#carmen berzatto x gn!reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heavenbarnes · 11 months ago

Text

Run the pass

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x GN!Reader x Sydney Adamu

Warnings/Contains: reader is gender-neutral (no pronouns or descriptions of their genitals), swearing, allusions to alcohol, brief and non-descriptive mentions of vomiting, Claire exists, reader doesn't necessarily treat Syd the way she deserves, penetrative sex (with no mentions of protection), oral sex (reader and Syd receiving), coming inside, dirty talk.

Word Count: 7k

I have had this idea in my head for an AGE and I'm so glad I finally get to write it. In my head, the threesome didn't happen but I think it was a lovely addition. God, I just need these two like water.

This kitchen sounds like home.

Sure, there's a whirring noise coming from the walk in chiller. Sure, Richie is going waxing-lyrical at Fak over the score of some ball game. Sure, the grill spits like a dragon at the gates of doom.

But this kitchen sounds like home.

It's full of flavour, and friends, and- well, Carmy's in it.

You can only see the back of him, the white t-shirt stretched across his shoulders. You can see the backs of his arms moving as he plates the next meal. But it makes you smile, just inwardly, as you fold the mixture in the steel bowl in front of you.

When you look up again, Sydney's beside him. She's pushing another plate towards him and they're shoulder to shoulder. They work so perfectly in-sync that your smile widens.

Tina catches it, nudging you with her hip as she walks past you. "Wish somebody would look at me like that."

You just shake your head, putting it down to focus on your food in front of you as you keep working. By the time you pick your head back up, you see that Carmy's looking back at you over his shoulder.

Looking into Carmy's eyes is like staring into the sun, all consuming and a little blinding. If it'd been any different, you would've seen Sydney watching you over his other shoulder.

Carmy is a good boss, he's firm but fair. Firm but fair.

Working in his kitchen is one of the best gigs that ever fell in your lap. He wasn't even the one to hire you, go figure.

His brother, Michael, he hired you. You'd come in to put your name in the running for the kitchen-hand position they were advertising for. He saw something different.

That's how you ended up working the register.

Not exactly what you had in mind when you'd applied at the restaurant but, money is money and it was nearly impossible to find a job in this city. Also, Michael had told you that once folks walked past and saw you in the front window? Customers would come running.

You figured it wasn't worth the argument, and who knows? Maybe you could've impressed him enough to make your way into the kitchen.

Then things went and changed on you, Michael up and made his big decision and here you were on the register with his younger brother running the kitchen you so badly wanted to break into.

Carmy needed to find his feet in this place, understand how the sausage gets made. So you didn't fuss about your role, it was easier to let things lie as they were and maybe bring it up later on.

It wasn't even you that brought it up, it was Sydney.

"God knows we need more help in the kitchen but no, let's keep the register covered!" She threw up her hands with an exasperated groan.

Carmy's face scrunched in confusion, looking towards the wall as if he could somehow see through it and visualise you out the front.

He spoke your name like a question, one that Sydney was very quick to answer.

"Carmy, please tell me you're not serious?" She even laughed a little as she picked up the cloth on her shoulder and threw it at the man. "Have you two even spoken once?"

And then it was Carmy that finally brought it up with you, calling you into his office as he heard you getting ready to leave for the night.

You poked your head into the small room and smiled at him. "Yes, chef?"

He waved you in, turning his seat around till he was facing you. Carmy was hunched over, obviously tired with his elbows resting on his knees.

"Why didn't you tell me you graduated from Kendall?"

Your mouth suddenly felt dry, eyes going wide like you'd been caught out in some kind of lie. You hadn't really lied, had you? Just maybe not told him the whole truth.

"Well, I-uh-" You stuttered your way through, hoping he'd just give up and drop it.

Carmy was a surprisingly patient man.

Your voice could hardly be called more than a whisper as you spoke. "I told Michael."

Confusion was written on his face as his brow furrowed. "What?"

"He just thought I'd be better as front of house, thought maybe the customers would enjoy something nice to look at."

Carmy felt his eye twitch, his elbows nearly shattered his femurs as he his whole body went rigid. "Excuse me?"

He wasn't even sure why he'd asked that last part, it wasn't like he was listening. As you babbled away in the doorway, all Carmy could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.

Michael had said what? From the moment Carmy laid eyes on you he had wished nobody else could. He didn't want a single person to be able to look at you the way he did, he wanted you all to himself.

And his older brother was happy to let any of the bastards off the street look you up and down through the front window? He actually encouraged it?

Carmy stood up quickly, maybe too quickly, he felt like his head was spinning off his shoulders. As his heart nearly burst out his chest he realised what he needed. Keeping his head low, he turned to look at you and suddenly felt it.

The world slowed down a little bit, everything settled back nicely into place. You were smiling, albeit nervously, but you were there and you were smiling.

Carmy ran a large hand over his face as he spoke matter-of-factly.

"I want you in the kitchen starting tomorrow morning," His eyes locked onto yours. "Chef."

You didn't really remember where it started, well- you kind of did. You think it might've been a late night, both of you the last to leave the kitchen and you'd been talking each other's ears off like you usually do.

Carmy definitely made the first move, there was no doubt about it. You seemed to think he'd had your hips pinned to the edge of one of the stainless steel benches as he caught your lips with his own.

You'd felt the firm muscle of his neck beneath your hands as you cradled him like he was precious. Well, to you at least, he was precious.

It'd ended with him walking you to his office, making you kneel in his chair as he took you from behind. You remembered his hands closing over yours, where they gripped the back of the chair, fingers locking with yours.

You remember the flashes of his tattoos as he dropped one of his hands in front of you, sliding down your front to the centre of your thighs- how his hips didn't falter once as his stroked you to perfection.

Everything Carmy did was perfection.

His food made your eyes roll back in your head, his movements could make your mouth water, his words could have your whole body twitching,

In your eyes, Carmy was built on a pillar of perfection.

Not that he'd ever see it, anyways.

You'd both done your best to keep your private lives private, but this kitchen, this kitchen felt like family. It wasn't long before the glances between you both, the poorly timed arrivals and departures from the place began to add up.

Sydney was the first to notice, she didn't even say a word. She'd just seen the way you looked at him, how you'd light up when he praised your food, how your body reacted when he'd place a hand on your back to move behind.

Sydney was always observant when it came to you.

She didn't need to say anything, anyway. Tina coined on soon enough and then it was all over. Obviously, she told Richie, who told Fak, and the rest was history.

You and Carmy never confirmed or denied at work, but at least you didn't need to try and hide the way you felt about him. If they saw you kiss in the car before work, everyone just let it be (most of the time anyway, Jerimovich).

The confirmation never came because, well, you'd also never confirmed it just the both of you. He wasn't your boyfriend, there was no real label to what was happening.

You were two people who wanted everything to do with one another and very much enjoyed the other's company. That was simply that.

Any given night of the week, you could be found curled up on Carmy's chest either at his apartment or yours. Any of the other nights, you were probably underneath him or perched in his lap crying his name.

Neither of you felt the need to force a label on it.

By the time Claire showed up, things had become- different?

Carmy had been good about it, really good about it, he'd told you straight away that he'd seen her again and he had feelings for her. You'd both spoken at lengths over the dinner table about what this meant and the decision was mutual.

There was no label on it, he never belonged to you.

The rest of the family were harder to convince that this was for the best. Richie had actually walked out when you'd explained that you and Carmy had stopped 'seeing' each other.

Sydney couldn't deny she'd felt initial shock about it, too. It sort of blindsided her, but then there was a little something in the pit of her stomach that she couldn't- wouldn't name.

It was actually her that tried to have the 'come to Jesus' speech with you about Carmy.

"I'm not above begging, you need to start fucking that man again."

You nearly spat your coffee out, leaning against the front counter watching Sydney pace back and forth. "What on earth are you-"

"It was so much easier when it was you and Carmy," She stopped in her tracks, turning on her heel to look at you. "Since Claire turned up he's been impossible."

Even you had to admit that you'd noticed a change in Carmy since Claire showed up. He was so distant, he was hard to tie down, he seemed more on edge. He reminded you more of the Carmy that first arrived at this restaurant all that time ago.

It was a shame, you thought, he'd been doing so well.

You wiped a drip of coffee off the side of your mug as you placed it down beside you. "I really don't think me fucking Carmy is the answer."

Sydney gave a small shrug that almost came off as agreement. She wouldn't say it out loud but it definitely wasn't her first option, it wasn't even her second. If Sydney had it her way, she didn't want to think about Carmy's hands on you again.

And she'd thought about it. A lot.

"Something has to give, I don't think I can handle him canceling one more plan."

You sighed, a full-chested sigh that conveyed you felt her frustration. Pushing yourself off the counter, you placed a hand on Sydney's shoulder. If you were her, you would've felt the pure electricity that radiated off your touch.

"I'll at least talk to him, how about that?"

The talk didn't really do much. Carmy promised to do better, there was an apology in there somewhere. But you come to find out days later that'd he'd bitched out on another plan with Sydney.

Men, can't live with them!

It was in his office (without him of course, he was with Claire) with Sugar and Sydney that you'd all made up your minds. Well, you planted the idea and it grew from there.

"Lets just go get a drink, I don't think tonight is worth wasting any more energy."

Sugar jumped at the chance, already walking back out front to grab her purse. Sydney needed a little more convincing, her spirits a little crushed and her soul a little tired.

You'd managed to hush her up, giving her marching orders to get in your car and look like she was enjoying herself. Which, she ended up doing.

The booth was a little sticky and the music was a little shitty, the lights were so dim you could hardly see but you were having fun. Even Sydney had to admit she was having fun.

"Okay, fine! I'm having fun!"

Sugar let out a squeal of excitement, bringing your glasses together to cheers. "Here's to forgetting my little shit of a brother!"

After she said it, she turned to you with an apology on her tongue. "Oops."

You laughed it off, raising your glass and taking a sip. "No harm done, remember, we were-"

"Never togetherrrr." Sugar finished for you. "So you keep saying."

You just shook your head, calling the waitress over for another round. You ordered for yourself and Sydney before Sugar stopped you from getting hers. "Don't worry, Pete's on his way."

The three of you needed each other, needed this bond, needed these drinks, needed this moment. Regardless of your feelings towards Carmy, you'd all been scorned by him in some way, shape, or form.

It even felt good to hear Sydney get her real feelings off her chest.

"And you know what? Not to sound un-girls-girl, but fuck Claire!"

It was met with a quiet "fuck her!" from Sugar.

"She comes to the restaurant, she's just staaaaanding there, she knows she's taking up all his time."

All of you needed to get it out, you maybe the least. You knew it was hard for everyone else to understand, but you really didn't hold any resentment towards Carmy. Maybe a little, for leaving the kitchen high and dry. But really, you just enjoyed the memories of you two.

You and Sydney were a halfway through your new drinks when Sugar stood from the booth, grabbing her bag.

"Alright, I love you two more than life itself but I must depart!" You laughed as the tequila spoke for her.

"Bye, Shug!" You called after her as she waved and blew kisses at the both of you before disappearing through the door.

Leaving just you and Sydney alone at the table, you smiled at her as she intensely studied the grain of the wood. Sooner or later, she looked up and caught your gaze.

"Are you actually okay with Carmy and Claire?"

You smiled, earnestly. "Yes, I'm frustrated that it's upsetting you, but I'm inherently fine with it."

Sydney swallowed hard, you would've been able to hear it if the Brooks & Dunn in the bar wasn't so loud. She rolled the edge of her glass around the table before she spoke up.

"I just don't know how he's so okay with it."

You immediately thought she meant his letting the restaurant slide. But you knew Sydney, you knew her just enough that you could tell there was something sitting below the surface. You cared enough to implore it.

"Okay with what?"

She pulled her lip between her teeth before she looked up at you, like she was staring into the sun.

"With letting you go."

Your face softened, enough that she noticed. But Sydney also quickly noticed that it was a look of pity. That stung enough to make tears well on her waterline.

Pulling your jacket over your shoulders, you began to shuffle out of the booth. "I'll settle the tab and then I'll drive you home."

Sydney had never felt more like a tall child.

The lights of Chicago blurred past her eyes as you weaved through the streets. It wasn't lost on Sydney that you drove with one hand, the one closest to her was free and resting on your thigh.

She wanted nothing more than to reach over and hold onto it, maybe move it to her own thigh. As if you could read her mind, she caught the way your eyes flickered over to hers.

Slowly but surely, you lifted your free hand but instead brought it to the dial on the radio. As you turned it, she could hear the music in the car consuming her.

'And when I'm back in Chicago I feel it...'

She expected you to pull your hand back to your own leg but instead you reached over the gap of the centre console. Your hand brushed against hers as you took hold of it, squeezing it once and leaving the weight of it in hers.

Sydney knew that she had her chance, so she simply squeezed back and wrapped her other hand around yours with it. She held you tightly, like you were precious. Because you were.

She rested your hands in her lap, leaving them there against the soft fabric of her trousers as you continued you navigate the streets with one hand. When you pulled up outside her house, Sydney physically felt herself deflate.

Not only did you have to draw your hand back to kill the ignition, you'd reached the destination. It was up to her now to pull herself from the warm hold of your car and retreat to her room alone.

She weighed up the level of damage involved with throwing all caution to the wind right now. She figured she could just turn to you and let it out. Sydney could do something for herself for once.

As she balled up the courage in her chest, she didn't realise how long you'd both been sitting in silence until you finally spoke.

"Are you going to invite me up?"

And then Carmy loses his rag when he's locked in the chiller.

He laments about his failures, how much Claire had blinded him. He'd thrown your name in the mix, he'd apologised (for whatever reason) and decided his great epiphany.

If he'd never left you then none of this would've happened.

You weren't sure if he meant locking himself in the chiller or just everything in general. You weren't even in the kitchen at the time, this was all secondhand from Richie.

At the time Carmy was bearing his heart and soul to you, you were out the back of the restaurant holding back Sydney's braids as she emptied the contents of her stomach.

"I'm so sorry, this is so gross-"

"Don't apologise to me, how long has this been going on?"

The sound of the door screeching open tore your attention back over your shoulder.

"You really need to get in here- oh, what the fuck?"

"Richie, shut the fuck up. Can you get us some water?"

He grimaced a little at the sight in front of him but you pushed him with a flash of anger across your face. Yes, it was gross, but there weren't that many parts of Sydney you weren't fond of.

Even the ones that weren't pretty.

By the time Richie had come out with the water glass, he'd pressed even further how much you needed to get back into that kitchen. You knew it must've been bad if he wasn't even willing to tell you the details.

When you saw Claire by the chiller, you were moments away from asking for an explanation. You swallowed the words quickly as her face lit up in a hot rage, wet with tears. Before you could even think, she was turning on her heel to march out of the kitchen and back through the dining room.

What the actual fuck was happening?

It was a messy wee thing for you all to deal with, but deal with it you did. Sure, there was irreparable damage between Claire and Carmy (and you, by association), but the kitchen was stronger than ever.

And Sydney was happy again, back to having Carmy's attention and support at work. You saw the way she moved, her shoulders free of tension as she worked at her station. You just liked seeing her happy.

Sydney was happy, she was very pleased to be rid of the distraction that was forcing the kitchen apart. However, there was a gnawing little pit of jealousy that lived in her stomach and threatened to force its way out.

With Claire gone, there was nothing keeping you and Carmy apart.

She'd had you once, one perfect night. You'd been splayed out in the centre of her bed, her name falling off your lips as she settled in between your legs. She'd had a taste of you, and you weren't something she could just be okay with letting go of.

You were built from perfection.

So she waited, she waited for the other shoe to drop. There is always another shoe. Sure enough, no matter how hard Sydney tried to hide from it, it inevitably found her.

You and Carmy had arrived in the morning, same time, already laughing about something as you came through the door. That's all she needed, that feeling in her stomach expanded until she could barely breathe.

She caught the way Tina smiled at you both, a knowing smile. That cemented it for Sydney, if Tina had noticed it too, there was no doubt that it was unfolding in front of her and there wasn't a damn thing she could do to stop it.

And why should she stop it? You were happy! So was Carmy! And he was back to being fully present in the kitchen just like she wanted. But she'd be damned if she could get the thoughts of him touching you out of her head.

Touching you like she wanted to do. Like she'd done once, so fucking well.

Sydney wondered if Carmy really cared when he touched you? From the moment she held you she knew she wanted nobody else to do it, not the way she had. And now knowing that she had to share you? She felt like her head was going to spin right off.

She wondered what'd happen, when you finally told Carmy about what happened between the two of you. If you even would tell him. Did it mean as much to you as it did to her? Did it cross your mind every night like it did hers? Did you touch yourself as you lay in bed, reminiscing over that night like she did?

Probably not, she decided. You probably had Carmy to touch you, to hold you, and that would be consuming your mind. Sydney figured herself out to be an afterthought, a fun night that was never meant to become anything else.

When everyone was shutting the kitchen down and you were walking towards her across the dining room, Sydney braced for the worst. Silently, you helped her with the place settings until you spoke up.

"I told Carmy about us, about you and I."

In some sick way, all Sydney could really focus on was the fact that, even in the smallest form, there was an 'us.'

Without lifting her head, she continued to work on the cutlery. "And what does he think?"

You snorted a quiet laugh through your nose, a sound that should not have made flowers bloom in Sydney's chest. She couldn't breathe.

"He was jealous, I don't think he liked the idea of someone touching me like he does."

Sydney couldn't stop herself before her mouth opened. "Wonder what that's like."

In her peripheral vision, she could see your whole body still. Slowly, she trailed her eyes up the length of your body until they fixed on your face. Wounded, you looked wounded.

A sicker part of Sydney liked the idea of you finally knowing how she felt.

"I am so sorry, I never meant-"

"No, it's fine-" She cut you off, standing up to full height and brushing her hands on the front of her chef's whites. "I should've never got so attached."

"Sydney, please let me-"

"It was always meant to be you and Carmy, and now it is. Anyways, isn't this what I wanted?"

As she begin to walk away, leaving you alone in the dining room, Sydney mulled the same question over in her head.

Isn't this what she wanted?

"I just feel fucking terrible."

Your hands splayed out against Carmy's chest, fine hairs under your fingertips and inky tattoo's muddling against your skin. He held you so tightly as you rolled your hips in his lap.

"Don't worry about it, baby." He responded, breath a little clipped as he fucked up into you. "She said it's what she wanted."

You rolled your eyes before your eyes rolled back, Carmy's cock hitting the exact spot you needed it to. "You didn't see the look on her face or hear the way she said it-"

"To be honest, sweetheart, I don't really want to be visualising Syd when I'm balls deep in you."

Snapping your gaze down to his, you realised pretty quickly that you shouldn't have. Carmy looked incredible, eyes blown out, sheen of sweat across his skin as he put all his energy into fucking you. Ignoring the pang it sent to your stomach, you used the leverage of his shoulders to bounce on him.

"I really fucked up, Carm. I knew how much she was into me and I was selfish about it."

You couldn't really be sure he was listening to you, with the way his hands were running up your front to tweak at your nipples. You tried not to give away what it was doing to you, but a few whimpers escaped your lips, regardless.

It wasn't lost on you the way the corner of Carmy's lip quirked up at that. He took his eyes off your body to fix on your own, fighting for your attention as he kept rolling your hips against his.

"Selfish? What were you missing me or something?"

Your eyes narrowed at him, hand leaving his shoulder to playfully smack his cheek. It immediately conjured a groan from deep within his chest, a sound that hit you right in the middle of your stomach and made your hips falter.

"You're bad, Carmen."

"Yeah?" He questioned you, hands gripping your hips to lift you slightly, increasing the pace of his own thrusts. "Well you're worse."

You wanted to argue with him, you had it on the tip of your tongue but the minute he started jackhammering his hips into you- it was gone in an instant.

"Missed me so fucking bad that you got into bed with Sydney. You laid back and let her put her mouth all over you, because you couldn't get what you wanted from me."

The words were crazy, he was speaking pure insanity but the way his cock hit deep inside you was enough to curb your arguing. The minute you tried to open your mouth, a pathetic moan slipped right off your tongue.

"Thaaaat's right," He cooed, goading you into more embarrassing little sounds. "You missed the way this felt so you had to go get it wherever you could."

It was a lot, it was nearly too much for you to handle. Right as you thought you were slipping, that he was going to win eternal bragging rights, you found your own again. Tensing tight, you made sure to choke Carmy's cock on his next thrust.

The man beneath you froze, eyes rolling back and hips stuttering as you clenched around him. Finding yourself, you pressed your hands back on his pecs as you bounced in his lap.

"Not quite, Carmen," His name dripping like silk off your tongue. "Sure, you might've decided to fuck off on me but it's not like I was hard up on options."

Carmy tried to respond, but it was his turn for the words to get lost in his throat. His hips bucked up into you, cock twitching at the feeling of you gripping him even tighter.

"Look at me," You ordered, his eyes shooting open to take in the sight of you above him. "Do you really think someone that looks like me, looks as good as I do right now would be hard up?"

You caught the slight shake of his head, the way his hands fixed back on your waist and pulled you down on him with every bounce. He was desperate, the way he speared you straight on his cock was sending shockwaves right through you but you fought to remain in control.

"I could've had anyone I wanted and I chose Sydney, because I've seen the way she looks at me."

You leaned down, lips up close to his ear as you spoke. This close, you could hear him whimpering for you, the heady sounds emanating from within him.

"I fucked Sydney because I needed someone to treat me the way I deserve. When she had her mouth on me, it felt like I was being worshipped."

Carmy squirmed under you, you'd been in this position enough times to know exactly what was going to happen. His lips fell open and the string of incoherent moans you'd know him for began sounding.

"And you know what, Carmen?"

You could hear him chanting quiet little sounds of 'what, tell me baby?' as you spurred him on.

"I think you both need to learn how to share."

A visual splashed across Carmy's mind. The sight of you, face down ass up. Your mouth between Sydney's spread legs as her head crushed into the pillow. Carmy's hands pulling your hips back onto his as he fucked you roughly from behind. The both of them sharing you.

All of a sudden, Carmy pulled you down into his lap and launched his hips up. His head tipped back, his mouth fell open as he came deep inside you. Your name was the only thing he remembered how to say as he shot several hot ropes of cum into you.

The sight of it was something to behold, your hand falling down to rub between your legs as you felt him finish in you. It was all enough to push you right over the edge, head dropping into the crook of his neck as you reached your own peak.

As you came down, you felt Carmy's hand rubbing soothing circles into your back. The blood rushing around your ears was dissipating and you could only just register he was speaking.

"Huh?" You asked quietly, lips gently pressing against the skin of his shoulder.

"You can have it," He repeated, fingernails gently scratching up your spine. "Whatever you want, you can have it."

Apologies were an uncomfortable beast. Carmy was coming to terms with them a little better, after a bit of self reflection. He figured they made him uncomfortable because they were necessary.

For you, you were feeling lucky that Sydney was the forgiving type. You’d fully expected her to ask you to go fuck yourself when you’d attempted your apologies. Nice enough, she’d been quick to forgive.

In her eyes, she just wanted whatever part of you she could get her hands on.

That was probably why she was here right now. Back in this bar with you, the bar that (as far as she was concerned) was the beginning of everything.

That’s why she was also astonishingly fine with Carmy being here too. She was even sitting shoulder to shoulder with him. It was then you noticed they were moving in sync, the way they both raised their glasses to their lips at the same time.

Your eyes flickered back and forth between the two, shitty music making up for the lack of conversation and dim light dancing across the both of them.

They looked good this way, this is how they were almost meant to look. Content? Beautiful?

Looking like everything you ever wanted.

So it was a natural course of events, when the three of you later burst through the door of Carmy’s bedroom. You stopped at the end of his bed, trapped between the two of them.

Carmy’s chest to your back, Sydney pressing firmly to your front. Trapped.

Trapped, but completely willing.

Hot, physically and theoretically. The heat that was radiating off the both of them was consuming you. Sydney's hands were desperately working up the front of your shirt, feeling across your chest to cover any stretch of skin that she could.

Carmy's hands were on the waist of your jeans, undoing the button and fly as he dove down the front of them. His strong, skilled fingers felt you through the thin barrier of your underwear.

Your head tipped back, resting on one of Carmy's shoulders. Sydney took her chance, bridging the gap and closing her lips on your throat. You could feel her sucking at the skin, teeth gently running along the column of your throat.

The unmistakable feeling of Carmy hardening against your ass was ever present in the back of your mind. As Sydney worked you up, Carmy was pushing your jeans down your thighs, pressing his cock further into the split of your ass.

His lips came to your left ear, you could feel the heat of his breath as he spoke. "You look so fucking good like this, feel so fucking good."

As his fingers began to breach the front of your underwear, it was Sydney that was making moves on your right ear. "Been dying to taste you again, once wasn't ever gonna' be enough."

Your hips bucked up into Carmy's hand as he stroked you slowly, Sydney's teeth gently gripping your earlobe. It was overwhelming, the bother of you whispering exactly what you needed to hear, working together.

They worked well together, one glimpse into the kitchen and you could tell they worked well together. But even now, the way they were touching you, talking to you- they were the perfect team.

"On the bed, sweetheart." Carmy spoke as he drew his hands from your underwear.

Sydney stepped aside to let you move, watching you kick off your jeans as you moved to the bed. She moved towards you briefly, helping you pull your shirt off over your head and throw it to the side.

As she moved back beside Carmy, you stared up at the both of them under half-lidded eyes. Carmy had stripped down to his underwear, a large hand gently palming his cock through his briefs. He moved to the end of the bed, gripping your ankle and pulling you towards him.

"Get down here, Syd." He ordered, as if they were running the pass.

She was quick to follow the order, kneeling down beside him with her hand wrapping around your other leg. They both pulled you in closer, Carmy taking the initiative to get rid of your underwear.

Sydney reached forward, her hand running up your stomach gently enough to leave goosebumps. "You're un-fucking-believable."

You laughed, just quietly, head rolling around on the mattress as they both stared at you like your next meal. Not waiting for another instruction, Sydney brought her mouth against your entrance and gave you one long lick.

Head tipping back, hips raising, your mouth flew open with a string of moans. Her tongue was unbelievable, moving across you quickly but not failing to miss a single spot.

You could feel the familiar prodding of Carmy's fingers, moving under Sydney's tongue so they could work together. Two of his thick fingers breached your entrance, curling up as Sydney's tongue kept up it's ministrations.

"That feel good, baby?" Carmy's voice snapped you back into reality. "Feel good when we share you?"

All you could do was nod, nod furiously as you rolled your hips down to feel more of their combined efforts. Your hand gently reached behind Sydney's head, pulling her in closer till you were effectively humping her face.

"Yeah, that's right- let her have it." Carmy cooed, his fingers still pumping into you whilst his other hand was pressed to his crotch.

Sydney only moaned, the vibrations hitting you straight on and sending a surge to the pit of your stomach. Carmy could feel the way you were clenching, being well versed with your body he knew exactly what was on the way.

So when you whined at the feeling of him withdrawing his fingers, he was quick to shut you up by man-handling you up the bed. "Hush, you're so fuckin' spoilt."

And you knew he was right, everything you wanted you always got it. That's why you were settled back against the pillows, watching him strip off his boxers whilst Sydney's shirt was being discarded.

You quietly slipped a hand between your legs, gathering the wetness from Sydney's spit to rub yourself. Your eyes fluttered, head tipping back into the plush bed as you watched Sydney reveal more skin to you.

"Baby can't even wait a fuckin' minute?" Carmy questioned, kneeling on the bed to grip your hips.

In a swift motion, he flipped you over. Still holding your hips, he pulled them up until you were face down with your back arched. He could always get you exactly how he wanted you.

Sydney came around the bed, sitting in front you with her hand coming to cup your jaw. "You deserve everything you want."

As she cooed at you, she leaned in just enough to press her lips against yours. You could hear the sigh from Carmy, no doubt rolling his eyes as Sydney quickly gave into you.

Sydney knew your games just as well as he did. Difference was, she didn't mind. She'd feed into you for as long as you let her.

Your mouth dropped and a moan slipped onto Sydney's tongue as you felt the head of Carmy's cock pressing against your entrance. As he eased into you, your eyes began to roll back, hands shooting out to grip Sydney's thighs.

"Want- ah fuck- want to taste you." Your voice sounded breathy and desperate.

Sydney eased herself back, legs spreading around you as you hungrily dove to get your tongue on her. Without wasting a second, you ran your tongue from her entrance to her clit and listened keenly for the sounds she made.

Looking up from under your tired eyes, you saw the blissed expression on her face. Both your arms hooked around her thighs, lips closing around her clit to suck gently.

Carmy fully sunk himself into you, giving you a second to adjust to the stretch. Soon, he was rolling his hips in a steady rhythm that was sending you even closer to Sydney's cunt.

You felt a large hand splay across your lower back, Carmy soothing you as he began to speed up. He fucked you hard, watching the way you clenched around his cock and moved your head quicker between Sydney's legs.

This is what he'd imagined, this was exactly what he'd thought of that night (and honestly, a couple of other times in the shower before work). This was a sight he could get used to.

Carmy wasn't all too keen on sharing you, he had an underlying penchant for jealousy when it came to you. But as he watched Sydney cup a hand around the back of your head, as he heard you moan directly into her core, as he watched you fuck yourself back onto him.

He figured this was definitely worth a little hit of jealousy.

Sydney's hips rolled up to meet your mouth, her backside lifting off the bed as she pulled you down against her. Quiet little whimpers of your name were drifting perfectly off her lips. Her eyes were switching between fluttering shut and fixing dreamily on you.

You could feel the hint of your release working it's way up your body. Strengthening your grip on Sydney's thighs, you pulled her in tight so you could suck at her clit, listening for what it did to her.

"Holy- fuck- oh God- I'm gonna' cum-"

Looking up at her, you found her eyes on yours. Drawing back just a little, you laid your tongue flat against her before running it up, flicking the tip of it against her clit and watching her eyes screw shut.

Sydney rode your face through her orgasm, the feeling running red hot through you. You could hear the faint sounds of Carmy talking you through it. "That's it, make her cum- you're doing so good."

His words were too much, coupled with the taste of Sydney on your tongue and the feeling of her gripping tight onto you. Your hips began to roll back against Carmy, desperately searching for the relief you needed.

Feeling his hand wrap underneath you, Carmy began stroking you towards your orgasm. His chest came to press against your back as he spoke in your ear. "Come on, baby- that's it- cum for us."

Eyes going a blinding white, you felt yourself collapsing into Sydney's lap as your orgasm overtook you. Gripping tight around Carmy, you threw your hips back against him as he pressed himself flush to you.

You felt him twitch inside you, a string of curses leaving his lips as he came for you. You felt his hot cum hitting deep inside of you, leaving you feeling completely full. All you had left to do was fall, splayed out, in the centre of the bed, totally fucked out.

Carmy was the one that cleaned you up, but it was Sydney that brought you the glass of water and tucked you up. You felt her soft kisses against your forehead and by the time you opened your eyes, you could see she was already fully dressed.

You reached out for her, grasping her hand gently before mumbling something about "we should do this again."

Faint sounds of her laughing about that with Carmy caught your ears, but the sleep was taking over too much for you to be able to understand the joke.

When Carmy joined you in bed, wrapping you up in his arms and pulling you close to him, you managed one more mumble before you finally crashed out.

"You guys work really, really, well together."

#carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x gn!reader #carmen berzatto x gn!reader #sydney adamu smut #sydney adamu x reader #sydney adamu x gn!reader #the bear smut #i've tried to proof read it 100 times but i usually miss something lmfao #carmy berzatto x reader x sydney adamu #carmen berzatto x reader x sydney adamu #carmy x reader x sydney #carmy berzatto x sydney adamu

257 notes · View notes

astermath · 2 years ago

Note

Would it be okay to request a Carmy x reader where reader isn't a smoker but consumes lollipop instead? While on a break Carmy storms out stressed, unable to find cigarettes, reader notices his anxiety and causally takes lollipop out of their mouth and put into Carmys. "I know this can't replace nicotine but maybe this time you need something sweet". Carmy is suprised and reader just goes inside to work only to figure out later what they did and frantically running out back to apologize to Carmy. 👉👈

absolutely my dear!! I switched it up a teeny tiny bit, hope that's okay! thank you so much for the lovely idea! ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ

word count: 0.8K

warnings: swearing, slight suggestive talk, not proofread lol

let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for further carmen berzatto related content!

It had been over a year since you'd quit smoking, a habit you'd originally picked up because of the stress from your job and education combined. And you'd gladly taken the breaks that came along with it.

It had started as a New Year's resolution, quitting smoking, but you took it very seriously. But going cold turkey was hard, really hard, so you'd turned to something else to fill the void.

Lollipops.

Relatively harmless, delicious and allowed inside too.

And your boss, Carmen, had been so kind to let you take your "lollipop breaks" outside too, when the others were smoking. It gained you a few confused looks from your colleagues at first, but they got used to it pretty soon.

A week ago, you and Carmen were closing up, and you'd jokingly offered him a lollipop from your stash instead of a cigarette.

"Hahah, very funny. Those are gotta be laced with somethin' with how much you love them." He reached for his pack of cigarettes.

"Just the recipe for cavities." You started looking through your bag. "Come on, what's your favorite flavor, I got a ton of 'em."

He sighed, putting the small cardboard box back in his pocket. "Give me the apple one."

"Good choice," you handed him the plastic wrapped candy, and he quickly tugged off the wrapper and put it in his mouth.

"Mm," he hummed, hands clasped as his arms rested over his knees. Sitting on the curb was always more comfortable after doing a closing shift. "Haven't had one of these in ages."

He watched you from the corner of his eye. Plump lips wrapped around hard candy, the hard part of it creating a slightly bulge in your cheek, and when you'd take it out, your lips would always make that satisfying pop. Shit, he'd almost started getting some unholy thoughts about it.

The two of you sat in silence for a bit, still coming down from a long day of work.

"You know, smoking is really bad for you." You looked up at the night sky, trying to figure out if you were seeing a shooting star or a plane.

"No shit," he huffed, "so is sugar, dumbass."

You chuckled. "Touché chef, touché."

Tonight had been a night just like the one the week before.

You were already sat out on the curb, lollipop in your mouth, humming a tune to yourself, when Carmen went outside to join you. The weather was nice, and it was welcome after you'd just had the most hellish shift in a long time.

He reached for his cigarettes in his back pocket, brows furrowing when the packet felt surprisingly light. He opened it, groaning upon discovering it was empty. "Christ... I gotta let Richie stop bumming cigarettes from me." He was clearly irritated, foot tapping on the concrete as he looked off to the distance.

"Lollipop?" You asked, already reaching into your bag.

"Please," he sighed out, legs straightening out to stretch them a bit.

You started rummaging around, and just like him before, was met with the clear absence of your favorite snack. Either there was a candy thief around, or you seriously needed to start cutting back on how many of those you had per day.

"Fuck, I'm out, uhm..." You noticed how agitated he seemed, and you weren't about to have him go home in a shit mood after he'd worked so hard. So you figured you might as well try and ask.

"Do you want mine?"

He turned his head slightly, eyebrows raising at what you'd just said. He trusted you, he wasn't a believer of cooties, but taking a lollipop straight from someone else's mouth was a bit more extreme than having a sip from the same cup. But it was you, he knew you, he liked you, so... Fuck it, why not?

"Yeah... Sure." He watched your lips closely as the hard candy dragged across them, spit painting them so beautifully. He almost didn't notice your hand reaching it out to him, and he took it carefully. He looked straight into your eyes when popping it in his mouth, and you felt like there was something strangely erotic about it all.

"Well," you put your hands on your knees and got up, "I gotta go, I have somewhere to be early tomorrow, so..." You smiled, a little awkwardly. "You owe me a lollipop though."

He smiled, and you did too. "For sure. Now go home, I can tell you're tired chef."

"Heard." You grinned, waving a quick goodbye before walking off to the nearest metro station.

Man, he'd really start enjoying lollipops more if they were all covered in the taste of you.

tag list <3

@beebslebobs @thatone-brightstar�� @spr3id @deadandstill @777iii @magicboytrash

#aster replies #aster writes the bear #carmenmath #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x gn!reader #carmen berzatto blurb #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto the bear #the bear fic #carmen berzatto imagine #jeremy allen white fic #jeremy allen white imagine #anon ask

363 notes · View notes

luvr-bunnyy · 1 year ago

Text

fresh bread and the living dead

CARMEN BERZATTO x GN!READER

word count: 1.4k

warnings: none really, mainly fluff. no use of (y/n), carm calls reader ‘baby’ and ‘sweetheart’ and one mention of blood

[a/n: alrighty…so, i’ve had such a shit year so far and i’ve also had terrible writer’s block…so i decided a good way to get out of it was to pick random characters and put them into like one of those spin the wheel things online, so yeah…here we go! ALSO !! huge ginormous thank you to @scealaiscoite , they’re halloween prompt list was a huge inspiration for this one and helped me out of my writing funk :( thank you my love 🫶🏼 anyways, enjoy !!]

The beginning of October brought a crisp chill to Chicago. Gloomy skies, roaring wind, a chill that seeps into your bones in the most exciting way possible, and it also brought one other thing. Something that you had been extremely fond of.

Halloween.

The best holiday ever. And no, that is not just an opinion. It is an irrevocable fact.

And so, on one of your rare days off from The Bear, you woke up at 7am. Carefully slinking out of bed to not wake your boyfriend- sorry, fiance. He had a tendency to not want to sleep in on his days off but because you just wanted him to rest, you unlocked his phone and shut off his alarm. Leaving him to rest with a kiss at his temple.

With a yawn and stretch, you shuffled into the kitchen and started to pull ingredients from your cupboards. Flour, yeast, sugar, etc. There was only one way to start the fall season off the right way. Pumpkin Conchas. Marcus had mentioned them during prep one day and you just hadn’t been able to get them off your mind, you had immediately drafted up a recipe and the both of you had worked on perfecting it.

So as you kneaded the dough, all you could focus on was the light and airy feeling of surprising Carm with the warm and delectable bread first thing in the morning.

Your biceps and forearms ached the slightest bit as you placed a tea towel over the bowl that held your dough and with a satisfied sigh, you made your way back to the room to change.

Quickly and carefully stepping into some jeans and a beige waffle knit thermal, topping off the simple outfit with boots and Carmy’s checkered wool jacket. The faint smell of his cologne made your cheeks redden, heart squeezing with adoration and love.

And after a quick trip to Target, you returned with a few bags full of goodies and a dirty chai topped with a deliciously thick pumpkin cold foam.

When Carmen woke up, the delicious smell of baked goods hit his nose. It had definitely offset the disappointment of figuring out that you had sabotaged his early morning alarm but he could never really be angry with you, especially not when he felt so relaxed and rested.

Sluggishly, he climbed out of bed and made his way to the kitchen where the sound of a pan moving against the stove top caught his attention. His shuffled footsteps caught your attention and a fond smile pulled at your lips. “Morning, bear.” He just hummed and wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders on instinct. “You’re just in time. I made you breakfast.”

“Smells great, thanks baby.” He placed a soft, chaste kiss against your lips. “Busy mornin’?” He asked somewhat rhetorically, noticing the oven timer still going and the grocery bag with a very familiar red logo on the front.

“Oh well, uh yeah…just-just a few essentials we needed.” You shrugged, leaving him standing by the stove with a guilty smile.

“Oh man…” He laughed to himself, expecting to be met with something ridiculous.

And boy was he right. The second he stepped into the open dining/living area, he was met with an interesting sight.

There were soft orange colored string lights hanging from the top edges of the wall. The decorative pillows he was familiar with had been replaced by pillows with the fluffy shape of ghosts and jack-o-lanterns embroidered on the front, a plush plaid throw blanket with a printed pumpkin pattern was slung over the arm of the couch.

The basket tray on the coffee table had a cheesy looking halloween candy bowl filled to the brim with his and your favorite sweet treats and a new set of coasters. A cute little ceramic ghost sat on the glass surface of said coffee table, alongside a lit candle that was something along the lines of caramel and pumpkin.

He could never understand your obsession with the holiday but you looked so happy, he would never do anything to jeopardize your joy. So, he grinned and gave a simple, “Looks great in here,” before sitting and enjoying the omelette and sausage you prepared for him.

As he took his first bite, you pressed play to resume the movie you had been watching and the sound of a blood curdling scream, followed by the image of gushing blood made Carmen jump. You, however, seemed unaffected as you continued to hang another set of lights around the window.

“Sweetheart…” He called out to you, a worried frown etching onto your face. His wavering tone leading you to believe something was wrong.

“Yeah? Is it the omellette? Is it not good? I asked Syd for advice since I’m shit at cooking anything with eggs. Dammit.” Your dejected tone tugged at his heart.

“No, no, no. It’s not the omelette. Promise. It’s actually really good. You did-you did great. No, it’s just-” He took a deep breath. “I uh-I really appreciate that you’re getting into the uh, the halloween spirit or-or whatever but it’s ten in the morning baby. Could we turn off the slasher movie for a sec, please? At least until I’m done eating?”

The silence that followed made him nervous that he upset you but he was relieved when a quiet laugh left your throat. “Oh! Yeah, yeah. Of course.” Relief flooded your chest. “I’m glad the omelette’s good.” You grabbed the remote and paused the movie once more. Carm watched as you left the app and went back to the homescreen.

“Thank you, you can go back to it when I’m done eating. I’ll uh, I’ll help you with the rest of your-your decorating.”

“Aww thanks bear.”

His focus returned to his breakfast until the familiar notes of ‘This is Halloween’ met his ears and he sighed but the sound of you ecstatically singing along with the animated ghouls on the screen had any protest he had dying on the tip of his tongue. The promise that followed the ding of the oven was more than enough consolation for having to have seen this film for the thousandth time this month.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x gn!reader #the bear x reader #fall fics #halloween fic

59 notes · View notes

buzzcutlip · 6 days ago

Note

11 J and Carmy because I love the fluffy stuff.

I've written something rather romantic for you, the title can't be anything else than:

December 1st (Prompts from my seasonal prompt list: "Thank you for spending time with me today" & "First kiss") Carmen x gn!Reader 2000 words

“Good morning,” Carmen Berzatto greets you with a tentative smile, his breath clouding in the frosty morning air.

Your heart jumps, like every time Carmen comes, instead of Tina, to pick up the fresh dairy products.

“Hello,” you wave from the open door, the sun shining into your eyes, unable to stop yourself from smiling back. “Come on in,” you beckon him as you see his red nose and cheeks, holding the heavy metal door open to let him inside the storage room.

Carmen steps inside, shoulders tense against the chill. He rubs his hands together briskly, the friction sending little clouds of warmth into the air. “Colder than I thought it’d be,” he mutters, glancing around at the neatly stacked crates of milk and cream, along with various types of cheese.

You grab a clipboard from the hook near the door and pretend to study the inventory, but you’re acutely aware of every move he makes—the way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, the subtle dip of his head as he surveys the shelves.

“You get used to it,” you reply, even though the truth is, you’ve never really adjusted to the cold. It’s just something you tolerate.

“Do you wanna take something extra?” you ask, and as you look up, you find Carmen already watching you. His eyes quickly dart away. He looks skinnier than the last time you saw him, his cheekbones protruding.

Carmen does want to take something extra, and he asks you a surprisingly huge amount of questions regarding butter and mature cheddar and Swiss cheese from Stockton. Usually, Carmy barely speaks — he quickly loads the crates and is off. Not today.

“Swiss, huh?” you prompt, watching him as he shoves his hands into his coat pockets. “You planning a fondue night, Chef?”

Carmy huffs a laugh through his nose and shakes his head. “No, just… experimenting. Trying to see what works with, uh, some new ideas.” His explanation comes out fast, like he’s rehearsed it, but the way he avoids your gaze makes you think there’s more to it than that.

You glance over at the neatly wrapped blocks of Swiss cheese, then back at him. “Alright. But you usually know exactly what you want. Today’s… different.”

That gets his attention. His eyes snap back to yours, wide for a moment before narrowing like he’s trying to read what you mean. “Different how?”

“Dunno,” you shrug, though you absolutely do. “Just… you’re asking a lot of questions. Usually, it’s just a quick ‘hey’ and ‘thanks.’” You keep your tone light, playful, but there’s a part of you that wants to ask why he looks so worn down, why his usual confidence feels frayed at the edges.

Carmen glances at the crates and lets out a breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m—uh—“ He pauses, scrubbing a hand down his face. “It’s ... the first of December.”

“It’s the first of December,” you repeat slowly after him. Surely, there must be more to it than just the beginning of a new month.

Carmy looks immediately regretful, his boots shuffling on the concrete floor. “Family trauma,” he explains plainly. “Christmas. It always seems like once it’s December, I can’t avoid it any longer.”

“Oh.” For a moment, you don’t know what to say. Carmen doesn’t look at you, his eyes fixed on the floor like he’s bracing himself for judgment—or maybe just for silence.

He huffs a bitter laugh, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to dump that on you.” He shifts his weight, his hands digging deeper into his coat pockets. “It’s not your problem.”

“Maybe not,” you say quietly, watching the way his shoulders curl inward, like he’s trying to make himself smaller. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

You lean back against the shelf, crossing your arms to ward off the cold. “So… Swiss cheese, huh?” you say, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground.

Carmen blinks, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s trying to decide whether to let you change the subject. Finally, he gives a small nod. “Yeah. Swiss cheese.”

You add the extra products to another crate, noting them on your list. Carmy pays, and you put the money into the cash box, then help him with the lighter crates into his car. Well, it’s Richie’s car; you already know that. Tina uses it too. Carmen shyly asks you to come along, explaining that they want to give you Bear Christmas Cookies, just as they do for all their suppliers. He shivers when saying “Christmas,” but you agree, quite happily, and get in the passenger seat. The car is cold too; the heating clearly doesn’t work. You intentionally don’t look around too much, just in case you spot something exceptionally gross in the clutter.

“I’m sorry for the state of the car. It’s Richie’s,” he adds quickly. “The only available car at the moment,” he winces.

“It’s fine,” you smile at him.

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence for a moment, the hum of the car’s engine filling the space between you. The city streets blur past outside, with festive lights strung across lampposts and storefronts, their warm glow a sharp contrast to the December chill.

At the restaurant, you help Carmen get the products to the walk-in fridge. The kitchen is empty, being Monday morning, and gives off a completely different vibe—a bit sad, maybe. It makes you wonder if that’s one of the reasons Carmy’s been stalling so much today.

When you bring in the last crate, setting it on the metallic counter with a clang, Carmen’s there with a round, dark blue tin. As he hands it to you, your fingertips touch, fueling your well-nourished crush, and you can’t help but want more of him.

“Thank you,” you say, studying the Bear logo on the lid. “I’ll make sure to share it with the rest of the team,” you tell him. “Even though I don’t want to.”

That makes Carmen bark out a laugh, one that sounds genuine for once.

As there’s nothing else to do, the moment starts to stretch awkwardly.

“You know, maybe it’s not my place to say this—” you start bravely, “but I think a cup of coffee or tea would cheer you up.”

Carmen’s brows lift slightly, his lips parting like he’s about to respond, but he hesitates, caught off guard. “Yeah?” He looks down at the tin still in your hands, then back up at you.

You shift your weight, feeling the sudden urge to backpedal, but you’ve come this far. “Yeah,” you say, steadier now. “I mean, it’s cold as hell, it’s Monday, and you look like you could use… I don’t know. A minute to just breathe.”

Carmen huffs a small laugh, though it’s quieter this time. “Is it that obvious?”

You tilt your head, giving him a playful look. “Let’s just say you’re not exactly radiating holiday cheer.”

Carmen snorts and then says, decidedly, “Okay.”

It’s not a surprise to find out that the chef doesn’t know any nearby places that specialize in beverages, so you lead the way to the first decent-looking coffee house one street over. You order an almond milk latte, while he has chamomile tea, and then pays for both of you without hesitation.

The two of you lapse into a hesitant talk at a corner table with two armchairs, the hum of conversation and the clinking of cups filling the space around you. Outside, the festive lights strung across the street sway gently in the breeze, their glow reflecting on the window.

As much as your heart is ready to give out, with your fingers tapping nervously against the ceramic mug, a careful conversation develops. You talk about your job at the Home Produce shop, sharing gossip about all the other restaurants and chefs that buy from you.

When Carmen does speak, you can’t help but sneak glances at his tattooed hands, the ones you can’t get out of your head. Unfortunately, you’re pretty sure Carmen catches you on one or two occasions but doesn’t say anything.

The conversation moves on to other topics, like favorite dishes, shared horror stories about difficult customers, and even the occasional joke. You’re pleased to see Carmy relaxing, taking off his quilted coat. Meanwhile, you’re wearing only your thick woolen jumper and a long red scarf, the coffee adding a very pleasant warmth to the mix.

Things take a turn when Carmen starts sharing half-explained stories about his family and the Seven Fishes tradition: festive cooking, car crashes, divorces, moving to New York—all without mentioning Christmas once.

You listen carefully, letting Carmy know you’re there, willing to help him carry a bit of the burden.

“Everything was always… too much,” he says, his gaze fixed on his tea, now lukewarm. “Loud. Messy. No one ever sat still long enough to actually… enjoy it, you know?”

You nod, watching him carefully, letting the words settle in the air. “And New York?” you prompt gently, sensing that he needs a nudge.

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I thought it would be different. It wasn’t. Just… louder. More people, more pressure. The only time I really liked Christmas was when I was on shift. Cooking. It was the only time I could control anything.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice, the way he talks about control like it’s both a lifeline and a curse.

“You’re good at it, though,” you say softly. “The cooking, I mean.”

Carmen fidgets with his sleeve, his fingers brushing against the edge of the table, and you realize he’s looking at you—not quite directly, but close enough that your pulse quickens.

“You’re easy to talk to,” he says suddenly, like the thought just slipped out.

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh. Well, uh—thank you.” Your nervous laugh fills the space as you grip your mug a little tighter.

You feel like you’re dancing around each other a little, trying to figure out where you stand or if there’s any affection coming from the other person. It’s exhilarating and a bit terrifying at the same time. You really want Carmen to like you, and you have nothing else to offer but honesty and openness.

It’s almost 1 p.m. when you get up, your stomach rumbling, murmuring something about having to get back to work. Carmen offers to drive you back, which you accept gladly. As soon as you both get into the car, you can’t help but shiver from the cold outside—and inside, as well.

“Oh, here you go,” Carmen shrugs off his warm jacket and drapes it over your arms before he starts the engine. The gesture takes you by surprise, and you blush furiously into your sweater’s neck.

When he parks and shuts off the engine, the sudden quiet feels almost intimate. He turns to you, his expression softer than you’ve ever seen it. “Thanks for spending time with me today,” he says, his voice sincere. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know I didn’t have to,” you cut in, a little sharper than you mean to, but his self-deprecation stirs something protective in you. “But I wanted to. Because it’s you.”

The words hang there, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve said too much. His eyes search yours, and you can tell he’s caught off guard, maybe even a little unsure what to do with the kindness.

“I’m not great at this,” he finally says, his voice low, like it’s a confession. “Talking about… stuff.”

“Clearly,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood, though your smile is gentle. “But you don’t have to talk, you know. Not if you don’t want to.”

He exhales slowly, his breath curling in the frosty air like smoke. You’re unsure if he’s about to speak, but then he does something else entirely. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips, plain and sweet. Instantly, it ignites a fire inside of you, the flames making your cheeks burn despite the cold.

For a moment, the world narrows to just that touch—fleeting, but enough to send your heart racing. When he pulls back, Carmen looks almost as surprised as you feel, his cheeks flushed, eyes wide like he’s already second-guessing himself.

“Sorry,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper. “I—I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your voice steady even though your pulse is anything but. “Don’t apologize.”

His eyes dart to yours, searching, as if he’s trying to figure out if you mean it.

“I… I’ve been wanting to do that,” he admits, his voice rough and hesitant, like the words are being pulled out of him against his better judgment.

You bite your lip to keep from grinning too wide. “Me too,” you confess.

#if this doesn't get more than four notes I'm only ever gonna write smut honestly :D #the bear #carmy berzatto #my writing #my fic #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen x reader #carmen berzatto x gn reader #carmy x you #carmy x reader #the bear fanfic #the bear fanfiction #carmen berzatto fanfic #carmen berzatto fic #the bear christmas fic

138 notes · View notes

collecting-stories · 2 years ago

Text

Blueberry BBQ - Carmen Berzatto

Request: no.

Summary: reader works at The Bear balancing their books and has a major crush on Carmy but they never talk aside from business. A dinner party brings them closer together.

A/N: Just some nonsensical drabble cause I love Carmy.

The Bear Masterlist

✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎

“Are you making that bbq sauce for the burgers this time?” Marcus asked, turning away from his chocolate cake for a split second to look at you.

Mikey had hired you a week before he died to help balance the books at the Beef. After he was gone Richie stuck you on the counter, waiting on customers like you didn’t have a bachelors in finance, and telling you not to go in the back office. Now that Carmy was around, and attempting to make the Beef float, you were back were you belonged, in the office and away from the hustle and bustle of the kitchen.

You were no chef…you’d hesitate to even really call yourself a proper cook…but you knew what you liked and you knew how to make it taste good. “I don’t know…last time Angel complained.”

“That’s because Angel puts ketchup on everything like a five year old,” Tina called from her station, the distinct chop of onions echoing after her comment.

“What are you making?” Syd asked, adding a quick, “behind” as she passed Tina to grab a pot.

“It’s Sunday night dinner,” Marcus replied, ignoring the headshake Tina gave him. No real offence to Sydney but you knew she’d tell Carmy and whether or not he actually would come, you kind of didn’t want the pressure of thinking he might show up. Even with your job at The Beef you were far from understanding the “food world” but you’d tried Carmy’s cooking a few times and it was leagues better than anything you attempted on a good day. There was no way you wanted him even thinking you set foot in a kitchen, let alone trying something you made.

“Sunday night dinner?” Syd echoed.

And then the cursed, “what’s Sunday night dinner?” Carmy’s voice. He’d come in from a smoke break and you took three large steps back to the office, as if you hadn’t set foot in the kitchen to begin with. Marcus looked at his boss and then at you (wide eyed and trying not to visibly shake your head at him) and then back to Carmy.

“It’s uh,”

“Nothing.” Tina cut in. “It’s nothing. Get back to work eh, Jeff?”

“Yeah,” Carmy looked like he wanted to say something else but instead just nodded, blue eyes a little glazed, “yeah.”

In the comfort of the office, you get back to work on payroll for the week, slipping your airpods in to drown out the sounds of the kitchen. Just over the softer lull of Evermore you could hear Carmy yell at Richie, his brother’s best friend shouting right back. It wasn’t always (or ever) the best environment for working but you liked it. You liked it when Mike was working there and you somehow managed to like it a little more now that Carmy was running the show, though that could just be that you liked Carmy. Outside of work, you didn’t have too many conversations but he was pretty to look at and you liked the brief interactions the two of you had, even if it was just asking about accounts and other boring stuff he didn’t have the patience for on his own.

The whole incident (that might be an over exaggeration of the event though you’d honestly be tempted to call it a debacle and it probably wasn’t that either) had been mostly forgotten by the time the dinner rush was rolling around and you were clocking out. More than thrilled to both be home before dark and to continue your mostly Carmy-free shift. He was so busy out in the kitchen and fighting with Richie that you hadn’t seen him. Though by now you were positive he had forgotten the mention of Sunday night dinner.

You waved to Syd, promised to text Marcus, and slipped out the back door into the alley. If you went out the front Richie would stop you and then you’d be listening to his bullshit for another hour (at least).

“Sneaking out?” Carmy’s tone was teasing and you spun around to find him sitting on a milk crate, smoking what was probably his sixth or seventh cigarette of the day.

“Didn’t wanna hear about Richie’s date,” you shrugged, the strap of your backpack digging at your collar momentarily when your shoulder went up and then dropped back into place.

“It was a bust.”

You nodded, “kinda feel bad for him,” you mused. You didn’t hate Richie, in fact you found him kind of funny. Even when he’d kicked you out of the office and relegated you to the counter you’d liked him too much to complain.

“You wanna date him?” Carmy asked, raising a brow as if he was issuing some kind of challenge.

“Oh, I don’t feel that bad.” You laughed.

Carmy smiled and you were ready to say goodnight when he opened his mouth again. Maybe you should have gone the front way. “So what’s this Sunday night dinner?”

You shook your head as if the whole ordeal wasn’t that major to begin with. Maybe if it sounded lame, if you sounded like you weren’t that bothered with it, Carmy wouldn’t want to go. Not that you thought he wanted to spend his time off the clock hanging out with you. “Oh it’s nothing, I’m just…making dinner for like, Marcus and Tina and everybody.”

He frowned. An actual, eyebrows scrunched, hooded eyes drooped, frown. “You cook?”

“Not, no, not like…I mean…it’s probably cardboard compared to you.” You laugh, “not that I’m, ya know…comparing myself to you or anything.” You replied, stumbling slightly over your words.

“Must be pretty good…everybody’s going.”

“Well, anyone’s invited…I mean, if you wanted to come you could. I think Marcus is bringing some dessert and Tina and Ebraheim usually bring something too.” You shrugged again, an impulsive movement as you tried to make yourself sound cool and collected. It was just Carmy…the guy looked like he was homeless, he shouldn’t be as intimidating as he was.

“What are you making?”

“It’s just burgers.” You replied, downplaying the fact that you’d specifically overpaid for waygu beef because Marcus claimed it tasted better. Who were you to know.

“I’ll bring something.” The offer sounded more like a sure statement. Not only would he be there but he would bring something.

“Okay…” you trailed off, “well, see you tomorrow.”

You were pretty sure you’d never left The Beef so quickly in your entire life. Sunday was supposed to be a relaxing day off and an attempt to actually be somewhat sociable because god knows quarantine was rough, even with a steady job.

But now Sunday was just anxiety bubbling in your stomach while you made the plum bbq glaze that Marcus liked so much. You’d imagined nothing more than calling up your mom to complain about how often you put your foot in your mouth but as you reached for the telephone you realized the only one around to listen to you talk about this weird crush you had on Carmy was your cat. The monster in question was a long haired black cat that the lady on the top floor had adopted before covid. She’d named him Rigoletto after the Italian opera and then decided she didn’t want him anymore.

“That place down the street is hiring…although I’m not so sure I wanna work at an H&R Block.” You mused, scratching under Rigoletto’s chin before leaving him on the arm of the couch to finish the bbq sauce. “And I do really like the Beef…but what if Carmy hates this? And he fires me or something…is that crazy?”

The cat didn’t have the chance to answer because the buzzer by your door went off. It was a little too early for anybody who usually showed up to arrive though you suspected it could be Syd (she’d been invited now too, along with Richie who had to decline because it was his Sunday with his daughter).

You hit the button to unlock the front door without confirming who was there. Not a great habit but you were technically expecting someone and you tended to get a little lax with security every now and then. You propped the door to your apartment so that whoever you’d buzzed (Syd surely, maybe Ebraheim) would be able to just come right in.

But as luck would have it, it wasn’t Syd that came through the door to your apartment. It was Carmen, holding two foil trays cause he promised he’d bring something (and okay, sure, maybe he over did himself for just a hang out in your apartment but so sue him if he wasn’t trying to impress you).

“Hey uh…your cat looks like it’s gonna climb me.” He half greeted, half warned, staring down at the cat that had jumped off the couch and come over to greet him. Yellow eyes stared up at his blue ones, back hunched like it was ready to pounce and Carmy briefly imagined the cat jumping right into the trays in his hands.

Before any worst case scenarios could happen you scooped the cat up in your arms, apologizing and telling Carmy he could lay the trays on the small island in your kitchen. “He’s super friendly,” you promised though you left him in your room and closed the door, “he’s a big fan of Chester.”

“Marcus’ roommate?” Carmy almost laughed.

“Yeah he uh, what are you doing?” You speedwalked the short distance back to the kitchen when you realized that Carmy had moved over to inspect the sauce you were making, spooning a tiny bit out and taking a bite.

“It’s good, maybe a little maple syrup?” He offered, as if this was The Beef’s test kitchen. Without waiting for your okay he went to the fridge, opening it and pulling out a bottle of maple syrup. You wondered briefly if he had some sort of psychic sense that let him know you had maple syrup on hand or if Carmy just expected all the ingredients he needed to be right where he needed them at all times. “What’s this?”

“It’s salad dressing,” you supplied, shifting awkwardly as he shook the bottle of salad dressing he’d plucked off the shelf.

You watched him pop the lid and stick a clean butter knife in the jar, pulling it out and taste testing the dressing. This was objectively worse than you imagined inviting Carmy to your house would be. “Shit, that’s fire.”

You could feel your face heat up at the compliment, though that was immediately out of your mind as Carmy continued his inspection of your fridge. When he started eyeing a tupperware of soup from last night, you reached over and closed the door on him, “okay; let’s be finished going through my fridge?”

“Sorry,” he held his hands up in surrender, the bottle of dressing still in one hand. “I didn’t know you cooked.” It was the same thing he’d said to you earlier though it didn’t hold the same genuine surprise as it had earlier. Instead, he looked almost contemplative, as if finding something out about you that he hadn’t known before meant something you weren’t aware of.

“Nothing serious,” you promised, going back to check on the burgers and looking back at Carmy, “would you…check these. I know it sounds dumb but, cooking meat gives me anxiety.”

“It gives you anxiety?” He said it like he was trying not to laugh, a smile threatening his features as he set the dressing back in the fridge and came over to stand a little too close to you.

“If you don’t cook it enough you could kill someone and if you cook it too much it’s gross,” you replied, glancing half over your shoulder at him as he leaned in to check the state of the burgers.

“Alright…if you let me try the soup.”

You caved, “fine.” Passing the wooden spatula and stepping to the side. “If Marcus asks, I totally cooked them myself.”

Carmy nodded, grinning, “yeah alright.”

Cooking with him, without the imminent pressure of a working kitchen, was more fun than you imagined it would be. When you’d wandered into the kitchen area of the Beef back when Mike was still around, he was always joking and talking shit with Richie. Carmy didn’t necessarily run a tighter ship but he was more serious about food and cooking and there was less time for bullshitting. You assumed the quiet intensity was how he always was but you realized that was an unfair judgement. He was relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen him be, that confidence in his food coming through with quiet remarks about this meal or that, shitty food he’d eaten while he was working in New York and stories about the CIA.

By the time everyone had finished eating and gone home, leaving you with a mess of plates and cutlery, you were a little tipsy but genuinely happy. It hadn’t been as stressful as you were making it out to be in your mind and Carmy relaxed on a Sunday night was completely different from Carmy in the kitchen at work.

“You have a system or?” His voice broke your train of thought as you wiped the last crumbs off the table and realized that he was standing at your sink, kitchen towel over his shoulder.

“You don’t have to help me clean up,” you tossed the crumbs and came over to the sink, “I mean you fixed the burgers.”

“I didn’t ‘fix’ them,” he almost looked like he was gonna laugh. “I just helped them along.”

“Well either way, you shouldn’t have to clean up too.”

“I don’t mind.” He promised, “now, you got a system?”

“Not really,” you shook your head, “but I don’t have a dishwasher so everything’s by hand.”

“I got time.” Carmy promised and you couldn’t help feeling like your heart was going to thud right out of your chest, “besides you promised me some of that soup.”

“You just ate like a whole meal Carm, you’re not seriously gonna have soup at midnight are you?” You asked though honestly you didn’t think you would be surprised if the answer was that yes, he would have soup at midnight.

“Yeah if it’s good,” he joked.

You shook your head, not answering and instead focusing your attention on drying dishes too large to fit in the rack beside your sink. The frying pan went back on the stove with the pot beside it. While Carmy finished the very last of the dishes you let Rigoletto out of your bedroom, the cat stretching languidly as he appraised the room.

“My mom had a cat once,” he mentioned, eyeing Rigoletto as he approached the kitchen area, “ended up giving it to the neighbor cause it jumped on the counters all the time. Nothing like cat hair in your chicken picante.”

“Rigoletto’s too fat to make it to the counter.” You replied, “if he did I’d be too impressed to be upset with him.”

“What are you doing?” Carmy watched you curiously as you got a bowl out of the cabinet and grabbed a bag of granola.

“Homemade granola,” you shook the bag, “it’s for the top of the soup.” When he didn’t say anything you added, “just trust me.”

“It’s your recipe.”

“I feel like that wasn’t as confident sounding as I wanted it to be,” you laughed, passing the heated up bowl across the counter to him, granola sprinkled over the top, “it’s apple and brie soup.”

“Apple?”

“Okay, like you’ve made some weird fucking shit before Carm. Don’t act like this is the craziest thing you’ve ever heard of.”

He raised his hands in surrender, spoon teetering between his fingers briefly before he was leaning forward to take a bite. “To be fair, I rarely see you even near the kitchen at work.”

“Well I’m not as good as anyone there, I just like trying different stuff on my own time.”

“This is really good,” he mentioned, taking another spoonful, “you have a recipe?”

“Yeah, I have a notebook somewhere.” You weren’t a hundred percent sure where you’d placed your notebook though you knew it was floating around somewhere in the apartment.

“Show me?” He asked, then, “not right now…just whenever.” The request was vague and you knew that ultimately you could just take it to mean showing him the actual handwritten recipe that you used to make the soup that he was almost finished eating but it could also mean actually cooking with him. Something that, 24 hours ago would have definitely scared the shit out of you. Cooking with someone like Carmy? That was out of the question.

“When do you ever have free time?” You kept the question light, a joke more than an observation of his life, “I was surprised you came tonight.”

“I thought about not coming,” he shrugged, “figured if you wanted me to you woulda asked yourself but…” the sentence teetered off and you took a few seconds silence to really weigh how your relationship with Carmen looked from his end.

“Sorry, it’s not that you aren’t invited or anything…just that you’re kinda intimidating and if you were coming over than I’d wanna impress you and if I didn’t at least make edible food I’d be embarrassed.”

“It could use a little fine-tuning but it’s not bad by any stretch.”

“Okay,” you almost laughed at the bluntness of his statement. Ask him anything else and he clammed up but ask him about food and he was direct.

“Sorry I-”

“Don’t be sorry,” you shook your head quickly, wanting him to understand that you weren’t at all bothered by the comment. Maybe if you were in an actual professional in a kitchen...you’d heard him and Syd go at it before over a dish and you knew that Carmy could be mean when he was in ‘kitchen-mode’. “I mean, aside from you, the only people who eat what I cook are like...my parents. And what are they gonna say?”

Carmy didn’t say anything, taking the empty bowl and placing it in the sink. He looked like he wanted to say more but instead he reached for his coat, “thanks for letting me invite myself.”

“Hey, anytime you wanna come over...” You admitted. Tonight hadn’t been as scary as you thought it was and, in all honesty, you kind of liked having Carmy here. Getting to see him more relaxed was nice and cooking with him was somehow better. “Besides, I promised to show you the soup.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. Trying to fix the Beef, pay off Jimmy, and generally just exist didn’t leave a whole lot of free time but he didn’t think he would mind making some just so he could stand around in your kitchen with you again. It felt almost the way he used to feel when Mike was still alive and everything still had a layer of candy-coating on it. That sort of simple, ‘if I don’t leave this moment nothing can go wrong’ feeling that tightened his chest and made him feel warm.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow?” You phrased it like a question but it was a fact.

“Tomorrow.” He agreed. The possibility of it already making him eager for the morning.

852 notes · View notes

yandereunsolved · 9 months ago

Text

- ,, Yandere Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto - ,, tw: implied cannibalism

"Carmy—"

"What? Can't you see I'm busy here?"

"My best friend was murdered. They found their body in a dumpster today. I had to identify the body! Parts of it were missing!"

"Oh. I... I am sorry. That must be tough. Come try my new dish. It'll cheer your pretty face up."

"... Okay, I guess. Maybe you are right. Mhm. This new stew you've made is delicious."

"Thanks, sweetheart. It's a limited time dish. Made especially for you."

"You've just outdone yourself this time, Carmy. The taste. The texture. The overall presentation. You get a ten out of ten from me. How'd you do it?"

"Well, it's locally sourced and homemade. I guess you could just say that my love is the secret ingredient."

#carmen berzatto #the bear #yandere #yandere writing #yandere imagine #yandere aesthetic #aesthetic #creative writing #yandere carmen berzatto #yandere carmen berzatto x reader #gn reader #drabble #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n

38 notes · View notes

cloudy-em · 1 year ago

Note

carmy with a OT, an occupational therapist !!! Omg reader in paramedic !! IM TELLING YOUUUU WE HAVE SOMETHING

sorry i'm just now getting to this lol!

OT is super cute like carmy comes home and reader doesn't even have to ask what's up, they just know carm needs some support and they help him wind down.

reader as a paramedic is also cute like they're rushing to his side whenever he breathes "ouch" in the kitchen of their shared apartment and he's like "i'm fine, baby, a little hot oil just splashed, don't worry"

in conclusion, carmy both loves and deserves to be taken care of.

#fanfic #writing #gn!y/n #gn!reader #gn reader #the bear fanfiction #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear #the bear headcanon #carmy berzatto #carmy x you #carmy the bear #carmen x reader #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carm berzatto #the bear fic

29 notes · View notes

j-did-reading · 3 months ago

Text

this is so cute!!! if you ever get inspired id love to see this relationship continue to develop!

you write so incredibly and the reader is so unbelievably relatable in both speech patterns and mannerisms for me that i fully AM them.

thank you <3

spiced chai

pairing: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader

summary: you've been living in chicago for about a year, and you're suddenly managing the coffee shop in the well beloved bookstore, nan's. you meet carmen berzatto on a not-so-good day. you're thrust into the everchanging societal landscape that is making friends in your 20s..

word count: ~9.7k

warnings: language, depictions of mental illness, barista!reader, afab!reader (but tried to be as neutral as possible), neurodivergent!reader, they don't kiss, could be read as platonic tbh but there's crumbs in there if you look, takes place over the course of a few months, probably doesn't follow canon fully (i'm not caught up yet forgive me)

a/n: *dumps this here and runs* but actually this piece of writing appeared in my brain and i've been picking away at it for a couple of months. i feel like i've put more of myself into this fic than with anything else i've written, so this is definitely more of a self insert (pls be kind or don't read if that's not your vibe). i'm queer, non-binary, and autistic and i just wanted to insert that into this space. i feel like there's more to explore here, so i might write more for this if i feel so inclined.

Meeting Carmen Berzatto was not on your to-do list for Tuesday morning.

Not that having to run down to the nearest corner store to grab milk - since the milk fridge was on the fritz…again - at 4am was in your plans either. It always seemed like one step forward, three giant leaps back with the little shop on the corner you basically called home. It was weird, to be thrust into leadership as your manager made an abrupt exit.

The small bookstore, with an even tinier coffee shop, had been your place of work for the last year or so. You loved it. The people were great, and Nan, the shop owner, was absolutely lovely. She was getting up in her years, but the genuine care she had for the employees made all the difference. She put her trust in you to run the cafe, saying “You have the experience, and the care you have for people shows. I know this. Everyone knows this. Now you just have to see it - have confidence.”

“Confidence my ass,” you mutter, carrying five gallons of milk around the corner.

What happens next might have been considered the beginning of a rom-com, but you’re a realist, and the world is shitty.

There’s a crash, and the distinct sound of three of the five gallons of milk dropping onto the sidewalk. You stare, watching in slow motion as the milk forms into a river, dripping off the sidewalk into the gutter.

The person who ran into you curses, “Shit — fuck, sorry, I—I wasn’t looking where I was…dammit.”

You grip the other two jugs in your arms, blinking out of the haze to let out a hysterical laugh. “Great…cool cool.” Cold plastic bites into your fingers, and you take a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, what else was gonna happen?” You finally look up to see the one you collided with. The man looks extremely uncomfortable, foot tapping like he wants to bolt. Plastering on a smile you shake your head, “It’s fine. I’m the one who thought carrying five gallons of milk would be fine.” You ramble on, trying to ease his nerves, “I mean — why would I drive, like, thirty seconds. Park, get the milk, come all the way back. Seemed stupid…but now there’s milk in my socks.” You grimace, fighting the urge to chuck the remaining jugs of milk in the street so you could also hurl your milk-soaked shoes and socks after them. It makes the ache in your chest sharpen.

“Here, where are you —“

You cut him off, “No, no, it’s okay. I got it, thank you.” You gesture to the door that’s just a few feet away from you. “This is me, anyway.” You adjust your hold on the milk, brushing past the man to pull open the door. You catch it with your hip, not daring to look back as you head behind the counter. You release a sigh, setting the bane of your existence on the black speckled marble.

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes. You shake out your arms, biting your lip. “Okay, asshole, let’s get your shit together.” You quickly put the milk into the small fridge below the bar and walk to the back. The squish of your socks curdles your stomach, and you breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell. You take off your shoes, throwing them into a plastic bag to take home. Tossing your socks into the garbage, you grab your replacement sneakers and socks from your cubby. It wasn’t the first time you’ve dropped something on your shoes, it wouldn’t be the last.

You take your time in the back. You had gotten to the shop around 4am, unable to sleep. You were messing around with recipes, seeing if there was a possibility of baking some of the food in the cafe fresh, instead of outsourcing. It was something you put on your own plate, and you didn’t want to disappoint Nan. You had shown up early, looking to try out some muffins, and noticed the fridge had been hovering at sixty degrees all night. You’ll have to grab some more milk before the day starts, but that could be a problem for 8am you.

Walking through the swinging doors, you jump as you see someone at the bar counter. Pressing a hand to your fluttering heart, you finally take in the man that had run into you earlier. A mop of curly hair on his head, white tee, very blue eyes…and standing behind eight gallons of milk.

“Um…” you look between the milk and him a few times.

“The…uh – the door was unlocked. Figured I owed you one.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“How’d you even get it all here?”

“Made two trips.” His gaze snaps back to you as you laugh, this time more genuine. “Fridge go out, or somethin’?” You’re still staring at him like he has two heads, and he rambles on, “Sorry for just…barging in. I used to go to this place…when I was kid. My sister and I would grab whatever pastries they had left for the day. And, yeah, we’d just sit, read random shit. I work at the restaurant just down the street…’s why I ran into you. Wasn’t paying attention – sorry, again.”

Suddenly, it all clicks. “You own The Bear.”

“Uh, yeah – yeah, I do.”

You feel nervous, out of the blue. Nan hadn’t stopped talking about the Berzatto’s, and Natalie had become a regular while the restaurant was being remodeled. You’re sure you’d seen other employees come in as well, for reading material. You vaguely remember talking to a very sweet man about baking, as he carried a ton of cookbooks in his arms.

You knew Carmen Berzatto, but only through the words of others – and the research you did late one night because you were nosey. To have him standing in the bookstore you worked at, for him to have gotten you milk, is sending you for a loop. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you begin to put the milk in their new home. You really need to call the refrigerator guy again.

“That’s so cool,” the words fall from your mouth, others staying in your head.

It's insane that someone like him is even speaking to you. He’s around the same age as you; He owns a restaurant and you’re barely able to run a tiny coffee bar in a bookstore. You’re an idiot who dropped milk onto the sidewalk. Why didn’t you just take the car? You should’ve just taken the car. Now Carmen fucking Berzatto has bought you milk at 5am because he feels bad for you. How pathetic. Call the fucking refrigerator guy.

“Thanks…for the milk.” You back away from the counter, gesturing behind you, “Lemme grab some money from the cash box real quick.”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s really fine, you didn’t have to go out of your way. I’ll be right back.” The itch creeps its way up your spine, and you push through the door as a shudder passes through you. You shake out the twitch, going and grabbing the cash box. You do mental math, trying to see how much you should give him. Did he even need the money? “Idiot,” you chide yourself. Today was not the day for your brain.

Snagging a twenty and a ten, you rush back out to the bar, only to find the store empty. A groan escapes through your teeth, and you clench the cash in your hands, crumpling it. You walk to the front door, peering out to see if you can spot the chef. He must’ve made a quick getaway. As you turn to get prepped for the day, you spot a brochure on the counter, far away from its home of the stand at the front of the bookstore. Eat Your Way Through Chicago!

Scribbled on the front is a phone number, and the words:

Fridge Ask for Fak Say Carm sent you

“Fucking fuck.” You whisper, a smile creeping on your face against your will, “Asshole.”

It’s later in the week when you hear the bell attached to the front door – ding! You poke your head up from where you're arranging some alternative milks under the counter, seeing a familiar blonde.

“Hey, Natalie!” You pop up, an easy grin appearing on your face. “Half-caff?”

She nods, “Please.”

“How are you?”

“Oh, you know.”

You ring her up quickly, then grab a pitcher to steam some milk for her latte. Natalie walks away from the counter to browse some books. The steam wand whirs, and you watch the vortex inside the pitcher. You touch the sides every so often, waiting for it to get to the right temperature. Making drinks is all muscle memory now, and you tamp the espresso grounds into the portafilter with precision. Wiping the excess from the lip, you lock it into the machine and press the shot button. As the shot pulls, you wipe down the steam wand with a wet cloth.

“Is this any good?” Natalie has come back over, holding up a book with a half-naked man on the front.

You laugh, “It’s a Nan recommendation, so…” The shots are poured into the paper cup, and you swirl the milk into it, doing a quick tulip design. You sprinkle a little cinnamon over the top, before placing it in front of the woman.

“Smutty then, for sure.” Natalie laughs, then does a little excited gasp when she sees the latte art. “It looks so good every time!”

“Thanks,” you reply, “Gets covered by the lid, but it’s fun to practice.”

“Too bad you don’t have for-here mugs,” she says thoughtfully.

“Ever the idea-haver! There'd be more spills to clean up – Nan would lose her mind if any books got ruined.” You point to the book still in her hand, “You want me to ring you up for that?” It was early enough in the afternoon that the only other person here was a part-timer, Jack, somewhere between the shelves stocking books. You had convinced Nan to upgrade to a different register system (which ended up saving money in the long run), so you’re able to ring up both books and café products at your register.

She shakes her head, sighing. “I barely have any time to read, these days. I was thinking about trying out audiobooks? I used to listen to them at my old job, but it’s way too loud in the kitchen for that to work out.” The latte goes to her mouth, a pleasant hum leaving her as she takes a sip. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks, Natalie.”

She squints at you, “It’s Nat, c’mon.” A big conspiratorial grin makes its way onto her face, “So, I heard that you got some help with your fridge.”

A sharp pain twists in your chest. “Oh, um…yeah.” You let out a soft chuckle, “It’s working, which is great. Neil was a big help.”

“He said you made him the best hot chocolate he’s ever had,” Natalie taps the counter with her pointer finger twice. “Said he didn’t know how you got his number, though.”

You shrug, wiping down the counter, “Nan had it. And the usual guy wasn’t calling me back.” Neil had told you the exact same thing, both about the drink and the number. Something had held you back from saying where you got the number from. Embarrassment, maybe? It felt weird, feeling like you owed anyone favors, or that things would be unbalanced. People usually never give without looking to receive.

“Frankie, right? He’s an asshole. Overcharges for everything.” Natalie doesn’t push you for answers, something you’re grateful for.

“Right! He disappeared one time and said he’d ‘be right back’ and then was gone for like, two hours! And he added that to his hourly!” The two of you giggle at the shittiness of people for a minute, when a ping causes Natalie to pull her phone from her pocket.

“I should run.” She reaches into her purse, and puts a five into your tip jar. “Thanks again!”

As she turns to go, you call out her name. “Would you - maybe - I have some extra muffins. The place we get them from gave us some of the wrong ones…or they’re a tad over baked, or something. I can’t sell them. Would you wanna take them with you?”

“That’s so sweet of you! Yeah, I’m sure they’ll get eaten up.”

You grab the box of muffins, handing them over to her, “Thanks.”

“Thank you, babe.” She leaves with a smile, and you look down to brush the flour off your apron.

“Hey, guys, I got some goodies!” Natalie sets the box of muffins on the table, where everyone is seated for family meal.

Neil immediately grabs the box, pointing to the sticker on the top, “You went to Nan’s? Man, I could use a hot chocolate right now.”

“I’m sure you can walk over there and order one, my love.” Natalie replies, waving for him to put the box back on the table.

Marcus snags two muffins, handing one to Sydney who is sitting on his right. Taking a bite, he stops chewing, eyebrows raised. “Dude,” he nudges the girl next to him.

“Dude,” Syd parrots, popping some muffin into her mouth. “Wait, woah.”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“Nat, where did you get these?” Sydney calls to the woman now sitting at the end of the table. The muffins are passed down the rest of the table.

Marcus has started dissecting the muffin, “Macadamia nuts, sick.”

“Oh they’re from Nan’s just down the corner!” She tells them how you offered them to her since they were the wrong ones from a vendor and possibly over-baked.

Syd snorts, “Over-baked? These are perfect!”

“What’s perfect?” Carmy walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Bear, come eat!” Natalie waves him over, pulling him into the seat next to hers. “You’ve been at it all morning, take a minute, okay?” She gives him a look that tells him not to argue, and he huffs in response, but does as she says.

“What’s perfect?” He asks again, taking the muffin box from Sweeps as it’s passed to him. As the cinnamon crumble topping hits his taste buds, he leans back in his chair. “Shit.”

“That’s what we’re saying!”

Syd and Marcus begin talking over one another, the dull roar of family making its home in Carmy’s ears. He has another bite of muffin, thumb swiping over the sticker atop the box.

Nan’s Books & Brews

Simple lettering, surrounding a doodle of a coffee cup sitting on an open book.

“When did they,” he clears his throat as he leans closer to Nat, “when did they start doin’ stuff like this?”

Natalie purses her lips, “Not sure, honestly. They only had that small coffee machine and that plastic pastry case when we were growing up, remember? I think they added the actual coffee bar right before Covid?” Carmy nods, looking out the windows, a curdle in his stomach.

“A lot’s changed,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Nat sighs, a hand over her stomach, “a lot has.”

A few weeks go by, as uneventful as they can be. You try out more recipes, and the staff of Nan’s is always sent home with one treat or another. Muffins, cinnamon rolls, croissants (which were a bust), and the like. Natalie is still a regular, and Neil has shown up to save your ass more than once. The brochure with his number on it taunts you from where it’s stuck up on the corkboard in the back.

Which is what has led you to standing in front of The Bear, a joe-to-go in one hand, paper bag in the other. An envelope burns in the inner pocket of your flannel jacket. Steeling your nerves, you knock on the door. Some yells are heard from inside, nicknames getting passed around like it’s a holiday dinner. You see a man walk towards you, in a nice suit, and he opens the door.

“Can I help you?” It’s not said unkindly, but there’s a look in his eyes that’s making you nervous.

“Coffee delivery?” You say sheepishly, holding up the coffee traveler by its cardboard handle.

“Richie, who’s at the - hey!” Natalie immediately smiles when she sees you, and you sigh a breath of relief. Things were easy with her; she had this amazing way of comforting you without even trying.

“Hi,” you wiggle your fingers, still keeping hold of the objects in your hands. “Wanted to say thanks for all the help Neil’s been giving me, and when Nan found out, she insisted I bring over some coffee for the team, so…”

“You workin’ at Nan’s?” The guy - Richie - asks.

“For the past year or so, yeah.” You reply, thanking Natalie as she grabs the paper bag from you.

“Let them in, Richie, c’mon.” She presses on his chest, causing him to back up with his hands in the air. “Come in! I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to come by for a tour.” You follow behind her, taking in the layout of the place. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a sense of awe falls over you. She has you set the coffee traveler on the bar, letting you take the paper bag from her hands. You pull out a cup holder with two cups in it.

“One half-caff french vanilla latte for you and…a hot chocolate for Neil.” As if by magic, Neil pops through the door to the kitchen.

“For me?!”

You chuckle as he pulls you into a hug. When he pulls away, he grabs his cup with a happy sound, rushing back into the kitchen when “Fak!” is yelled.

“The fuck Fak get a coffee for?” Richie frowns, causing you to bristle. Natalie swats at him, beginning to explain as you continue to walk around the restaurant. As you pass by a wood table, your fingers tap on it, the sound echoing in your ears. It sends a shiver through you, and a small smile appears on your lips.

Natalie calls out to you, tearing your gaze back to her. People have begun to swarm around the bar, placing food on it, and your coffee is suddenly surrounded by things that smell amazing. “Did you want to eat with us, babe?” Attention turns to you, and the itchiness in your limbs reappears with a vengeance.

A tall man, wearing a beanie, grins, “Hey, those muffins were amazing, by the way.”

You sputter, “Oh. Um—“

“Tell the chef, or baker — whoever,” he laughs at himself. “They were fire.”

Warmth rises in you, “Yeah, I’ll pass it on.”

“Babe, lunch?” Natalie says again, louder this time. More of the staff have begun digging into their meals.

“No, it’s okay!” The corner of your mouth curves up in a small smile, this one less genuine than before. You begin to back up towards the door, a gnaw of guilt in your gut as Natalie frowns.

“Cousin! Food!” Richie yells out, followed by laughter from everyone else.

“I’m coming!” A familiar figure bursts through the kitchen door, “You don’t gotta yell like an asshole.”

Carmen Berzatto stops in his tracks when he sees you; the envelope in your pocket burns hotter. You look down at your shoes, but they just remind you of the milk dripping down the sidewalk.

“Carm,” Natalie introduces you, “they work at—“

“Nan’s.” Everyone chimes in, and you have to stop yourself from flinching. You look over at Carmy, eyes meeting.

There’s a moment where you feel like you’re going to get swallowed whole. The pipes are going to burst and water will fill up the room and you’re going to drown.

You walked straight into a den of hungry beasts, and you’re just a measly rabbit.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Natalie’s words are muffled in your ears, but you manage to shake your head.

“I have someone from books covering me, and they barely know how to work the espresso machine.” You force a laugh. It grates against your vocal chords. “It was nice meeting you guys, though.” With a meek wave, you turn on your feet and speed out the door. Rounding the corner, you keep walking until you’re sure they can’t see you. Veering into the alleyway behind the restaurant, you let out a shaky breath, leaning against the brick.

You press your thumb into the palm of your hand. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. It’s over before it starts, but your chest remains tight. A reminder, which will eventually dissipate once you're back in the shop.

The coffee bar, your shield; apron, your armor.

A door opening causes you to jump, startled. Your eyes meet blue, widening like you’ve been caught. “Sorry! I was just–” You push off the brick.

Carmen seems just as surprised as you, “No, s’fine.” He clears his throat, as the two of you settle into silence.

A fwip of a lighter. Four seconds. An exhale of smoke.

You’re unsure if you should leave, but it’s like the bottoms of your shoes are stuck to the ground. “Did you-” He starts, lifting up his hand that holds a lit cigarette.

You shake your head, “No, but - um, thanks.” Your fingers twitch, and you reach to pull the envelope from inside your jacket. Something that appears so insignificant, held out in the space between you. When he just stares, you wave it a bit, until he takes the envelope with his free hand.

“What’s this?”

“Cash, for the milk you bought.”

“You didn’t have to-“

“I did.” You bounce on your heels, “I should actually get going this time. Just wanted to give you that but…” He doesn’t respond, something you’re getting used to. You wonder where the man who rambled about reading with his sister at Nan’s went, but decide now is the best time to make your escape. As you start to walk toward the street, you turn, “The restaurant looks great, by the way. Good luck with the opening.”

“Good luck with the opening.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

"Let it rip, Bear."

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“-a complete waste of fucking time.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“I’m really sorry you feel that way, Carm.”

Natalie invites you to Friends & Family.

You don’t go.

The next month flies by. Marcus, Richie, and Syd have joined your little group of regulars. Richie even brings his daughter, Eva, whenever he’s able. She’s a joy and absolutely hilarious to have around. Richie has grown on you, the rough edges of him softening after a few cortados.

One night, he had rushed into the shop, Eva in tow, all but begging you to watch her for a few hours. He was supposed to be off for the day, to spend time with his daughter, but they’re understaffed at The Bear. A few weeks in, which confused you, but questions weren’t asked. You said yes - obviously - and had Eva help you with little things around the shop, until you close. The two of you bonded over a shared love of Taylor Swift while making muffins. By the time Richie came to pick her up, Eva was tuckered out in a loveseat, patchwork blanket tucked up to her chin.

“I owe you one,” Richie had whispered, holding his daughter in his arms.

You shook your head, “You deserve to have time with her.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, bring it up with the Bear himself.”

You weren’t planning on it. The man is barely on your mind. Except for every time someone from The Bear walks in. They look drained, more and more each day. It’s a certain type of pain, to watch people – that once had so much life in them – lose the light that you felt so harshly the first time you walked into the restaurant. You hear inklings; mentions of a changing menu every night, nonnegotiables, and the like.

It worries you. It’s not your place - you’re more than aware of that. But you’ve come to care for these people. And by extension, some part of you wants to see how he’s doing. It’s an odd - biting -feeling. How strange it is, to know someone through everyone else’s eyes but your own. You have to fight back the urge to force yourself into the places you do not fit. You’re resigned to watching from afar, providing comfort behind your coffee bar. It’s what you’re good at. It might be all you're good at.

Some sick twist of fate decides to upturn it all one Friday night.

Carmy had stayed late, to nobody’s surprise. He’d been adjusting the menu, preparing it for tomorrow, when the flashes hit him. He decides to walk it off, popping another thing of nicotine gum into his mouth. He walks aimlessly, trying to push the overwhelming thoughts out of his head. The street is dark - most places being closed - but light pours onto the sidewalk, just a few feet ahead of him. Almost a reflex, he peers into the windows.

A laugh of disbelief - more a huff of air through his nose - leaves him.

You’re dancing, headphones over your ears, as you mix something in a large bowl. It’s unlike anything he’s seen - from you or otherwise. There’s a sense of freedom in your movements, so different from the few times he’d seen you before. The tightness in his chest lightens, some, at the sight of you so obviously in your element.

And you're looking right at him.

“Shit,” he mumbles. You tilt your head at him, doing a little wave. He lifts a hand in reply, and you point haphazardly at the door. Before he can respond, or walk away – anything, you’re heading around the counter. A click of the door unlocking, and you pull it open part way.

“Hey,” you say, a little loud. With a wince, you pull the headphones off to rest around your neck. Music can be heard – a muffled, upbeat song that he doesn’t recognize. “Hey,” you say again, quieter this time. Silence passes between you, and he watches your nose twitch. “…did you wanna?” You jut your thumb behind you. You’re almost unrecognizable from the first time you met, calmer, somehow.

“Yeah, sure.” The words come out, easier than he thinks, and slips through the door you hold open. You lock it behind him, turning back around to slide behind the counter.

You grab a muffin tin, beginning to fill each one with a scoop of the batter you had been mixing. You make quick work of it, pushing them into the small commercial oven, wiping your fingers on the towel that’s pulled through a loop in your jeans.

Leaning against the counter, you finally look at him, “Okay, Pick your poison.”

“What?”

“Coffee? Americano, latte, cappuccino?” It’s like you’re trying to read him, wanting to crack the spine of a book and see what’s inside.

“I don’t really do the…caffeine.”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your fingers on the counter in some type of rhythm. “Can I make you something? Low-caffeinated, of course.” He nods. “Anything you hate?” A shake of his head.

You grab a cup and get to work. You’re singing under your breath - the song that’s playing from the headphones around your neck. With your eyes off of him, he takes a moment to actually observe the shop. Warm lighting, with dark wood bookshelves making it feel cozy without being too claustrophobic. There’s smaller tables, with different recommendations for certain genres. A sprinkling of string lights and hanging plants just adds to the homey feeling, one so different from the pristine, white kitchens he’s used to being in. So different from his own restaurant. The coffee shop portion is close to the front, dark marble countertops and a chalkboard menu - swirling letters describing monthly drink specials.

“Alright, order up,” you call out softly.

Carmy walks back up to the bar, eyeing the cup. Warmth presses into his skin as his fingers curl around it. You mention that it’s hot, to let it cool for a bit. Silence falls between the two of you - in a way he finds comforting. Your eyes flick between him and the counter you’re wiping down.

“Do you normally do this?” He asks.

“The making drinks thing, or the staying at the shop way too late thing?” You give a wry smile. “Could ask you the same.”

He scratches at his nose, “Noted.”

The minutes pass; you go about cleaning the shop, rinsing dishes and setting things up for the next day. It’s an art he’s well versed in. The muscle memory takes over for you, and Carmen becomes invisible. It feels nice, to just be in a place where nobody has anything to ask of him. He finally tries the drink. It’s good, milky, if a little sweet, but it eases the last of the sourness in his stomach away. A timer on your phone goes off, and you tug on a flowery oven mitt to pull the muffins out of the oven. Chocolate and spice invades his nostrils, soothing him even more. You grab one, hissing a bit since it’s hot, and put it on a plate, bringing it back over to him. Leaning over the bar, you reach for forks that are in a metal cup, right near Carmy. You’re close, with no care about being in his personal space. It’s only for a second, and then you’re back in your previous position.

“You can have some, as long as you promise not to be an ass about it.” You hold out a fork for him. The words cause him to cringe, but he takes the utensil from you.

He stares at the muffin, running his thumb on the underside of the fork. “How much trouble am I in?”

You shrink back a little, “W-what?”

He’s met you what - twice? Both times felt clunky, an awkwardness to the both of you. Here, it’s simpler. Under the cover of night, huh? A voice that sounds awfully like Mikey’s says in the back of his mind. His family won’t stop talking about you. Or drinking your coffee.

“The Bear,” he mutters. “They talk to you, right?”

You laugh, surprised. “Do you actually want to know?” You hold up a hand before he can reply, “Actually, no. They don’t talk to me. I see things, sure. But I’m not getting anyone in trouble with the boss.” You’re on the defensive, not even for yourself, but for his kitchen.

“They-They’re not in trouble.” One look from you and he deflates, sighing. “Okay, yeah. Just…just say something.”

“I haven’t even been to eat there.”

“You should come,” he says.

Another laugh - a scoff, more-like, “You think I could afford your place?” You bite your lip, pinching the bridge of your nose. After a moment, you continue, gently, “Do you have any fun?”

“Fun.” The word is like poison in his mouth.

“Yes, fun. I know that food service isn't the best, but it’s good to have fun, or to at least enjoy it.” You wave your hands around, “That family meal stuff you guys do? That’s so sweet, and you have a whole family unit going on in that kitchen, or whatever. If this restaurant is supposed to be the rest of your life, you should like it, at least a little bit, right?” Your torso melts into the counter, and you rest your head on your arm. “And like, maybe? Don’t change the menu every night, or something. It’s new, right? You gotta work out the kinks first before jumping in all-” you blow air out through your cheeks.

A beat of quiet, then, “The menu, huh?”

“Eleven thousand for butter?” You parrot back. At his frown, you hold up your hands, “I’m just a barista, what would I know?” You say it without heat, and yet he feels guilt crawl up his throat.

“That’s not-”

“I know, Carmen.” A sigh leaves your lips, “You asked, so I talked. Again, take everything with a grain of salt.” The words get softer, as if you’re talking more to yourself than to him, “Just remember who’s going down with you if it ends up crashing and burning.”

You stab your fork into the muffin, tearing it in half. He follows suit, lifting a bite of it to his lips. Spice floods his taste buds, and he grunts. You blink up at him, fork hanging from your mouth. He’s suddenly starving, and he eagerly gets himself another forkful. “S’good.” He mumbles through the food. Carmen watches as you process his words, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. You two finish the muffin, and there’s an ominous sense of peace that covers him like a blanket. “Thanks.”

“For yelling at you?”

Carmy lets the chuckle spill out, “If that’s what you call yelling…” He trails off, sobering, “Do you have fun?”

You hum, contemplating. “Yeah. I mean, it’s coffee, at the end of the day. It’s just nice to see people, to make their day a little better than it was. I like to try out new things, to create, to get recommendations.” You stop, seeing him staring at you, “What?”

“You’re different…from the other day, s’all.”

You’re perplexed, scrunching your nose, “Well I had a bad day, the first time. And I don’t do…well, with new people.”

“Unless you’re behind the counter.”

Your eyes widen, something flickering behind them, like he’s seen something you didn’t want him to. “Touche.” Checking your phone, you clear your throat, “Alright, we should probably get out of here if we want any semblance of sleep.” He follows your lead, as you flick off the lights, throwing you backpack over your shoulder. He waits while you lock the front door, small key dangling on a keychain. You turn, looking at him, before holding out a paper bag, “Muffin for the road?”

He grabs it, an odd feeling bubbling in his chest, “Oh - uh, thanks.”

You suddenly look sheepish, fiddling with the strap of your bag, “And if you’re out late again, feel free to stop by. If you need a break, or something.” A beat. “Oh, again, take what I said with a grain of salt, yeah? Just - maybe - try to take care of yourself a little.” You laugh nervously, and Carmy sees the truth of his earlier observation. You’re still more relaxed, but the nerves have crept in as you step outside your comfort zone. Something he knows all too well. “Anyways, have a good night - morning.” You shake your head, blowing a raspberry through your lips.

“Night. Get home safe.” He murmurs. You turn on your heel, walking down the street. He tightens his grip on the paper bag.

Take care of yourself.

At least enjoy it.

You should like it, at least a little bit, right?

Carmy doesn’t know if he truly remembers what liking cooking is like. He’s found little bits of it, in moving back home. In Marcus’ eyes as he creates something new. In Syd’s determination to make amazing food. There’s a passion there that he’s lost somewhere along the way.

He sees it in you, and it calls out to him - the tide being pushed and pulled by the moon. A curious feeling, gnawing at his stomach. A hunger for something he can’t make sense of, but he pulls the muffin out of the bag to eat on his walk home.

Carmy keeps showing up at Nan’s, usually late at night. You didn’t expect him to take you up on your offer, yet a smile graces your lips every time he does.

He was right, when he said you feel most comfortable behind the counter. You knew it, but having someone else acknowledge it felt…weird. Like you weren’t playing your part right. Yet it also felt good, to be seen.

Conversation between the two of you still feels stilted, occasionally, but you find comfort in the quiet moments. And the not-so quiet ones; with music playing at just above a reasonable level, you mouthing the words as you dance around behind the bar. The mask slowly slides off when he comes around, and it’s easier to be goofy.

You think it surprises him. He’s not quite sure what to do, when you’re cruising on the linoleum tile you call a dance floor. But he never tells you that you’re weird, or too much. You’ve maybe even seen him bite back a smile. You swear there’s dimples hiding somewhere — a fleeting thought that you let fly away before you linger on it too long.

“What do you think?” You’ve turned the music down, notepad on the counter, your favorite pen in hand. You click it a few times, sound satisfying the little itch in the back of your brain.

“Not sure if I’m a matcha fan,” Carmy murmurs. You nod, writing down his response onto the paper. It’s almost filled — you’ll have to turn to the next page soon — with different drinks you’ve had Carmy try, determined to find the right one. He’s harder to pin than others, something you’re not necessarily surprised by.

That's partially on you. You're unsure of how much to ask. How much could you poke the both metaphorical and literal Bear until it breaks? You've been enjoying your time, but you've yet to ask him how work is going. He doesn't ask you about your personal life, so why would you ask about his?

There's a curiosity there, though. To see what makes Carmen Berzatto tick. You fear the two of you might be a little too similar.

You turn to go back to cleaning your mess — the reason being a fresh tray of cookies cooling on the counter, when he says your name. “Did you get a new tattoo?”

Gaze flashing to the wrap you have on your arm, peeking out from the sleeve of your shirt, you turn bashful. “Oh,” you hum, “I did. It’s been on my list for awhile. I’m keeping it wrapped at work while it heals - god knows I spill everything all over myself.”

“Can I — What did you get?” He’s just as sheepish as you, a boyish glow about him. You’d never talked about tattoos before. His evidence is on his arms; yours are mostly concealed — easy to hide with the oversized button downs and jeans you wear.

You pull your phone from your back pocket, “Here, I’ll pull up a photo of it.” Placing your phone on the counter, Carmy grabs it, zooming in on the two-headed calf that’s found its home on your bicep. The tattoo is fresher in the photo, line work popping out against your skin. “The longest living two-headed calf lived 17 months. Her name was Gemini — a little on the nose, I think. There’s also this poem by Laura Gilpin, that just kinda struck me.” Your ramble tumbles off, a half smile pulling at your lips. “It’s sad, but the kind that makes you hurt in a nice way? If that even makes sense.” You wave a hand around, then reach to take a sip from his cup.

The matcha settles the nerves hiding under your skin, the earthy flavor dancing on your tongue. As you set the cup back on the counter, you point at his hand, “What’s that stand for?” Your own fingers twitch, fighting the urge to brush them across his own. “S.O.U?”

“Ah, sense of urgency.” He says, fiddling with your phone.

You laugh, quickly covering it with a hand, “Sorry, I — sorry, that just makes so much sense.” Before he can speak, you shake your head, “Not in a bad way, necessarily. It’s just so obvious how little work-life balance you have.”

“We’re literally at your shop in the middle of the night.” Carmen huffs exasperatedly, corner of his mouth curling up.

You hold your hands up, conceding, “Okay, I get it. Misery loves company - or whatever. God, we’re both crazy, aren’t we? We should get out more.”

He hums in response, tapping his phone twice to check the time. Anxiety swells up in your throat, and there’s something biting at your heels. The silence doesn’t feel comfortable anymore.

You said something wrong, the little voice in your head whispers. You lost the script and got too close and now he’s pulling back. How can you fix it? You have to fix it.

“What’s your favorite one?” His blue eyes glance up at you. Invisible hand squeezing your lungs, you stammer, “Tattoo. What’s the one you like most?”

His words come out softly, “A house boat. I, uh, got it before leaving Copenhagen. I stayed in one while I was over there, and put out water for an invisible cat.” Relief floods you as he talks. It’s the most he’s spoken about anything, and you see a glimmer behind his eyes.

It feels a little too close to home.

“You really loved it over there, huh?”

As if caught, he clears his throat, “It was cool…different.”

Different from Chicago, you don’t say. “I get that,” you murmur instead.

You knew what it was like, to run away. The need for escape pushing you into flight as the metaphorical dog chases the rabbit.

You wonder what Carmen’s dog was. Or is. If it’s even a dog at all.

“What about you? What’s your favorite?”

You’re pulled from your thoughts. “Oh! Um, it’s silly.” You worry at your bottom lip.

“You don’t—”

“No, hold on, it’s just,” you push yourself onto the counter with the palms of your hands. Carmen leans back as you swing your legs over the bar, letting your feet rest on the barstool next to him. You lean over, pulling up your pants leg to show the tattoo on the right side of your calf. He stares at it for a moment, confusion clear in his gaze. “See, I told you.”

“Is it a moth, or something?”

“Moth-man, Carmen. Mothman.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“He’s a cryptid. There’s literally stories of a Chicago Mothman.” He peers up at you in amusement, causing you to scrunch your face at him. “I swear on my life Carmen Berzatto, don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m not.” He laughs, and your chest loosens. You got Carmen Berzatto to laugh. “It looks good, the style is nice,” he gestures to your leg.

You smile, “Thanks.”

Nodding, he goes to sip from his cup. He makes a face, pulling it away from him, “Yeah, I don’t like this.”

He holds it out to you as you reach for it, laughter spilling from your lips, “More grass for me.” You drink, and let the cup rest on your thigh, fingers tapping on the plastic lid.

“I’m not…” Your head turns to look at him, watching as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not really good at this.”

“...at what?” You whisper, scared if you talk any louder you’ll scare him away.

“Talking? Not working? Who the fuck knows,” his hand leaves his hair and passes over his face.

“I’m not either, really.” You pick at your jeans, “But we’re trying, right? You come by more than I thought you would.”

“Really?”

You snort, “Dude, the first time I was surprised you even came in.” Gently, you add, “And you don’t have to be perfect at conversation to be friends with someone.” His eyes meet yours as you nudge his shoulder with your knee. “I’m weird, you’re weird, that’s okay.”

Carmen rolls his eyes good naturedly. His legs are bouncing, and you can almost see him chewing the word around before it finally leaves, “Friends?”

“Friends.” You affirm. Silence passes between you, until a growl comes from your stomach.

The man laughs, looking all the prettier for it, “You hungry?”

“Starving,” you groan.

He gets up from his seat, grabbing his denim jacket that’s hung over the chair on his left, “C’mon.”

It takes a moment, but it clicks. “Oh my god,” you gasp out, hopping off the counter. With a speed you only have during a lunch rush, you run to the back. You untie your apron, hang it up on a hook, and grab your tote bag. “Wallet, keys, phone…phone!”

“Out here!” Carmen yells. You grin, rushing back out to the front, bouncing on your heels. “You good?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You shake your keys with enthusiasm. He laughs as you both leave, and you turn to lock up. There’s excitement buzzing through you, like caffeine would if your brain weren’t wired a bit funky. A thought cuts through the haze, “Oh shit, I forgot to–”

“I got the trash.” The street lights reflect off his blue eyes.

Your heart twinges a little, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He gestures with his head, “Now let’s go before your stomach eats itself.”

“Hey Carm?!”

The man pokes his head into the office, one hand wrapped around the door, “Yeah, what?”

Natalie raises an eyebrow, “You busy?”

Carmy scoffs, “Yeah, Sugar, I’m busy.”

It’s lunch time. Marcus has pastries, Tina’s running prep. Syd is around…avoiding him. He tries not to think about it for too long. Richie is who knows where.

Fuck, don’t be an asshole, asshole.

Deflating, he asks, “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“I’m spending my hour of alone time figuring shit out here, while Pete watches the baby.” His sister sighs, glancing down at the paperwork on the desk, “I’m managing. Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

He wants to ask about the baby. His niece. But Natalie barrels over the topic to say, “Were you here late the other night?” He must have made a face because Natalie sighs, exasperated. “I know you stay later than everyone else, doing god knows what, but I got a notification on my phone the other night-“

“What notification?”

She rolls her eyes, “The alarm system, dummy. I get alerts.”

“No, yeah, I get that. But I turned it off.”

It could only be from the other night, when he brought you back to the restaurant. He’s not sure why he did — he almost had a panic attack in front of you while debating what to make. It's strange, how much an environment can affect someone. Nan's feels so comfortable to him now, like nothing can happen to him when he's in those four walls. Where was the last place he felt like that?

You don’t need to impress anyone, Carmen. It’s just me, you had said.

Simple words that cut through him like a knife. You asked for comfort food, so he made you grilled cheese with tomato soup. The little dance you did every time you took a bite relit a fire inside of him that had been burnt out by years of working in kitchens.

“I know. I’m asking because the alarm was set, and then you turned it off again a few hours later.” Natalie unlocks her phone, showing him her screen that has some app pulled up with timestamps on it. “Are you sleeping? Look, I know things aren’t great right now—" Natalie cuts herself off with another sigh.

“It’s fine. Things are fine.” At her pointed look, he holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m working on it, okay? Just…are you good? Do you need anything?”

“About 48 hours of interrupted sleep would be great.” Her gripe falls off into a laugh, which he returns.

Stepping into the room further, he pulls the door closer, just a slim crack of clean white light coming through. “I’ve been a shitty brother lately.”

“No…” Natalie snorts, “Okay yeah, a bit. I love you, though.”

He mumbles the words back, tapping out a rhythm on his thigh, “Maybe I could come by, sometime. See the baby.” It’s a blessing and curse how his chest aches when he sees the way her eyes light up.

“I’d love that, Bear.”

“Yo, delivery!” Marcus yells out, pulling the attention of the Berzatto siblings.

“The fuck?” There isn't supposed to be a delivery today.

Natalie gets out of her seat, “Oh thank god.” She ushers Carmy out of the office, pushing past him into the dining room. He follows after her, confused, only to stop in his tracks.

You’re here.

You stand next to Richie, talking animatedly, albeit shy. You’re wearing clothes he doesn’t regularly see you in, the worn denim jacket catching his eye in particular. It’s clear that you aren't working, yet you hold two cups from Nan’s in your hands, a few drink carriers littering a table.

“You’re literally my savior, thank you.” Natalie pulls you into a hug, and you look at Richie with wide eyes. Carmy has to hold back a snort at your expression.

“You should expect this reaction by now, kid.” Richie takes a sip from his drink when you gape at him in exaggerated outrage.

“Shut up, Richie,” Natalie is barely paying attention, saying the words more out of habit. Grabbing a cup from a drink holder, she says, “You’re coming home with me.”

Giggles bubble from your lips, and you go to cover them with the back of your arm. There’s a pull Carmy feels, instinctual, to urge your arm away from your face and hear your genuine laughter fill the room.

Your eyes meet his, finally noticing that he’s there. The smile you give him is earnest, a gentle hello without words. He forces his feet to move, closing the distance. Carmy blatantly ignores the looks both Richie and Natalie are making. You hold out the cup in your hand - the one you weren’t drinking from - and he takes it from you.

Condensation clings to the sides, his name hastily written on the side.

⋆⁺Carmy!⁺˚⋆

There’s a heart in place of the dot at the bottom of the exclamation point, little stars doodled around his name. His stomach flips.

“Iced?” He swirls the drink in hand, mixing it up.

You shrug, “Thought I’d try something different. It’s hot outside.”

“You off?” Bringing the straw to his lips, he hums at the taste. You’re watching him eagerly, head tilted to the side as you wait for his review. “This is nice.”

Squinting at him, you huff, “Not perfect, though.” You type something into your phone — most likely to add to your notebook later. “Had to run some more syrup by the shop. Saw Natalie’s car on the street so I texted her to see if she wanted something to drink. I have errands to run after this.”

“You a regular too now, Cousin?” Richie barks, and Carmy watches as you remember where you are. Who you’re with.

A protectiveness rises up in Carmen, hating the way you recoil into yourself. “Fuck off, Richie.” He looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Dude, we got shit to do.”

“Richie!” Natalie hisses at the older man, shoving him back toward the kitchen. She calls back to you, “Thanks for the coffee! I promise I’ll come by when I feel more like a human again.”

The customer service clicks into place behind your eyes, “Take care of yourself! Hope the baby is doing well!” Once it's just the two of you, you sigh, knocking the heels of your boots together. “I should get going.”

Carmen nods, “Can I grab you a sandwich, first?”

“Grilled cheese?” You tease, stifling a smile.

He huffs, shaking his head, “Nah, but Ebra’s got window right now. I could throw something together real quick.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He glances down; you’re pressing your thumb into the middle of your hand. It's uncanny, the semblance of himself that is mirrored in you.

“I know.” He wants to, though. “Give me five minutes?”

A moment of hesitation, then, “Okay.”

“Cool.” And he’s off.

Chaos erupts the minute he’s back in the kitchen.

“Since when did the two of you become buddy-buddy?”

“Can we please get back to work? Richie, respectfully, what are you doing back here?” Syd is working on pasta, flour covering her work service.

“I got shoved outta my space, so here I am,” Richie waves his hands around.

The overlapping voices turn into white noise, and Carmy inhales sharply, “Fak!”

“Yes, chef!” Neil appears out of nowhere. Sometimes Carmen thinks there’s a series of underground passages that makes it so easy to get ahold of him. It’s not that crazy of a notion.

“Go and say hello to them, okay? I’m gonna throw together something, give it to them, and then I’ll be right back.” The last part is meant for everyone to hear, but is pointed more toward Richie. “Seriously, just leave it, alright?”

“I’m leaving it,” Richie snarks, but nudges Fak with his elbow. “Think there’s a drink out there with your name on it anyway. Snag me another one of those apple-donut-things too, eh?”

“Fritters!” Marcus calls out from his station.

Carmy sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s queasy; he’ll have to take some pepto later.

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

Let it rip, Bear.

Neil barrels into you, wrapping you in a hug. He talks your ear off for the next couple minutes; you smile when you need to, laugh when you remember.

The yells from the kitchen are playing on repeat in your ears.

They’re talking about you.

The urge to flee tickles the back of your throat. You thought it would be nice to stop by and bring Natalie a coffee, but then you had felt bad about not bringing anything for everyone else, which turned into you jumping behind the bar to make ten drinks. It’s not like you were going to make Morgan, the barista on shift, make them all.

You always had a hard time not working on your days off.

“You should absolutely come!”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You reply, still not fully checked back into your conversation with Neil.

He smiles, “Great! I’ll send you the info!”

Before you can ask what you actually agreed to, Carmy pushes back into the room, to-go container in hand. “Hey, uh, Fak, can you go take a look at the toilet for me?” You barely notice Neil leave, focusing more on how your chest releases as Carmen walks closer to you.

He hands you the container, and you murmur a soft, “Thank you.”

“I’ll walk you out, yeah?”

The thought is nice. Glancing behind him, you see Natalie and Richie watching through the window. “It’s okay, you really don’t have to.” You take a step back just as Carmy reaches out to you. You can’t run, they’d see you. Ask questions. They probably see a caged animal.

“Hey,” he whispers your name, “it’s just me.” He’s repeating the words you said to him the night you were here. You tear your eyes away from the kitchen, looking at him. “Lemme walk you out?”

With a nod, you let him guide you out the front door. The warm summer air washes over your skin, and you take in a deep breath. You count the lines in the sidewalk as you pass them, sipping at your iced latte. “It was cool of you to come by,” Carmy says. “And your jacket’s dope.”

He’s trying to make you feel better.

“Did you just say dope?” You peek over in his direction, catching his shrug. “You’re so old.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, and your smile widens.

You make it to your car, a little thing that has a new problem every other week. It’s been with you for years, moved with you to five different states. More of a sentimental object, than a real mode of transportation. You mostly used CTA these days if you were able, but it was nice to have a car for when you’re running errands all around the city.

“Sorry if they bothered you,” he apologizes, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No, no, no,” you push out the words, throat tightening, arms hugging your middle. “I thought I was going to try to be a human today. May have jumped the gun on that one.” Fiddling with your keys, you continue, “It was nice to see you. Thought you might be a vampire or something, since I only ever see you at night.”

The joke causes Carmy to roll his eyes, “Is that considered a cryptid?”

You perk up at the word, “Oh, don’t get me started.”

He smiles big enough for his dimple to appear, “Oh, yeah?”

“Unless you want me to talk for hours on end. I’ll make a power-point presentation and everything.” You might already have one in the works, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You could - I mean, it wouldn’t bother me. If you did, you know?”

You blink a few times, frozen in shock. He looks shy, almost. Like the first time you met him, but there’s something between you now. A plant that will keep growing - might even bloom - if the two of you keep watering it. He keeps pecking away at your carefully crafted walls that let people see exactly how much you want them to.

Carmen Berzatto keeps seeing you. Whoever that is.

He coughs, scratching the side of his head. “I’ll see you later?”

“You know where I’ll be.”

“Yeah.”

You walk around to the driver’s side of your car, opening the door. You slide in, turning the key to let your car sputter to life. You roll the windows down, and music starts to blare from your speakers. “Kick ass tonight!” You yell the words as you pull away from the curb. You spare a glance in your rearview, watching Carmy wave before he starts walking back to his restaurant.

When you're parked outside your apartment, it hits you. You dig into your tote bag, pushing aside old receipts, chapstick tubes, and fidget toys. You cheer to yourself as you pull your notebook out, favorite pen hooked over the cover. Flipping to the back, you stare at the list of drinks you've had Carmy try.

You think you want to keep seeing him, too. Whoever that is.

You scribble at the bottom of the page, circling it twice.

Spiced Chai ~ HOT, xtra cinn

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #neurodivergent!reader #gn!reader

713 notes · View notes

yellowharrington · 10 months ago

Text

sugar sweet -- carmy berzatto x reader

pairing + fandom: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader, the bear fx

word count: ~2.5k

warnings: brief mention of body image issues (not towards reader) and suicide (mikey's death), eating dessert and a lot of food talk, gn!reader (but mention of wearing heels), use of y/n briefly in texts. reader is mentioned as an accountant or adjacent professional person and smoking is mentioned (reader and carmy). please let me know if i missed anything :)

a/n: hey team !! i hope y'all enjoy this fluffy little blorbo about carmy's birthday bc i needed to write about being soft to him. this is an old wip i finally finished so pls rb and leave feedback and comments ily

summary: it's carmy's birthday and you want to make it special for him again.

-`♡´-

It’s not that Carmy doesn’t like his birthday.

No, it’s not that.

It’s just that he’s never had a good one.

When he was 9, his mom tried to make him a birthday cake. French vanilla, with buttercream icing, multicoloured sprinkles on top. But she had somehow managed to get so frustrated that she had thrown the whisk across the kitchen, the burnt cake thrown in the sink, and taken to the backyard for her millionth cigarette of the day. She was breaking down, as usual, and Carmy was the one that had to go out and rub her back and tell her it was fine. That he was fine, that he didn’t matter, and no, she didn’t ruin his birthday.

When he was 13, he ended up spending the afternoon consoling Natalie in her bedroom, after his mom had again, made a backhanded comment about her body. That yeah, she’d gained weight in her midsection, and yeah, the stress was showing on her hips. She was sobbing into her pillows, clutching her pink sheets and wailing, leaving Carmy with nothing to do but kiss her on the cheek and leave her alone. He assured her, again, that he was fine, that he didn’t matter, and no, she didn’t ruin his birthday.

And when he’s 24 and scrubbing the floors of The Beef at midnight, sweat dripping down his forehead and into the collar of his shirt. Michael had just died, so yeah, it was a little raw. The fluorescent lights were beating down on his back as he dumped hot soapy water on the floor and scrubbed everything away. Scrubbed away his memories, every Christmas with his brother, every screaming match. He let it all go down the drain. He’s assured himself that he’s fine, he didn’t matter, and no, Michael’s fucking suicide would not ruin his birthday.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

He meets you later that year. Sitting in the park, doing a crossword at 7:00am, your BEC and hot coffee cooling off on the bench beside you. You’re obviously a professional of some kind: tight black slacks and a matching blazer, white dress shirt stretched over your torso, hair pristinely styled. Black heels, he notices, that you’ll switch out in the middle of the day because they squeeze your toes.

When he sits beside you, you don’t pay him any mind. He’s disheveled, sandy curls pushed back on his head, a grey crewneck sweater over a white t-shirt, collar peaking through at the neck. He sets his identical breakfast next to yours, taking out a cigarette and slipping it between his lips. You look over when he flicks his lighter, a soft exhale leaving his nose. “Oh, sorry,” he takes the cigarette from his lips and wafts the smoke away. “I forgot not everyone in this city smokes.”

You smiled tightly, nodding, letting yourself relax onto the back of the bench. “I don’t mind.” He nodded back to you, letting his hand rest on his knee as he took another drag. “Anything worth reading in there today?” He gestures to the newspaper balanced on your knee. You look at him again, shrugging your shoulders, only to tap your pen against the side of your leg. “No, there never is. I just do the crosswords. You wouldn’t happen to know a 4 letter word for ‘kitchen second in command’, would you?”

He laughs a little, taking another slow drag. “Sous?” You look down at the newspaper, penning in the small boxes, sitting back to smile at him. “Thank you,” you raise your coffee cup to him. “‘m a chef, over at The Beef in River North,” he has a mouthful of his sandwich now, as he points in the general direction of the restaurant. “Oh, yeah, I think you guys catered one of our events one time. It’s like, sandwiches and stuff, right?” He nods, taking a sip of coffee. You follow after him, letting the hot coffee touch your lips.

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I, uh, just took it over. It’s kind of a shit show right now but we’re tryna fix it.” You unwrap the sandwich and sink your teeth into the soft bagel, covering your mouth before beginning to speak. “What happened to the guy who used to own it? Did you just buy it off of him, or what?”

“He died,” he says, deadpan, letting the cigarette come between his lips again. “He was my brother and uh, yeah - he died.” You nod at your own embarrassment, at the thought of asking a random stranger about his dead brother by accident. “Oh, I didn’t-uh, God - sorry,” you stammer, letting yourself turn towards him. “It’s fine,” he waves the smoke away again. “It’s not a big deal.” You almost laugh at his demeanour, so nonchalant. You pull a cardholder out of your blazer pocket, the small clasp opening. Cream cardstock, black writing - a business card, handing it over to him, but not before scribbling your personal number on the back. “If you need anything, accounting related or otherwise, call me.” He takes it and looks for a second, raising his eyebrow at the pristine card. “I can’t afford you,” he laughs. “No charge. Thanks for the help on the crossword…” you wait expectantly for a name. “Oh, Carmen. Carmy,” he finishes. “Nice to meet you.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

It had been a few months since your first meeting. Now, you chose to spend almost every Sunday with him - his one day off. He’d usually make you breakfast, sometimes an omelette with gouda cheese and chives, or fluffy pancakes with a berry compote and homemade whipped cream. For a man that cooked all day, every day, he certainly didn’t mind making any meals for you, especially when you woke up next to him in his old t-shirt and nothing underneath.

You’d known Carmy for long enough now to have pieced together the whole story - a few nights here and there coming around The Beef after closing had granted you the pleasure of meeting Richie, who Carmy affectionately called Cousin. “He’s a little fucked up,” Richie had told you behind the slightly ajar door of the office, as you sat and waited for Carm to finish up. “With Mikey and everything. He won’t let ‘ya know, but he is. I’m happy he’s got somebody,” he looks back at the kitchen, the usual pots and pans clanging behind him. “You didn’t hear it from me, but it’s his birthday on Sunday,” Richie gets closer to you, his hand coming closer. “Back up Richie,” “Sorry. Force of habit. Do not tell him I told you. Take it to your grave. He likes red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese icing like a little bitch boy, they’re his favourite, alright?” You nod, looking to see if he was anywhere near. “Heard.”

You catch Marcus on the way out while Carmy fucks with something else in the kitchen. “Hey, Marcus,” you grab his arm, right before he’s about to put a headphone in and start on his way home. “Hey, what’s good?” “I need a red velvet cake recipe. And a cream cheese icing recipe. And a walk through of how to bake a batch of cupcakes. Please.” He nodded slightly, looking down at his phone. “I’ll text you what I’ve got. Is it a special occasion?” You look over at Carmy, who was wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Yeah, uh, it is.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Marcus had let you borrow a few cupcake pans and a package of liners, as well as his KitchenAid stand mixer for the batter. You’d gathered all of the ingredients from the recipe he’d given you, set everything up in your tiny apartment kitchen on the Saturday before Carmy’s birthday, furiously mixing wets and drys in different bowls, sifting flour and separating egg whites from yolks. The cigarette was taught between your lips, tank top strap falling off your shoulder as you slowly began to mix the batter together.

[Carmen] 11:18pm

Hey

How are you baby?

Just finishing up here

You flicked the cigarette ash onto the fire escape as you nodded your head in rhythm with the song on the speaker, letting the batter mix in the background as you started to sift the powdered sugar into the clean bowl. You weren’t even looking at the time until you heard the familiar chime of your phone, sticky floury hands grabbing your cell phone to see the text from Carmy.

“Shit, fuck,” you turned the mixer off, putting the remnants of your cigarette out in the sink.

[(Y/N) personal] 11:26pm

Hey, just busy right now

Will text in a bit

Love you

When Carmy reads the text he’s a little… surprised to say the least. For you to have plans on a Saturday night was not unheard of by any means, but it wasn’t what he was expecting. Anxiety creeped up a little, because what could you be doing at 11:30pm?

[Carmen] 11:27pm

Love you too

You ok?

[(Y/N) personal] 11:27pm

Of course

Come over when you’re done

A smile tugs on the corner of his lips as he continues to wipe down the stainless steel counter in front of him, nearly spotless already. Most of the other crew has gone home, save for Marcus in his station proofing his donuts for tomorrow and Richie texting someone at the expo line. He slips his phone in the pocket under his apron, undoing the knot on the back and dropping it in the hamper by the back door. “You guys can lock up, yeah?” Carmy calls, seeing Marcus nod at him and bid him goodnight with a small wave. “Heard,” Richie calls. “‘Night, cousin.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Carmy had called a few times, your phone ringing and ringing, but the chaotic kitchen had forced you to miss the calls. It was past midnight now, and you’d spent your whole day in the kitchen, the night getting away from you way quicker than you had intended. You had a small box in your bedside table, a thin gold chain you hadn’t wrapped for him yet, and your apartment was a fucking mess. Pans and bowls strewn across every surface, flour on the floors and walls, and somehow, and you had cream cheese icing under your fingernails. It was a bit of a mess.

When the icing was done, you managed to squeeze some on the tops of the cupcakes just in time to hear the lock on your door click. You stood, silently, as you heard Carmy quietly kick off his boots. He thought you might be sleeping.

Ha, far from it.

“Babe?”

When he rounded the corner, it was a sight to see for sure. Your hands twisted around a makeshift pastry bag, which was really a ZipLoc with a hole cut in the bottom. Apron tied in a bow around your waist, only accentuating the curves of your body. Carmy drinks you in.

“What are you doing?”

You looked at him like a deer in the headlights.

“Baking.”

“Yeah. I see that.”

He stepped forward tentatively, an amused smile on his face. His hand reached to the small of your back, a kiss adorning your cheek.

“Why are you baking?” He takes a finger to the end of the bag, sticking it in his mouth and marvelling at the taste. “Why are you killing it at baking?”

You smiled. “Don’t be mad.”

His eyebrow cocked, noticing the desserts in front of him, really, for the first time since he stepped in the door.

“Fucking Richie,” his hand found his forehead. “Fucker.”

“Happy Birthday, Carm.” You let the bag of icing flop on the stovetop, while your arms wrapped around his neck. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, slotting them together to quiet the thoughts in his mind. You started to pepper kisses all over his face and neck, giggling between them, before he couldn’t help but burst into laughter himself.

“He told me they were your favourite, and I asked Marcus for a recipe and I haven’t tried one yet, even!” the words tumbled out of your mouth as he pulled you impossibly closer, swaying a little with you in his arms.

“Sorry. Richie told me not to make a dig deal, I just thought,” you shrugged, letting your hands slide down his biceps and tracing the faded tattoos there with your pointer finger. “I thought we could make it special again. If you want.”

The wild look in your eyes was enough to have him push forward again, lips crashing into lips, the amalgamation of all the tastes from his day on your tongue.

“Thank you.” He peers over your shoulder at the cupcakes, still in the tin, suddenly very interested in tasting the fruits of your labour.

“Should we try these?” His hand drops effortlessly to your waist, letting his body push past yours. He picks up a cupcake, handing one to you and ‘cheers’ing them playfully. He unwrapped the foil on the outside, sinking his teeth into the soft, sweet dessert.

“Mmmh,” he moans, letting his eyes roll back into his head slightly. “Wow,” the red colour coats his teeth. “Yeah.”

You nod along with him, your own teeth sinking in. “Oh yeah, I kinda killed it with these.”

“Hm, wait,” you put the cupcake down, pushing past him. You take the opportunity to put your hand on his broad back, feeling the muscles underneath.

When you return, he’s licking the rest of the icing off of his fingers. The way his lips wrap around his fingers makes your breath hitch.

“Before you say anything, it’s just small, if you hate it you can return it, blah blah blah…” you trail off, but you can’t hide the excitement across your features.

He pulls open the clamshell box, the gold chain reflecting against the warm lights of the kitchen and dancing along the walls. His lips part slightly, forming an “o” shape, with surprise.

“You’re…” he seems genuinely speechless. Carmy usually isn’t a man of many words, anyway, but this was noticeably different.

“Do you like it?” Your bottom lip is folded under your teeth in anticipation, eyes flickering up to meet his.

“You’re perfect,” is all he can say, and you swear you can see his eyes get a little glassy.

“Aw, well, don’t get soft on me now,” you let your arms wrap around him once again, pulling him into a hug this time. Your head fits perfectly into his chest, smelling the distinct scent of his signature cologne, long now covered by the smells of the restaurant. Him.

His nose fits perfectly into the crook of your neck as he leans down, deepening the hug to pull you in impossibly close. His lips latch onto the soft spot beneath your ear, enraptured by your presence.

For the first time in his life, Carmy is actually going to have a good birthday.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

#carmen berzatto #the bear #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy x you #the bear fx fanfic #the bear fx fanfiction #the bear fanfic

535 notes · View notes