#NYC chef

[jolteonmchale]

The Bear 3.10 "Forever"

[blackgirlsreverything]

[requiemforfandom]

I am utterly convinced they cast Joel McHale in this role for the height difference between them. Just look at him towering over Jeremy.

[unladyboss]

CARMY TEARS: THE BEAR SEASON 3

[diningwiththeasquiths]

"You can barely reach over this fucking table, right?"

[newtkive]

sweet tooth | luca drabble

just thinking about luca w a partner who has a crazy sweet tooth (like i do) and you never asking for a sweet treat but mentioning it nonchalantly but still not expecting luca to make you something.

first of all, your nickname would probably be sweet tooth or smth similar, let’s be so real. it would start by luca calling you that affectionately, but then it catches on w friends and family and you’re just dubbed sweet tooth.

in general, if you saw some type of dessert on a commercial or a tiktok that had you going ‘oohhh’ luca would scrunch his brows and almost seem jealous. “they used meringue, they should’ve used icing sugar.” he’d scoff judgingly and just see it as a challenge. after he would deem it doable, he’d store the information in his brain and literally make it better at work the next day.

just say the word and he will make it. telling your friends on the phone that macaroons sound good? cool, he wants to practice his piping technique with the biscuits anyways.

a japanese fruit sando? awesome he can make the sweet bread so fast, and the cream is no big deal. in fact he can just whip it up for lunch.

want a hersheys bar? first, that chocolate is trash don’t ever mention it to a european, especially your european chef boyfriend. second, he’ll make you the best stack of milk chocolate, dark chocolate, white chocolate, and cookies n’ cream bar you’ve ever had (the cookies n cream one is so good, and you’d always say that and it would piss him off). anything to get hershey’s out of your brain.

you see those viral crunchy chocolate and pistachio filled croissants in new york on your phone and groan abt them? he can research the recipe and workshop it for a day or two in the restaurant kitchen, find a cute take out box to present it to you with to give you that full experience you’d get from the real bakery—you just gotta wait. even if it’s a couple days later, it’ll be waiting for you on the table, or pulled out from behind luca’s back as he walks through the door.

to be more specific, maybe at midnight when he doesn’t have work the next day, you guys are up watching a movie or just having pillow talk. saying smth nonchalant abt your cravings like “cookies sound so good right now luca.. don’t they?” your cheek is smushed against his bicep (which you’d much rather eat) so your voice is all cute and mumbled making his heart race.

“mhm.” he’d say. he’s got a lazy smile n a deep chuckle, voice laden w sleep since you’re the night owl and he’s just staying up to spend time with you. “you wan’ me to make some right now? that what you’re saying?” he’s clearly amused, knowing that you don’t expect him to but teasing you nonetheless.

“nono, it’s too late. you’re not allowed to leave anyways.” you would mumble again, arms tightening around his own in a hug. humming happily, a kiss from the chef would land on your head and you kinda forget about the dessert you want but luca doesn’t because he’s a chef and his literal profession is making desserts so why wouldn’t he?? when you want something he can easily make?? like his love language is giving, especially if it’s baking something for someone he loves.

the next day you’d still be asleep and wake up to the smell of cookies. savory was your forte in the morning most times but who could say no to starting their day with a yummy sweet when it’s presented to them, right?

it would take you a second to realize that 1. luca wasn’t wrapped around you like usual, etching a frown into your face, and 2. luca had to be the one making cookies. and he made the best cookies. you’d waste no time in grinning and hopping up to drag yourself to the kitchen. even more of the smell would welcome you, transporting you into some kind of dreamland—and if you really were dreaming you’d be so pissed bc the cookies being pulled out of the oven by your blond messy haired boyfriend look so fucking good right now (aside from the aforementioned boyfriend who is just as, if not more scrumptious than the cookies with only his flannel pants on).

arms would wrap around his waist from behind and luca would laugh muttering “hot pan” but you don’t give a fuck because you want him and those cookies now. if anything your arms tighten and you rub at his stomach sweetly from behind, a sign of affection.

“you made me cookies!” the grin would be so evident in your voice and so infectious that luca beams as he transfers the said cookies onto a pretty dish.

“and who said they were for you?” the tease is obvious and earns an eye roll. you don’t fall for it and he doesn’t expect you to, but you gently nip at his shoulder nonetheless. a dramatic ‘ow!’ comes from the tall man, laced with laughter. you snicker evilly, standing on tip toes to rest your chin on the same shoulder (no matter your height you still gotta do tiptoes bc that man is tall).

soon enough he’d plate the perfect chocolate chip cookies with a dash of sea salt that you spotted, and turn around. it would be your turn to be wrapped in a hug by strong arms, even lifted up a little just to hear your laugh. luca also likes to hear how surprised you get that he can lift you, even though to him you’re weightless.

it wouldn’t be long until you’re begging for a cookie even if he sets you on the counter, stern look as he assures you they’re still cooling off. like hellooo?? who cares?? but he distracts you with soft kisses on your cheeks, leading down to your lips until he pulls away and leaves you wanting more. the mumble from him that, “the cookies are probably cool enough now” has you forgetting your desire for him and replacing it with the golden saucers just waiting for you to demolish them.

hands on his shoulder, you’d firmly push him to the side and hop off the counter. the roll of luca’s eyes would be affectionate and endeared, since you were this excited for his cooking. you were his best customer after all.

your feet would have a mind of their own, floating towards the cookies like a cartoon man levitating towards a pie, lured by the aroma. you start ravaging like a hungry creature. one turns into three as you face your boyfriend, moaning with closed eyes at almost every bite inbetween telling him about what you two did in your dream (he baked you brownies laced with a golden syrup in your dream so you accredit your subconscious to manifesting this).

he would just stand there with a grin, hands on the edge of the sink behind him while leaning on it. usually dreams would be so boring to talk about, but luca swore he could stand there for an eternity just watching you eat his creations and talk about any dream you wanted to share with him.

of course, those cookies would be gone in two days. and in place would be brownies drizzled in a golden syrup that luca took home from work. the surprise would earn him a watery eyed smile, and he’d just shrug and say he had extra time to kill on the evening shift.

[xblackreader]

SZN better start with him sobbing like his mother since he wanna fuck up like her

[answer2jeff]

ready for another lie?

// carmen berzatto x reader

song: Diet Mountain Dew.

pairings: nyc chef!carmen x journalist!reader

mdni!! i'm not responsible for your media consumption.

warnings: smutty smut, VERY DETAILED, fem!reader, oral and fingering (f!recieving), porn with plot, drinking, cursing, kinda subby carmy, praise kink, alludes to piv but it doesn't happen, complete and utter filth, i'm giving the people what they want don't look at me!!!

essentially a prequel, 1 year before the start of season 1 of The Bear.

"Fuck youuuuu! It's Friday, loosen up!" A groggy voice yelled from across the bar, cursing you for declining another drink.

You watched your friends flirt with the bartender over the course of 2 rounds of shots; causing harmless fuckery with the several guys who tried flattering them. You were actually bored for once. It made you sick.

You waited for something, anything else to impress you. You tried convincing yourself you didn't have to leave, that your friends wanted you here, and that nights like these were "good for your soul," but there seemed to be no hope.

"Just two vodka tonics. Oh, and a white Negroni. Uh, yes— yes, thank you." You caught a blonde curl from the stool next to you in the corner of your peripheral vision, and you dared to turn your head. You were met by the sight of an oddly familiar guy—and then it hit you like a semi truck.

The man you wrote your final thesis on "the senses creating art," about. Food & Wines best new chef, as of late.

You'd spent an entire year and a half traveling the world (after finally making a name for yourself as a journalist, and snagging a place in Food & Wines top writers) and interviewing the faces of all forms of modern art, representing one of each of the 5 senses.

Casey French, a fragrance designer as the face of "smell." Christopher Knowles, a fashion designer who specialized in optical wear as the face of "sight."

The list went on, until it ended at Carmen Berzatto, on "taste," just 6 months ago. It was September now, and you almost forgot about the 2 and a half hours you took from your day to sit down and talk to him in that studio. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you felt the pores in your palms release a nervous sweat.

You blinked rapidly, wondering if you were really seeing him— out of all the other Friday nights, when he could've visited all the other bars. But he chose this Friday, at this bar, next to you. You needed to say something.

"I'll take a Negroni too, actually. And you can just close out my tab for tonight." You handed the bartender your card after you anxiously fished it out of your wallet, trying to seem completely oblivious to Carmen's stare. Carmen clenched his teeth, his eyebrows raised in surprise as he kept his gaze focused on you.

"Holy shit! Is that—" A slightly younger man nearly yelped while he inappropriately pointed at you, quickly being shut down by his peer, and being told to "shut the fuck up," but Carmen stayed silent. He was dumbfounded at the sight of you.

"Uh, hi. Funny seeing you here," you croaked, swallowing hard when you realized how much of a horrible excuse of a "hello," that was. Carmen didn't seem to mind, dragging his head out of the clouds and smiling back at you as he received his glass.

"Oh my god, yeah. Wow, I— it's good to see you."

Carmen glanced down at your drink, watching you trace your fingertip around the rim of the short glass. He gazed at your fresh manicure, the beautifully layered rings on your fingers, the diamonds on your wrists, the black dress with a slit that exposed your leg up to your mid-thigh. Carmen always thought you looked nice, only being used to your blazers and gorgeous vintage pants that he was a little jealous of, but this was different.

And as if you weren't already anxious enough, Carmen's "friends" immediately arose from their stools and made their way to an empty table, leaving the two of you alone again. Just looking at him and his clean suit and tie made you nervous, especially with the ink on his hands still visible.

"Good to see you too, Carmen," you smiled, cheeks aching as you tried desperately to hide your excitement. Admittedly, you admired him. That wasn't new. But that feeling in your stomach, that aching, yearning feeling was.

"I don't usually do these things," Carmen mumbled, taking a sip from his glass and licking his lips.

"Me neither. It's kinda— I don't know, icky."

You knew Carmen avoided big gatherings like this, but they were usually tolerable thanks to people who "knew him" enough to let him hang around their groups in silence while they practically screamed at each other. But his free time just never seemed to align with anyone else worth talking to... until tonight.

"Icky. Couldn't have worded it better," Carmen tried not to laugh at your expense, keeping his tongue between his teeth as both of you fought back a smile.

"You get it! God, anyway—how've you been?" You inched closer to him, resting your chin in your palm as your elbows were propped up on the counter. You made sure to keep your stare on him and only him, glancing from his nose, to his lips, and back into his eyes. You knew exactly what you were doing, and it was too late to stop now.

Carmen paused, his mouth gaping open slightly as he thought of what he could possibly say to convey that he could be doing better, without completely ruining the mood. He sucked his teeth as he took a deep breath, his eyes glued to the floor until he finally looked at you again.

"Alright, I guess. Managing. How're you?"

"Managing. But really though. Like, has anything changed?"

Carmen thought about your question, realizing how much he seemed to relax tonight—while simultaneously being the most nervous he'd ever been outside of work in the last year. Was it being out and public after a long week? Was it the fact that he still felt so stupid for not getting your actual number, and instead only having access to your business email which was provided by your agent? Was it the smell of your perfume? Was it just you?

"Uh... yeah. Yeah, I guess some things have changed."

He couldn't help but awe at the way you did your hair and your makeup that night, appreciating the tiny details your jewelry and purse of choice added to the look. He hardly ever thought twice about the attractive women he'd run into; making small talk and watching them get bored with his interests.

But now you were here; his fantasies, his desires were here, right next to him; wearing a dress that flattered your cleavage and cinched you at the waist, black heels that tapped against the footrest of the barstool. It made his head foggy, and he couldn't even wrap his head around the encounter.

After finishing your Negroni's over the course of 3 separate conversations that left you with a cramp in your side and your cheeks hurting from smiling—basically hitting it off like you were actual friends, you decided to pull the classic...

"You wanna get out of here?"

Two successful, somewhat well known adults in their lines of work were allowed to be human, right? They were allowed to share deep belly laughs with someone they didn't originally plan to see outside of a work setting, right?

Wrong. It was unprofessional, inappropriate, unwarranted: everything you promised you'd never be around him.

Carmen knew this.

But he was eye-fucking you in that goddamn interview. His tattooed hands rubbing against his thighs as he sat in front of you in the white light of that studio, his gentle voice contradicting his large, almost intimidating arms—it was all you could think about when you wrote your thesis. And now you were gonna be alone with him.

And despite his worries, despite the nervous sweat beading on his forehead, despite his growing anticipation when he admired your figure like a horny teenager, Carmen agreed. The smirk on your face and your manicured nails in between your pearly white teeth was convincing enough. He knew it was risky, given the fact that you still wrote for Food & Wine every couple of months: being more than capable of ruining his career with one wrong, but so right move.

"Yeah, actually."

Unprofessional, inappropriate, unwarranted.

Fuck it.

Carmen closed his tab, gently helping you down from the barstool by your hand. You held your purse close to you while waving a shy goodbye to your friends, who were drunkenly squealing in excitement for you. Carmen's peers seemed to be out of sight; therefore, out of mind. You felt your cheeks go hot, every part of your body tingling. Neither of you knew where you were going. Just not here, and not with everyone else.

He couldn't even think about the fact that he would be back in the glowing white light of the kitchen that following Monday, and you completely forgot about the paper you had to start by Sunday night. And it was way too late to care about any of that now.

You decided your apartment was best.

"Fuck.." Carmen grunted under his breath, his eyes hooded while he felt his pants tighten against his throbbing length. He spread his legs wider as you palmed him, trying to ease some of his tension. You hovered over him as he lied down, sprawled out on your leather couch. His hands were clawing at anything he could reach; your hair, your thighs, the straps of your dress until he pulled it down to your hips, and finally the clasp of your bra.

His bare chest heaved, red and covered in sweat. His dress shirt, tie, and jacket were somewhere in the mess of your apartment. He was honestly too desperate to care.

"You okay with me takin' this off?" Carmen whispered as he cupped your cheek, keeping his fingers prepared to unclip your bra with your permission. He admired every inch of your flushed face as he waited for answer.

"Mhm," you soothed him as your hand moved up and unbuttoned his pants the second your lips moved onto his. Saliva pooled in your mouths with every kiss, turning into a sloppy mess of tongue and teeth. Carmen struggled, but eventually tossed your bra onto the living room floor, his mouth just centimeters away from yours as he exhaled heavy breaths.

You sat up straight, pulling Carmen up by his shoulders and smashing your lips back into his. He pulled sway to breathe, taking it upon himself to peel the rest of your dress off. His tattooed hands gently caressed your plush thighs, his calloused fingers sliding under the hem of your lace underwear. He practically worshiped you like this, planting open mouthed kisses along your jawline and neck.

Carmen needed to hear you, feel you, taste you.

"I wanna taste you, if–if that's alright," he placed one last kiss of gratitude on collarbone before he looked up at you through lust-blown, half-lid eyes.

Your entire body began to heat up again, and Carmen's words went straight to your needy cunt. You could feel yourself dripping through your panties while you put a hand over your mouth in embarrassment, nodding frantically.

"Please," you begged, a mixture of a moan and a silent cry escaping. Carmen's hands detached from your thighs, your hips writhing up from the loss of contact. Without another word, he nodded his head, letting his hands travel down your hips as he got down on his knees in front of you.

Carmen took a shaky breath, glancing from your pleading eyes and back down to your bottom half. He hesitated, choosing to plant one more line of kisses from your tits down to your navel before giving you one last look for permission. He put his hand between your inner thighs, asking you to spread further. You blinked slowly while he peeled your panties off of you, wondering if he would notice how wet you already were.

Unprofessional, inappropriate, unwarranted.

Carmen licked his lips, admiring the sight of your puffy slit in hesitation. With your body sprawled out in front of him, your pretty face looking down at him...how could he not eat you out right on that leather couch?

"I've got you, baby," Carmen cooed, his eyes wide as he nearly drooled over the glossy puddle in your underwear. He gently placed your calves over his shoulders, his calloused hands scooping the underside of your thighs.

Carmens wet tongue licked a bold stripe from your hole up to your soaked clit, not a drop of your arousal going to waste. You grew impatient, the kitten licks he gave your sensitive bundle of nerves driving you mad.

"C'mon, Carmy, I—" You whined, pleading that he'd pick up the pace. Carmen decided not to hold back, giving your throbbing clit aggressive sucks that he'd later soothe with slow, flat-tongued licks.

You bit down on your hand while the other entangled in his hair to muffle the sinful noises you made. Carmen felt his stomach turn at the sound of his name falling from your gaping mouth.

Carmen took note of how much you loved his tongue diving into your weeping hole, earning whimpers and cries of "please," and "oh, fuck, Carmen." He groaned into your pussy when you caught a grip on his hair, placing his head even deeper between your thighs. He moved his hands from your thighs and up to your waist—forcing your jerky hips down on the couch. He wanted to make sure you didn't miss a single bit of pleasure.

"Can I.. uh, can I try something?" He stammered, picking his head up with his chin shiny with your liquids as his hand crept back down, prying between your folds. Carmen needed to keep every part of him busy so he wouldn't have to focus on the aching bulge, already leaking precum in his boxers. He felt his thighs clench as he fucking whimpered beneath you.

"S–sure.." You nodded frantically again, tossing your head back as Carmen carefully inserted a digit into your core. You whimpered in slight discomfort as he stretched you out, which he immediately reassured softly.

"Shhh... you're alright. Jus–just relax f'me, yeah?"

Carmen waited until you whined again; his fingers started at an agonizingly slow pace until he heard your moans getting a little too quiet for his liking. He picked his pace up, sliding another thick finger into your hole and ramming into your g-spot. He hesitated, afraid to hurt you—but you quickly dismissed his worries when you urged him that you needed more. Carmen aligned his tongue back with your pussy, sucking hard before comforting your desire with lapping at your clit.

"Oh my god, Carmen," you felt that familiar knot in your stomach, your grip in his hair tightening while your moans grew louder and louder. You didn't care if your neighbors could hear you through the thin walls of your apartment. You didn't even think about what this would look like the morning after—because none of it mattered. Not with Carmen's head between your thighs.

Carmen could tell you were close, prioritizing your pleasure before he could even register how badly he wanted to cum into his boxers. He couldn't help but buck his hips forward, begging for friction while every noise you made just inched him closer to his release... but he needed this to last.

"You close? Let me take care 'f you," he mumbled, breathing heavily against your pussy while he tried his best to stay still. It sent shockwaves through your body, and you tried desperately not to scream his name.

"So... so close.. Fuck, it's too much," your useless protest was cut short by a loud moan, muffled by the sweaty palm of your hand. Your heart pounded in your head as your walls clenched around Carmen's fingers. You weren't used to anything feeling this good in months.

"C'mon baby, you can handle it. You're alright. You're doing so good. Takin' my fingers so fuckin' good," Carmen's raspy voice comforted you. His tongue finally came back to relieve you, his fingers slowing down so as to not overstimulate you, as much as he wanted to.

"Carmy!" Your eyes screwed shut as your thighs shook. You chased your high, practically grinding into his face as his nose bumped your clit while his fingers remained at work.

—

"Jesus..." You panted, grunting in disappointment when you felt Carmen slide his fingers out of you. He licked them clean while your eyes were screwed shut as you tried to recollect yourself. Carmen planted a kiss on your temple the second he sat back up onto the couch, pulling you into his lap by your waist. You felt his erection against your crotch, his already sticky mess combining with your wetness yet again.

"You okay?" Carmen cupped your cheek, pushing any sweaty strands of hair out of your face. And just when he thought he couldn't have felt more proud of you, he melted into the feeling of your lips against his.

You didn't know if you'd ever see him again, you didn't know if this night would magically become niche hot gossip within your respective groups; all you knew was that you wanted him. His lust blown eyes on you, his hands gripping your waist as he bent you over your kitchen counter and fucked you dumb, the sound of sex echoing through your apartment.

Maybe some other Friday night.

[vintage-tigre]

Anthony Bourdain, New York, 2001

[smokietaylor]

My weekend has begun… let the smut posting begin.

What I’ll be working on:

My Pleasure (Roman Roy x Reader) NSFW Content, +18 content, Minors DNI Description: Roman has once again asked you to bring some needless files to his apartment at the ungodly hour of 3 am; frustrated with how he has been treating you, you decide to stand up for yourself.

Praising The Bear (Carmy Berzatto x NYC Chef) NSFW Content, +18 content, Minors DNI Description: Carmy is in the swing of things at The Bear when, one night, an unexpected guest from Carmy's past comes into the restaurant.

Sounds like you like this (Richie Jerimovich x Reader) NSFW Content, +18 content, Minors DNI Description: You’re the new hire at the beef right after Carmy takes over. Richie is constantly on your nerves because he doesn't seem to give a shit about the restaurant; he is always coming in late, barely doing his job, and you question whether or not he is even sober. When in reality, it’s the opposite. Richie is still grieving the loss of his friend, and his anger shows as the two of you argue.

The Jacket (Fp Jones x Reader) NSFW Content, +18 content, Minors DNI Description: You bike over to Jughead's trailer in the middle of a storm so that he can help you with some English homework. Only to find out when you get there that he is not home and probably out with Betty Cooper... again. You decide to wait for Jughead to come home and end up spending some time with FP Jones.

[jolteonmchale]

The Bear 3.10 "Forever"

[loveforcarmen]

𝙒𝙃𝙄𝙏𝙀 𝙏𝙀𝙀

- carmen berzatto has an unexpected visitor at his apartment late at night.

carmen berzatto x oc!coworker | • one shot

NOTE: im turning this into a series on here and my wattpad (@littlesadcowgirl)

- carmen opened the door to find sloppy eyed margaret, “maggie” as he called her, standing outside of his apartment.

“you lost?” he stood there with a blank expression on his face.

she sighed before answering, “i don’t have time for your sarcasm, carmen.” margaret rubbed her temples in an attempt to ward off an incoming migraine.

“where you coming from?” carmen asked, glancing at her outfit. margaret wore a small, black mini dress paired with a pair of red, heeled boots. he stood slightly annoyed as she took her time to answer.

“a party.” she motioned to her outfit, “was it not obvious?” she did a small twirl, but almost tripped due to the alcohol in her system.

“yeah, you’re right. it was obvious.” carmen agreed, not wanting to deal with a drunk woman right now.

margaret’s smile suddenly dropped before she spoke, “my friends ditched me.” she could feel herself getting upset and started to pick at her fingernail subconsciously.

there was a long pause between the 2 before carmen sighed, stepping to the side. margaret mouthed the words, “thank you”, as she walked in. carmen nodded his head, kicking the door closed with his foot.

margaret began to put her things on the coffee table in front of the couch, neatly arranging her bag and coat.

“you can sleep in my bed. i’ll take the couch.” he said, leaning against the counter.

“i couldn’t ask that of you.” her lip pointed downwards

“i offered, it’s no big deal.” carmen dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

he motioned for margaret to follow him down the hall and to the room. as she trailed behind him, she noticed that he absolutely no decor on his walls. no pictures, paintings, nothing.

“you can set your stuff down, i’ll get you a change of clothes for the night.” carmen pointed to the bed, as he walked to his dresser.

“yes chef.” margaret joked, but immediately wished she could swallow her words. why the hell would she say that?

carmen was glad his back was turned because her stupid comment almost got a genuine smile out of him.

he dug through his drawer and eventually settled on a pair of boxers and one of his many white t-shirts. he turned around and handed the clothes to margaret.

she raised an eyebrow, holding up the boxers. carmen gave a playful eye roll, “they’re clean.”

he pointed to the door on their right, “bathroom is over there. i’ll be making the bed so holler if you need something, ok?”

margaret nodded her head with a soft smile then turned on her heel to leave. carmen kept his eyes trained on her for even a second, then went back to his bed-making duties.

margaret changed quickly in the bathroom, folding her dress and neatly setting it to the side with her boots.

carmen knocked on the door with a sharp *rapp* of his knuckles. “yo, you good in there…” he paused waiting for her to answer.

she opened the door quickly, catching carmen off guard. “yep.” she said, smoothing the white tee down.

carmen felt a pit forming in his stomach at the sight of margaret in one of his beloved white tees. he cleared his throat to clear his feelings, “um the bed is made. i set your bag and coat to the side on the nightstand.”

“thanks carmen.” she replied, getting into bed immediately.

“yeah no problem..” he trailed off.

he scratched his head tousling his dirty blonde curls, “i’ll go get you a glass of water.” he excused himself and went to the kitchen.

he returned quickly with the glass of water, setting it down gently. margaret looked up at him, appreciating his kindness, which was not often shown especially in the kitchen.

“thank you carmen, truly.”

“don’t mention it.”

he rubbed the back of his neck before adding, “if you need to puke, please run to bathroom”

margaret let out a soft laugh, “got’cha.” she winked. carmen nodded his head then began to walk out of the room.

he turned around, walking back to the bedside. margaret looked over at him, confused. “roll over on your side.” he said.

“why?”

“i don’t need you to drown in your own puke, smartass.” he answered, helping her roll over on her side. “there ya go.” he situated the blanket so it was comfortable on her.

margaret gave him a thumbs up, looking at him through her half-lidded eyes. he returned the thumbs up, walking to the doorway of the bedroom.

“goodnight carmy.” margaret whispered.

carmen flicked the light off, “goodnight maggie.” he closed the door and went to prepare the couch for the night.

SOMETIME IN THE EARLY MORNING

carmen woke up to the usually brigade of bad dreams that plagued him every night. he got up to get himself a glass of water, making sure to walk quietly since margaret was sleeping just down the hall.

he filled his cup up, downing it and filling it up again. he set it down, then made his way to margaret’s room. he quietly opened the door, the hinges making a slight *creak*

margret stirred but did not wake up. he grabbed her glass then left the room to fill it up. as he waited for it to fill up, he ran his fingers through his curls out of habit. a stress habit. why was he stressed about her being here?

he faded back into reality at the sight of the glass overflowing, the water trickling into the sink. he groaned, shutting off the sink and drying his hand.

he grabbed the glass, then returned back to the bedroom. he gently set the glass down then looked at margaret once before he left.

her lips were slightly parted as she peacefully slept. she was still on her side. good girl, he thought. she clutched the blanket tightly with her fist, pulling it to her chest while in her sleep.

carmen turned to leave when he stubbed his toe on the nightstand, causing a picture frame to fall over that was resting on the nightstand.

“fuck.” he said under his breath, grabbing his foot and squeezing it.

“carmen?” margaret mumbled, slowly waking up.

carmen let out a strained “yeah” in response as he held his foot. margaret smiled at him, even though he couldn’t see it in the darkness of the room.

“what are you doing?” she asked, sitting up.

carmen let out a big sigh before answer, his toe still throbbing, “i was refilling your water.”

“oh, alright.” she gave a curt nod, still knowing he couldn’t really see her.

“yup.”

her nose stung as she began to speak, a sign that she was tearing up. “i just wanted to thank you again for just being nice to me tonight.” her glossy eyes flicked to carmen’s silhouette.

“hey hey, it’s fine. it’s really no big deal.” he reassured her quickly, “i don’t know why you’re getting emotional.”

“cause i’m drunk.” she said bluntly, throwing her hands up. she paused again before speaking, “you’re just so…” she paused again.

carmen hung onto her last words, waiting for what she had to say.

“just so…stern.” she said, laying back down. “i’m not used to seeing ‘nice carmen’ ever. even outside of the kitchen.” carmen heard her lay back down and took that as his que to leave.

“it’s my job to be stern. compare what i’ve done to what you’ve done. i don’t mean it in an insulting way but just an observation.” he tried to give a light chuckle to lighten up the mood but he instantly regretted his word choice as it came out of his mouth.

“wow.” margaret said quietly as she turned back to her side.

carmen wanted to opened his mouth to fix the damage he’d unintentionally caused but it stayed shut.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it like that, maggie.” he finally said as he quietly retreated from the room and back to the couch.

he huffed as he sat back down and readjusted the blanket. “why the fuck would you say that?” he scolded to himself.

-

NOTE: this is my first time writing so please let me know what you liked and where i need to improve!! thank you!

much love,

marlowe

[rubiver]

grandson — i love you, i’m trying

[unladyboss]

WHY THE NYC CHEF? CARMY'S CHOICE: Season 3 THE BEAR

CARMY had great chef mentors at

The French Connection

Ever

Daniel

Noma

So why when he felt he needed to make The Bear a success, did he choose the methods of the worst behaved, stress inducing chef? Carmy was already a big deal in California, chef Terry saw he was great at Ever and sent him to Copenhagen.

By the time he got to NYC he was in front of someone who saw he was great and wanted to capitalize In his greatness.

And lest he thinks more highly of himself, then NYC chef was more than willing to bring him down a peg.

And here Carmyhas Sydney who is nothing but helpful and supportive, and he just cannot communicate and vice versa.

I imagine it's because NYC chef was the last and the chef that was around when his heart got broken when Mikey died. So he's stuck there emotionally

That's the only thing I can think of.

Making things right means being ' the best' in this way.

Miscommunication is one of my least favorite tropes so this is eating me alive

[diningwiththeasquiths]

This scene in The Bear hit like, so many kinks of mine 👀👌💯🔥

[chalamet-chalamet]

7/18/23-Timothée at a restaurant in NYC (IG credit to lerouxeddy)