinner to finish on a peaceful note. “what is the seven fishes or why do we do it?” steven nodded his head, the other’s seated at the table were now focused on steven speaking rather than blankly and nervously staring at the table. “i think i know what my definition is,” steven swallowed hard, his mouth dry, trying to accumulate more words. “uh, as soon as i think of it…it's a chance to be together and to take care of each other.” donna took a drag from her cigarette quickly so her hands could fold together in prayer as steven continued to speak. it was as though all his yammering was to talk mikey off of the ledge he had placed himself on, hoping that it would be enough to force him to drop his borrowed fork.

“and to eat together. and there's seven fishes, which means you have to make seven entirely different dishes. seven entirely different ways. and that takes a lot of time, and i think spending that time and using that time on the people that we love is how we show them that we love them,” donna was practically in tears as steven spoke of love and togetherness. maybe that’s all she wanted, love and togetherness. holidays were hard enough, but maybe she needed familial support rather than criticism. though it was hard not to criticize her or anyone else at the table because of their unwillingness to get help for their issues. they all complained of each other’s anger and hostility but never complained of their own.

“…and maybe we eat too much…and we definitely drink too much, and we say too much without listening, but tonight w-we're gonna eat seven fishes which is absurd,” michelle gave a small chuckle at steven's quips in his blessing.

“but we have to take extra time to do it and we have to chew more and we have to listen more. and, uh, we only get to do this tonight one time, so i, by the way, love it. i love being here. thank you for having me every year at this. i look…i very much look forward to this. and i love you,” he said looking towards michelle, her eyes fluttering at his sweet devotion.

“i-i-i’m very in love with michelle, and i'm not gay like you guys asked a lot, but i was thinking about what you said about bears and how they're aggressive,” steven continued to chatter, though his gaze only on michelle now.

“they're aggressive, but they're kind…they're sensitive,” his gaze was genuinely loving and of light as he looked at michelle.

“you guys have been so kind to me. you guys let me hang out with you every holiday. i don’t have a family like this and i'm really grateful that, um, you make space for me at this table and time for me on the holidays,”

“may god bless us and keep us safe in the new year, and please give michael the strength not to throw that fork, amen,” steven concluded, shutting his eyes tightly for a moment. michelle wrapped him in a tight embrace as they uttered soft ‘i love yous’ to each other.

“stevie, that was, uh, that was beautiful,” mikey commented.

donna was wiping her final tears away with a sigh. her wrinkled hands brought her cigarette to her mouth again. “it doesn't fuckin’ matter,” she muttered, her eyes closed tightly.

carmen was scratching his temple as he looked at his mother. his hand was now on yours that had been still sitting on his knee from earlier. his palm was sweaty, probably from the overwhelming amount of stress that the holiday was causing him.

“no, donna, it’s great,” you uttered as everyone else at the table tried to send their praises to her. everyone's attention was on her, trying to coax her into a better mindset.

the only one that didn't attempt to say anything was carmen, his jaw clenched tightly as he saw donna begin to exhale.

“you okay?” sugar whispered, carmen's head flipping to look at his sister. everyone at the table closed their eyes in dismay. everyone had made it through conversations, pete’s eighth fish, lee's belittling, mikey's two fork throws, and steven's version of grace, but they all knew they couldn't escape this.

sug…no…sugar

“oh, natalie rose berzatto,” donna’s eyes were closed as she leaned back in her chair, only opening them when she flicked her head towards her middle child. “do you know how much i hate when you ask me that?”

natalie's mouth was agape, trying to avoid eye contact with her mother.

mikey had dropped pete’s fork on the table he ran his hands through his hair. his petty fork throws were nothing in comparison to the hurricane that was brewing across the table.

“do you know how much i fuckin’ hate when you ask me that?” donna's teeth were gritted, a maniacal laugh surfacing as she spoke so harshly to natalie. “do you ask the rest of these people if they're okay?”

“no,” a simple answer spouted from sweet natalie, though donna wouldn't let her get any other words in as she was so keen on speaking over her daughter.

“do i not look okay, natalie?”

“not really,” michelle was saying what everyone else was thinking, though now donna's attention was now on the other side of the table.

“oh, fuck you, michelle,” donna spat. “i do not look okay? did i not just bust my ass all day for you motherfuckers?”

“i didn't mean it like that,” michelle uttered, though her shoulders dropped. she looked defeated and unheard.

donna stood from her chair, gesturing towards the table. “this is beautiful!” she exclaimed waving and shaking her hands wildly. “am i okay? am i okay? are you motherfuckers okay?”

she was screaming, her eyes wandering across the family and friends sitting in their chairs. “are you okay, lee?” she sneered.

“you didn't do shit! this is fucking gorgeous! fuck you!” donna was slurring her words the louder she became. she threw a plate to the ground. “fuck you!” she concluded, stomping away after giving her final curses to natalie.

“it's okay,” michelle quickly and quietly tried to tend to natalie by rubbing her arm.

you squeezed carmen's knee. you needed him to know you were still there. you were witnessing this with him.

lee looked from left to right with a shrug. “well, i guess we all knew that was gonna happen. so it's out. and, uh, maybe everybody, everybody can relax, huh?” he suggested, taking a breath. though mikey didn't seem as convinced with this advice.

“that's the worst i've ever seen her,” michelle mentioned, not to be rude, but to possibly try and lighten the unfortunate situation they were all now a part of.

the clattering of silverware was heard through the dining area. mikey cocked his arm back and launched the fork at lee's head.

lee hopped up in an instant. “you fuckin’ piece of shit!”

michael flipped the table, every dish and placemat was now on the floor as lee and mikey charged toward each other. the fak brothers immediately tried to hold the two men back as everyone else tried to get as far away from the chaos as possible. jimmy was screaming, hell, everyone was screaming at each other.

carmen managed to pull you close to the back wall nearest the dessert. you willingly followed his harsh tugging on your hand not wanting to get in the midst of more chaos than needed.

richie pushed tiffany towards jimmy, wanting her safety to remain intact as he went to pull mikey away from lee. richie was almost immediately forced away by mikey with an overpowering shove. the faks were still attempting to hold the men apart from each other when there was a loud crash.

donna had rammed her car through the foyer. she had gone through the front of the home, squandering the christmas tree and the remaining sanity of the rest of the guests. that was what caused mikey to rush to donna, snap out of his anger with lee, and come to her rescue. he was beating on the driver's side window.

“ma, what did you do?!” he was repeating it over and over trying to make her open her car door. donna remained locked in the car, but mikey's banging only became more forceful as donna was laughing. “open the door, ma!”

christmas was a sick joke. donna had turned the script. she won a trophy for the most narcissistic member of family dinner.

carmen was staring at a pile of pistachio-crusted cannolis topped with powdered sugar, but his main focus was the silver fork, the third and final fork, sticking out of the sweet dessert.

natalie, sugar, whoever she was, the middle child of the berzattos sat in her chair, shocked into place, staring wide-eyed at the misfortune of the holiday.

you didn't exactly remember how you and carmen ended up outside, but the chilly chicago air was calming the nerves of the both of you. carmen was pacing, chain-smoking cigarettes as you stared at him. it was a long moment of silence, though after begging for quiet earlier it only felt worse now.

the christmas lights illuminated him perfectly as he stopped and turned to look at you. his mind had calmed down to a dull roar and flicked the ash from his final smoke. carmen had enough of dealing with “mom duty.” he was done with family. it was peach and bear together again.

“why the hell did you not tell me you were working in the restaurant?” carmen asked with a huff, though he was looking past you into the window of his childhood home. carmen was deflecting; he didn't want to think of any of tonight's events.

“bear, i–”

“peach, what the hell were you thinking?”

i'm not thinking. not about that right now at least. i'm thinking about the car through the house we used to play in and how your brother, my boss, just went ape shit on your mom's boyfriend.

“i was thinking that i needed a job, and no one else would hire me with my schedule,” you admitted, tilting your head while your eyebrows furrowed.

“mikey, fuckin’, asshole,” carmen crossed his arms, stamping out the cigarette butt he threw to the ground. his pile was complete though his muscle memory reached for the package in his pocket until he grunted finding the package in a crumpled ball next to his lighter. “h-he hires you to fuckin’ stare and never gave me half of a goddamn chance,”

“it's not like that. i bag sandwiches and make less than minimum wage,” you held your temples, leaning against the siding of the house. “you're a chef. a good fuckin’ chef, and you want to work at some shithole that can barely pay to keep the lights on?”

“that's not what i'm trying to say and you know it,” carmen huffed, stepping closer to you, trying not to alert the neighbors of any more dysfunction from the household. there were already enough of them standing outside of their homes looking at the new garage donna had installed.

“bear, i have been picking up the pieces of that restaurant for the past nine months, and not once have i complained to you or even mentioned it because i know the shit that goes on there is only going to drag you down,” you explained though your chest felt heavy and empty. nine months of confusion, busting your ass, using every inch of the backbone you had to grow, and only watching a steady decline in the restaurant.

“y/n, i never asked you to do it! i don't need to be looked after like a damn child,” he spat. he was gripping the back of his hair trying to keep his anger contained. it only spiraled so quickly because his mind was reliving every moment from the night.

“carmen,” you crossed your arms. your expression had dropped. your nails were digging into the palms of your hands. “you let them drag you back into this every time. you continue to let them suck you into the ridiculousness and hysteria. how many times are you going to let them keep doing this to you? because every time i beg you to do something better you turn around and let them squander everything.”

“so i'm supposed to leave and never come back? it’s my fault for letting them do it? like i don't already have enough to worry about now i have to let this go so easily? like i'm trying to fix myself, make myself better by doing something for my career and you're mad because i come home for christmas,” carmen scoffed, as he only stepped closer.

“carmen, have you not listened to a word i've said? let me try again, you can't keep coming back because they ruin you.”

“why are you in that fuckin’ restaurant then? why do you care so much?”

“because i don't want them to call you and bring you back to the hell you're crawling out of because i fucking care about you! i have no connection to them other than you! i'm almost done here in chicago and i don't want to have to leave and know you've been coerced back because of the people that are always hurting you,” you exhaled, trying to contain yourself though carmen was frustrating you. your expression never softened. your head was pounding from the night's volume level being at a constant high. “you barely talk to me anymore because we always have this same conversation.”

carmen stared blankly. he released the grip on the back of his hair and shoved his hands into his pockets. he was so conflicted. he wanted to be the best he could be. he wanted more than who he was raised to be, but then struggled in knowing that he would probably always fall back on his berzatto instincts. angry, spiteful, grudge-holding people who were almost always mentally ill.

“we barely talk anymore because i'm scared to ruin everything i have with you. i have years with you, and you have always tried so goddamn hard to help me, but y-you're right it's the same shit every year, every fuckin’ year,” carmen admitted, though he didn't want to make eye contact with you.

“you are only going to ruin this friendship if you keep pushing me away. i want to see you succeed and thrive. do you think it’s fun when i keep having to see you hurt?” you mumbled, unwilling to see his mental health decline any further. you couldn’t bear to keep seeing someone you cared so deeply for continue to be walked over, criticized, and disregarded.

“no, but damn, like, i keep failing every time i come back. failing you because i can never seem to listen. i keep thinking things will be different and every time i’m wrong i have the urge to keep coming back to see it become right.” carmen was pacing as he spoke, but the moment he stopped he managed to slide down the side of the house next to you. he crouched on his knees as he looked up at you.

“you’re so wrapped up in everything else you can’t see what’s in front of you. you have a career. jesus, you have me, bear.” you uttered with a sigh, as you slid down next to him. his hand immediately found your hand that was resting on your thigh and gently began to trace lines onto your knuckles.

“peach, be realistic, it’s not just about me,” you rolled your eyes at his comment and shook your head.

“your life is all about you, carmen. you can control it and you can decide who you want in your life. my best suggestion is to only let those in who care. stop running away from what you want because you feel tied to your shitty family in chicago. is it just easier to hide it under your pride?” your head leaned against his shoulder, and carmen only continued to play with your hand as the tow truck meticulously tried to back into the driveway of the house to pull donna’s car out of the house.

“how am i not supposed to run?” carmen asked stifling a laugh, watching the scene intently.

“keep dedicating yourself to it. you’ve done a helluva good job so far, keep it up,” you encouraged, sighing at the car being pulled out of the house. you were only grateful no other family members bothering you both.

it was a long spell of silence, but carmen stopped rubbing your hand. he cleared his throat, making you turn your head towards him.

“i care about you too…like, l-like peach, i really fuckin’ care,” carmen admitted thinking about what you had said earlier.

“i never have stopped caring, bear,” you confessed, moving to sit flat on the ground. your hands raked through the grass nervously, never having admitted any feeling towards him in the many years of knowing him.

“i-i don’t know how to do any of this, or know anything about how to deal with this,” carmen fixated on your eyes with something vulnerable in them.

“you don’t have to know right now. you don’t have to rush with me, but you need to focus on being healthy and working for what you want,” you comforted him, being lost in the blue pools in front of you.

“i want you, peach,” he confirmed, nodding slowly, his hand caressing your cheek. “it’s going to take a while to figure you out, and fuck, i’ve known you longer than i’ve been able to cook, but i’ll be damned if i keep letting you go again, or letting my brother try and smooth talk you for me.”

“keep working then, bear, i’ll always be here.” a smile spread across your face as you relaxed into his side.

christmas would likely never be the same for you and carmen. each year that passed you saw carmen in the news, each time growing into a more successful person. you were proud of him. you regularly kept in touch, both of you just waiting for the right moment. each of you were so involved in your careers away from chicago, but still so involved with each other.

it wasn’t until carmen took over the beef that you knew he was back in chicago. you always wondered why he had gone back after being so adamant to stay away, but the moment he was back you were back with him. visiting his apartment, wondering why he had jeans in his oven, reminiscing on the good times, and trying to talk through the bad.

thinking back to the eventful christmas holiday carmen often mentioned to you how mikey and richie pestered him about you, and he hated admitting it, but they were right. you were the love of his life. the one that was always there. the one that was patient. the one that waited. the one that kept him grounded.

he missed mikey, well, he missed who he remembered mikey to be. every time he uncovered a new terrible part of his past he would call you, trying to talk through the emotions rather than dwelling on them and having a massive and uncontrollable berzatto outburst. his anxiety would never be gone and his perfectionism ruled his life, but you allowed it to be easier managed.

it was peach and bear again because it was always just meant to be peach and bear no matter how long it took, how many arguments were had, no matter how many messages were unsent, and no matter how many times they left each other only to find one another again.

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thebearer · 9 months ago

Text

nothing in the world belongs to me |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: still new in your relationship, you show up to the bear for dinner unexpectedly, surprising carmen and the others.

based off this prompt from the other day :)

contains: fluff lol. really, it's just fluff. established-ish relationship (the others don't know). carmen being a little nervous and possessive but mainly cute <3 language.

“Alright, listen up,” Richie stood next to Sydney, flicking through the piles of tickets that were ringing through by the second. It was normal now, an expected task in their routine. “We need to walk the focaccia to table seven, please.”

“Yes, Chef!” A chorus of nearly robotic voices rose from the sizzling hiss of the lamb searing in Carmen’s pan, lifting the spatula to tip the meat over, before giving it back to the chef on the line.

“And for table nine, we’ve got a shellfish allergy, alright? So let’s triple check the cross contamination on that. T, can you handle that one?” Richie moved from his leather bound book of notes back to the ticket.

“Yes, Chef!” Tina chimed, pulling a freshly washed pan, filling it with the veal stock.

“Table nine, is that- that’s the senator?” Carmen turned to Richie, tasting the roux bubbling on Victoria’s station, giving her a curt nod of approval.

“No, that’s table eleven.” Richie hummed, looking back at his notebook. “Nine, is… a birthday. Booked online.” Carmen had already begun to drone him out, mind racing with a million other things as Richie listed the guests name. Until he got to one.

The name Carmen was sure he was hallucinating. The name no one knew- How would they know? How could they possibly know your name?

You and Carmen had been seeing each other for a little while. A few weeks that were slowly turning into months. A casual thing that was slowly turning more serious. Dates and meetups are becoming more frequent. You’d even invited him over to your place a few times, he’d spent the night last week.

Still, Carmen hadn’t managed to tell anyone. Selfishly, he liked that you were all his for now. Privacy was not guaranteed in the Berzatto house, in Carmen’s life still. He knew they meant well, they always did- he knew it wasn’t purposeful, the intrusion that almost always led to a demise. Carmen wasn’t ready for it, not yet, he still wanted you all to himself.

“Carmen?” Sydney’s voice pulled him out of his panicked trance. “Chef, are you- are you good?” Her voice lilted with that familiar suspicious quip, the one always accompanied with her lifted brows.

“What?” Carmen blinked, hands buzzing, heart thumping. He could see the window, Richie’s frame blocking most of it. “Sorry, yeah- yeah, I’m good, Chef.”

Sydney watched him carefully, a slow nod before she continued calling out orders. Carmen could feel Richie’s eyes on him, narrowed with curiosity. Carmen tried to be nonchalant, crossing the kitchen back towards Tina, his eyes cutting carefully, looking out the window.

There you were.

Sitting pretty at the middle table, surrounded by friends, some Carmen recognized from your Instagram. He’d actually logged in to the app, looked you up after the first date, consumed every photo of yours in the dark of his room. Cheeks burning with excited heat, stomach fluttering in a way he hadn’t felt since junior high.

“Alright, walk five salads to nine.” Sydney called out. “Where’s our runners? God, Richie, can you run-”

“-I got it.” Carmen called, the urgency in his tone making Tina jump behind him. Carmen took the tray before Gary could, his hands shaking as he lifted it.

“Cousin, I can get it.” Richie frowned.

“No, I-I got it.” Carmen nodded, swallowing down his fluttering nerves. His eyes cut to your table through the window, heart skipping when he saw you. “I got it. I’ll be- I’ll just be a second.”

“I don’t- I can’t even handle that one right now.” Sydney sighed in exasperation. “Alright, Chefs. Let’s get back on track.” She announced, shaking her head. Richie frowned, pulling out his phone.

Sugar’s cell buzzed against the hostess stand, excusing herself to check it.

From: Richie

‘Look at table nine.’

Sugar huffed.

To: Richie

‘Why? Is there something wrong?’

She stepped back, casually turning to scan the room, eyes landing on the table. A small group of girls, younger, and amongst them- Carmen?

To: Richie

‘Is something wrong with the food? Do I need to comp it?’

From: Richie

‘No. Cousin wanted to go out there.’

Sugar frowned, angling her body behind the large plant near the front as casually as she could. She watched through the leaves as Carmen passed out the salads, each girl grinning widely, but their eyes always cut to one on the end.

Carmen saved your salad for last, hoping the lowlights of the restaurant would hide his boyish blush, setting the bowl in front of you carefully. “Hey,”

“Hi,” You smiled sheepishly, looking to meet his gaze. “Everything looks so good.”

“Yeah? Thanks.” Carmen nodded. “I-I didn’t know you were comin’ tonight.”

“I’m sorry.” You cringed softly, embarrassed heat flooding through your veins. You knew better, knew you shouldn’t have done this- showed up at his restaurant unannounced.

“I, uh, it’s my friend’s birthday.” You nodded towards Alicia at the end of the table. “And I was telling them about that pasta you made me, and they really wanted to come try it.” Your nerves bubbled, rambling in nervous peals that seemed to pour out before you could stop them.

“Yeah, no, that’s really nice. Thank you.” Carmen nodded, giving a half smile to your friends, hoping they didn’t see the way he wiped his clammy hands on his apron. “Why didn’t- Why didn’t you just call me? Tell me you were comin’ in.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” You muttered softly. “I honestly didn’t think you’d even see us here, I swear. I didn’t mean to bother you or anything-”

“-You’re not bothering me.” Carmen’s voice dropped to a coo, accompanied with a soft smile that had your head spinning. “Never a bother, but, uh, next time? Bother me, ok? Wanna make sure you get the best seat in the house.”

Your cheeks flushed with heat, your friends excited giggles only intensifying the rushing heat blanketing over your body. Carmen’s own cheeks heated, tongue rolling on the inside of his cheek to hide his grin.

“Alright?” Carmen added, and in a complete act of shocking boldness, his hand squeezed your shoulder affectionately. A small gesture on the outside, but for Carmen, it was huge.

“Alright.” You grinned, leaning into his touch, your hands sliding over his.

“How’s everything so far?” Carmen turned to the table, nodding at the excited gushes of compliments, not missing the way your friends cut their eyes to you with animated glee.

“Just let me know if you need anything, ok?” Carmen turned to you.

“I will.” You nodded, starry eyed with love sick affection.

“Good. I’ll see you before you leave, alright?” Carmen muttered, ducking down towards you. His lips brushed over your cheek, your perfume clouding his senses. “You’re not botherin’ me. ‘M glad you’re here.”

Your cheek pressed to his, a gentle, affectionate rub before Carmen parted. Both of your features painted with shy delight.

Carmen could feel everyone’s eyes, through flickering gazes and lifted brows. Sydney’s gaze lingering over him skeptically, still counting tickets. Fak’s wide grin from the corner, loading trays to take out.

“Hey, uh, Marcus.” Carmen ignored Richie’s raised brows, a teasing, questioning remark on the tip of his tongue.

“Yes, Chef?” Marcus muttered, looking up from the cannolis he was garnishing.

“Table nine has a birthday. I was thinkin’ maybe the chocolate ganache, punch it with the little circle to make it look like a cake. Add a candle?” Carmen muttered, hand rubbing across his face.

“Yeah, Chef, I can do that.” Marcus nodded.

“Thank you.” Carmen nodded. “And Chef? Let me know when it’s ready before you walk it.”

Marcus frowned. “No, it’s not- I just wanna walk it, ok?” Carmen shook his head.

“Alright.” Marcus nodded slowly. “Heard, Chef.”

Richie smirked, leaning against the stainless steel table. “So,” Richie hummed. “There a complaint or somethin’? Need me to go talk to ‘em-”

“-No,” Carmen snapped, the possessiveness in his tone startling the both of them. “Sorry, it’s- No, I-I don’t need you to do that, Chef. Everything’s good.”

Richie nodded slowly, passing the dishes to Gary with a nod. “You gonna tell me what that was about?”

“No, Chef.” Carmen clipped, an edge to his tone that was teetering on annoyed. “But, uh, there’s not gonna be a check on table nine.”

“What?” Richie frowned. “Did you mess somethin’ up? Seriously, Cousin, if something's wrong it’s my job to know-”

“-No, it’s not-.” Carmen huffed, eyes pinching closed, running a hand over his face in frustration. “Look, that’s… The girl on the end? I-I’ve been kinda seein’ her, ya know?” He muttered.

Richie gawked, blinking in disbelief. “No shit.” He grinned. “No shit? You-You’re serious?” He turned to look out the window.

“Don’t fuckin’ look.” Carmen hissed. “Look, it-it’s not a big deal, alright? Just don’t-don’t say anything o-or do anything.”

Richie swallowed back a teasing remark, a reactive reaction from years of being with Mikey. How the two of them used to tease Carmen endlessly, until they were fighting on the front lawn, Mikey howling with laughter while Carmen was red faced with mortified anger.

This time, Richie held back. He wasn’t sure why, call it divine intervention, a gut feeling maybe, but it felt different this time.

“Alright.” Richie nodded slowly. “No ticket for nine. Heard.”

Carmen’s foot tapped anxiously. “I mean, right? Th-That’s what I should do right?” Carmen looked over his shoulder out the window. “That would be shitty to give her a check? Be a complete jagoff move to charge her?”

“Yeah,” Richie scoffed lightly. “Jagoff of the fuckin’ year. Makin’ your girl pay to come to your place.”

Carmen’s heart swelled at the term- your girl. His girl. You were his girl.

“Walk four Pappardelle to nine. Walk one Pappardelle vegetarian style to nine.” Sydney called.

Carmen dipped the spoon in the glaze, garnishing the plate before sliding it towards Sydney. “So, you gonna take these out?” He muttered.

“No,” Carmen huffed. “Gonna wait until the cake.”

“Yeah, good idea, Cousin.” Richie nodded with a proud smile. “That when you’re gonna tell them no check tonight?”

“No,” Carmen shook his head. “I don’t- It would feel weird comin’ from me.” He looked up at Richie. “I was gonna let you do it.”

“Yeah, I can handle that.” Richie smirked. “And I won’t say anything, Cousin.” He stopped Carmen before he could say it. “I got you, Cousin. I won’t fuck it up, alright?”

Carmen nodded slowly, a strangled thank you on the tip of his tongue. The door swung open behind Richie, and for a second, Carmen caught a glimpse of you. Smiling and laughing, leaned in over the table, no doubt giggling with your friends about him. Carmen’s heart squeezed, but this time, without fear. No, there was no dooming fear that you were mocking him, making fun of him. This time, he felt the content rush of adrenaline filled love. A change in his routine, yes. Unexpected, sure, but he was glad for it. Glad that you were there- here, with him.

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 2 years ago

Text

Pity Party.

Synopsis - Carmy just wants to see you treated the way he thinks you deserve. He decides to take matters into his own hands.

Pairing - Carmen Berzatto x Female Roommate Reader

Word Count - 3k

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol mention. carmys filthy mouth.

Age Rating - 18+

Author's Note - hello hello hello!! i am back!! i had a wonderful vacation soaking up the sun, and i am feeling refreshed and ready to go. i have had so many ideas over the past few weeks, so i'm excited to get some of them written asap!! this was a fic that came to me randomly, as i was thinking about roommate!carmen and how much of a menace he'd be if you ever talked about other guys. this was written as a part of my carmen roommates collection. it doesn't follow on from Finders, Keepers or Sweet Dreams, but it does exist in the same universe - so you can decide if this takes place before or after!! as always, feel free to send me any ideas or thoughts or burning desires you have. so much love <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Series Masterlist. Masterlist. Inbox.

"You're back early."

Carmy had swung the door open, expecting to come home to an empty apartment. Instead, he's met with the sight of you, sitting on the couch, undoing the straps of your shoes.

"Fuckin' disaster," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

He breathes out a chuckle at the stormy look on your face. Carmy thinks you're cutest when you're angry. He aches to smooth the crease between your brows with his thumb.

"That bad?" he asks, taking a seat next you and kicking off his sneakers.

"You wouldn't even believe."

He rises and makes his way to the kitchen, filling the tea kettle and placing it on the stove top. Grabbing two mugs, he casts a glance over his shoulder at you, frowning at your body language. You look defeated.

Carmy steeps two cups of tea, placing one of them carefully into your waiting hands. He resumes his seat on the sofa, pressing his thigh against yours and turning to face you.

"You wanna talk about it?"

You think for a moment before replying.

"You're gonna laugh at me."

His face instantly crumples, confusion written all over it.

"I'll never laugh at you. I'll laugh with you, sure. But never at you."

He nudges your shoulder with his, urging you to go on.

"Okay, fine. The actual date was pretty good. He took me to that Italian place downtown-"

"Dolce Vita? Did you get the truffle pasta I told you about?" Carmy interrupts you before you can continue.

"Yes, oh my God. It was incredible. Do you think you can recreate it sometime?"

"Fuck yeah. They're pretty secretive with their recipes, but I think I can figure it out. You can help me if you want - I'm gonna need a sous chef."

He pulls a reluctant laugh from you, the sound echoing off the ceramic of your mugs. You both know that being the sous chef involves you sitting on the counter drinking wine while Carmy does all the work.

"Of course. I'll always be your sous chef."

"I'll hold you to that."

You smile at him gently, a little taken aback by the sincerity in his voice.

"Anyway. The dinner went great. He seemed super interested in me, asked me questions, told me about his job, his hobbies, his dog. He was hot, and good to talk to. I thought I'd hit the jackpot."

"And then?"

"And then we went back to his apartment. And it all went to shit."

He chuckles, blue eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"Tell me more."

"You really want to hear about all of this?"

It's not like you and Carmy aren't close. You absolutely are. It's just that there's always been this unspoken connection between the two of you. A bubbling, fiery attraction that you both shut down repeatedly, screwing the lid on tight whenever it rears its head. So, you tend to avoid talking to Carmy about dating. You're scared you'll accidentally blurt out the truth - you compare every single date to him.

"Of course I do."

His answer is so genuine it makes you ache. You continue, hesitantly.

"Well... things got a little... heavy. He wasn't a bad kisser, I guess... he just wasn't... a good one? He kept biting my lip super hard and it kinda hurt. Then he pulled my clothes off like a high schooler, and he's on top of me, and I'm waiting for him to sort of... do... anything? And then he's finished. Like, completely done. And then he has the nerve to ask me if I finished."

Carmy's mouth has fallen open, shock etched across his face. After a long, heavy pause, he speaks.

"What the fuck?"

You look at him for moment, before bursting into contagious laughter. He joins you, both of you with your heads thrown back, giggles reverberating around the lowlit room.

"I mean, seriously," he pants, still laughing. "What the fuck?"

"I didn't even answer him. I just put my clothes on, grabbed my bag and left without saying a word."

Every time you try to stifle your laughter, a giggle escapes. The situation wasn't funny at the time, but looking back, it's hilarious.

All of a sudden, you both go silent. You're deep in thought, reflecting on the seemingly never ending stream of bad dates that you've endured. Carmy is watching you intently, ocean blue eyes glued to your face.

"Fuck," you breathe. "This is kinda pathetic."

Carmy inhales deeply, and turns his body so it's facing yours on the couch.

"The way I see it," he begins, "you have two options."

You quirk a brow in confusion and stay quiet, waiting for him to explain.

"You can sit here feeling sorry for yourself, or, you can let me fuck you the way you deserve."

Your mouth falls open in shock at the exact same moment your brain seems to shut down. You can't think. You can't process his words. All you can focus on is the way he's staring at you. You suddenly feel hot under his gaze, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. A shiver runs down your spine, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

"Wh-... what?" you choke out.

"You heard me, honey. You can wallow in your little pity party, or you can let me show you what it's like to be with someone who can actually make you come. Your choice."

His voice has dropped an octave lower than usual, the tone warm and honeyed. He's still staring at you, blue gaze unrelenting.

"Is this gonna fuck everything up between us?" you whisper hesitantly.

Carmy reaches out and places a gentle hand on your cheek, thumb stroking careful circles into your skin.

"I don't think anything can fuck up what we have," he murmurs. "You're the only thing in my life that makes sense."

His confession seems to sober you up, the honesty in his words snapping you back to your senses.

"Okay."

He almost does a double take at the sureness in your voice.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Put your money where your mouth is, Carmen."

"There she is," he chuckles. "You scared me when you went quiet for a second there."

"Well, if what you say is true, you're not gonna be able to shut me up for the night."

He laughs darkly, and slides closer to you slightly.

"Oh, honey. You're gonna wish you hadn't said that."

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, tracing the journey of your neck with his fingertips. He rests his hand lightly at the base of your throat, the heavy weight of it making you pant.

"If there's any point where you don't like something, or you want me to slow down, just say so. Okay?"

You nod your head, entranced by the sudden dominance he's displaying. You've never seen this side of him before. You can't believe he's been hiding it this whole time.

"Words, pretty. Need to hear you say it."

"Yes. I understand. I'll tell you, I promise."

He doesn't say anything in reply, just smirks. He lets you sit in the silence for a moment too long, the anticipation slowly killing you.

"Please, Carmen," you breathe. "Please."

"Fuck," he groans, shuffling closer to you. "You sound so pretty when you beg."

Carmy leans in and kisses your cheek gently, testing the waters. He presses a kiss to your other cheek, and pulls back to watch for your reaction. When he's happy, he tilts forward and leaves a careful kiss on your chin, then your forehead, then both of your closed eyes, before kissing you on the side of your mouth. His closeness makes you whine, desperate for him to give you what you want.

Finally, he connects his lips to yours, starting off slow and tender. When you tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and try to pull him even closer, his resolve snaps. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, exploring eagerly. You clamber over him and climb into his lap, straddling his hips and pressing yourself into his body.

Carmy can't decide where to put his hands. He's grabbing at your waist, running his fingers up your back, pulling you into him by your ass. You're both groaning into each others mouths, enraptured by the other person and the all consuming way they kiss.

"Can I take this off?" he asks lowly, pulling at the hem of your dress.

Instead of answering, you pull it over your head, throwing it onto the floor in front of you.

"Fuck," he murmurs. "Most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

His hands are roaming all of your exposed skin, as if he can't get enough. He's terrified he won't ever get to see you like this again, so he's not going to waste a second.

You grind your hips down into his, eliciting a groan from the both of you. His hands tighten their grip on your waist, as he leans up to press open mouthed kisses to your jaw. Your fingers fly to the hem of his t shirt, pulling it off swiftly. You manage to shove his jeans down and off, before attempting to pull off his underwear. Carmy stops you in your tracks.

"Nuh uh," he tuts. "This is about you. Not me."

He pulls you off his lap gently and shuffles so his back is resting against the couch cushions. He spreads his legs wide, and gestures for you to sit between them. When you don't move, he looks at you carefully.

"Give me a color, pretty girl."

You take a deep breath, and smile at him softly.

"Green, Carmen. Promise."

You manoeuvre sideways, so you can place yourself with your back to his chest. He wraps his arms around you for a moment and holds you tightly, as if he's scared you'll disappear any second. You relax into his embrace, all the tension leaving your body. You have nothing to worry about. It's just you and Carmen, in the place you call home.

You drop your head back into Carmy's shoulder, and allow yourself to get lost in the feeling of his hands on your skin. He's begun tracing patterns down your arms, your sides, your stomach, until he reaches your underwear. He plays with the band, dipping his finger underneath in a feather light touch. Goose bumps rise across your body and you shiver, practically vibrating with need.

"Carmen," you whisper. "Don't tease."

"But that's half the fun," he murmurs into your ear, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You can picture it perfectly, too. The way his eyes crinkle, the way his mouth curves, the way he bites his lip to stifle it. The image in your mind makes you melt into him further. You want to be as close to him as you physically can be. You'd completely disappear into him if you could.

He brings you back to reality by cupping you over your underwear, groaning when he feels the saturated material.

"Oh, pretty girl. Is this all for me? Fuck."

Suddenly, his game of teasing has lost all its fun. Carmy twists his fingers into your underwear and pulls them off in one swift movement, throwing them in the general direction of your dress on the floor. He places a hand on each of your thighs and spreads them apart, hooking them over his legs.

Carmy starts off slow, careful. He caresses over your skin, gentle and almost apprehensive. When he gets to your core, he swipes a finger through, testing the waters. When you buck your hips into his hand, he knows you're both on the same page.

"Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good."

His deep, smooth, whiskey like voice is doing nothing to help the heat bubbling in your stomach. You only whine in response, wiggling your hips to urge him to keep going.

Carmy throws one arm around your stomach, keeping you plastered to his body. You can feel him hot and hard against your back, and you so desperately want to feel him that your mouth is watering. You grind back into him, and he reads your mind.

"Not yet," he whispers. "This is about you, remember? Need to show you what you've been missing."

With that, he circles your clit with two fingers, slowly but surely. He revels in the noises you elicit. They're making him dizzy, disorientated. He never thought he'd be the one to pull a sound like that from you. He's quite convinced he's dreaming.

"Let me hear you. Don't hold back on me, okay?"

You nod your head frantically, willing to give him whatever he asks if you get what you want.

Carmy slips a finger into you slowly, moaning under his breath at your warmth. When he thinks you're ready, he adds a second finger, and sets a steady rhythm, trying to figure out what you like.

After he's set his pace, he starts to curl his fingers on the up stroke, grinning to himself when he finds the spot.

"Yeah? Right there? That's it, isn't it?"

You're nodding and shaking and pawing at his forearms, trying to tether yourself to reality in any way you can. You think you might be floating, on cloud 9, in some sort of euphoric trance. You can't believe no one's ever made you feel like this before. You're convinced no one ever will again.

Carmy quickens his pace and basks in the glory of your moans. He thinks this might be the most beautiful you've ever looked, spread out completely for him. Every inch of your skin is touching his, and it makes his heart skip a beat for a second.

He presses a kiss into your hair and keeps his mouth there, murmuring honeyed praises into your ear.

"Doin' so good for me."

"You got it, honey, that's it."

"Atta girl. Keep going. Almost there."

"You look so fuckin' pretty like this. Fuck. Gonna be thinking about this forever."

"I'll ruin you, baby. Nothing's ever gonna compare to this, to what we have."

All you can do is moan in response, his filthy words pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You're almost there, but something is stopping you. You whine in frustration, tears welling in your eyes. Carmy feels the tension suddenly grasp your muscles, and leans down to mutter to you softly.

"What is it, sweet girl? What do you need? Just tell me. Anything, and I'll give it to you."

You're not sure how much you trust your voice right now, so you decide to show him instead. You take the hand that he's using to hold you to him and move it up your body until it's resting against your throat. You tighten your fingers around his, and moan in response to the pressure.

"Oh, baby," he coos. "Filthy fuckin' girl. Here I thought you were so innocent, and this whole time you wanted to be choked like a whore?"

The way he degrades you so lovingly makes you mewl. You'd never ever trust anyone else to speak to you this way in such an intimate moment - but with Carmen, there's no hesitation. You know he's just telling you what you need to hear in the heat of the moment. And you love him for it.

"Fuck, Carmen," you manage to choke out. "Keep going. Don't stop, please."

"I'll do anything you want if you keep saying my name like that," he whispers.

"Carmen," you moan in response. "Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy."

You're chanting his name like a prayer. He's rutting into your back, hips grinding and circling in time with his fingers that are maintaining their steady rhythm. His fingers tighten around your throat as he crooks his digits just right, and the result is a devastating moan from you that Carmy wishes to have on repeat for the rest of his life.

"So close," you whisper hoarsely. "Harder."

Carmy uses his thumb to circle your clit with one hand, other hand pulling you by your neck back into him tightly. He grinds his hips dirtily into you, and the feeling of him so silky and warm against you is what sends you over the edge. The corners of your vision go white as you arch into him, head thrown backwards into his chest. The sounds you're making are so melodic, so borderline angelic that Carmy almost cries. Heaven, he thinks. This is salvation.

Carmy finishes with you, climaxing onto the soft skin of your back. You both relax simultaneously, chests heaving and panting. He removes his fingers gently and wraps both arms around you, pulling you into him tightly despite the mess. He reaches to brush the hair out of your face, and the gesture is so tender it makes your lip quiver.

"Thank you," you whisper after what feels like hours of comfortable silence.

"Sorry I called you a whore," he murmurs back.

You let out a surprised laugh, vibrating with amusement in his arms.

"I know you didn't mean it."

"I mean I did give you the best orgasm of your life, so... call it even?"

"You're forgiven," you chuckle. "Completely forgiven."

You trace gentle patterns over his forearms with your fingertips, following the black ink of his tattoos. He sighs in contentment and places a kiss into your hair, relaxing further into the couch.

You sit together like that for a while, neither of you too concerned with the time. It's not often you see Carmy so relaxed, so serene. You're enjoying it for as long as you can.

"We should clean up," he says quietly, eventually. "Sorry about the mess."

"It's okay. Worth it," you tease, pinching his thigh. He pinches your side in retaliation, which makes you jump.

"Come on, trouble."

He stands from the couch, never letting go of the grip he has on you. You have no choice but to stand with him, yelping as he half carries you through the apartment towards the shower.

The sounds of both of your laughter bounce off of the abandoned mugs of tea still sat on the coffee table, melodic and joyous. The moonlight seeps through the windows, illuminating the beginning of something special in the living room of your shared apartment.

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wtfsteveharrington · 9 months ago

Text

something new | luca x reader

i was awoken from a dream last night

contents: requested size kink so luca is hung!! basically pwp, slight somnophilia if you squint, unprotected sex, spanking, lots of pet names from Luca, reader receiving fingering, dirty talk, semi-submissive reader vibes, pulling out for backshots but some cum play still whoops

a/n: used a photo of will bc it fit the vibe so well 🌝 can we, as a fandom, decide a last name for this man!! only semi proof read i fear pls ignore any mistakes. also no pronouns or real reader description used.

contents: 2.7k.

the climax right before morning's first light

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Your body feels heavy as it’s pulled from a deep sleep.

There’s warm lips on your shoulder placing soft kisses along your skin, a hand kneading at your ass while you wake up. You hum into the quiet room while burying your face into the pillow desperately not ready to wake up. “S’everything okay?”

Luca’s chuckling against you, sliding his calloused hand up the back of your thigh while you stay lying on your stomach. He looks down at the sight of you illuminated in the moonlight from his apartment window, soaking in every inch. His hand cups under the bottom of your behind, giving it a little jiggle for his own entertainment.

“All’s fine, my love. Didn’t mean to wake you so early.”

You turn your head towards the nightstand and it takes a few blinks for your eyes to finally focus on the dim clock. 3:30 AM. Early enough for him to get up to shower, make tea, and leave out a small note of affection on the counter for when you wake up at a much more reasonable time. He typically doesn’t wake you, opting to shimmy out of the bed but not this morning.

There’s lips on your neck now. “Was dreaming about you and had to make sure you were real.” His hand is sliding in between your thighs now, pulling them apart. Inches away from where you’re starting to crave him. You’re whining in the pillow now while arching your hips up towards his touch. He’s grinning against your skin and rocking himself towards your side. Luca’s hard and heavy against you. “Gonna go take care of this in the bathroom. Just needed a little touch of you before I go.”

You’re shaking your head now, trying to unpin your arm that’s trapped between the two of you so you can find the waistband of his sweats slung low on his waist. “No, no. Don’t go.” The elastic is tight against your fingers as you slip your hand into his pants, fingertips brushing along his growing length which rewards you with a moan from your boyfriend. His hand gently slaps down on the flesh of your ass before he starts to pull away. You murmur out protests as you stretch your arms out straight ahead of you, fingers curling around the edge of the bed. There’s a rush of cold air as he pulls the blanket from your frame and tosses it to the empty side of the bed.

He’s grabbing a pillow next and tapping his fingers against your side, grinning as you take the hint and lift your hips for him. “Just lay there, Darling. Let me take care of you.” Luca makes sure you’re comfortable. Taking his time to fluff the pillow just right. Running his wide hands down your back while still lazily waking up. The bed creaks under the two of you as he moves to kneel between your spread legs. He admires your stretched out form. The curve of your ass propped up and his for the taking. You’re wearing an oversized cliche t-shirt from the last trip you took together and this old pair of underwear with a half worn off print. Not the sexiest outfit to ever grace this bedroom to say the least and yet Luca doesn’t mind in the slightest.

His thumbs slide along the seam of your underwear that’s stretched across your cheeks, warm hands sliding up your backside to your lower back to gently work on your relaxed body. He leans forward to reach up towards your shoulders, the length of him sliding against your ass and eliciting a moan from you. Luca’s taking advantage of this position to rut himself against you, the feeling of your soft body under him working him up even more than he thought was possible.

“Always so good for me, aren’t you?” You’re nodding against the pillow, turning your head to the side to press a kiss against the hands that are now on your shoulders. “Only yours, Luca.” He’s groaning above you and there’s warm, open mouth kisses being pressed along your spine now.

There’s a shuffling coming from behind you as Luca makes quick work of kicking his sweatpants off. You feel the warmth of his skin directly on the inside of your thighs now as he sits back up. He’s crooking fingers in the waistband of your underwear and finally, finally pulling them down your thighs and leaving you exposed to him. They’re stuck right above your knees - Both Luca kneeling between your legs and how far spread open you are making it impossible for them to go any lower. “Are you passionate about these?”

You barely shake your head no, because again they’re old and worn and you find it endearing he even asked, before the sound of them being ripped off of you fills the room causing you to gasp out. Luca haphazardly tosses them towards the trash can in the corner and gets to work pulling his own boxes down. You’re needy. Wiggling your hips through the air in slow movements to entice him. As if he needed anymore motivation. You follow his guidance and haphazardly make work taking off your shirt, balling it up and throwing it on his now empty side of the bed.

Since Luca’s doing all the work you allow yourself to stay, essentially, half asleep. Your eyes are still heavy and hooded and your body lax against the bed. He’s delivering one more small smack to the roundest part of your ass before his fingers find their way between your thighs. Normally he’d take more time teasing you, building you up. As much as he yearns to spend the whole day tangled in you, he does have to get to work soon. For now he’s going to be quick but he plans on taking his time with you again tonight.

There’s fingers sliding up either side of your folds, a slow languid motion to get you used to his touch before his middle fingers slips in. You’re slackjaw against the pillow, letting out a stream of breathy whimpers you can’t control. Luca knows you. Knows every inch of you. So he’s using that knowledge to get you ready for him. His pointer finger slides into you while his thumb finds your clit at the same time. You’re wet, the scissoring and dragging motions Luca’s making causing a slick sound to come from between your thighs.

“Luca, please.” He grins down at your backside, enjoying the view of his fingers working deep inside of you. “Always so greedy, aren’t you?” You respond by rocking your hips back against his hand and clenching down against his fingers which causes him to chuckle. “Alright, alright.” His hand slides out of you and smacks down against the back of your thigh. Your left behind wetness from his fingers attracts the cold air and causes goosebumps to rise.

You secretly like when Luca spends a little less time stretching you out then he probably should. The way your boyfriend stretches you out as he first pushes in you has become a piece of heaven. There are nights he spends as long as you’ll allow eating you out and fingering you, toying with your pussy for his own enjoyment. Leaving his chin wet with you and a darken spot on the sheets until he fucks through how sloppy he’s turned you.

Not tonight. You’re wet, yes. But you know there’s going to be a heavenly burning feeling coming your way. The amount of care your boyfriend puts into you making you comfortable enough to open yourself in that way. Knowing he’d stop the second you asked if needed.

The head of his cock sits heavy against your entrance and you feel yourself desperately clenching around nothing. He’s pulling you from your train of thought and your body is buzzing in anticipation. The slap of the tip of him against your clit causes your body to jerk which prompts Luca to use his free hand to grip your hip, holding you in place. “Be good, yeah? Let me get us off before I gotta go. Can’t have you wet all day waiting for me to come back home to take care of you.” Luca lines himself up with your hole, sliding just the tip of himself in which pulls a moan from both of you.

“Baby, please.” Pride swells in Luca’s chest as you start to beg. If he hadn’t been gripping your hips then you would have rolled them back to take more of his length in you. Instead he goes slow, allowing you to adjust to his girth inch by inch. Even after dating for this long, you still weren’t used to him yet.

There’s a bit of drool coming from the corner of your still parted lips as Luca works his length in. Your boyfriend was well endowed to say the least. A good length, something you could still take to the back of your throat but not so long you couldn’t sink all the way down it. But his girth? That was unmatched. Thick, heavy, and all yours.

“Feel so amazing, Darling. Was dreaming about this pussy spreading around me.” Luca jerks another inch in without warning, a squelching sound coming from you as the movement causes some wetness to drip out. You can’t form a thought when he’s got you like this. Your body is still relaxed against the bed as Luca stretches you out.

It takes a moment for him to bottom out and all your mind can focus on is just how deep he feels inside of you. The sensation causes your breath to catch, pathetically letting out whatever whimper you can muster and allowing him to use you to his heart’s content. Luca gives your hip a little squeeze as a warning he’s going to start moving, giving you a second to accept what’s to come before the first roll of his hips hits.

You’re a mess. Groggy still, already becoming cock drunk. It’s easy to do with him. “S’full, Luc. So, so full.” Even with his brows knitted in concentration as he tries not to instantly cum at the sight of your pussy stretched around him, he’s proud to get you this way.

But God does the sight of you already have him close.

Stretched out around him, filled to the max you could be. You look so beautiful like that. Luca fucks through all the wetness you give him, hips building a steady rhythm easily. His eyes flash over towards the clock and something about the pressure of a time constraint is making him a bit more feral than he expected.

His pace quickens and you’re back to being reduced to a drooling mess under him. Moaning out an incoherent string of pleas, praise, and curses. You couldn’t repeat what’s coming from your mouth even if you tried. His heavy balls slap against your clit which each thrust and Luca’s grabbing your hips with both hands now to get a better grip on you. Fingertips digging in enough that bruises will be left as he starts to fuck into with a firm pace.

“Such a perfect fuckin’ pussy. So wet for me, aren’t you? You’re gonna be sore all day now but you don’t care. Every step’s gonna remind you how good I fuck you.”

Your head is spinning.

You allow yourself to be fucked by Luca, hands gripping the edge of the bed as you desperately clutch anything within reach to keep yourself grounded. He’s… Brutal. Fucking you for his own pleasure in a way. He needed to get off and get off quick before work - But arrogantly knew how good you were for him. Knew that him using you like this would get you off too.

One of his hands gripping your hip loses his grip and there’s another smack being delivered to the fat of your ass. He groans at the sight of you bouncing, the red mark already blooming from his hand. The burning of being stretched out is fading away and being replaced by the pure pleasure of your boyfriend wrecking your body.

His hand is sliding up from your ass to press down on the small of your back, a comforting touch compared to the brutal pace of his hips. Long forgotten is the sleepy mask of morning, Luca just chasing after pleasure for the both of you now. You purposely flutter yourself around his length, trying to pull him closer as well.

“Can you come for me, Darling? You can do that, can’t you? Wanna feel this pretty little pussy finish before I do.” You’re squeezing yourself tighter around him now, the soft pillowcase feeling rougher as your face continues to bounce against it. The room is getting hotter by the second around you two.

Something about the combination of circumstances has you getting close to finishing far faster than normal. You catch yourself biting down on the pillow as Luca drags his nails down the soft skin of your back, his hips not losing pace as the all too familiar sensation starts to coil up deep inside of you.

You’re crying out at the sensation, pussy tightening around him as your orgasm rocks through your body. Toe curling, back arching, clit throbbing orgasm. You collapse even further into the bed, a mess of breathless whimpers as Luca continues to fuck through your sensitive body. God you sound lewd with how wet you ended up.

Luca’s quick to follow after watching you come undone around him.

He’s moaning out your name, giving a few more pumps through your wetness before quickly pulling out. Stroking his soaked length to keep the sensation and then you feel warmth splattering along your ass and back as he cums on you. He’s breathless and whiney, teasing his own overstimulated cock behind you. Thumb swiping along his tip to collect the last droplets before wiping it in-between your folds and pressing it into you.

As much as he loved cumming in you, he wanted to make sure he had time to get you cleaned up before he had to leave but he still couldn’t leave you without anything left inside of you.

Luca drags you to the bathroom after he gives you a moment to collect yourself. Normally he’d take his time with aftercare but sadly he’s lacking just that - time. You use the restroom while he draws the two of you a shower and take a good look at yourself in the mirror while he corrects the water temperature. Healing hickies low on your chest, your hair looking crazy from the combination of sleeping and being wrecked. He’s got twenty minutes left before he runs out of time to make his breakfast but he refuses to leave you in a pile in the bed.

He makes quick work of washing off your over sensitive body, letting you stand there and run your fingers along his chest, his arms, whatever inch of skin you can reach. “You’re so pretty.”

Now after what just happened in the bedroom? You’d think nothing would phase him.

But Luca’s cheeks are going bright red at the compliment. He cups your face with his soapy hands, bringing you two together for a kiss as a silent thank you.

Luca gets you dried off and sends you back to bed with a pat on your ass. He’s rushing to get ready for work while you lay down in a lump on the bed. Towel tight around your body and the covers long forgotten. It takes a few minutes for him to emerge from the bathroom clothed and hair gelled but he can’t help laughing at the sight of you. You feel the towel being tugged away from your body, the previously discarded blanket being tucked around you and a kiss pressed to the top of your head.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

He leaves everything you need for your morning tea sitting on the counter before running out the door.

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bookshelf-dust · 7 months ago

Text

promise to take care of my heart

carmy berzatto x fem!reader

gif by @emziess

word count: 1,830

warnings: nothing? a little swearing, but this is pure fluff and that’s all

synopsis: carmy wants to cuddle with you for the first time.

a/n: hi! new character, i know. but i’ve become rather attached to carm in the past few months and i had a cute idea for him and here we are. he’s bringing me so much comfort right now and now i’m gonna share that with you <333

————

“Why don’t you pick out a movie or somethin,’ bub?”

“If I could find your damn remote, Carm, I would.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh, eyes on his hands where they sit deep in the dishwater below. Good luck, he thinks.

You scan the coffee table, the rug below the shabby couch. It’s not like there’s any use checking the tv stand because it’s still a fucking table tray. You know he doesn’t even own the full set of four table trays? He’s just got the one? That knowledge keeps you up at night. Just like how he doesn’t have a ceiling fan pull and has to get tweezers to change the speed.

You find the remote nestled in a stack of freshly organized books. You helped Carmen assemble a very simple bookshelf so that his stash of cookbooks wouldn’t have to live on the floor anymore.

Just getting to help him turn his apartment into something other than a place to sleep brought you a contagious giddiness. Carmen’s chest aches with how much he’s laughed since he met you.

Look at all my muscles, Carm. I’m practically ready for my dick now, don’t you think?

Where’d you even get these? He’d looked down at the little allen wrench in your hand and said I don’t know, they were just here one day.

Now you have a bookshelf, Bear. What a grown up.

Carmen wouldn’t let you help him with the dishes after he cooked you dinner. He’d just kissed your shoulder and said, “Let me take care of it, alright?” with that little raise of his brows and quirk of his lips telling you not to argue because you’d never win.

And when Carmen tells you to let him take care of something, well…you listen.

You haven’t been dating very long, but it’s been enough that you’ve both developed this rhythm, this way of moving around and with each other and you just…work.

He doesn’t understand how you can dial his shyness, his hesitance, so quickly, how you can make him feel like a human again so easily. But you do.

You settle against the back of the couch, flipping through the tv guide (because Carm has never subscribed to any streaming services) until you find something worth listening to. It’s already a few minutes in, but you’ve seen the movie enough times that it doesn’t really matter.

The overhead light in the kitchen switches off and Carmen pads out to the living room, socked feet dragging on the hardwoods. Your biggest pet peeve is people who don’t pick up their feet, but somehow it’s more tolerable when it’s him.

He sits down on the edge of the couch. Just sits. On the edge. That means he wants to say something. You give him the time to psych himself up.

Carmy chews on his thumb nail and rubs his nose before he turns to you, placing his hand on the couch. His blue eyes burn into yours, and the intensity of his gaze, trained on you, makes you feel like the most important person in the world.

“H-hey, um…can we—could we snuggle, maybe?” He flushes at the fact that he just used the world snuggle. Richie would have his ass so quick if he’d heard him say that.

Your grin is brilliant. You’ve never cuddled properly with Carmen before. Maybe a head on a shoulder or a leg tossed across another, but never a real cuddle session. “Fuck yeah, we can, Carm.” You giggle and the sound softens that bubble of fear in his chest.

He bites the inside of his cheek, letting out the barest laugh.

“How did you want t-to lay, Bear?” You blink at him. “Were you just gonna—”

He starts to nod. “I was just gonna lay on your chest, honestly.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, that works.”

“Y-yeah.”

You snort. “Lemme’ stretch out for you and then you can be a teddy bear.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” Carmen shakes his head at you. He lets you pull that shit because he likes it. Secretly.

When you have a pillow under your neck and are laid out on your back, Carm slips beside you against the back of the couch and clumsily settles on top of you. He doesn’t want to crush you or anything, so he settles between your legs, only allowing the weight of his torso to envelop you.

One arm wraps around your back, the other cradling your hip, his curls brushing your chin. He turns his head to face the tv and lets out a satisfied sigh.

On instinct your hand threads through his tangled hair, scratching at his scalp gently and sorting through any piece that feels knotted.

“What is this?” Carmy asks, nodding in the direction of the screen.

“The Wedding Planner. It has Jlo and Matthew McConaughey in it.”

“Chick flick?”

You hum in agreeance. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t hate it. Jlo’s character is like you but if the restaurant was a wedding planning business and you were, you know, a chick.”

He laughs lightly against your stomach and you can feel the puff of air over your shirt.

The weight of Carmen’s body on top of yours is easily the most calming feeling you’ve ever experienced. You can’t get enough of him.

“This okay?” you ask, scratching his scalp a little more for emphasis. This is a new way of showing affection. Uncharted territory.

“Hm?” He looks up at you briefly, blue eyes fluttering closed. “Oh yeah, feels nice. I like it.”

You grin and continue to play with his hair. He’s right. It does feel nice. It is.

The next few minutes go by without any conversation, just silence. But it’s so comfortable. Carmen’s tired gaze is on the tv. You can feel him breathing, feel the way he scratches over your back absently. You don’t know if he’s aware he does it, but he nuzzles his nose against the soft of your stomach every now and then like it’s keeping him safe.

“You know I thought about being a wedding planner?”

Carmy pushes up onto his elbows, looking at you with the smallest smirk playing on his lips. “Really?”

You playfully bat at his shoulder and he moves to lay back down, but not before pressing a kiss to your sternum over your shirt. “Mhm. Still think about it sometimes.” You pause, but Carm doesn’t say anything yet because he knows you aren’t finished with that thought.

“I guess I just thought it’d be nice to help put things like that together? The organization would make me feel…complete, I guess. And you know I don’t like to help people in such an extroverted way? I like to be behind the scenes.” You laugh, a little self-deprecatingly. “Does that make sense?”

Carmen squeezes your side. “‘Course it does. And then you could come home and tell me stories about all the family drama you eavesdrop on.”

You giggle, and Carmy loves that he can feel it where he lays on your chest. He can feel your joy, and that’s fucking cool. “That I could.”

He rubs your back in small, gentle circles. “And you know, I happen to have some friends who make pretty good food and would be happy to help if you ever needed.”

“Oh, do you? Well, that’s very helpful, Mr. Berzatto. You’ll have to give me their number.”

Carmy laughs into your chest. A pure, genuine laugh. It’s such a beautiful sound, and you truly think you’d have it tattooed all over your body if that was even remotely possible. His glee makes you laugh, and then you’re both snickering like you’re teenagers doing something that’ll get you in big trouble.

You reach for his hand, the one that’s resting on your hip now, and he lets you lift it towards your face. He bites his cheek, fighting the smile that rises when you press your warm and chapstick covered lips to his knuckles.

“You have such pretty hands, Carmy.”

He pinches your back. “I still don’t get why you’re so fascinated by them.”

“Because they’re pretty. And, look—” You hold yours up to his. “—they’re so much bigger than mine. And I like your tattoos, obviously. I like that I know how talented you are with your hands and how capable. I’m very lucky to hold such capable hands, Bear.”

“Capable, huh?” He gives you a look, one that makes you want to both tackle him and smack him on the arm. Instead you roll your eyes and he raises up to kiss you.

“Capable of being the world’s biggest pain in the ass.”

Carmy laughs. It’s that little chuckle, light and airy and like he can’t believe what he’s hearing but he wants to hear more anyway. He flops back down on your chest, making you let out a rather loud oomph.

You take Carmen’s hand in yours again, rubbing over the dry patches on his knuckles, the scabs on the insides of his fingers, the scar on his palm. His whole life is written in these hands.

You start massaging the pads of his fingers without even thinking about it. No one’s ever been that gentle with him—definitely not with his hands—and a little part of him melts at the feeling.

You kiss the tattoo on the back of his hand and just look at his skin. You’re determined to memorize each line and freckle and fucked up cuticle he’s got.

“At least your nails don’t look like Richie’s, Carm.”

His chest moves with the giggle that travels throughout his body.

“Trust me, they didn’t look like that when he was still with Tiff.”

You grin, your eyes falling back on the television. Maybe Carm would be open to setting it on the bookshelf? That table tray has put in a lot of work. It deserves a break.

Carmen can see why you’re so fond of this movie. It’s one of those that doesn’t require much thought, that has humor and feels more human than most. He knows he shouldn’t think it, but you having said what you said before makes him wonder if you’ll plan your own wedding…with him.

Shut the fuck up, he tells himself. But maybe we’ll get there.

You catch him smiling when they fuck up the statue in the garden and pretend not to notice. You both keep quiet now, but Carm reaches up and puts your hand back on his head.

Your fingers thread through his curls again, scratching at his scalp gently. Your other hand does the same thing to his back. You know it’s going to lull him to sleep.

When you say it, he’s already dozed off. But you are so happy that you get to make him feel safe. That he’s comfortable enough to sleep on you like this. Lucky is an understatement.

“Thank you for letting me in, Bear. I don’t think my life has ever been this beautiful.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

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miley1442111 · 7 months ago

Text

dealing with it- chef luca

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gif from @ wiha-jun

---------------------

summary: you see carmen for the first time in years, things happen, but at least your husband is there for you :)

pairings: chef luca x fem! reader, EX carmen berzatto x reader

warnings: smoking, cursing, reader endorses smoking (it makes sense i promise), toxic relationships, fighting, happy ending, luca is a cutie pie, carm is an ass :(

---------------------

Carmen had been staring at you the whole night. You, standing diligently beside your mother, and Luca.

When dinner came and you sat beside Luca again, the question begged to leave his mouth, but he decided on waiting and watching.

“So Y/n,” Sydney turned to you. “I would love to literally pick your brain apart for the inspo of your last cookbook.”

You chuckled. “Well, Luca and I went all around the world on our honeymoon and-”

“What?” Carmen choked on his drink. “S-sorry did I fucking hear that right? Honeymoon?”

Luca sighed deeply, the energy at the table shifting. “Yes Carm, she said ‘honeymoon’.”

Honeymoon. You and Luca were married. Married and he didn’t even know it. Married, and he hadn’t even known that his last chance had been his last chance.

You were Chef Andrea’s daughter, and you were everyone’s forbidden fruit. You worked with them, trained with them, and Carmen had been so deeply interested in you, that he broke the rules. He went after you, and he didn’t even feel bad about it. You’d started out dating in secret, then slowly warmed your mom up to the idea, and suddenly it was out in the open. Sure you’d had fights and sure, maybe it wasn’t the most healthy relationship ever, but Carmen loved you. He still did. When it fell apart, it was all Carmen’s fault (as usual) and you’d sworn off chefs.

---------------------

“Fucking hell Bear! I’m asking you to do this one fucking thing for me, and it’s too fucking hard?” You shouted at the top of your lungs. “I love you! I moved to fucking Coppenhagen for you! I moved to fucking New York for you! What is your problem with me taking a job in London?! I can probably get you into the same place-”

“NO! No, I fucking don’t alright? You’re fucking- you’re fucking boring! You never make anything new- you’re so f-fucking obsessed with being the-the-the best at something that you won’t even try to innovate!”

You stood there, in his kitchen and he watched as the tears fell. He took a deep breath and stepped closer, holding your waist in his hands. He tried not to be offended or upset when you went rigid as he touched you, but he felt his heart break. “Baby I-I’m sorry, look, y’know I’m sorry-”

“You’re a piece of shit Carm. Just because I’m better than you doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like that. We’re not fucking trainees at my mom’s restaurant anymore, alright? I’m fucking better than you and i know it boils your fucking blood. I got this position. All on my own,” you spat. “You are the lowest of the low Carm. I swear to fucking god, if I ever date another chef again, kill me.”

And with that, you walked out. Out of his apartment and out of his life.

---------------------

“W-wait so-s-, you two got married? Since when?” Carmen laughed, but it was wrong. It was forced and haunted, strange.

“Since the 14th of July last year,” Luca smiled and you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Congratulations guys,” Sydney smiled. “Carm, say congratulations,” she whispered and Carm nodded furiously.

“Yeah! Yeah- congratulations to the liar and her shitty douchebag of a husband!” He cheered, gathering the attention of the other tables.

“Stop making a fucking scene Carm,” your voice cut through the ringing in his ears. “This isn’t about you. This is about my mom, and what this restaurant meant to people. Stop. Being. An. Asshole.”

He felt like he’d been effectively bitch slapped, and he quietened down, but not before kicking Luca under the table.

They’d both been after you, back in the day. And you’d picked Carm at first, and realised your mistake. When you met Luca in London, you weren’t going to mess it up again. 3 years later, you were a year married, and a lot happier. Too bad Carmen had to make everything about himself, again.

He went out to get some ‘air’ a little while later, and you followed him.

---------------------

“So…” you sighed, standing beside him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he sighed. He watched as you took a cigarette out and lit it, then offered one to him. He shook his head.

“You quit?” You asked, blowing the smoke away from him. He nodded. “You should start again.”

He looked at you in confusion. “What?”

“You shouldn’t stop, you’re fucking crazy when you don’t smoke,” you chuckled, though everything you said was true. He’d tried to give it up for a month about 4 months into your relationship and it was the most stressful month of your life. You sighed as you thought about it. Every time he was rude to someone, you apologised for him. Every time he fucked something up, you made it up for him. Every time he did something stupid, you made it smart somehow. It was fucked up how much he relied on you, when you thought about it in hindsight. “Everyone will thank you.”

He laughed. “I guess that was a shitty month, huh?”

“One of the worst of my life,” you admitted.

There was a moment of silence.

“I miss it,” He admitted.

“Smoking? You can have the rest of this pack-”

“Us.”

You sighed. “You were doing so well,” you joked. “Just don’t bring it up Carm, we don’t need to dig up the past.”

“I want to,” he pleaded.

“I don’t,” you scoffed. “There’s nothing for us to talk about, nothing about us worked, nothing about us was ok, or normal, or happy, or-”

“Does he make you happy?” Carmen asked, venom in his tone. “Does he make you feel fuckin’-fuckin’ butterflies? Does he fuck you like I did? D-does he even see you the way I did? Does he make you laugh?”

“He doesn’t make me cry,” you smiled softly, thinking of Luca and how much you truly loved him. “He doesn’t make me question our relationship everyday. He doesn’t make me feel untalented and undeserving. He doesn’t make me feel used. He met me in London when I was crushed after our break-up, and he healed something he didn’t break in me, alright? He made me feel loved for the first time in a long time. My mom fucking loves him, a lot more than she liked you. He let me take everything at my own pace, and he never pushed me into something I wasn’t ready for. He wasn’t afraid to show his love for me to anyone! He didn’t make me question if we were even dating, ever! And the best part is, he fucking married me Carm, in this gorgeous ceremony where he cried while I came down the aisle and he cried during his vows. Do you want to know what his vows were? Ask him when we get inside, because he got his and mine fucking tattooed on his arm!” You were welling up at this stage. “He stood there with me, through thick and fucking thin, he made me feel loved when I felt unlovable, Carmen. And yes he gives me butterflies, yes he fucks me better than you ever did, and he sees me for who I am. So yes, he makes me very fucking happy Carmen.”

Carmen stood there for a moment, then nodded. “I still love you, you know that, right?”

You scoffed, stamping out your cigarette. “You might want to get over that,” and you turned away, and walked back into the dinner. The rest of the dinner was quick, and you skipped the invite to Sydney’s to retire to your hotel room. You sat on the bed, makeup wipes in hand as you tried to wash the night off of you.

“Hey darling,” Luca’s soft voice cut through the thoughts clouding your mind. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You smiled as he wrapped you up in a bear hug from behind, he was so perfect, so kind, so Luca. “Sure.”

“I heard a little bit of what you said to Carmy outside.”

You took a deep breath. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Before tonight, I was really fucking scared that when you found Carmy he’d somehow convince you I was a piece of shit and he’d sink his fucking claws into you again.”

You pressed a kiss to his arm and nodded. “He’s fucking…”

“He’s the worst,” he finished for you. “And I’m sorry about what he said tonight. He should’ve had the fucking manners to at least let us get to the third course before he started being a piece of shit.”

You both laughed, and you felt all the tension you held in slowly dissipate. “It was so delicious.”

“It was fucking amazing,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “You mum really did something special there.”

“At least we’ll see her more in London,” you shrugged. “I really loved that place.”

“So did I,” He sighed against your neck. “Remember training there? God, you were so fucking cute in your chef’s hat-”

“Hats make me look stupid!” You argued, but laughed regardless. You flung his arms off of you, and a wrestling match ensued, one that ended with him under you. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, then he deepened it, his hands sneaking up your thighs and around your head.

“You look good in anything,” he whispered. “But my favourite thing you ever wore was your wedding dress.”

When you pulled away from his lips you saw the starry-eyed smile and sincere look on his face, and you knew you made the right choice.

Luca was your everything. Carmen was nothing now, and he had to live with that.

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the bear masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

#chef luca x reader #chef luca #the bear #will poulter #luca x reader #luca the bear #luca the bear x reader #carmy berzatto #the bear s3 #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #the bear fx #the bear season 3

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lovebugism · 7 months ago

Note

thigh riding Carmy because he isn't paying attention to you please please please 😭

summary: carmy misses date night and finds a way to work and make you feel good at the same time (2.2k)

pairing: carmy berzatto / f!reader

contents: established relationship, thigh riding, public setting (ish), dirty talk, smut with sprinkles of fluff 18+

Carmy’s office is a windowless concrete cage of chaos. There are a million papers stacked and scattered across his desk, half-hidden beneath books that are flipped open to random pages. You’re not sure how he’s keeping up with any of it. Though, to be fair, you’ve never been able to completely understand his mind.

You know him better than anyone else, but he’s still such a mystery to you sometimes — like a language you can read perfectly but can’t speak all the way.

You don’t know why he runs himself aground with work even though it kills him, even though he swears the enormity of his desire brings him back to life again. You just know to try and save the drowning man from himself from time to time, and not to let him strangle you with his panic in the process.

“Bear?” you call gently into the amber-lit office, knuckles rapping against the opened door. “You ready?”

Sitting slouched over his desk, you can hear the faint tap tap tapping of his pen against the paper, an anxious tick for his ever-fidgeting fingers. “No. Not— Not yet, baby. I’m fuckin’— I’m drowning in this paperwork right now.”

He lifts his heavy head from his tattooed hand and glances at you over his shoulder. The sight of you makes his breath catch — leaning against the doorframe, all pretty in the lamplight, wearing the dress he bought you.

The deep emerald silk drips over your body like summer rain. It dips low at your chest and flows just above your knees, fitting you like a total dream.

Carmy, for a flicker of a moment, forgets to be anxious.

While his eyes dart over your form, the rest of the world disappears — it could be entirely falling apart for all he knows, but all he can see now is you. Your stormy eyes, your soft skin, and your quiet sensuality. Your ruby lips, your cheeks like wine, and your gentle voice.

His mouth falls agape to say words he can’t make out. His ocean eyes go wide, glimmering a deeper blue in the low light — which casts dark shadows over the sharp edges of his face. His gaze is like the sea. You feel yourself drowning in it accordingly.

“It can’t wait?” you press gently, lifting yourself from the doorframe and sauntering slowly towards him. Closing the door behind you, you drop your chin to your chest and flash the boy a sheepish smile. “All the restaurants are gonna close soon.”

Carmy huffs. He knew better than to plan a date. He’s far too busy — or, rather, he doesn’t allow himself to be anything other than busy because there’s a voice inside him that just won’t be still. Working himself to death was an art he did exceptionally well, which hadn’t bothered him so much until he met you.

“I gotta get this done, babe,” he answers sympathetically, tilting his chin to keep his eyes locked with yours as you near him.

Your familiar scent sets the stagnant air aglow. The warmth of your perfume cradles his senses when you loom beside him. Your hand rises to his shoulder, fingers fidgeting with the swathe of curls at the nape of his neck. His wide palm smooths over your hip — softly calloused against the satiny fabric.

You smile softly down at him. “So I got all pretty for nothin’?” you tease with a scrunched nose.

“Well, you got all pretty for me, actually,” Carmy corrects.

His pink lips curl in a faint smirk. Your grin widens tenfold. The subtle act of possessiveness, coupled with the strong hand on your waist, makes your chest sparkle.

“Yeah, I did,” you hum proudly, bending at the waist to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. He tastes fleetingly of nicotine and sweet plum wine — a maddening concoction.

You rise to full height again. Carmy pats your hip twice before his fingers fall away. He turns back to his desk, and you feel half-invisible again. It’s hardly his fault, though. There was something deeply intense about his stone-blue eyes. You feel strangely held when he looks at you, left inevitably mourning every time he turns away.

His pen darts across the gridded page in chicken scratch you can’t make out, worsened by his wrist smudging the ink. Your arms wrap loosely around his neck. You bury your nose in his chestnut curls and inhale the familiar scent of grill smoke and cedarwood.

“You know I don’t care actually about going out, right?” you mumble there.

Carmy hums, half-distracted. “Mhm.”

“Just wanna spend time with you… Don’t care what we’re doing…”

You press a kiss to his temple. He leans instinctively into your touch. “Well, I’ll make you the best damn PB&J Chicago’s ever seen when we get back home, alright?” he muses with a quiet smile. “How’s that sound?”

“I’m holding you to that, Bear,” you say, grinning into his curls.

“I’m countin’ on it.” Carmy chuckles and lifts his free hand to squeeze your wrist. His touch slips away soon after when he turns back to his work.

Quiet returns, heavy and deafening, filled only by the distant clanging of pots from stragglers in the kitchen. It makes you strikingly aware of yourself — of the space you’re filling in this tiny office, and the distracting weight of your arms around his neck. Feeling more like a burden, you clear your throat and pull away.

“I’m, uh— I’m gonna see if Richie left yet. Maybe he’ll let me bum a smoke or something.”

Carmy mourns your warmth the second you’re gone. He spins in his swivel chair to face you, laughing to cover up his ache. “What happened to us spending time together?”

He knows how you think. You think he gets so involved in his work that he doesn’t spare you a single thought. But really, he’s so strongly devoted to you that it feels like the emotion could rip him open from the inside.

You squint. “Watching you sign a bunch of paperwork while you pretend I’m not here is not spending time together,” you argue, laughing despite yourself.

“Don’t go. C’mon,” Carmy pleads, very distantly begging. He tilts his head and blinks at you with wide, pleading eyes. “Come sit,” he tells you.

“Sit where?” you scoff.

“In my lap.”

“I’ll squish you,” you insist, giggling.

“Shut up and sit down,” he commands, still playful but leaving little room for argument. His wide palms smooth slowly up and down his denim-clad thighs. Your heart lurches into your throat.

You walk the short distance to him with a huff of feigned annoyance, dress swishing around your knees. Carmy pushes away from his desk to give you space to sit. You take a seat on his lap, just like he asked you to, but he stops you with a pair of strong hands grasping your hips.

“Not like that,” he murmurs.

Your brows furrow in response. “What do you mean?”

“On my thigh,” Carmy corrects, swatting playfully at your clothed hip. “C’mon. Sit right.”

You rise slowly, with a hesitant squint in your eyes. “What are you playing at, Bear?” you wonder lowly, legs spread slightly to welcome his thigh between them.

Carmy bounces his shoulder in a lazy shrug. His tattooed hands creep up the hem of your dress to urge you down onto his lap — the proper way. “You’re the one always sayin’ I’m too busy for you, right?” he responds, hardly expecting a real answer, as he helps you straddle one of his thighs.

The angle is awkward. The old chair leaves little room for the both of you. You’re forced to keep one leg on the ground while the other bends at the knee between his legs. You hold tight to his shoulders, trusting him to keep you steady. Your dress bunches at your hips in the meanwhile. Carmy raises his thigh until it’s flush against your clothed cunt.

Your breath catches, and he smirks.

“So… You’re gonna cum on my thigh,” he continues casually. “…And after that, we’ll go home, I’ll fuck you like you need, and then I’ll run you a bath… How’s that sound?”

Your stomach swirls with a familiar warmth — which you can feel pooling in your panties now. “What about the PB&J?” you joke in a quiet voice that trembles only slightly.

Carmy scoffs a faint laugh. “After the bath.”

“What about in the bath?”

“Whatever you want,” he assures with a smile. “You just gotta ride me first.”

The lighthearted air turns bone-crushingly sensual in a flicker of a moment. His light eyes pierce you mercilessly, peering into the depths of your soul. You melt for him, going uncharacteristically soft and subservient, just how he likes.

Carmy helps you with a few passes over his thigh. You’re obviously unsure, and he can tell by your hesitant movements. His free hand squeezes your hip, urging you up his leg and down again, until you find your own rhythm. Then he turns back to his work and tries to focus. The soft sound of your breathy moans entwines with the scribbling of his pen.

You rock your hips in measured thrusts, trying to find the proper pace. The delicate fabric of your panties ruts along the rough denim of his jeans — catching your clit perfectly when you buck your hips just right. Lightning strikes down your spine, then. Both alleviating the ache between your thighs and creating a new one all at once.

Your breath hitches. Pitiful whimpers sound in your throat instead. You bury them all in Carmy’s neck as you hide your face in his shoulder, with your warm cheek pressed to his ear and your fingers balling his shirt in your fists.

There was something foreignly erotic about all this. Being in Carmy’s office, the door unlocked, with Syd and Richie meandering elsewhere in the kitchen. The fear of being caught made your movements quick. Careless. Wild.

And there was something about Carmy, too. The way he’s got you getting yourself off, with little help from the boy himself, while he busies himself with paperwork. You can hear him scribbling away still, flitting through papers with the hand not holding you. All while you hump his thigh, so desperate for attention. It’s pathetic. And something about it made you feel good.

Your pretty whimpers turn into deeper, breathier moans. Carmy smiles to himself. He can feel the warmth of your cunt despite the layers between you. It makes him wonder if you’ve left a stain on the denim. He prays you’ve left a stain on the denim — wants the mark of your honey stamped there forever.

“You close?” he murmurs when he notices your legs starting to tremble.

You bury a whine in his neck. “Fuck, Bear—”

“Hey,” he hums, pulling away from his paperwork for the first time in several minutes to look at you.

His long fingers rise from your hip and curl into your hair. He tugs softly at the strands to urge your head back so he can admire his work. Your eyes are lidded and glassy, your lips swollen and parted — already fucked-out, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“I asked if you were close,” he repeats, unsmiling.

“Yes,” you manage through a whimper.

His grip on your hair slackens. His touch returns to your hip, encouraging your rapid movements. His pink lips quirk in the faintest hint of a smile. “Good,” he praises. “Good girl. Keep going.”

You bury your face in his neck again, lips curling around your teeth to stifle the moans swelling there. Your hips lose their rhythm as the threat of your orgasm grows. Your clit pounds like a second heartbeat. You briefly wonder if Carmy can feel it, and the thought alone sends you reeling.

“Carmy,” you keen, voice wavering. “I’m gonna cum.”

You feel him nod against you. He licks his lips and turns his head. His nose squishes your temple; his wet mouth brushes your ear.

“Do it, then. C’mon,” he mumbles against you, coaxing you closer towards your pleasure — not because he’s a pro at the whole dirty-talking thing, but because he knows how much you like it. “Be a good girl and cum on my thigh. Come on.”

You last two more passes up and down his lap before you tense on top of him. Your hips still as you whimper into his shoulder, shuddering hard when your orgasm washes over you.

“Atta girl,” Carmy praises. “Keep cumming for me.”

He drops his pen and finally turns away from his work. He grips your hips with both hands and works you the rest of the way through your orgasm. You let him, for a few agonizing moments, until your high fades and leaves you achingly sensitive.

You inhale sharply through your nose and reach suddenly for his wrists. “No more,” you plead, then exhale a breathy chuckle.

When you part from his neck, Carmy ducks his head to catch your averted gaze. His wide eyes dart over your pleasure-stricken features. “You good?” he wonders. His words have lost any hint of sensuality. He’s always serious about checking in on you.

You nod and swallow hard. “’M good,” you promise, then freeze when your knee nudges his half-hard cock. “Are you good?” you parrot.

Carmy scoffs a breathy chuckle. “I’m almost done here— go bum a smoke from Richie, alright? I’ll out in a second.”

He kisses you softly. A chaste kiss that’s perhaps too innocuous for such a honeyed moment. You rise on tired legs, and he swats playfully at your side. “How’s that for spending time together, huh?” he calls over his shoulder as you wrench open the office door.

“You’re an idiot, Bear.”

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luveline · 7 months ago

Note

Hi Jade ! I loove your sunshine!readers, could I request one for Carmy ? Maybe someone calls her to get to the restaurant when hes feeling anxious to calm him down idk if thats good lol love ya !

ty for requesting <3 fem, 1.4k

Is it The Beef or The Bear? In your head, despite the wishes of everyone who works there (except for Ebra, who seems to have mixed opinions), you always call it The Beef. But the sign brags otherwise, and when you push open the doors, nothing inside is left to remind you of the old restaurant. It was a total gut.

“Hi, gorgeous,” says a familiar, warm voice.

You almost walk straight into her table, distracted looking for brown curls through the kitchen door’s little window. “Hey, Tina.” You grin at your second favourite chef. Your most favourite Sous. “You taking a break?”

She offers you a round butter cookie from a sleeve of them. Her cup of coffee billows with steam. “Uh-huh.”

“Hiding from a meltdown?” you ask, taking a cookie, fingers oily with butter, sugar grains falling to the floor.

“It’s not like that,” she says.

Well, what is it like? you think.

Richie’s text wasn’t exactly descriptive. Need ur help with the little Bitch, he’d said. Then, when you didn’t answer, ASAP!!!!

You figured it must’ve been another rant. He’s prone to these… episodes of anger where he doesn’t realise he’s spinning out and hurting people who really care about him. You try to bring him out of it, but he’s a Berzatto. They’re all the same, sort of. Everything that’s wrong with them has been stamped into them a long, long time ago.

He’s been better since Nat steel armed him into AA, but still. You tilt your head to one side, sugar cookie between your fingers, listening for the goings on in the kitchen. “Sydney’s here?” you ask. “I thought she was sick.”

“Sydney gets sick, but she doesn’t take sick days,” Tina says with a loving shrug.

You smile at her in brief goodbye for now and make your way to the kitchen, where you push in quietly. All their ‘Behind!’ and ‘Corner!’ and ‘Hands!’ makes you laugh, and you can’t take it seriously so you don’t, but you’re not trying to be dangerous in there either.

“Hello?” you ask.

Sydney and Richie look up from a cramped notebook at the table nearest to the door. There are employees you're unsure of prepping vegetables along the wall, but Carmy isn’t anywhere to be seen.

“Fucking finally,” Richie says, before rubbing his face regretfully. “I’m sorry, it’s just– I texted you an hour ago, babe, you’re letting me down.”

You laugh. “Sorry, babe,” you tease. “I have a job, just like you.” Your hands are cold where you tuck them under each armpit, crossing your arms. “Hi, Sydney. You feeling okay?”

“No. He’s stressing me out.”

“Which one?”

“Both of them.” She looks like she might rub her face too. “I need him to be in here right now, he should be doing this, but he keeps walking away and– and not saying where he’s going.”

“He is stressful,” you agree, though usually Carmy’s stress tends to bounce right off of you, “I’m gonna find him and strap him down for you.”

Sydney just frowns.

“I’ll see what’s up,” you say more seriously. “In the office?”

“Out the back,” Richie says. “Smoking like his mother. He’s a fucking steam train lately.”

It’s like they want to worry you. You give them grateful nods, sorry nods, and start to make your way out of the main kitchen, past the dishwashers and the dessert station to one of the back doors. Carmy isn’t your responsibility. You don’t have to apologise for him, you don’t have to mother him, he should commit to his responsibilities all on his own, but… it’s hard. You like apologising for him because his behaviour isn’t always on purpose, and he struggles with commitment for similar reasons. There’s this aching, stagnated grief in him that’s reawakening, there’s the stress of the restaurant, his business, the scars of the last ten years, and before that. You know it isn’t your job to come here and make him feel better, but isn’t it? When you love someone, it’s half the deal.

Carmy shouldn’t yell at his friends, or employees. He shouldn’t chain smoke, and he shouldn’t be sitting on the low wall by the dumpsters shaking so hard with his head so low that you can see the first notch of his spine in his shirt.

“Carmy?” you ask.

His head ducks further down. You can hear him breathing, not too hard as to alarm you, and yet unrelaxed.

You smile without thinking. You hate seeing him like this, but looking after him is a pleasure. “Hey, Carmen. Can I sit with you?”

He forces his face up. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

Trying to make sure he doesn’t tear another chunk out of Richie. “It’s my lunch break.”

You perch on the wall beside him and snap your nearly forgotten cookie into two pieces, one side bigger than the other, which you offer him.

Carmy takes it. Looks at it without expression, though that slowly turns to a dry ire you’ve felt directed your way a hundred times. “What the fuck is this?”

“Cookie.”

“I don’t want this.”

“Could you just eat it?” You put your own half in your mouth in its entirety, all aligned to your teeth. It shatters into sweet, soft crumbs between your teeth. You talk with a hand over your mouth, “It’s not gonna kill you.”

Carmy looks at it for a long time before he eats it.

You watch him. He’s more tan than you’d think, that Italian gene kicking in, skin clinging to whatever sunshine it finds. He spends enough time inside that you’re surprised it can muster the energy. He looks better with it though, his curls look gold toned under the sun, and his clenched jaw doesn’t seem so harsh.

“What’s wrong?” you ask eventually. Almost conversationally.

“Nothing.” His hand shakes on his thigh. He turns his palm down to clasp his knee.

“You sure?”

“No.”

“That one’s my favourite.”

“What?”

You poke toward a tattoo on his hand. It’s a simple flower, same style as most of his tattoos. “I like it ‘cos it’s just a flower.”

“My least pretentious,” he guesses.

“Something like that.”

He tips his head back.

“Richie texted me. He thinks I’m gonna… like, I’m gonna calm you down, I guess.”

“You always do,” he says.

You give him a long, smiley look. “So you’re in love with me?” you ask warmly, pushing up into a knee to wrap your arm behind him, hugging him before he can move away. “You’re totally fucked for me, Berzatto, that’s fucking crazy.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs.

You rub his arm, his skin hot in your hold. He touches your waist very, very lightly. “What am I supposed to do, anyway? I can’t cook. You and Syd are on your own.”

“You already… already did enough.” He grabs your waist where you wobble on the brick wall, grit biting your knees, his hand comparatively soft.

“Such a crush on me,” you tease in a whisper, his hair crushed under your cheek.

You’re tempted to kiss his temple, but affection with Carmy is like oil and water sometimes. You give him a last protective squeeze and sit yourself down again.

“Carm,” you say, “you know you can call me, right? Like, if you don’t feel okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“Or text me. If that’s easier. It’s hard to say hard things out loud.”

He laughs again. “Sorry.”

“I know, I don’t– I don’t seem like I know what you’re talking about, I get it, but I do understand. N’ even if I didn’t, I don’t mind listening. Or laughing at you.”

“What’s that about?”

“The laughing?” you ask. “You tell me.”

His hand slides behind your back in half a hug. “Guess it’s funny.”

“Can I change my mind about the tattoo?”

“The flowers not your favourite?”

“No. You know which one I like best?”

His thumb rubs into your back. “The snail.”

“Absolutely the snail. You’re so fucking silly sometimes, I’m supposed to take you seriously when you’re yelling and red in the face with a snail on your arm?”

You can’t see his face with your cheek to his shoulder, won’t know that he’s smiling at you with a rare aura of peace. Can’t see the wanting, either.

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juuuulez · 7 months ago

Text

it takes a while for carmy to warm up to the idea of positions besides missionary.

he just loves to see you. it’s intimate, and allows him to kiss you, hold your face, lick your neck. sure, maybe it’s a strain on his back sometimes, but he loves knowing that you’re all comfortable laying there, not needing to do anything but focus on the sensation of pleasure.

one night you decide to switch it up. you tell him, gently, that you’d love for him to hit it from behind. and carmy goes all red and blushing, stammering at the idea of taking you like that, of not being able to see your face.

“what if it’s uncomfortable?” he’ll ask “n i can’t see you, i won’t know.”

and you reassure him for being so silly. “i’ll say something, obviously. don’t be a baby ‘bout it, i’m a big girl.”

his hands shake when they finally clasp your hips, big palms rubbing nervously over the globes of your ass. your back is arched in a smooth slope, face pressed into the pillow, leaving you presented for him like a cat in heat.

now carmy understands. he’s able to get deeper than before in this position, drilling straight down into your sticky cunt, the gravity helping punctuate each of his harsh thrusts.

you moan and writhe beneath him, gasping between each breath that is punched from your lungs. “o-ooh, jesus, fuck—” you practically squeak. “so good, carmy. thank you, thank you.”

the way you appraise him is incessant, causing carmen to drive into you with a newfound burst of energy. one hand holds your hip in a bruising grip, the other finding leverage on the back of your neck, which prompts another drawn-out moan.

he’s more vocal in this position, too.

“yeah? like that?”

“you needed this, huh?”

“s’okay, you can take it, just a bit more. ‘m gonna cum, okay? good fuckin’ girl, lettin’ me fill ya up.”

by the end of it, your ass is red and bruised. it usually doesn’t get this bad because carmy can’t find himself to be rough when he’s staring at your wet little eyes. he kisses it all better, promising to get some sort of cream for next time, a promise that makes you grin.

“thank you, baby.” you’ll coo after he’s done fussing, pressing kisses into his cheek. “trying new things is fun, right?”

and usually, carmen doesn’t like admitting that he’s wrong, but this was worth it. his cheeks are hot as he dips his head down, evading your kisses to instead bite at your shoulder.

“yeah, yeah.” he grumbles. “don’t get a big head ‘bout it.”

#sorry guys!#carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear

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romerona · 10 days ago

Text

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

You sat at the table, doing your best to appear interested as your date droned on about his latest work achievements. Something about managing accounts, sealing big deals, and being “essential” to the success of his company. You’d lost track of the details five minutes in, your polite smile starting to feel like a workout for your face.

“…but you wouldn’t get that,” he said, waving his hand dismissively, like you were a child. “Teaching kids and all. It’s like... coloring books and snack time, right?”

Your smile faltered, and you tightened your grip on the stem of your wine glass, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “Not quite. It’s actually pretty challenging—teaching is about shaping young minds, not just... crayons.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, nodding like he wasn’t really listening. “But you have to admit, it’s not exactly high stakes.” He leaned back in his chair, a smug grin stretching across his face. “I mean, no offense.”

“None taken,” you replied tightly, though the bile creeping up your neck said otherwise. You took a slow sip of your wine, hoping the glass might serve as a buffer between his words and your patience. Spoiler: it wasn’t working.

Inwardly, you cursed yourself for agreeing to this. What had Ava said when she pitched the idea? “Girl, you’re way too cute to be single and wasting away in that apartment of yours. You need to get out there. Shake things up. And this guy? Total catch—tall, successful, and probably rich. You’re welcome.”

At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. Ava’s relentless confidence had rubbed off on you, and the idea of putting yourself out there sounded... productive, if not promising. After all, your secret crush on your cute neighbor wasn’t going anywhere.

Carmy.

You couldn’t help but think about him as Ben prattled on about his “huge network.” Carmy was quiet, focused, and sweet in a way you didn’t think he realized. But he was also impossible to read. Sure, you’d had a few conversations here and there, shared a laugh or two, but he’d never made a move. You hadn’t either—paralyzed by the thought of misinterpreting things and embarrassing yourself.

Which is how you’d ended up here, with Ben. Wonderful, condescending Ben, who clearly thought your life’s work was a joke.

“And this place,” Ben said, gesturing around the restaurant with a smug grin. “Pretty great, right? Super exclusive. I know a guy who knows the chef here. Heard he’s like, a genius or something. Figured we’d go all out.”

You glanced around the dimly lit space, suddenly more aware of the upscale decor—the polished wood tables, the soft amber glow of the overhead lights, and the quiet hum of conversation that seemed to fill the air like music. It was... fancier than you’d expected.

The Bear.

You’d heard of it, of course—who hadn’t? It was one of those places people raved about, where getting a reservation was an accomplishment in itself. The kind of place where you know the food would be incredible, but the bill would make you question your life choices. Nice, but you were pretty sure you could only afford, like, a cup of water here.

Ben leaned in closer, grinning smugly. “This chef guy? Supposedly some kind of prodigy. I don’t know the details, but people say he’s a big deal. Good thing I’ve got connections, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, noncommittal, as you glanced toward the bustling kitchen. A wave of heat and light spilled out from behind the pass, where you could just make out the shadowed figures of chefs moving in synchronized chaos.

As you sipped from your wine glass, trying to find something redeemable about Ben’s endless self-promotion, you wondered if maybe Ava had oversold this whole “dating adventure” thing.

Carmy spotted you the second you walked in.

He’d been at the pass, focused on plating an intricate dish—a delicate arrangement of seared scallops and edible flowers—when his gaze drifted toward the dining room. His hands paused mid-motion, a faint crease forming between his brows as he recognized you.

You were hard to miss, sitting near the window in a corner booth, your posture poised but just slightly tense. Dressed in something a little sleeker than usual, you looked... different. Not in a bad way—never in a bad way— Not that you ever looked anything less than beautiful, but tonight, something about you seemed… striking, enough that he found himself staring longer than he should’ve.

His eyes flicked to the guy sitting across from you. The guy who was laughing too loud, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place, gesturing with wild hands as he talked. You, on the other hand, wore a polite smile that didn’t quite light up the room as it usually did.

Carmy’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t sure why the sight of you with someone else tugged at his chest the way it did, but it lingered, heavy and unwelcome.

It’s none of your business, he told himself, forcing his focus back to the dish in front of him. You weren’t his to worry about.

You weren’t his at all.

Still, his gaze flicked back toward your table, almost involuntarily, catching the way your date seemed oblivious to your discomfort. Carmy’s stomach twisted at the thought. He didn’t know what he expected—maybe for the guy to notice the way you played with your napkin or to tone down his boisterous tone—but it wasn’t this.

“Chef?” Sydney’s voice broke his focus, sharp but professional.

“Yeah,” he muttered, snapping back to reality. His eyes returned to the plate in front of him, the arrangement now slightly skewed from his distraction. He adjusted it quickly, his movements precise but tighter than usual. “Thanks, Chef.”

As Sydney moved on, Carmy risked one last glance at you. The corner booth, the dim lighting, the guy who couldn’t seem to shut up—it all felt wrong. But he pushed it down, buried it under the quiet rhythm of the kitchen, telling himself it wasn’t his place to care.

And yet, he did.

He cared enough to, like some kind of creep, step out of the kitchen and hover near the hallway that led to the restrooms. It wasn’t a plan—not really. He told himself he just needed a breather, a moment to clear his head and shake off the knot in his chest. But he wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all himself.

The low hum of the restaurant buzzed in his ears as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He didn’t even know what he’d say if you saw him. Maybe he’d play it off, and act like he just happened to be there. But then, what were the odds you’d even notice him? You were here with someone else, after all.

It was ridiculous, he knew that—irrational even— he should go back, really what the fuck was he thinking--

But the sound of heels clicking softly against the floor pulled him from his spiralling thoughts. His breath hitched as you turned the corner, and your expression turned to one of shock when you spotted him.

“Carmy?” you said, stopping mid-step. Your voice carried a note of surprise, but there was something else there too—curiosity, maybe, or even relief at seeing a familiar face in such an unfamiliar situation.

“Hey,” he said, standing a little straighter, as if he hadn’t just been loitering near the hallway like a guilty teenager. He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You blinked, your eyes flicking over his clothes—the crisp white uniform. The realization dawned on you, and your brows lifted in surprise.

“You work here?”

“Yeah,” he said, shifting his weight slightly. “I, uh... I own it.”

Your eyes widened, and you couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you. “You own it?”

“Yeah,” he said again, a bit softer this time. His lips twitched into a faint, almost sheepish smile. “I started it a while back. Kind of… a long story.”

You took a moment to process this revelation, glancing around the restaurant as if seeing it in a new light. The warm lighting, the carefully plated dishes you’d glimpsed on their way to other tables—it all made sense now. Of course, this was Carmy’s place. It was thoughtful, deliberate, but somehow unpretentious.

“Wow,” you said, meeting his gaze again. “That’s... impressive.”

Carmy shrugged, his hands slipping into his pockets. “It’s just work. Nothing fancy.”

“Nothing fancy?” you repeated, a small laugh escaping as you gestured toward the elegant decor. “Carmy, this place is gorgeous. You’re way too modest.”

"Thanks," His lips twitched into a faint smile, but his eyes lingered on you, searching before he added, “You didn’t look like you were having a great time out there.”

You blinked at the sudden change in topic, your surprise melting into something closer to embarrassment.

“Oh,” you said, glancing toward the dining room before meeting his gaze again. “Yeah, it’s... it’s a date.”

Carmy’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, though his expression didn’t waver.

“Figured,” he muttered, his voice steady but low.

“Not a great one,” you admitted, your lips quirking into a dry smile. “Blind date, courtesy of Ava. It’s... fine, I guess. He’s just... not my type.”

Carmy raised an eyebrow, his curiosity getting the better of him. “What’s your type, then?”

The question caught you off guard, your breath hitching slightly as his words hung in the air. You laughed softly, deflecting. “I don’t know. Someone who doesn’t treat teaching like it’s a hobby or call it a job anyone can do.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk, and he shook his head in disbelief. “He did not say that.”

You groaned dramatically, closing your eyes as if the memory physically pained you. “Oh, but he did. Word for word, and I quote: ‘Teaching is important, I guess. But it’s gotta be, like… easy, right? Summers off, finger painting, all that?’ And then—then!—he laughed. Like he’d just unlocked the secret to stand-up comedy.”

Carmy blinked, his smirk fading into something closer to incredulity. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were,�� you said, sighing dramatically. “You’d think he was trying out his Type Five for open mic night. And the pièce de résistance? He throws in the classic ‘no offense.’ Like that’s a verbal Ctrl+Z or something.”

That earned a real laugh from Carmy this time, his shoulders shaking slightly as he shook his head. “What the hell? So, this is what you’re dealing with?”

“Oh, but I’m thriving,” you replied, your tone dripping with sarcasm waving your hand dismissively. “Peak romantic energy. Nothing like being told my career is a glorified arts-and-crafts workshop to really get the sparks flying.”

Carmy leaned slightly against the wall, crossing his arms as he listened. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—irritation, maybe, or quiet disbelief. “And you’re still out there?”

“Excellent question, Chef Carmy,” you said, pointing at him with mock gravity. “I think it’s a mix of morbid curiosity, sheer stubbornness, and maybe a touch of guilt. I mean, he did spring for the wine. Even if he did refer to it as a ‘top-shelf pour.’”

That made Carmy snort, his head dropping slightly as he tried to compose himself. “Top-shelf pour, huh? Sounds like a real charmer.”

You laughed softly, though there was a bite of bitterness in it. “Oh, totally. It’s been a real dream date. Honestly, if he makes one more crack about teaching being ‘easy,’ I might just—” You mimed strangling someone, your hands curling dramatically as you added a mock growl for effect.

Carmy chuckled, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “I’d pay to see that.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you shot back, your grin sharpening. “It might get me out of this date, but I’m pretty sure assault charges aren’t a great look for me.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Fair point.”

Your playful energy dimmed slightly as you glanced toward the dining room. “Anyway, I should probably get back out there before he starts mansplaining the wine list to the waitress. Again.”

Carmy’s lips twitched as if he wanted to laugh, but instead, he straightened up quickly, the weight of his role as head chef settling back onto his shoulders. “Yeah, I should... head back to the kitchen too. Got a lot to wrap up tonight.”

You turned back to him, your expression softening. “Thanks, by the way,” you said, holding his gaze. “For... checking in, I guess. You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged a gesture that looked casual but felt like it carried more weight. His voice dropped slightly as he replied, “Yeah, I did.”

The words hung there for a beat, his meaning lingering just beneath the surface as the two of you locked eyes. The air between you felt heavy, almost tangible, like a thread being pulled taut. You wanted to say something—anything. Maybe a joke to break the tension, or maybe the truth: that you liked him, that you wished it was him sitting across from you tonight, making you laugh instead of testing your patience.

Unbeknownst to you, Carmy’s thoughts ran dangerously close to yours. He’d been replaying every interaction with you since the day you moved in next door, every laugh, every casual smile. The thought of you with someone else—someone who didn’t seem to notice the little things about you the way he did—made his chest tighten in ways he couldn’t explain.

But before either of you could give voice to the thoughts swirling in your heads, the faint sound of your date’s voice carried through the hallway, breaking the moment like a needle scratching across a record. You winced slightly, the weight of reality pulling you back.

“Ugh. That’s my cue,” you said, shooting Carmy an exaggerated grimace. “Duty calls.”

Carmy nodded, his expression carefully neutral, though the flicker in his eyes betrayed the emotions he was trying to keep in check. “Good luck out there.”

“Thanks,” you said with a wry grin. “I’ll need it.”

Despite his words, his gaze lingered on yours, as if searching for something unspoken. For a moment, you thought maybe—maybe—he’d say something more, but instead, he stepped back, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“See you around,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, your heart squeezing as you turned to head back toward the dining room. “See you around.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were leaving something unfinished behind. And Carmy, watching you go, felt much the same, his hands flexing at his sides as he fought the urge to call after you.

When he finally turned back toward the kitchen, his jaw tightened, the moment still playing over in his mind. He rubbed the back of his neck, willing himself to focus as he pushed open the swinging door. The familiar clatter and hum of the kitchen greeted him, but it did little to drown out the thoughts circling his head.

He barely made it three steps before Richie appeared, leaning casually against the counter with his signature smirk firmly in place.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” Richie drawled, crossing his arms. “What’s the matter, Cousin? Lose track of time out there? Or were you too busy making googly eyes at the customer? Can't blame you thought, she's gorgeous.”

Carmy’s jaw ticked, his shoulders stiffening. “Shut up, Richie.”

--------

Your date’s voice droned on, a monotonous background noise to your growing sense of regret. Why had you agreed to this? Why hadn’t you just stayed home with a glass of wine and a good book?

Just as you were contemplating an excuse to leave—feigning a sudden headache, maybe, or an urgent call from a friend—a waiter approached your table. It wasn’t the same one who had been serving you throughout the evening, but an older guy with an easy smile and a glimmering of mischief in his eyes carrying a small plate in hand. The plate held an assortment of beautifully arranged pastries, each one delicate and intricate, like a tiny work of art.

“Oh, I didn’t order this,” you said, your brow furrowing as you looked up at him.

“It’s from the chef,” the waiter replied, his tone polite but with a glimmer of something knowing in his eyes.

Your eyes widened slightly, your breath catching as you glanced instinctively toward the kitchen pass. Sure enough, Carmy was there, leaning slightly against the counter, his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and his gaze was fixed squarely on you.

Your heart gave a little jolt, heat creeping up your neck as you turned back to the table.

Your date, meanwhile, was entirely oblivious to the silent exchange. He grinned widely, puffing out his chest a little as he gestured to the plate. “See? Told you this place was top-notch. They must’ve recognized me. Perks of being a regular.”

It took everything in you not to burst out laughing. Instead, you bit back your amusement, your lips twitching into a barely restrained smile as you reached for one of the pastries.

“Right,” you said lightly, turning the pastry over in your hand. “Must be your VIP status.”

As you took a bite, the pastry practically melted in your mouth, a perfect blend of buttery richness and delicate sweetness. It was so good it almost made you forget the company you were keeping—almost.

“You know, this kind of attention doesn’t happen just anywhere. It’s all about knowing the right people.”

“Mmm,” you murmured, taking a bite of one of the delicate confections. It melted in your mouth, rich and buttery, with just the right amount of sweetness.

When you glanced back toward the pass, Carmy was already gone, disappearing back into the kitchen as seamlessly as he’d appeared. But his gesture lingered, wrapping around you like a quiet reassurance, a small thread of comfort in an otherwise unbearable evening.

And for the first time that night, your smile wasn’t forced.

A/N: Heyyy I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you to all those people who comment, like and reblog. Like fr you all make my week. Always looking for some ideas so please feel free to ask.

Also, please tell me if you want to be tagged. Be safe out there, please the world is too crazy at the moment. <3

Tags:

@hiitsmebbygrl16 @urthem00n @svzwriting29 @tyferbebe

@akornsworld @khxna @ruthyalva96 @beingalive1

@darkestbeforethedawn16 @turtle-cant-communicate spideybv28 veryberryjelly @daisy-the-quake

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader smut #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x you #reader-insert #reader insert #the bear #abbott elementary #abbott elementary x reader #ava coleman

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laiiaaa · 2 years ago

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CINNAMON SUGAR — CARMEN BERZATTO

summary Carmen comes home to you late at night. Luckily, you manage to stay awake.

length 2k

contents absolutely zero plot, literally just a sweet n cute n sappy moment existing in a vacuum, holy shit so much fluff i might die (got the idea for this while listening to margaret & let the light in by lana del rey n it's realllll obvious), too many kisses to count, this is what he'd be like after intensive therapy i reckon, not proofread so be nice

Carmen opens the door to the bedroom carefully, minding the creaky hinge in the middle of the night. Moonlight peeks through the window, caught at the right time when the city doesn’t block its path into the apartment, giving just enough glow to the room to see you fast asleep in bed. It’s late, he realizes, even later than usual. He needs to work on that.

He makes his way to the bed, stopping at your side to kneel beside you and simply adore you: the curve of your nose, the plush of your lips in that pout you wear only when you’re asleep, the eyelashes laid against your cheeks.

You stir when he presses his lips to your temple, a soft groan pulled from your lips. “…Bear?”

“Yeah, ‘s me, baby.” Even at a whisper, he thinks he’s too loud, and with his rough and tired hand he brushes over the top of your head just light enough to keep you sleepy.

A drowsy hand reaches out from under the covers to smooth over the contours of his face, tracing along shadows made hazy by a few hours’ rest. “You coming to bed soon?”

“Almost,” he murmurs, smoothing a palm up your exposed arm to hold your hand steady. He pulls ever so slightly away from your palm, only to turn to land gentle kisses against its soft skin, worshiping the pieces of you that treat him with more care than he thinks he’s worthy of. “Needa take a shower first, alright? But I’ll be right back.”

He could’ve done that much by now—could’ve cleaned himself, rid himself of a day's work before seeing you—but truthfully, waiting any longer would’ve driven him mad. He would’ve been itchy in the shower, skin aflame knowing he could’ve felt your touch by then, arms and hands jittering to have your curves beneath them. His lips trail down to your wrist before he turns over your hand to kiss the backs of your fingers.

“Okay,” you answer, muffled by the blankets and pillow and the squeak of the floorboard as Carmen stands back up.

He makes his trip quick and quiet. He brushes his teeth and swipes up a towel while the water heats up, leaving just enough time to hang it on the hook and strip before hopping in. There’s a beat where he closes his eyes and just breathes, clears his mind of the day’s stress, lets warm water saturate his hair and cascade down his back. He lathers his hair with shampoo—the one you bought for him once to free him from the chains of 3-in-1 and that he’s been purchasing ever since to keep you happy—before cleaning the rest of his body, all while thinking about how much better it’d feel, how much more relief he’d get if it were you beside him under the stream instead of just his thoughts. But with the shampoo and soap down the drain goes that idea, much like the fleeting thought of using conditioner. You’ve yet to get to him on that one, especially at a moment like this, when time is of the essence and you’re waiting on him. Maybe another night, when you take your own product and swirl it around his curls; if it gives him an excuse to stay with you just a few minutes more, he’ll do it.

He hops out of the water like it’s acid and wraps the towel around his waist after drying himself to avoid trouble in the morning (you hate when the floor gets wet, and even if it wastes time, he’ll be sure to prevent that). Out goes the light again as he walks into the hall, sneaking back into the bedroom to get dressed into briefs and nothing more—you’ll keep him warm enough under the blankets.

It’s only then—when he peels back those final layers—that he realizes he’s been smiling the whole time.

Once he’s settled into the grooves of the mattress, chest to your back, you’re turning around to curl into his torso, like a magnetic field brought you there.

“Hey,” he coos, “Y’don’t have to move f’me, yeah? Just sleep, baby.” Moved by your eagerness, his arms curl around you, one along your waist as the other nicely fits comfortably into the space between your neck and shoulder.

And yet you shift a little more to cast an arm against his chest, his heart beating beneath your palm, head on his shoulder with a leg hooked onto his hip, split halfway between mattress and his body. “ ‘S more comfy this way, Carm.” You sigh and breathe deep into his skin. “You smell good, too.”

He can’t even lie well enough to convince himself his heart doesn’t run a million miles faster when you cozy up to him like this, caught in a space part fatigue and part love, with your hums ringing in his ear. “ ‘S that shampoo you got me a while ago…Sometime this week—” he yawns, and if he weren’t dying to hear your voice a few more times, he’d be a little more thankful for sleep coming so easily— “Sometime this week we can go t’the store, you can pick out another body wash f’me to try, too.”

“Mm, I’d like that.” You smooth your hand from his chest to his neck and shoulder, massaging there gently where he gets sore as a barely-there kiss lands to the skin beneath you. “How was it today?” The restaurant. His headaches. Richie’s mood lately. The flow of the kitchen. The strain in his back.

“Was alright,” he answers, as honestly as he can, soothing himself by brushing a hand up along your spine. “Real busy, so I didn’t get to leave ‘till late, ‘m sorry.”

“ ‘S alright, I stayed in and just relaxed for the night.” You snuggle into him a little deeper, and he thinks he could melt. “I was gonna ask you to bring something home, but it’s a weekend, so I didn’t wanna bother you in a rush.”

“What’d you want?”

From your lips comes a light and airy giggle, milliseconds of the best sounds he’s ever heard. “I just wanted some fries, honestly…didn’t feel like going out.”

“Heh,” he laughs, smiling while his eyes stay glued to the ceiling—as if looking at you would make the moment disappear. “I would’ve picked ‘em up for you, ‘r at least had Fak get ‘em to you.”

You yawn in tandem with the tailend of his thought, so your answer’s a bit softer. “Uh-uh, I like them better when you make ‘em.”

“Yeah? ‘ve I been pampering you too much?” He teases you, adds on a kiss to the top of your head as he squeezes you a bit tighter, but it’s all a ruse to cover up how much faster his pulse is when you say those words, like all the work he’s put in—all the love he has for you—makes its way to the table for not just anyone, but for you, the one person he’s sure matters more than the rest. More than those fucking stars, more than Chef of the Year, more than any critic’s review, more than he can wrap his head around; he feels it in his chest and that’s enough.

“Of course you have,” you agree, peeking up at him and craning your neck to plant your lips to his jaw, savoring it long enough to leave a smirk against his skin. “You’re always so sweet to me, Bear—” one more quick peck just beneath his ear— “love when you cook for me.”

He thinks he could pass out like this, with the last thing he hears being those words, but his fatigue seems to serve as an anesthetic that lets him soak it in for a bit longer, running his free hand through damp curls while a heavy, giddy sigh leaving his lips that lets you know he hears you, that he loves telling you he loves you through his art, that he lives for the smile on your face when he stays home for a few hours longer to make you breakfast. Yet with all the time spent having his shell soften for you, he can’t always find the right words, so he settles for the next best thing: “Y’know, uh…Marcus’s been playing around with recipes…”

He feels you smile against his chest, knowing what’s to come. “Yeah?”

“Mhm, an’ I’d never let ‘im serve ‘em, ‘cause, y’know…” He loses himself for a moment in the lull of your fingertips tracing mindless shapes into his chest. “They don’t fit the menu…but uh, he made these…these rolls today…”

“Mhm? ‘M listening…”

Carmen knew that, of course, from the faint kisses you peppered between breaths. He lets the fan whir through the gaps in his thoughts. “I think you’d like ‘em, he had some classic cinnamon, ‘n…a blueberry lemon goin’…”

“That sounds really good,” you whisper, the syllables lengthened from a shared lack of sleep.

“I know,” he drawls, and he’s a little too proud of himself for once when he adds, “Which is why I said I’d let ‘im fix up the lemon recipe a few more times if he made a batch for you.”

“Did you really?” The dazed smile comes through in your voice, a bubbliness to it that tells him he made the right call.

He figures that’s why he’s so drawn to you—all the right calls come easy to him, the effort feels natural and unpracticed, unlike the tar that builds in his throat when it comes to so many other people. With you, being good is anything but demanding. “ ‘F course, baby…”

It turns him to a puddle, the sweetness that drips from your fingertips, so he cradles your wrist carefully in his hand and lifts it to his lips to show it the love it deserves before urging the hand to busy itself with the tufts of hair behind his hear, to which you happily oblige. You twirl a lock around your finger, performing a methodical spiral, and even though he knows by the time it dries it’ll stick out from the mess like a sore thumb, he’d stop breathing before pulling your hand away. It’s soothing, that pattern. It stokes the fire in his gut that makes him feel a little less lonely when you’re not around.

“I brought…” He yawns again, his eyelids growing heavy. “I brought you some of the cinnamon rolls…Sugar liked ‘em…they’re on the counter for you tomorrow mornin'…” He’s not sure whether it’s your doing or the hours of stress endured throughout the day, but he knows this is the most relaxed he’s ever been, laying with you and doing little else other than indulging in your tender touches and shy kisses.

“Thank you, my love,” slips away with breath, sotto voce, as Carmen leaves brief kisses to your hairline.

And he thanks God for being able to do it even with such an intense fatigue washing over him—at least part of him does, the part that’s still awake—because the movement lets you tilt your head and graze your fingertips by his jaw, bringing his lips kindly to yours for the first and last time tonight. Somewhere in that beautiful tangle there’s a mutual agreement: an unspoken Goodnight, I love you, in the mix, a finality in his offering and your gracious thanks that doesn’t warrant anything more than your head tucked neatly into his neck, left to bask in the comfort of his arms wrapped around you.

Just like any other night with you, he can sleep peacefully with the unconscious push and pull of your bodies intertwined. He knows that by morning, you’ll still be in his arms, in the bed you share, waiting on your good morning kiss from under the covers.

And he’ll still be beneath your warmth, his mind fuzzy and full of tenderness, every part of him dying to marry you.

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto fic #carmy berzatto fic #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x y/n #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto imagines #carmen berzatto imagine #the bear #carmy the bear #the bear fx #the bear x reader #the bear season 2

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thebearer · 8 months ago

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making the bed |carmen berzatto x reader| part one

prompt: carmen's stressed. food critics, a newborn baby, balancing work life and married life and now dad life; he's bound to break, everyone knows it. but no one ever thought he'd lash out on you.

or, part one of the devastation fic. based off this ask from the other day. two more parts to come.

contains: mega angst. mega angst, with no resolution in this part. hurt, no comfort (in this chapter, will be later in part 3). mean!carmen, very mean. mom!reader x dad!carmen with newborn teddy. fighting, language, carmen says mean stuff he doesn't mean. past mentions of trauma, family trauma, mikey mentioned. very angsty and a little heavy, please read at your own discretion. word count- 3.5k+.

"Are you ok?"

Carmen now understood why that phrase used to send Donna into such a blind rage, lips pursing and jaw clenching more and more every time he heard it. First at work, then with you, it felt never ending.

It was beginning to feel like critic season with how many were coming in, snooty and demanding to be impressed. It couldn't have come at a worst time, right in the middle of busy season with the start of the holidays. Days at The Bear were filled with frantic panic, running around, making sure everything was perfect, accounted for, and Carmen always had the sinking feeling it wasn't- that he'd forgotten something, messed something up.

It wasn't rare for him to work himself up like this, a normal that you always warned him about, but he'd always had a solitude. As long as he'd known you, he'd had a place to go, to unwind, to let himself rest and reset with you. And he still did, it was just shared now with a newborn.

Dorothea Michelle. Teddy, for short. The light of his life, yours too. Nearly two months old with a set of lungs that sounded much louder, much more developed than that. Nights were long, sleepless, spent trying to lull Teddy back to sleep, awake even if he wasn't up with her. Carmen couldn't allow himself the selfishness to relax, to rewind, to "take it easy" like everyone told him to. At work, he was the boss; at home, he was a dad.

"Fuck, fuck," Carmen's sleepy stare was broken by a lick of bubbling heat, the lamb's roux popping with the high heat, splashing all over Carmen's chef whites.

"Jeff, c'mon," Tina clicked, shaking her head, moving the pan to lower heat. "What're you doin'?"

Carmen grit his teeth, snatching a rag off the stainless steel counter tops, scrubbing the burgundy stain, huffing when it only spread the stain.

"What happened?" Sydney turned, looking from the burnt sauce to Carmen's stained chef shirt. "Oh,"

"Do we have a spare coat?" Carmen huffed, throwing the rag down with a firm smack against the counter.

"I don't think so, Carm." Sydney shook her head. "You took the last ones home with you two days ago. The wine-"

"-I know, Chef, I know." Carmen snapped, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I-I can't fuckin' serve the critics lookin' like this. With shit all over me- fuck."

"Hey, easy, easy," Richie turned the corner, his hands held up. "What's goin' on?"

"Jeff got sauce over him. He doesn't have any clean clothes." Tina muttered, irritated that she had to fix his mess, more irritated that he wasn't taking care of himself. You have a baby, Jeff, you need to rest and take some time, she'd told him. Carmen only waved her off.

"Okay, okay, hey, that's no problem." Richie's voice raised, lifting over Carmen's. "You go home and change, get your spare, check on my beautiful goddaughter, and then come back with your A game. Yes?"

Carmen didn't even humor him with a snarky remark, yanking his coat off and stomping towards the office to grab his things. Richie and Tina looked at each other, shaking their head gently.

"Kids runnin' thin, T." Richie muttered with a sigh. "He's gonna break. It's gonna be bad."

"Yeah, he is. Gonna wear himself out before then." Tina shook her head. "Jeff needs a vacation." They both jumped at the slamming of the backdoor, Carmen's angry exit shaking the foundation.

"Needs to be fuckin' medicated. Fuckin' lunatic." Richie scoffed, rolling his eyes at Carmen's dramatics.

The drive home was filled with silence, Carmen's iron grip on the wheel, tearing through the traffic towards the house- his house, his home.

Home, but it didn't provide the same comfort that it usually did. Carmen's shoulders still stayed tense, buzzing with rage, not dissipating when he thought of you, or of Teddy, knowing you'd both be there, excited to see him.

You jumped at the sound of the car door slamming, peeking out the window to see Carmen's parked next to yours, furiously stomping up the front steps. You frowned, grabbing the baby monitor, walking towards the front door.

Carmen nearly hit you with how fiercely he flung the door open. "Woah," You reached for the door, stopping it before he could flick it shut. "Carm, don't slam it. Teddy's asleep. I just got her down." You frowned at him, shutting it slowly.

Carmen looked at you but didn't speak, looking through you with a rage that had your spine tingling before he finally broke his gaze, stomping towards the laundry room. "Carm? What’re you doing home? Don’t you have dinner soon?" You hesitated slightly, lingering in the doorway with an uncertainty you hadn’t felt with Carmen before.

Carmen didn’t answer, his jaw still ground tight while he rummaged through the clean clothes, carelessly unfolding and shifting the folded clothes.

"Carmen," You said more firmly, caching his gaze. He didn't speak still, just stared at you- through you. "Are you ok?" You lifted a brow, features softening in worry.

Carmen paused, eyes closing, shoulders tensing in agitation. Are you ok? His ears rang, a familiar rage that he hadn't felt in years bubbling up deep in his chest. Frustrated and blinding and rampant, heat rushing through his veins, pulling himself further and further from reality into someplace different- someplace darker in his mind.

"What's wrong?" You pressed, he could barely hear it, ears ringing at your question. "Did something happen? Did the critic come-"

"-Where's my chef whites?" Carmen barked, cutting you off, his chest tightening more and more with every heavy heave of his chest. You flinched at his tone.

"Uh, I-I haven't seen the whites. I washed your white tee-"

“-You what? Y-You what?” Carmen spat, eye widening with a wild, raged glint in his eye. Your stomach flipped and fell with fear, stepping back instinctively.

“I-I washed your tee, Carm, that’s all that you left in the laundry basket-”

"-Are you fucking kidding me?" Carmen boomed, his head spinning, body buzzing with rage. Your breath hitched, frozen in fear at the anger in his tone, the roar of his voice bouncing off the walls, echoing through your ears in a painful drum.

Carmen moved, snatching the dirty clothes basket, dumping it into the ground with a shake until the dirty chef coat fell on top. He gripped the basket, flinging it across the room with a hard throw. The final push to his bad mood that sent him right over the edge, crashing into a pit of blinding fury, aggravation, breaking him from the inside out.

"Fuck!" Carmen roared, his voice shaking the walls, your breath leaving your lungs in a trembling exhale of fear. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! This is- This is- Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

You tensed in shock, gripping the baby monitor in fear, maybe surprise, as it started to buzz to life with Teddy's startled whimpers. Her small cries pulled you out of your frozen state, something deeper than fear replacing the ache in your stomach.

"Carmen-" You gaped, voice wobbling with uncertainty, taking slow shuffled steps towards the stairs. “Carmen, calm-calm down. Ok? Calm down.”

“Calm down? You want me to fuckin’ calm down?” Carmen sneered, an angry red flush blossoming in splotchy deep hues up his neck, towards his cheeks. “You don’t do shit, nothin’ that I fuckin’ ask for! Just sit around all fuckin’ day an-and I’m supposed to calm down?”

“Carmen,” Your voice wobbled, throat tight with tears, hurt and fear strangling your words. “I-You didn’t ask me to wash them. I-I didn’t know. They weren’t in the hamper-”

“-I shouldn’t have to ask you to wash them!” Carmen roared, eyes so wide you thought they might pop right out of his head, neck vein protruding on exemplifying his rage. “You know what I’m going through! You know how much fuckin’ stress I’m under! I go to that-that shit hole, an-and work my fuckin’ ass off so you don’t have to! Then I come home, and I-I can’t even get a second of peace!”

“Stop,” You hiss, finally regaining your composure, his words fully sinking into you now, feeling the full effect of them. “I-I just had a baby. I’m still on maternity leave taking care of a baby- our baby, and I’m tired too. But I’m not yelling at you-”

“-Oh, right. Right.” Carmen laughs sarcastically, humorless as he runs his hand down his face. It felt mocking, left you feeling small and too vulnerable for your liking. “Because in between your napping an-and feeding, you couldn’t stick a fucking jacket in the wash, right? You’re so busy.”

“What is wrong with you?” You snap, hoping he can’t hear the tears in your voice, the way your voice shakes with emotion.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?” Carmen scoffs, throwing his hands out. “I get no fuckin' sleep, go work my fuckin' ass off, a-and then I come home so I can go back and work my ass off some more, and-and you can’t do one simple fuckin’ thing? You can’t help me out? And then you wanna know what’s wrong with me? When you sit on your ass all fuckin’ day-”

Teddy’s piercing wail pulls you out of your shocked trance, nose and throat burning with hurt filled tears you refuse to shed. Instead, you turn, climbing the stairs on shaky legs, the sound of Teddy’s cries growing louder and louder. Anchovy watches you from the top of the stairs, sensing the tension, your upset, sliding against your leg as if to comfort you.

Carmen scoffs, hands buzzing and trembling with rage, the ringing in his ears growing louder and louder with each of your footsteps on the stairs and down the hall. He can barely hear Teddy’s sobs, hands threading through his hair, pulling at his scalp. He sees you walk towards the bedroom, quickly, hugging Teddy to your chest.

“Oh, don’t go fuckin’ do it now!” Carmen roared, your ignoring him only infuriating him further. “It won’t be ready in time now. I’ll just look like a fuckin’ idiot for the critic tonight! Not that you care! Why would you, huh? I-I mean just our livelihood, just our fuckin’ income!”

You swallowed back your tears, head tilting towards the ceiling, hands shaking with every shove of your things into the overnight bag. Just enough to get you through the night, the next day. A few essentials, Teddy’s spare onesies, a charger, your wallet- you stopped mid-shove of your items into the weekender bag, the sun’s rays catching in your wedding ring. Your heart fell, more and more, you weren’t sure how that was even possible.

Carmen’s furious voice was still booming from downstairs, ringing and shaking in his furious fit. Richie and Sugar both warned you about Carmen’s tantrums, brought them up to embarrass him, tease him about it until he was red faced and hissing hushed threats at them. You never, never in your wildest dreams thought you’d be on the receiving end of one.

You jumped, another slam of something Carmen had thrown, maybe hit in a fit of rage, causing Teddy to wail louder, Anchovy skittering nervously away. Tears leaked out of your eyes, twisting the ring off your finger, setting it on Carmen’s bedside table. Pulling the carrier out of the closet, Anchovy got in much easier than usual, which you were thankful for.

Carmen was gripping the marble of the countertop when he heard you again, walking from the bottom of the stairs, quick steps towards the door to the garage, Teddy’s voice nearly hoarse from her crying. You kept your head high, tunnel-visioned towards your car, ignoring his heavy breathing and frantic pacing.

“Wha-What are you doin’?” Carmen’s voice was softer now, still with a jagged edge that was cutting and harsh. The car door opened, the baby carrier hooked into the car seat.

“Hey, wha- what are you- where’re you goin’? What’re you doin’?” Carmen’s heart dropped in a damning rush of hour, stumbling on heavy legs towards the garage. You ignored him, shushing Teddy gently, running a calming hand over her wet cheek, trying to coax her paci into her mouth.

“Baby, no-no, no. Hey, no, I-I- What-” Carmen’s chest felt tight, mind numbing and racing, stuttering nervously. You reached for your bag, his hand reaching to grab the strap. “Whe-Where’re you-”

“-Don’t touch me.” You hissed, teeth bared, eyes shining with tears. Carmen flinched, pulling his hand back like he’d touched a hot stove. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me.” You sneered, pinning him with a watery glare that had his stomach turning in sickening fear.

“Baby, hey, w-wait-C’mon, d-don’t-You don’t, you don’t need to do this, ok? I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Carmen choked out the words, frantic and unsure, his hands shaking when they ghosted over you back just for a moment. Wanting to touch you, to hold you, to grab you and keep you from leaving, but too scared to. Instead, he grabbed the car door you flung open, holding it when you tried to yank it closed.

“Let go.” You hissed, sniffling back wet, snotty tears of fury and hurt.

“Please, don’t-do-don’t do this. Please, baby, I-I’m sorry.” Carmen begged, blue eyes deepening with the burning red hues of tears, bloodshot and lashes wet. “Don’t-Don’t do this-”

“-I didn’t do this.” You sneered, leaving Carmen flinching at your words. “Don’t you dare try to say this was me. After how you just talked to me? The shit you said to me in there? You think I’m going to stay?” Your voice cracked with emotion, lips pressing together to keep a cry in.

“No, no, no, no, no, baby, please. Please, ju-just come inside. Come inside, please? Please, don’t-”

“You don’t get to talk to me like that. To say that kinda stuff to me. That hurt, Carmen. That was mean.” You glared at him, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes. “I don’t care if you’re stressed. I don’t care what’s going on- nothing, and I mean nothing, warrants you talking to me like that. Just because you fucked up, because you forgot to ask me to do it, because you’re stressed out- I don’t care what it is. You don’t talk to me like that, say those things when I’ve been home all day taking care of my ch- our child.” You nod back towards the sniffling baby, whimpering and crying half heartedly, her little eyelids drooping with sleep that was interrupted.

Carmen felt sick, his knees tightening in fear, he was sure they might give out, that he might fall to the ground right there. Looking at the tiny baby, lip jutted and shaking in the mirror hooked on the back of the seat, then back at you, eyes red-rimmed and glaring at him with a hurt filled anger.

“Don’t-” Carmen’s chest shook, a white-knuckled grip on the door.

Your own hand curled around the door’s inner handle, yanking it away from him. “Move,” You hissed, pulling again.

Carmen wasn’t sure why he let it go, why he let you shut it, locking the door in case he tried to open it again. Why he let you pull out of the driveway, why he didn’t stop you, why he didn’t run after you, only taking soft shuffles down the drive like a zombie as you drove away. Standing in the drive, Carmen swallowed down the spit that pooled in his mouth, stomach churning, sure he was going to be sick.

He managed to trudge back to the garage, mind racing and far away, the ringing in his ears dulling but still deafening. It felt like he was in a dream- a nightmare, a hallucinating trance that felt like a sick, sick dream- Carmen was hoping it was. That he’d wake up and find you next to him asleep. That he could hug you, pull you into him, nose buried in your neck, still warm from your slumber.

As the sun began to sink low into the sky, minutes turning into hours that Carmen sat motionless in the garage, staring in a trancelike state, he realized that this wasn’t a dream or a nightmare. No this was his reality, a horrific reality that he’d made into his own. Carmen sat, eyes trained on the concrete of the garage, voice racing and blending in his mind- his words, yours, Teddy’s cries, Natalie and Richie’s, flashbacks of his mother screaming fits.

He didn’t move, frozen in chilling, eerie fear. What ifs and terrifying possible scenarios, consequences to his own actions that left him feeling sick, hands trembling. A spiraling of fears that only drug him deeper and deeper with every haunting replay of his outburst. Even the flashing of headlights turning into the driveway, filling the garage with light, didn’t pull him from his trance.

“The fuck is he- Cousin!” Richie roared, laying on the horn. Carmen didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge that he heard it, only stared. Richie frowned, turning the car off, throwing the door open.

“Cousin? Carm? What-What are you doin’? Dinner service started an hour ago. Syd is freakin’ the fuck out.” Richie threw his hands up, walking towards the man who still didn’t move. Richie’s heart skipped, flashbacks of Mikey flooding into his vision, parallels of the two brothers blurring before him.

“Yo, Carm, you-you good?” Richie stepped into the garage, his spine tingling with icy fear. It was quiet, an eerie, unsettling quiet. “Cousin, hey, what-what’s wrong?”

Carmen's chest rose and fell, tighter and tighter. He was suffocating, head spinning and mind racing so fast he felt light headed. He could barely hear Richie’s voice over the noise in his head, Richie’s hand shaking his shoulder finally breaking his trance enough to meet his eyes, rounded in fear filled question.

“Carmen, what’s wrong? Is it- Don’t fuckin’ tell me it’s the baby. What the fuck is goin’ on-”

“-She left.” Carmen’s voice shook, raspy and scared. His tongue still felt too thick, head still spinning. He wasn’t even sure he said it, Richie’s widening eyes the only thing confirming that he had said it.

“What? Who-Who left? Who?” Richie looked around, like the clues might be there, sure that Carmen wasn’t talking about you. No, he wouldn’t- he couldn’t. Not you.

Carmen’s breath hitched, a strangling of a sob caught in his throat, running his hand over his face. Richie didn’t miss the way it trembled, shaking even as it rested over his eyes. Your car was gone, the house too quiet, no baby Teddy crying, nothing but silence was left.

Richie’s heartbeat crawled into a rapid, scared pace. “Why? Wh-Why would she-” Richie looked at Carmen, eyes wide but still, reading his expression. “No. No, Cousin, no. What-What did you do? Carmen,” Richie grabbed both his shoulders, shaking him lightly until he met his gaze. “What did you do?”

Carmen’s face began to crack, behind his eyes, Richie could see flashbacks of something- something he didn’t know what, but whatever it was, it was painful. That was evident by the fear that glossed over Carmen’s eyes, realization and horror. Carmen’s shoulders shook, frame rocking with a sob he tried to swallow, but couldn’t. Deep cries, guttural sobs breaking out of his frame, heels of his hands pressed to his eyes, fingers curled and clenched around his greasy curls in agony.

The damning realization flooded over him, that you’d left.

You’d left, you’d taken Teddy, taken Anchovy- you’d left because he’d driven you away. His angry outburst, petulant, mean, hurtful- he’d been so cruel to you. You. His wife, the love of his life, mother of his child, the one person who loved him endlessly without stipulations or boundaries, the one person who truly understood him.

And he’d driven you away.

He wished he could blame his mom, his dad, his family for fucking him up so severely, maybe Mikey, even, for leaving him the shit show that was the restaurant, making his anxieties worse and fuse shorter. But sitting in the empty garage, Richie standing above him in silent shock, his sobs and angry sniffles echoing off the cement floor, Carmen knew he had no one to blame but himself.

He’d fucked up. Really fucked up. Fucked up in a way that made all the other times look obsolete.

Carmen had fucked up, and for once, he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t avoid it, ignore it, deflect it like other times. Half hearted apologies and promises of change wouldn’t work, you weren’t here for him to even try to give them to you, and he didn’t know where you went.

Carmen wasn’t sure where you went, how to fix this, why he’d done what he did, and a million other things that raced through his mind. What he did know, sitting in the too quiet garage, chest stuttering with heaving cries, was that he’d do anything.

Anything, to get you back home. To make it right. To fix this and make it up to you.

He wasn’t sure how, but he’d give up everything. Anything. His restaurant, his dreams, his hopes, his life, at this point, to make it up to you.

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