#carmy berzatto fic

[laiiaaa]

CINNAMON SUGAR — CARMEN BERZATTO

summary Carmen comes home to you late at night. Luckily, you manage to stay awake.

length 2k

contents absolutely zero plot, literally just a sweet n cute n sappy moment existing in a vacuum, holy shit so much fluff i might die (got the idea for this while listening to margaret & let the light in by lana del rey n it's realllll obvious), too many kisses to count, this is what he'd be like after intensive therapy i reckon, not proofread so be nice

Carmen opens the door to the bedroom carefully, minding the creaky hinge in the middle of the night. Moonlight peeks through the window, caught at the right time when the city doesn’t block its path into the apartment, giving just enough glow to the room to see you fast asleep in bed. It’s late, he realizes, even later than usual. He needs to work on that.

He makes his way to the bed, stopping at your side to kneel beside you and simply adore you: the curve of your nose, the plush of your lips in that pout you wear only when you’re asleep, the eyelashes laid against your cheeks.

You stir when he presses his lips to your temple, a soft groan pulled from your lips. “…Bear?”

“Yeah, ‘s me, baby.” Even at a whisper, he thinks he’s too loud, and with his rough and tired hand he brushes over the top of your head just light enough to keep you sleepy.

A drowsy hand reaches out from under the covers to smooth over the contours of his face, tracing along shadows made hazy by a few hours’ rest. “You coming to bed soon?”

“Almost,” he murmurs, smoothing a palm up your exposed arm to hold your hand steady. He pulls ever so slightly away from your palm, only to turn to land gentle kisses against its soft skin, worshiping the pieces of you that treat him with more care than he thinks he’s worthy of. “Needa take a shower first, alright? But I’ll be right back.” 

He could’ve done that much by now—could’ve cleaned himself, rid himself of a day's work before seeing you—but truthfully, waiting any longer would’ve driven him mad. He would’ve been itchy in the shower, skin aflame knowing he could’ve felt your touch by then, arms and hands jittering to have your curves beneath them. His lips trail down to your wrist before he turns over your hand to kiss the backs of your fingers.

“Okay,” you answer, muffled by the blankets and pillow and the squeak of the floorboard as Carmen stands back up.

He makes his trip quick and quiet. He brushes his teeth and swipes up a towel while the water heats up, leaving just enough time to hang it on the hook and strip before hopping in. There’s a beat where he closes his eyes and just breathes, clears his mind of the day’s stress, lets warm water saturate his hair and cascade down his back. He lathers his hair with shampoo—the one you bought for him once to free him from the chains of 3-in-1 and that he’s been purchasing ever since to keep you happy—before cleaning the rest of his body, all while thinking about how much better it’d feel, how much more relief he’d get if it were you beside him under the stream instead of just his thoughts. But with the shampoo and soap down the drain goes that idea, much like the fleeting thought of using conditioner. You’ve yet to get to him on that one, especially at a moment like this, when time is of the essence and you’re waiting on him. Maybe another night, when you take your own product and swirl it around his curls; if it gives him an excuse to stay with you just a few minutes more, he’ll do it.

He hops out of the water like it’s acid and wraps the towel around his waist after drying himself to avoid trouble in the morning (you hate when the floor gets wet, and even if it wastes time, he’ll be sure to prevent that). Out goes the light again as he walks into the hall, sneaking back into the bedroom to get dressed into briefs and nothing more—you’ll keep him warm enough under the blankets.

It’s only then—when he peels back those final layers—that he realizes he’s been smiling the whole time.

Once he’s settled into the grooves of the mattress, chest to your back, you’re turning around to curl into his torso, like a magnetic field brought you there. 

“Hey,” he coos, “Y’don’t have to move f’me, yeah? Just sleep, baby.” Moved by your eagerness, his arms curl around you, one along your waist as the other nicely fits comfortably into the space between your neck and shoulder. 

And yet you shift a little more to cast an arm against his chest, his heart beating beneath your palm, head on his shoulder with a leg hooked onto his hip, split halfway between mattress and his body. “ ‘S more comfy this way, Carm.” You sigh and breathe deep into his skin. “You smell good, too.”

He can’t even lie well enough to convince himself his heart doesn’t run a million miles faster when you cozy up to him like this, caught in a space part fatigue and part love, with your hums ringing in his ear. “ ‘S that shampoo you got me a while ago…Sometime this week—” he yawns, and if he weren’t dying to hear your voice a few more times, he’d be a little more thankful for sleep coming so easily— “Sometime this week we can go t’the store, you can pick out another body wash f’me to try, too.”

“Mm, I’d like that.” You smooth your hand from his chest to his neck and shoulder, massaging there gently where he gets sore as a barely-there kiss lands to the skin beneath you. “How was it today?” The restaurant. His headaches. Richie’s mood lately. The flow of the kitchen. The strain in his back.

“Was alright,” he answers, as honestly as he can, soothing himself by brushing a hand up along your spine. “Real busy, so I didn’t get to leave ‘till late, ‘m sorry.”

“ ‘S alright, I stayed in and just relaxed for the night.” You snuggle into him a little deeper, and he thinks he could melt. “I was gonna ask you to bring something home, but it’s a weekend, so I didn’t wanna bother you in a rush.”

“What’d you want?”

From your lips comes a light and airy giggle, milliseconds of the best sounds he’s ever heard. “I just wanted some fries, honestly…didn’t feel like going out.”

“Heh,” he laughs, smiling while his eyes stay glued to the ceiling—as if looking at you would make the moment disappear. “I would’ve picked ‘em up for you, ‘r at least had Fak get ‘em to you.”

You yawn in tandem with the tailend of his thought, so your answer’s a bit softer. “Uh-uh, I like them better when you make ‘em.”

“Yeah? ‘ve I been pampering you too much?” He teases you, adds on a kiss to the top of your head as he squeezes you a bit tighter, but it’s all a ruse to cover up how much faster his pulse is when you say those words, like all the work he’s put in—all the love he has for you—makes its way to the table for not just anyone, but for you, the one person he’s sure matters more than the rest. More than those fucking stars, more than Chef of the Year, more than any critic’s review, more than he can wrap his head around; he feels it in his chest and that’s enough.

“Of course you have,” you agree, peeking up at him and craning your neck to plant your lips to his jaw, savoring it long enough to leave a smirk against his skin. “You’re always so sweet to me, Bear—” one more quick peck just beneath his ear— “love when you cook for me.”

He thinks he could pass out like this, with the last thing he hears being those words, but his fatigue seems to serve as an anesthetic that lets him soak it in for a bit longer, running his free hand through damp curls while a heavy, giddy sigh leaving his lips that lets you know he hears you, that he loves telling you he loves you through his art, that he lives for the smile on your face when he stays home for a few hours longer to make you breakfast. Yet with all the time spent having his shell soften for you, he can’t always find the right words, so he settles for the next best thing: “Y’know, uh…Marcus’s been playing around with recipes…”

He feels you smile against his chest, knowing what’s to come. “Yeah?”

“Mhm, an’ I’d never let ‘im serve ‘em, ‘cause, y’know…” He loses himself for a moment in the lull of your fingertips tracing mindless shapes into his chest. “They don’t fit the menu…but uh, he made these…these rolls today…”

“Mhm? ‘M listening…”

Carmen knew that, of course, from the faint kisses you peppered between breaths. He lets the fan whir through the gaps in his thoughts. “I think you’d like ‘em, he had some classic cinnamon, ‘n…a blueberry lemon goin’…”

“That sounds really good,” you whisper, the syllables lengthened from a shared lack of sleep.

“I know,” he drawls, and he’s a little too proud of himself for once when he adds, “Which is why I said I’d let ‘im fix up the lemon recipe a few more times if he made a batch for you.”

“Did you really?” The dazed smile comes through in your voice, a bubbliness to it that tells him he made the right call. 

He figures that’s why he’s so drawn to you—all the right calls come easy to him, the effort feels natural and unpracticed, unlike the tar that builds in his throat when it comes to so many other people. With you, being good is anything but demanding. “ ‘F course, baby…” 

It turns him to a puddle, the sweetness that drips from your fingertips, so he cradles your wrist carefully in his hand and lifts it to his lips to show it the love it deserves before urging the hand to busy itself with the tufts of hair behind his hear, to which you happily oblige. You twirl a lock around your finger, performing a methodical spiral, and even though he knows by the time it dries it’ll stick out from the mess like a sore thumb, he’d stop breathing before pulling your hand away. It’s soothing, that pattern. It stokes the fire in his gut that makes him feel a little less lonely when you’re not around.

“I brought…” He yawns again, his eyelids growing heavy. “I brought you some of the cinnamon rolls…Sugar liked ‘em…they’re on the counter for you tomorrow mornin'…” He’s not sure whether it’s your doing or the hours of stress endured throughout the day, but he knows this is the most relaxed he’s ever been, laying with you and doing little else other than indulging in your tender touches and shy kisses.

“Thank you, my love,” slips away with breath, sotto voce, as Carmen leaves brief kisses to your hairline. 

And he thanks God for being able to do it even with such an intense fatigue washing over him—at least part of him does, the part that’s still awake—because the movement lets you tilt your head and graze your fingertips by his jaw, bringing his lips kindly to yours for the first and last time tonight. Somewhere in that beautiful tangle there’s a mutual agreement: an unspoken Goodnight, I love you, in the mix, a finality in his offering and your gracious thanks that doesn’t warrant anything more than your head tucked neatly into his neck, left to bask in the comfort of his arms wrapped around you.

Just like any other night with you, he can sleep peacefully with the unconscious push and pull of your bodies intertwined. He knows that by morning, you’ll still be in his arms, in the bed you share, waiting on your good morning kiss from under the covers.

And he’ll still be beneath your warmth, his mind fuzzy and full of tenderness, every part of him dying to marry you.

[queers-gambit]

Silence

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

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

word count: 2.5k+

note: it's short but to the point.

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

Silence could be a good thing.

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

Silence could also be a bad thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, baby?"

"Hmm?"

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

"Doesn't matter, you choose."

"I mean, which would you prefer?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What're you reading, sweetheart?"

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

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

"Yeah, 'course," you mumbled.

"Well, how was work?"

"Fine."

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You don't have to - "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

requesting rules and masterlist

FX's The Bear masterlist

[devils-dares]

Mac N' Cheese

summary: waking up in the middle of the night with pregnancy cravings

pairing: carmen berzatto x pregnant!reader

wordcount: 526

warnings: language, smoking

a/n: first carmy fic! let me know what you think + join my celebration!

-----

Gooey gooey pull apart cheese… crispy bread crumbs sprinkled in… perfectly boiled pasta.

If you didn’t get your hands on the mac and cheese from that place on Second Street right this second-

You had just fallen asleep when you started salivating- frothing at the mouth- for the damn mac and cheese. You toss and turn, even getting up to take a sip or two of water to wash that craving out of your mouth but it doesn’t work.

Your phone lights up the dark room as you check the hours for that place. Of course it’s closed, it’s two in the morning. You groan quietly, not wanting to wake your boyfriend.

But it’s so cheesy and messy and-

“What’s goin’ on?” He says, startling you.

“N-nothing, go back to sleep.” He groans, sitting up. He rubs his eyes with the backs of his hands.

“Is pumpkin botherin’ you?”

“She wants the mac and cheese from that place on Second.” He blinks in the darkness.

“It’s probably closed.”

“It is, I checked.”

“...we can grab some tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Your mouth falls into a pout. “Your daughter’s givin’ me heartburn for this damn mac and cheese.”

“Pumpkin, quit the heartburn, it’s sleepy time.” He slides back down, resting his head on his pillow again.

The son of a bitch yawns and falls right back asleep. You glare at his slumbering form- must be fuckin’ nice- his breaths evening out into a sweet slumber.

A sigh, more tossing and turning. Carmy wakes up, leaving the bed.

“Where are you goin’?” You ask, but he doesn’t respond, instead mumbling something incoherent and walking out of the bedroom.

“Stay.”

“I’m not a dog-”

“Will you just not argue with me for one night? God, always sayin’ shit. I get all the damn naggin’ from work already. Could make that shit better than that fuckin’ place on Second.” He says, voice fading as he walks to the kitchen. You yell after him, but still you stay put sitting in the bed.

You can almost smell the cheese, imagining floating to the kitchen on the smell like a fucking cartoon. You hear him grumbling about, and a window opens. He’s been smoking out the window since you got pregnant, trying to limit the amount of second-hand you get exposed to. You’ve been trying to get him to quit, but he cites specifically Richie as his “pulmonary demise”.

His footsteps grow closer and closer, and you see his silhouette in the doorway.

“Bear special for you and the pumpkin.” He serves it to you all messy and gooey, breadcrumbs sprinkled haphazardly on the top.

“Holy fuck.” You say, snatching the bowl from him and digging in almost immediately. He sighs, clambering back into bed and pulling the covers up and over his head.

“Go to town.” He says, and you can practically hear the eyeroll in his voice.

You destroy it, the cheese pulling apart from the noodles so messy, all golden and crunchy from the breadcrumbs.

It’s a goddamn masterpiece.

“Carmy, Carmy.”

“Hm?”

“Did you have any extra?” He turns over quickly to peek at you.

“You fuckin’ finished it all already?”

[spacecowboyhotch]

The Bee & the Bear, Chapter 1: And Then There Were Four

summary: Mikey’s death brings the gang back together again.

pairing: carmy berzatto x f!reader (Bee)

contents: 18+/NSFW/heavy content, mention of suicide/mental illness, grief, longing, pining, angst, friends to strangersish to lovers

wc: 2.1k

an: this is my first time writing for the Bear so i beg of you to go easy on me.

series masterlist

The sky is gray and cloudy and birds are singing softly, perched in dead trees. There’s snow on the ground, crunching beneath the weight of everyone’s shoes. Beneath the weight of everyone’s grief, so heavy it's palpable. It’s the coldest day of the year, fitting for the occasion. Because Mikey’s dead, taken from all of you with his own hand.

You’re sandwiched between Sugar and Richie, to keep them apart, to keep them together. Regardless of their history and their care for each other, it's always touch and go– a disaster waiting to happen. But with you here and in the flesh after so many years, they’re both trying to balance that fucked up mixture of happiness from seeing your face and the pure despair from losing Mikey.

“Thank you for comin’, sweetheart,” Richie squeezes your shoulders, his eyes soft and watery when you look up at him.

You lean more firmly into his side, “You know I wouldn’t miss it.”

“You know who would.”

You know exactly who he’s talking about. Carmy isn’t here, and while anyone else would expect him to show up to his brother’s funeral it had not surprised you. Not with how the last several years have gone. Richie’s words make you sigh tiredly, and you give him a stern look. The last thing that Mikey’s funeral needs is more blaming. That didn’t start at Mikey’s funeral though, the Berzattos have pointed fingers at each other for as long as you can remember.

There are faces familiar and not around you, all of them turned to the ground, paying their last respects to Mikey. This hurts, it hurts deeper than anything you’ve ever felt before. Since you’d gotten that phone call from Sugar something heavy and dark has sat in the pit of your stomach, taking root and finding its home there. Life has always been the 5 of you, even with you and Carmy strewn across the country. You and Mikey and Carmy and Sugar and Richie. A reality that you’d always known, that you found comfort in on days you felt a little too homesick. Your relationships with all of them heavily inspired your art, they had become your family.

As you watch Mikey’s casket be lowered into the ground you can’t help but feel like your lens on life has shifted. For the first time in a long time, you aren’t completely sure where anything goes.

—

“Are you hungry?” Sugar asks as the two of you shed your coats and head into her kitchen.

There was no repass, what with the restaurant currently closed. Everyone had agreed it didn’t feel right to eat anything but The Beef in Mikey’s honor. There had been one last huddle, shared goodbyes and I love yous, and many tears before everyone had dispersed. You’d promised Sugar that you’d help her sort through everything since Carmy never showed up.

“Starving.”

She sets the file box full of Mikey’s paperwork on the counter and takes a step towards the fridge, “I’ll make us something.”

You rest your hand over hers, shaking your head, “No, it’s good, Sugar. Sit, start sifting, I’ll do it.”

“You sure?” She asks skeptically– sure you know how to work your way around a kitchen-- its impossible not to with Mikey and Carmy-- before you’ve never been known for being a cook. You're the artist, the traditional creative of the bunch who has mess and color strewn all about.

“I’m sure, just let me help. It’s what I’m here for, yeah?”

Her eyes go a little soft and she nods, “Yeah, okay.”

She goes to sit at the breakfast bar, looking at the pile of documents that hold Mikey’s life. Heaps and heaps of paper that mean nothing to her. That do a terrible job of capturing who Mikey was and what his life meant to others.

You open the fridge, poking through the contents as if you’ve done this a million times. That’s just how things are with Sugar, they’re comfortable– always have been and always will be. She has the ingredients for their mom’s chicken piccata in her fridge and you quickly fetch them and the proper tools.

Sugar does her best to stay on task, but the sounds of someone else in the kitchen, and the smell of her mother’s food are distracting. She watches the flick of your wrist and the speed of your knife. You dice and sprinkle and stir in similar ways to her brothers. It’s impossible to notice.

“You look like them,” She says, her voice a little melancholic.

“Look like who?” You ask, glancing over your shoulder at her in concern.

The smile on her face is wistful, “Like Mikey. Like Carmy. Carmy especially.”

Something in your chest cracks. You turn back to the pan in front of you, spooning sauce over the chicken one too many times, just to stay away from the tender look on her face. “They did teach me the basics.”

She’s silent for a moment, battling herself, wondering if she should ask this question. It’s a touchy subject, it always has been despite your closeness but she just had to know. “I sorta know the answer to this, but did you…did you try?”

“Don’t start with me, Nat.”

“I just want to know,” She assures you gently. “Did you really try?”

You reach for the jar of capers angrily, though this is less about the anger and more about the hurt. About the longing, this brings up. “He treated me just like everyone else. There was nothing for me to try.”

“You know Carmen’s always had a soft spot for you.”

“Not soft enough to follow through on his words,” You mumble sourly.

She goes quiet then because you’re right. Carmy had taken off for culinary school and seemingly never looked back, besides the infamous Christmas– the one you don’t even know about. All of his promises of staying in touch and showing each other new worlds fell flat.

You had tried. You offered to take him on a food crawl through Seattle where you were going to art school.

“Oh my fucking god,” She grits out, the shock in her voice sending you into fight or flight. The plate in your hand clatters to the counter without breaking, thankfully.

You turn to her, leaning across the counter, “What? What’s wrong?”

Her eyes continue to scan the page in front of her, over and over as if the letters will say something different. “Michael you fucking— he left Bear the restaurant.”

“He what?”

“Fucking Mikey,” She stands abruptly, scrubbing her face with her hands. “Ok, ok, um–uh–can you call Bear? I’m gonna call Richie.”

“Me? Call Carmy?”

Was the man that you’d fallen in love with when he was just a little boy really still out there? Sure, he was— living and breathing, walking and cooking and testing. But, all of that was mechanical. Was his smile still the same? His laugh? Did a heart still beat in that empty chest of his? Did his blue eyes still hold as much as Lake Michigan?

Sugar sees your panic, face softening with concern, “We both know he won’t answer, you’ll be fine.”

“But—“

“Please, Bee?”

The name that Sugar calls you knocks the breath from your lungs. It’s been a long, long time since anyone has called you that— since you left for college. Since the last time you’d seen Carmy. Would he still call you that? He’d started it after all. Named you Bee because you were obsessed with painting flowers, they covered your room, all of your canvas and anything else your parents deemed invaluable enough to lose to your hobby turned career.

“Hey, you okay?” She asks when you don’t respond after several seconds.

You blink a few times before refocusing on her. You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant, “What? Yeah, just fine.”

Her brow furrows, and she steps closer reaching out to run her hand up and down your arm, “Are you sure?”

You give a smile that doesn’t touch your eyes and fish your phone out of your pocket, “Yeah, I’m good. I’ll go call Carmy.”

Before Sugar can respond you make your way to the front door and let yourself out. You’re met with the frigid Chicago air, the wind whipping at your cheeks. With your coat inside, the cold chills you to the bone but the feeling is welcome. It shocks your nervous system in a way that makes it easier to call Carmy. Your head is clear, and most of your focus is now on warming your fingers as you dial his number and start to pace.

Sugar was right– he doesn’t answer. It rings and rings and rings until you hear his voice for the first time in years. It's the same message that he’d set years ago: Hey, it's Carmy. Let it rip at the beep.

Many beats of silence pass before you realize that it's time for you to speak.

“Oh fuck, sorry. H-Hi, Carmen. It’s…it’s me. Nat and I just went through Mikey’s will and well…he left it to you. The Beef I mean, it’s yours. Sugar really needs you to come home to figure this out.”

You pause for a moment, wondering if you should say anything about yourself. About your friendship that he’s let crumble. About your heart that he’s ground into dust with each day that goes by with no contact. No that won’t do.

“Just come home and help your fucking sister. Please, Carmy,” You plead softly before hanging up.

You aren’t sure if that was a good enough attempt, but you don’t want to risk calling back and having to face him. Despite your worry, it does the trick.

—

You and Sugar are tucked in Mikey’s office, combing through records of unpaid pills and disorganized expense reports when it happens.

“Cousin!” Richie yells with just enough disbelief in his voice for you to know.

You and Sugar look at each other with wide eyes, hands frozen and full of stacks of paper. You can hear them clambering through the restaurant, making their way to you and you wish that some freak accident that denies the laws of physics would swallow you up.

To your dismay, It doesn’t.

Carmy and Richie round the corner, and you’re a goner like you’ve been all these years. Soft blue eyes that give the crystal skies a run for their money and a messy mop of ashy hair. It doesn’t matter that a man waits for you at home or how many times you’ve told yourself that you’re over Carmy. It never sticks, you don’t know why you thought it would. You were hoping that he’d hurt you enough for it to fade.

Carmy stops in his tracks at the sight of you, throwing Richie a look that clearly says “you couldn’t have warned me”. You aren’t sure how to interpret it– was he excited to see you? Upset?

He stuffs his hands into his pockets nervously and leans against the door frame. “Hi. Hey,” He means to say it to you and Sugar, but his eyes don’t leave your face.

“Hey,” You squeak, cheeks heating in embarrassment. You clear your throat and try again. “Hi, Carmen.”

“Hey, Bear,” Sugar waves her hand playfully as if she’s trying to get his attention, and his eyes finally flit over to her.

He smiles, one that you know is genuine despite that lack of teeth. His eyes drop to the ground and he nods a few times before glancing to Natalie again. “So he left it to me,” He says lamely.

“Yeah, Carmy, he left it to you,” Sugar repeats his words, frustrated not only with Carmy for his late arrival or for his lack of appearance at his own brother’s funeral but for this entire situation.

None of them should be here trying to figure this out. Mikey should be in this kitchen with Richie, she should be at home thinking about what she and Pete for dinner. And though this finally brought you and Carmy home, she wishes that things were the way they were just a few short weeks ago. She wants Mikey alive.

“Guess that means I should open it.”

Richie gives out a shout before clapping Carmy on the shoulder, “See now I like the sound of that, cousin.”

Carmy flinches under Richie’s touch, hoping no one will notice. It's not something he wants to talk about or even think about. He can feel your eyes on him and quickly makes up an excuse to put some space between the two of you. “I’m gonna go check out the stock in the fridge. It— uh, good to see you, Bee.”

You nod awkwardly, though those simple words make your heart race, “You too, Carmy.”

Richie doesn’t follow after him, stepping into the office and crossing his arms. The three of you sit there in a silence that screams he has something to say.

“Just say it, Richie. Fuck’s sake,” Sugar finally says, rubbing her temples.

Your brow furrows as your head whips from side to side to look between them. “Say what?”

“You know he’ll notice, right?” Richie asks you, leaning back against the desk.

“Notice what?”

Richie looks at Sugar expectantly, and she sighs, rubbing at her temples again. She fixes you with a look that is as sympathetic as it is accusatory, “That you don’t call him Bear anymore.”

| > chapter 2: Back in the Beef

let me know if you’d like to be on the carmy taglist!

[collecting-stories]

Peaches & Cream - Carmen Berzatto

Summary: Carmy talks the reader into making family and their relationship takes a turn.

A/N: I don't know if I like this installment as much as the other two but I'm running with it. Also, the actual dessert made is from Carolina Gelen and it's fucking delicious!

The Bear Masterlist

✰✰✰✰

You shook your head slowly back and forth, with what you were almost completely positive was a look of abject horror plastered across your face as your eyes met Carmy's blue ones. If there was one thing, anything, that you absolutely did not under any circumstances want to do it was cook in The Beef's kitchen. 

"No."

"It's not like you haven't cooked for everyone out there before," Carmy replied, leaning against the door and crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Yeah, but like...at my place...not like, seriously," you mirrored his image, leaning back in the office chair and crossing your arms. 

Carmy smiled, "family isn't serious." He said it in that way that suggested he'd caught you out. Like you were trying to pull one over on him but he found a loophole at the last second. He looked too triumphant for his own good. 

"Cars..." You groaned, there was no way you wanted to do family. When Syd did family it looked like some fucking five star gourmet meal. Even Ebra cooked up some really wonderful food for family. You had cooked at home, sure, but not in Carmy's kitchen. "Fine...but when it's shit-"

"It won't be," he replied and you practically felt the air knocked out of you. As if those three simple words had the power to truly dictate what sort of cook, chef, you were. And maybe they did because you felt ridiculously confident after he said it. 

You abandoned the paperwork to the office and followed Carmy into the kitchen. His attention didn't last long, immediately pulled to something else as Tina called him over to taste the potatoes she was working on. Your unexpected entrance into the kitchen didn't go unnoticed by Marcus or Syd or Tina, all three of whom followed you with their eyes as you went to the family shelf. You were positive you looked a little more than unsure of yourself as you pulled ingredients off the shelf, trying to think of a recipe that you could accomplish, that would taste good, and that might impress Carmy. 

-

"What?" 

"What?"

"People don't usually make that face after someone kisses them...unless like, I read the room wrong and I wasn't, or you didn't want me to kiss you," you stammered, eyebrow quirking as you stared at Carmy. Ever since the first Sunday Night Dinner you'd been thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. Probably ever since he first walked in The Beef and introduced himself to you. And maybe he hadn't been thinking about kissing you for that long but you thought maybe he was thinking about kissing you lately. Or not and you were atrocious at reading what vibe other people were projecting. 

"No, no...I mean, I, no, I wanted you to...I wanted to kiss you. I liked it. Ah..." Carmy inhaled, held his breath for a second and then exhaled. "I uh, you taste like peaches. It's like, really fucking wild, just like straight up peaches...like, not like chapstick shit or something but like actual fucking peaches." 

"Oh," you stopped yourself from laughing, "I uh, I ate like frozen peaches before you came over." You tried to explain. It was the most bizarre semi-compliment anyone had ever offered after a kiss. Probably in the history of the world. 

"Yeah?"

"I was trying this recipe-"

"What was it?" He looked over the back of the couch toward the kitchen as if a plate would be waiting there on the island for him to sample. 

"It's nothing fancy," you promised, a regular disclaimer whenever you made something new and let Carmy try it. You got up from the couch as you explained the recipe you'd seen online and had attempted to recreate in your own kitchen before Carmy had come over. Aside from the peach, which was frozen in your freezer, everything else was assembled. 

Whipped cream went in the bowl first, then the peach shavings, scrapped off a whole frozen peach like you were zesting a lemon, and then brown sugar syrup that you'd made earlier. In the short time it took you to assemble the dessert, Carmy came over to the island, leaning against the counter and watching you walk. 

"Here," you slid the bowl over and handed him a spoon from the utensil holder that sat in the middle of the island. He took it from you, his focus already zeroed in on the dessert sitting before him. The assembly was no five-star NOMA dish but you thought it tasted pretty good earlier and hoped you'd made it just as nicely the second time. 

The first time Carmy tried anything you made him your whole body had felt like it was on fire. Burning with nervous anxiety eating at your stomach. Now, you thought you should probably still be nervous but you weren't. Somehow you didn't have any of those nerves anymore. Or at least, they weren't turning over your stomach anymore. Instead it was just excitement, watching him taste the food that you prepared for him. 

"Well?"

With little actual warning, Carmy laid his spoon on the counter and leaned forward, kissing you this time instead of the other way around. You kissed him back, your hand moving to hold his face, fingers brushing the curls at the back of his neck. You'd be lying if you said you weren't a little dazed as he pulled away from the kiss, blue eyes shining with amusement as he smiled. Like really smiled, you noted. 

"Yeah, that's the peach I was tasting." He finally said, taking another bite of the dessert, "fire, by the way."

"Awesome," you stumbled over the word, not entirely sure it was the correct one to encapsulate the moment. 

-

You knew Marcus was hovering over you without needing to turn around, but you did anyway, twisting away from the focaccia bread that you were kneading onto the sheet pan to look up at him. "What?" You asked, unable to stop yourself from smiling when you caught the amused look on his face, "what?"

"You're doing family?" 

"Yeah, why...you have a problem with that?" You asked, trying to sound confident. 

"No...this looks good," Marcus replied, checking on the focaccia once more before stepping away from you. "What're you making?"

"Chicken parm sandwiches?" You replied, more as a question than a statement. As you slid the pan into the oven Marcus took a once over of the other ingredients on the counter. 

"You making your own mozzarella too?" He asked, sounding impressed that you were going to tackle something that complicated. 

"I am," you said, pulling a 'can you believe it' face, "Carmy showed me how to a couple weeks ago-"

"Carmy showed you how to?" He replied, the tone of the question teasing. 

"Don't you have like...something to do?" You asked, looking back at his station. 

You might've spent most of your shift in the back office but you knew that everyone in the kitchen was talking. It started with Richie, way before you and Carmy had kissed. He'd come into the office when you and Carmy were sitting in there and however you both were acting Richie had interpreted it as flirting (which was impressive considering how awkward you and Carmy flirting was). Richie being Richie, spread the news to Tina and Ebra and Sweeps, then Marcus heard about it and Sydney. Even Fak got filled in on the apparent 'romance' that was happening. You suffered through embarrassing comments every time you were remotely close to Carmy in the kitchen until finally everyone pretty much got used to the fact that you were pinning and probably never going to make a move. 

Or at least, you hadn't expected to ever make a move. He just looked so good sitting there on your couch and you'd been thinking about him for a long time and you were positive (at least 99% so) that recently he'd been thinking about you the same way. It was a long shot probably, cause Carmy was almost impossible to read unless he was yelling about food, but it worked out. 

"Are you doing family?" Syd asked. She was doing checks, purposely saving Marcus for last so she could see what you were up to. She'd seen you come out of the office with Carmy and go over to the family shelf, surprised since you never seemed eager to be anywhere near the kitchen during work hours. (Syd had come back for her headphones once and seen you and Carmy in the kitchen together, generally being cute...which she pointed out to you later on). 

"Yeah?" You felt even more unsure of yourself when she asked than you had when Marcus had asked before. 

She nodded, looking over the ingredients you had out. "Dope."

"Thanks," you laughed. 

You weren't surprised, considering how hectic you knew the kitchen could get, that you didn't actually see Carmy again (aside from glimpses as he moved back and forth from the kitchen to the counter and back) until family. And technically, once you'd plated family and called everyone out to eat, he was nowhere to be found. Richie told you he was having a cigarette around a mouthful of chicken parm sandwich so you plated some for him and carried it outside into the back alley. 

Carmy was sitting against the back wall, a plastic container of water in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He had his head tilted back and his eyes closed like he was maybe trying to catch a few seconds of rest before dinner rush. 

"Hey," you tapped his shoulder and Carmy started, opening his eyes and looking up at you. 

"Hey," he replied, laying down his container of water and taking the plate from you. He balanced it on his knees and picked up the sandwich to look it over. "What've we got?"

"Chicken parm sandwich on pistachio focaccia bread." You replied, "Richie said I was 'going all out'."

Carmy took a bite and you watched as his face change from neutral to slightly pleased. The look you knew meant that he liked something. "This is good, this is really good." He replied earnestly, taking another bite. "Did you make the mozzarella?"

"Does it taste bad?"

"No," he shook his head, looking away from the sandwich and up to you, "you could've kneaded it one more time, it's a little soft."

"I wasn't sure," you admitted, "you'll have to make me mozzarella and tomatoes again and show me how to make it." 

He'd shown you last week, when you were at his apartment for a change. He was in the middle of making dinner when he realized he didn't have mozzarella so he decided to make it, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to do. Or at least the most normal thing in Carmy's. 

"You heading back inside?" He asked as you reached for the door handle. 

"Back to the office, where I belong." You replied. 

He waved you back over, tilting his head back to look up at you when you were standing in front of him again. You took the silent invitation and leaned down to kiss him. "I won't taste like peaches this time." 

"It's not a stipulation," he joked and you smiled into the kiss. 

Eventually, sooner rather than later, you knew everyone in the kitchen would find out that you were dating. Probably everyone outside of the kitchen too, once Fak knew that you were together it was only a matter of time before everyone Carmy had ever met found out that he had someone in his life. 

"Okay," you sighed, reluctant to pull away but knowing there was a stack of invoices you needed to look through, "eat your too shitty sandwich and get back to work chef."

"You bossing me around now?" He laughed, stubbing out his cigarette and following you back through the door into the kitchen. 

Everyone else had finished eating and were back to their stations. Tina looked over first when the two of you came in and you smiled, "Carmy said it was awful and I'm never allowed in the kitchen again."

"I didn't say it was awful-"

"The mozz was a little soft but the focaccia was insane," Syd pipped up in your defense.

"I didn't say it was awful," Carmy repeated, nudging you with his elbow when you smiled at him.

"He didn't say it was awful," you admitted, "he did say the mozzarella was soft." 

"Why you being a fucking hardass about some cheese?" Richie called from the counter, coming over and throwing an arm over your shoulders, "I'm fucking shocked as it is you got this one to go out with you, now you're gonna be insulting?"

Carmy flushed red, whether because of Richie or because of the whistle Sweeps gave at the previously unconfirmed news that the two of you might be something, "can we get back to work chefs?" He finally said, moving away from you and over to one of the stations, grabbing his knife to start prep. 

"Guess that's my cue to get back to the office," you joked, slipping out from Richie's arm.

[tempestuous-lush]

The Resolution || Carmy Berzatto x Sunny

the resolution - jack's mannequin

warnings: mentions of suicide, abusive family, anxiety (hinted at), heavy feelings, carmy being an ass at first, carmy with some well directed anger, and fluff.

misc: This is a very personal piece for me. When watching the bear, I absolutely fell in love with the character of Carmy and found similarities in the strangest and most depressing of ways. I put a lot of effort into this and I hope it is enjoyed.

As always, the music influences the story. So I encourage listening. ♡

Also as this is very different for me, let me know what you think? I would greatly appreciate it.

summary: You're a server at the new restaurant, The Bear. One night, your home life catches up to you and clashes with Carmy, who is still dealing with the emotional fallout of how he left things with Claire.

banner courtesy of @firefly-graphics

There was a loud crash and you could feel your heart stuttering. 

Carmy didn’t turn around. 

You watched as his shoulders tightened beneath that chef’s coat as he continued making what he was already on. Sydney’s knuckles tightened around the podium where she was keeping track of orders. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until you released it to answer Carmy’s pissed off voice, “The FUCK was that?”

Everything tensed in your body and instead of explaining, you calmly stated, “I need two more seven fishes, chef, on the fly, along with a T bone.”

You felt a panic well up inside of you as you saw Carmy slam his hand down on the counter, open palmed and angry. Quickly, you were going to walk away. After last night you couldn’t handle another person yelling at you. Yet, you  couldn’t walk away.

Fear raced through you.

Instead of fleeing, you stayed rooted to the spot and watched as he spun around and got in your face, those blue eyes boring into you as he raised his hand. Thanks to his anger in the moment, he missed the flinch that escaped you at the gesture, However, Syd didn’t. He didn’t bother making eye contact with you he pointed at the wall and door that was shared with the dining room, “Slow the fuck down on your way out and maybe, just FUCKING maybe, you’d see someone approaching through the god damn glass wall, yeah?”

“It was an a- an...an accident. Chef.”

God, you hated how weak you sounded in this moment. It was all you ever did. Last night, with your dad, you just stood there and took the abuse. As he berated you with his drunken words you silently wept. The only sounds you made were ones where you would apologize and ask for forgiveness.

And Carmy? Yeah, he had a temper but it was never like this. In fact, it stunned you into submission. It reminded you of everything else in your life and god, you were so thankful this uniform hid the bruising on your arm. It would just make you look even weaker.

Carmy flexed his fist and just, “We can’t afford accidents like that. Open your fucking eyes, yeah?”

Everything felt as though it was echoing in your head. 

You could nearly smell the cheap whiskey on your dad’s breath as he continued berating you, “Open your fucking eyes, Princess. Only thing a girl like you is good for is spreading your legs and getting paid for it. Fucking useless. Just like your god damned mother.” Your mother, the one that was buried in the ground. The one who blew her brains out in front of Buckingham Fountain because she couldn’t take her life anymore. The woman who was a saint, until your dad found out she had been seeing someone else. Planning to leave with you. That had turned her into a whore. His fingers wrapped around your arm and tightened until you were crying out from the pain-

Carmy took it too far. He realized that as you mentally left the conversation.

Physically you were there, but he saw the light leave your eyes and the tears begin to replace them. Fuck. He was an idiot. He let this shit that happened with Claire consume him and piss him off to the point where anything broke him. He winced and thought to himself how lame of a fucking excuse that was. However, when he tried to pull you back to the present, his fingers wrapped around your arm in the same place you’d been hurt so recently. Suddenly, you pulled out of whatever hell you were caught in and a scream escaped you as your free hand flew across his face, the sound of the slap echoing through the now silent kitchen as you sobbed, “Don’t fucking touch me!”

You came alive in that moment and everything inside of you felt like it was about to snap if you held in your hurt for any longer than you needed to. Suddenly, you slapped him again and the words spilled out of you as you landed weak fist after weak fist in his chest before pushing him back, “You’re a fucking coward and a bully, and I don’t want anything to do with you. I hate you! You don’t get to touch me!”

Except those words weren’t meant for Carmy and neither were the tears freely flowing down your face. A look of shock mixed with embarrassment washed over your features. Carmy took a step towards you and you backed away. Those blue eyes of his were searing. You saw the way his glance fell to your arm where he had just grabbed before they came back to your eyes.

His eyes held sympathy. Understanding. And a look you hated. Pity.

Slowly, you untied your apron and took the server book out holding cash and dropped it on the ground. Carmy could see the way your legs tensed and he knew, he knew you were about to run. He held his hands up and looked at you softer, “Listen, sunny”- god you hated that nickname -”it’ll be alright, yeah? Just…just go sit down in the office. We can talk about this after work?”

That was when you bolted. You ran straight out the backdoor into the Chicago winter, the chill stinging your lungs and the snow immediately soaking into your shoes. Fuck. Your stuff was inside and you couldn’t bear to go back in there just to get it. So, instead, you took off running and Carmen was left standing in the kitchen, looking at the spot you had just been standing in. Part of him wanted to go after you. Actually, an overwhelming force inside of him wanted to go after you. However, he’d find you after dinner was finished. He turned around and looked at his kitchen and snapped, “We need two more seven fishes and a T bone on the fly, now!”

“Yes, chef!” The entirety of the kitchen answered unanimously, afraid to piss him off anymore.

You didn’t have your phone, or your wallet, or your god damned boots or jacket to deal with all of this fucking snow! You threw your hands up and swung at the nearest thing. Your hand collided with brick and you had a sharp inhale of pain followed by a loud scream, “FUCK!”

Hours passed and Carmy walked outside and lit his cigarette, Sugar already getting your address on file for him. Sydney slipped through the door as he lit it. She cleared her throat from nerves and asked calmly, “Have you tried calling her yet, Carm?”

“Yeah, huh, turns out”- Carmy took a drag and a bit of a bitter laugh escaped him - “sunny is the only damn server that keeps her phone in her fucking locker, in her bag.”

Sydney shook her head, “Fuck. Of course she is.”

“She’s uh…the way she looked at me, or didn’t. Um. I don’t know. S-something else outside of here is, uh, is going on Syd.” Carmy ran his hand over his face and looked at Sydney, who was clearly thinking of something. Carmy felt a sigh escape him before asking, “Why are you looking like that, Syd?”

“Nothing, just, you didn’t see it, Carm. When you raised your hand she flinched. She obviously thought, even if only for a second, that you were gonna”-

“Yeah, I kind of gathered that from the rest of the interaction, Syd.”

Sydney sighed. 

Carmy’s eyes looked up and he focused on her, “What is it, Sydney?”

She stood up and looked around, before blurting out, “Just, you can’t let this shit that happened with Claire keep fucking with you. Especially at work. It’s not fucking fair to anyone. Especially your employees.” Before Carmy could even respond, Sydney was back inside. 

Sugar stuck her head out and offered a slip of paper with your address on it only moments later. Carmy muttered a thanks and tucked it into his jacket pocket before standing up and finishing his cigarette, “Thanks Sug, I’ll uh, let you know how it pans out, yeah?”

Meanwhile, you had no idea what to do. Or where to go. Eventually, you found yourself standing in front of the Buckingham Fountain. It shouldn’t shock you. You always ended up here when you were aimless. You stood exactly where they found her. The ground was so pristine in its fresh snow. The white of it was a stark contrast to the blood that must have flowed, endless. A sob racked your body.

Except you weren’t sad.

You were angry, day in and day out, because she was a coward and left you here. Alone. So alone. A hard shiver chased your sob and you huddled into yourself for warmth. Except warmth didn’t come. 

Carmy knocked on the door of a run down house. He went to knock again when the door opened and Carmy was greeted by a man in his fifties, wearing stained sweatpants and an old cubs shirt. A beer was in his hand. The man looked at Carmy and huffed, “Whatever ya sellin’ man, don’t want it.”

Carmy froze for a second. Was this the one that hurt you? His fist already flexed at the thought. The man went to shut the door and Carmy’s hand held the door open. Carm held up his right hand while nodding. It was as if to silently say give me a second. Those blue eyes peered up at your father and after a moment Carmy asked, “Yeah, I’m looking for someone. Works for me at The Bear?” He dropped your name.

“You talking ‘bout my daughter?”

Carmy looked at this man and tried to find your face in his, and it wasn’t there. You must look like your mom. An exhale escaped Carmy, “Yeah, yeah. She bolted mid shift and I’m trying to figure out if she’s oka”-

“Yeah, she’s a bit of an unreliable bitch. Gets it from her fucking ma’. No fucking drive. Needs a strong hand just to push her in the right direction. And even then, a fucking idiot.”

Carmy’s eyes glazed over with anger as he listened to your dad. It contrasted with everything he knew about you. You were kind and always had a smile. You made friends with everyone. Literally. You’d been one of the last hires for the restaurant, and everyone already adored you. You walked into a room and everyone lit up. Hell, even when he interviewed you, he had to bite back a smile. And it was the day after soft open, when Claire had broken up with the night before and he was a fucking mess.

You didn’t need a strong hand. You didn’t need drive. You were the fucking sun and everyone else was simply pulled along by your gravity. His fist flexed again when he thought of your reaction to his hand on your arm. Your dad’s words played back through his brain. A strong hand. Something in Carmy snapped, “A strong hand, huh? Tell me, uh…that strong hand you talked about, you lay a fucking strong hand on her asshole?”

“Oh fuck you. She’s my damn daughter! What? What…she say I lay a hand on her? Fine then. Yeah. I have a drink, I get relaxed, and she has to go and piss me off with her fucking bullshit so yeah, I fucking put her in her place. Fucking bitch really is just like her mother. She’s lucky I didn’t break her god damned arm last night to prove a fucking point.” Carmy’s knuckles were white as he held the door open. Your dad kept fucking going, “But anyway man you’re letting in the fucking cold and as you can see the useless little bitch isn’t ev”-

You dad never got to say anything else. Carmy’s fist finally flew and landed on his jaw, Carmy’s body weight behind it and knocking your dad onto the ground. The first punch shut him up.

The second? Carmy felt his nose crunch beneath his knuckles. Blood flowed freely.

The third? Well, Carmy was already pissed. His anger at everything? He reached the tipping point with what this piece of shit said about you. That first punch, though?

It also broke the dam that was holding everything in. It felt so good for his anger to unleash. As he looked down at your father’s face, bloody and already swelling, he thought of the look in your eyes as his fingers had wrapped around your arm and Carmy let out a yell as his fist crashed into your father’s face one final time. 

Pushing himself up, Carmy stood and flexed his hands again, the sting already settling into the busted knuckles. He ran a hand through his hair, his curls wild from his exertion. Those large blue eyes closed as Carmy sighed, “Fucking shit. Fuck.”

Your dad let out a groan of pain and Carmy’s eyes shot open, and he looked down at the damage he caused, whispering, “You’re lucky I didn’t break your god damned arm to prove a fucking point, jackass.”

He left and walked down the overgrown path back out to the street and got in the rundown car he drove to head back to the restaurant. Maybe you’d come back. He wasn’t sure. He let out deep breaths. An ache was settling in his chest as the same hurt look on your face kept appearing every time he so much as blinked. His hand immediately began to rub into his chest. Carmy needed you to show up at the restaurant. If you left like that, and he never spoke to you again, he wasn’t sure he could ever ease this sense of guilt settling. 

By the time he pulled up at the restaurant, the lights were all off and the place was closed. A fresh sheet of powdered snow was starting to fall. God, Carmy hoped you were somewhere warm. The guilt increased as he thought about your locker, your bag, boots, and winter coat tucked away inside. He walked down the alley. Instinctively, Carmy pulled a cigarette from his pack with his lips. Putting the pack back in his jacket pocket, he came to a stop. That cigarette fell from his mouth and hit the ground as he spotted a huddled up figure by the back door. He was next to you in a minute and your eyes looked up at him, a shaky laugh coming from you, “It’s, uh….it’s fuckin’ c-cold out here, ch-chef.”

“Fuck”- Carmy’s jacket immediately came off and enveloped you as you sat on the ground, the snow seeping into your pants as it melted. The warmth was welcomed.

He fumbled with his keys to hurry and open the door. As soon as he got it opened, he scooped you up in his arms and hurriedly stepped inside. He walked to the office and dropped you down on the chair in front of Natalie’s desk. You looked so small burrowed into his jacket. Carmy was trying so hard to ignore the blue tinge on your lips. He turned to the thermostat for the office and cranked up the heat, shutting the door with the two of you in there. 

Next, he pulled up the second chair and sat in front of you. He reached beneath the jacket to find your hands. They were freezing. As he began to rub his warm, rough hands over yours you closed your eyes and fought back tears. Embarrassment always made you cry. The two of you stayed like this for a while, until Carmy’s brow was dripping with sweat and the color finally returned to your lips. As he withdrew his hands, you grabbed hold of them. His blue eyes met your own large, doe eyes. A few more moments of silence stretched between you. His thumb stroked the back of your palm where it landed, imploring you to say something as he continued looking at you with that gaze. So, you said the first words that came to your mouth, “I’m s-sorry.”

A huff of air escaped him as he looked at you with the softest hint of a smile, “For what, sunny?”

“The things I said to you, they weren’t”- a sniffle escaped you. Fuck. The embarrassment. Your eyes glossed over with tears as he looked at you and the second you blinked, they spilled over. Your first instinct though wasn’t to pull your hands away to wipe your tears. Instead, you buried your face in the warmth of his coat. A sob racked your body and you Carmy didn’t interrupt. Even if he wanted to, he wasn’t sure what to say. And then finally, muffled by his jacket, you spoke up, “They weren’t intended for you.”

“Yeah”- he shook off the visual of your dad’s bloodied face  -“I kind of figured, sunny. Is there, uh, heh, a reason you aren’t looking up at me though? It’d be easier to understand you without my jacket in the way.”

You just shook your head no into the jacket. Carmy sighed and pulled his hands away. He looked around and used his shirt to wipe his sweat from his face before commenting, “I’m gonna go into the kitchen. If you want to head out there when you’re more comfortable, warmed up…that’d work, yeah?”

After a moment, you nodded into the jacket. 

Carmy walked out and headed to the cooler immediately. The only thing he knew to do, truly, when someone was upset? He pulled out a chicken and fresh vegetables. As he carried them to the counter, he realized how bad his knuckles were. Carmy ran them under the handwashing sink. A wince crossed his face at the initial contact. He quickly cleaned his hands, dried them, and pulled on gloves just to be safe and began prepping food. 

Eventually, you got too warm in the office and stood up, leaving his jacket on the chair and shrugging out of your button up, happy to have less to trap the suddenly overwhelming heat you felt in this office. You were left in your work pants and a thin three quarter sleeve black shirt. Taking a deep breath, you wiped your eyes and headed out. As you did, you saw Carmy poured over the stove and fryer. You cleared your throat, “What’re you up to over there, Chef?”

You didn’t know what to call him. He was still your boss. All things considered though, you felt like Chef might be too formal right now. He must have too. He called out over his shoulder, barely glancing at you, “Carmy.”

“Sorry?”

“You can call me Carmy, yeah sunny?” He pulled something out of the fryer before turning back to the stove. You spotted a stool that he had pulled up to the other side of the plating table. You took a seat and watched him work. He wasn’t in his chef coat. Instead, he was wearing a white t-shirt that was typical of him and his chef pants. You thought of something your mother used to say. When someone loves what they do, you can see it in how they move. It becomes an art. Watching him cook, relaxed like this, it felt like watching an art. 

Looking down at your hands, you wondered to yourself if you’d ever find something like that. There had been times when you thought you had found the thing you’d been meant for but you were always told how much of a waste of time it was, or how you were stupid for thinking you could make something out of ‘shit’.

You blinked furiously, trying to keep the tears from welling over. What pulled you from crying was the sound of a plate being placed before you. It was beautiful, and smelled delicious. Chicken with fried brussel sprouts and some sort of sauce drizzled over the meat. Carmy looked on as you took a tentative bite, you unsure of why he was being so kind to you. As you closed your mouth around the food you let out a whimper. The hot food chased a shiver from your spine you didn’t know was trapped there and you muttered with a full mouth, “Fuck me.”

Carmy let out a breath and followed by a soft laugh, “Yeah, so it’s good?”

“Oh don’t do that. You know it is.” A smile graced your face, eyes crinkled in the corners as you cut another bite. There it was. Carmy missed that smile for the brief time it was gone. His smile faded as he felt his breath catch in his throat looking at you. 

He watched you take another bite and cleared his throat, “What’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten?”

After you finished your bite you paused, “Are you sure? I don’t want to insult a Michelin star retaining chef.”

Carmy worked through keeping the smile from his lips. You’d heard him and Sydney going back and forth yet again over it just to retort with it. He kept quiet though. Instead, he gave you a little nod as if to say proceed. You put your knife and fork down and with a shy smile, you answered, “The wolf burger from Bad Wolf Tavern.”

“Well damn I gotta say”- he held back a laugh but his smile was contagious  -“I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Mhm”, you took another bite of what he prepared for you. Holy fuck it was so good. But you were going to stand by your guns, and mouth full, “This is wonderful chef, but”-

“Carmy.” His eyes stared at you as he corrected you. 

You swallowed your bite, “Carmy, but there’s nothing more comforting than beef, cheese and bread on a bun with salty fried potatoes and I will stand by that. And food should be that. Comfort.”

He rapped his knuckles on the counter as he spoke up again, “Couldn’t agree more, sunny. It’s why I made you that. It’s my mom’s old chicken recipe. She used to make it on especially cold days when we were kids. Warm us up. Figured you could use a little bit of that. Minus the haggis. Figured you might rather brussels.”

A heated blush settled on your cheeks as you tried to maintain your line of sight with him. 

However, you looked down after a few moments, muttering your thank you. He’d made you something his mother would make him. You thought of your own mother buried beneath the frozen ground. Your eyes were watering as you took another bite. Carmy, not knowing the truth, couldn’t stop thinking about your mother. If you were receiving this treatment, was she okay? He asked, uncertain, “Your mom, is she…is she okay?”

“As great as you can be buried underground. She put a bullet in her head in front of Buckingham Fountain about twelve years ago, so. Yeah.” Carmy closed his eyes in disbelief as you took another bite to try and finish a suddenly uncomfortable meal. 

Fucking hell. He ran his hand over his face and then through his wild curls. Feeling like nothing he could say would help, he left you to eat in silence as he cleaned up the evidence he left behind in the kitchen. By the time he was done you were carrying your plate to the dish pit. Carmy silently took everything from your hands and washed them quickly before heading to the office to bump the thermostat back down so Sug wouldn’t have a fit. When he came out, you were bundled up in the appropriate clothes and you smiled at him. He felt his heart stutter at the sight, and he quickly looked away. 

His fingers ran through his mess of hair again. You didn’t know him well enough to know that it was a nervous habit. A blush spread on your face at the sight, though. Carmy looked back up at you and saw the blush, putting it on the fact that you were warm and bundled. The warmth was flushing your skin.

Carmy stuttered to get out the words, “Wh-where, um…w-where are you uh, where are you gonna be going tonight?”

“I gotta go home, Carmy. I’ll be fine. Promise.” The promise sounded weak on your lips. In all honesty, you weren’t sure. But your dad was your only family left. You couldn’t just leave him. Could you?

Meanwhile, Carmy thought of how he left your dad. The idea of you going back over there…it couldn’t go well. His heart started pounding more and more. His hand reached up to rub over his heart until the noise faded. He looked at you. The way you looked at him across the room with concern, like you weren’t the one who needed to be taken care of in this scenario. His breathing leveled out as his thoughts circled around the same solution, over and over, until he finally mentioned, “You could, um, you could stay with”- his eyes met yours, grounding him -“you could stay with me.”

Your emotions immediately began conflicting as his words registered, your teeth finding your thumb nail as you looked at him, “Carmy, I couldn’t.”

“No, you could. I- I promise. It wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Carmy, I’d be intruding.” 

Those blue eyes leveled with your gaze, and he said in an absolute, “Not to me.”

You pulled your bag over your shoulder and shook your head, “I can’t, Carmy. I gotta go home. My dad, he’s the only family I have left and…I know, he doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t. He- he couldn’t. I gotta get going. Thank you, for the meal, and for uh, warming me back up.” His eyes tracked you as you walked to the door, “So, do I still have a job to come to, tomorrow?”

Carmy’s head was spinning, thinking of ways to keep you from leaving, from going back home. He couldn’t think of a single damn one though. Except that he didn’t want to let you go. But that was too much to say. His eyes fluttered shut as he tried to chase away images of Claire. Everything was conflicting. He flexed his hand, the sting of his broken skin waking him back up to the present, “Yes, sunny, y-you still have a job tomorrow. But, be safe, yeah?”

“Of course, Carmy.” You opened the door and breathed in the cold air, hesitant to take a step until finally you looked over your shoulder at him, “See you at 3:30, chef.”

Carmy couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning and waking up soaked with sweat. All of his usual mental energy was devoted to you. Part of him wondered if he should go there to check on you. Instead, he texted. It was a brief comfort when you texted back.

I am good. Get some sleep. 

He’d managed to get a few hours of sleep before he showed up at The Bear the next morning. Sydney had told him again that they needed to go over a few things. Ever since he’d promised her that he’d be there for her as partners in this, he couldn’t afford to let her down. The first thing she’d asked though was the one thing he’d been wondering, “Hey! Sunny alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. She said she’d be here at, um, at 3:30.”

Sydney smiled before nodding, “Yeah? Good. Well, come on. Been figuring out ways that I think we can improve efficiency in the kitchen. I think you might like some of my ideas.”

Carmy was prepping food to try and give his mind focus after he and Syd were done. He needed 3:30 to get here, needed to see you. As he broke down the chicken, his mind circled back around to last night. A small smile appeared on his face as he remembered you saying what your favorite meal was. His thoughts were circling again.

He looked up at the clock. 3:24. The rest of the servers for dinner service flowed in, talking and laughing, headed to the lockers to get ready. But not you. 

His hands grew shaky, so he placed the knife down. Carmy washed his hands, scrubbing them clean, before drying them and looking back up at the clock. 3:27. 

He paced back and forth, his eyes constantly glancing up at the clock. His fingers ran through his hair, hand rubbing over his chest. Reaching for his back pocket, Carmy felt his pack of cigarettes and headed outside to smoke to take his mind off the time. One last glance before he walked out the door and he wished he hadn’t. 3:33. 

He squatted by the back door and lit a cigarette before pulling out his phone and texting you again. You still coming in for 3:30 Sunny? Cause I hate to say it. You’re late.

He took a drag of his cigarette as he waited to see a reply. Carmy burned through the entire thing. 3:48. He put out his butt in the snow and stood up. After a few seconds of worry coursed through him, Carmy opened up the door and called out for Sydney. She came from around the corner and he asked, “Do you think you can handle the first leg of service, chef?”

Sydney looked to make sure the rest of the kitchen staff was there before turning to him, “Yeah, absolutely. Think you can be back by around 8? That’s when it gets busy.”

“I’ll be back before 8:00.”

And that’s how he ended up here, once again. Steeling himself, Carmy banged on the front door and called out your name. There wasn’t an answer. Again he called out. And again, no answer. He was about to try calling you again when he heard your voice come from the other side of the door, “Carmy, please leave. I don’t want you here when he comes back. It’ll just make it ugly.”

He placed his palms on the door, leaning his weight against it, not knowing you were doing the same thing on the other side, though your head was hanging low in defeat and shame. Your fingers found their way to your mouth, nails already chewed until your fingers were bleeding. You thought of the way he looked at you last night. How he wanted you to go to his place, sleep there for the night. God, you’d been so stupid.

Carmy huffed and shook his head, “Yeah, I uh, I can’t do that, sunny. Not till I see you. You know? Something feels wrong. Not right. Please? Open up?”

You weighed your options, not that there were many, and took a deep breath before opening the door. You smiled despite your appearance in a feeble attempt to placate Carmy. The smile looked incredibly out of place though and when Camry’s blue eyes landed on you his breath caught before his hands took a delicate hold on your face, “Holy shit. Are- are you okay? That’s a stupid question.”

“Carmy I- I’m fine.” But you weren’t. And the way he was holding your face, so gentle and so kind, it had you about to break. You blinked furiously in an attempt to hold the tears at bay. You looked anywhere but at him. The look on his face was a mix of worry and anger, but not anger at you. You weren’t okay. You weren’t fine. None of this was right. 

Meanwhile, Carmy busied himself with running his fingertips softly along the bruise forming on your jaw, willing it to disappear even though he knew it didn’t work like that. Not to mention the split lip you had that was angry, purple, and swollen. Or the way the bridge of your nose fell way to two black eyes. He finally managed to clear his throat of any emotion before he softly spoke, “Go get a change of clothes. I’m getting you out of here. Now, sunny. Yeah?”

Eventually you nodded and Carmy’s caught breath released as he watched you disappear inside. He lit another cigarette as he kept looking over his shoulder for the asshole known as your dad to pull in and make a scene. But you were quick and soon you were back at the door, bundled into that coat with a bag over your shoulder. Instinctively, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as he led you to the car and you felt yourself relax beneath his touch. 

He opened the door for you and you clumsily climbed in, the car smelling of cigarette and him. 

You felt yourself breathe out, body shuddering slightly as Carmy climbed in the driver’s side and started the vehicle. Your eyes fell on the house you lived in all your life as he pulled away from the curb. In that moment, all you could think to say was a weak “thank you”. 

Carmy kept his eyes on the road. He wanted to get you to his place. Let you take a shower, get you settled in, order you some food and head back to work. That was when he thought of something. He pulled out his phone and dialed Sugar’s cell. She answered with a smile he could hear, “Hey, bear.”

“Hey, sug. Listen, I’ll be over there in just a bit but”- he spared a glance at you -“if someone comes around looking for sunny, just, um, t-tell him that she doesn’t work there anymore and that you haven’t seen her since last night when she walked out, yeah? And if he hangs around past that, call the cops, yeah? Everything’s fine, just, covering bases ya know?”

Even though he said that last part to Sugar, you knew those words were meant for you. You burrowed more into your coat and pulled your legs up to your chest. You hated that this was all because of you. It made you feel like such a bother. As Carmy hung up the phone, you spoke up, “Just bring me to a motel, Carmy. I can just…disappear.”

“No.” His eyes were still steady on the road. When you didn’t say anything, he realized he should elaborate, “It’s my fault, that you’re all marked up. Th-that he hurt you. I’ma take real good care of you, and then when you feel better I will take you wherever you wanna go.”

You worked your thumbnail with your teeth, and when you couldn’t get anything, you began picking at your cuticles. You huffed, before nodding softly to yourself, “I’m not used to, you know, people caring. It, um”- you laughed slightly -“feels good.” Your voice cracked and from his view, Carmy saw you wiping at your face. To try and give you a bit of privacy, he leaned over and turned up the radio, music playing and he readjusted to keep you in the corner of his eye, but not in easy view.

He pulled up and parked outside of an older apartment building. Looking over, he huffed when he realized you fell asleep. Your features were soft and he took a moment to examine the damage. He ran his fingers through his hair and flexed his hands into fists as he noticed the purple feathering around your neck and the same purple ringing around your right eye. And fuck, you looked so peaceful, he was scared to wake you up. Considering his options, he opted to get out of the car and walk around. 

As he reached across you to unbuckle your seatbelt, he caught the smell of you. Floral and warm, spices he couldn’t figure out. His eyes fluttered shut as he lost himself momentarily in it before scooping you up and holding you to his chest. 

You stirred for just a moment before settling against him and Carmy felt a piece of his heart stutter at the sight. When he got inside, he walked towards his bedroom and put you down on his bed before pulling the covers up and over you. Your eyes fluttered open and before you could protest, “Nah, go back to sleep. You need it, and you’ll be safe here.”

Even as you decided to settle under the blankets and adjust, you smiled weakly and nodded into the pillow as your eyes closed again. Carmy reached out for you and brushed your hair back before he could stop himself. You barely registered him saying, “Gonna go back to work. It’s a Friday, so it’ll be a late night. But there’s some food in the fridge.”

On his way out of the bedroom, Carmy stopped to look back at you. A shy smile crept on his face as you pulled blankets to your chest and snuggled them. He ran a hand through his hair before walking out and making sure to lock the door as he left the apartment. He looked at his phone. Sydney would be happy. He was gonna be back for 6:00. 

By the time you woke up, it was right after 10. You pushed back the covers and looked around, realizing after a moment your bag was at the foot of the bed. Carmy must have brought it in before he left. Opening the bag, you pulled out your phone and checked it. You had 14 missed calls, 9 voicemails, and 32 text messages you didn’t want to open. Instead your attention turned to your stomach letting out a loud sound of protest. You hadn’t eaten since last night when Carmy had cooked for you. 

“There’s some food in the fridge.”

His words came back to you, as did the way he brushed your hair from your face, a deep blush creeping onto your face. 

Shaking it off, you threw your phone down on the bed and headed towards the small kitchen to open the fridge and see what food there was. You spotted some ground meat, some vegetables, chicken, and a few other things. Including lamb. All needing to be cooked. It didn’t bother you though. 

Your eyes looked at the clock. 10:28. He’d be leaving in maybe an hour or so. You grabbed the lamb and began to work, raiding his spice cabinet as you went. 

Meanwhile, at The Bear, Carmy looked at the clock. 10:28. They were closing in two minutes. Dining room was still packed. He would be here for a while. He was itching to be home though. He’d called twice. You hadn’t answered. Maybe you were still asleep? 

His fingers gripped the stainless steel prep table as he called out, “Cousin?”

Richie appeared very fast, “Yeah, Carm?”

“I need you to go to the Bad Wolf Tavern and pick up a Wolf burger, yeah.” He thought about how you described their fries, “And an extra order of fries, okay?”

Richie nodded slowly before speaking up, “Is this for sunny? Is she at your place right now?”

Carmy swore under his breath. He’d managed to dodge questions about you all night. And then the rush came and it got dropped. Running his hand over mouth, he exhaled before looking at Richie, “Yeah, cousin. Some bad shit at her place with her dad. Got her out. Wanting to get her some food. Is that alright with you?”

Richie stared at him, scrutinizing. They were still a bit rocky after what happened with Claire and their fallout after. Carmy stared back with a tired expression before Richie nodded, “Yeah, yeah that’s fine. Helping her out was uh, it was a good call. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Hey”- Carmy called out as Richie turned to leave. Richie looked back at home and Carmy just - “keep this between us, yeah cousin? It’s not your life to talk about.”

“I wouldn’t do that to sunny, cousin. Now, I will be right back. Unless there’s something else?” Richie looked at Carmy with frustration. Carmy hated this feeling between the two of them. He rubbed at his chest. 

Richie turned to leave and Carmy snapped his head up, “I’m sorry, Richie.” Richie stopped and listened as Carmy struggled with the words, “I was…I was upset. And- and an ass. I said things I…I didn’t mean. And god”- Carmy’s laughter sounded strained as he thought of what to say -“I actually hate that you barely say three words to me in a night unless I drag it out of you.”

“Yeah”- Richie looked incredibly serious as he leveled his gaze with Carmy -“you are absolutely an ass, cousin.”

Richie let out a laugh as Carmy bit back a smile. 

Carmy chucked the rag on the table at Richie, “You were waiting for me to say that shit weren’t you, cousin?”

“Absofuckinglutely asshole.” The two of them shared a laugh before Richie slipped out the back and went to get your food for Carmy to bring home. 

By the time he got back, and the kitchen was clean and the building was empty save for Syd and Richie, Carmy glanced at the time. 11:42. It wasn’t so late. He picked up your to-go order and left, driving home and heading up the stairs. He got to his door and saw the glow of light from underneath. Carmy slipped his key in the lock when he heard a clatter of dishes against dishes. He turned the key and opened the door and stepping into his small space, he caught sight of you. 

Your hair was pulled back, the ponytail falling to your lower back. Carmy’s breath caught as he saw the signs of bruising on your exposed neck, another bruise on your arm where he grabbed yesterday. That was when he realized you were wearing a loose and faded black t-shirt. He couldn’t see the front to know that it was a led zeppelin shirt. Suddenly, as his eyes traveled, he couldn’t will himself to simply swallow his spit. You were wearing a pair of his pants. Grey flannel pants. You must have gotten cold and didn’t want to put the heater too high. Or at least, that’s what Carmy told himself. A soft smile appeared on his face though as he spotted the way his pants bunched up around your feet because of the height difference. 

That was when he realized how good it smelled. What were you making? He cleared his throat and wanted to immediately apologize when you nearly jumped out of your skin finally hearing him over the music. However, a laugh erupted and you turned down the music, “Sorry, I saw the radio and figured I’d listen while I worked on the food.”

Carmy couldn’t help but smile at you. It was soft, but the way he looked at you made your smile stay on your face, “I made you some food. Figured you’d do the usual of eating nothing before you leave and everything you had really had to be cooked. And I don’t mind. It’s uh...lamb barbacoa, something my mom used to make for special things. Made some tortillas. Did some peppers and uh”-

-”wait, um, you cooked lamb? And uh, made tortillas?” Carmy looked at you with confusion. Where the hell did you learn that? Your mom? Even though she'd been gone for so long. He felt that ache in his chest dissipate as the meaning of the gesture washed over him. He had made something of his mothers for you, and you were returning the gesture. Fuck.

His eyes lowered to those gray flannel pants. The way your hips softly flared out kept catching his attention. 

You were about to answer him when suddenly you realized he was looking at your clothes you were wearing. Shit. You shuffled, “Sorry, I uh, your apartment insulation is shit. And I got cold. The clothes I packed weren’t really enough.”

“No, it’s uh, it’s fine, sunny.” That was when he remembered he had food for you in hand as well. A huff and, “I didn’t know you’d be doing all of this. I got you a wolf burger with extra f”-

“Well fucking hell the barbacoa is all you.” You moved so fast towards him, it took him off guard when you slammed into him with a hug and your scent engulfed him. He felt a moment of quiet as you rubbed your hand on his back before pulling away and taking the bag from him. Even on your way to his small couch you had already managed to get fries out and shoved a handful into your mouth. You let out a groan of appreciation as you opened up your togo box immediately after sitting and saw the burger. 

Meanwhile, in his kitchen, Carmy eyed the barbacoa. It looked as good as it smelled. He took a small bite and muttered to himself, “Jesus fuck that’s fire.”

You were having more or less the same reaction after your first bite. 

Carmy sat next to you, your legs pressed together. On his plate were two tortillas loaded with barbacoa and peppers. He picked it up and took a bite. A groan escaped him. You smiled, “Is it good?”

You took another bite waiting for your answer and as Carmy swallowed his bite, he was quick to admit, “I’m starting to think I hired you for the wrong job, sunny. Sure you don’t want to work in the back?”

The two of you passed the time like that, speaking to each other in between bites until you were done. It was easy to talk to him. You were a bit surprised. He was always so intense in the kitchen. And Carmy? Carmy wasn’t the least bit surprised how easy you were to talk to. Of course you were. You were the same bright spot you normally were soon enough. It was like the shit with your dad didn’t happen. But he knew it did. Just like you did. And eventually, you stood to throw away your trash but Carmy stood and took it from you, “I got it, sunny. Relax.”

You nodded, before headed to his bedroom to finally face the thing you’d been dreading. You picked up your phone from his bed and unlocked it, the text messages flooding through. You didn’t bother going through the earlier ones. The last one let you know exactly where you stood with your dad. You scanned over the words continuously. You ungrateful fucking bitch. Think you can just leave? If you ever show up back at this house you’ll know just how much I can make your life a living hell. Won’t fucking see the light of day. Maybe join your fucking mother where you belong.

What you didn’t hear or see was Carmy coming to stand in front of you. That meant you couldn’t register the look of concern on his face as he studied you. Your shoulders tense, your breathing shallow, eyes wide and fixated, your teeth working on your thumbnail that was currently bleeding as you held the phone with your other hand.

Carmy wrapped his hand around your wrist and at his touch you relaxed, and he guided your thumb from your mouth. With his other hand he took your phone and left, walking into the kitchen with your trailing behind him. He looked over the text message that you were fixated on, committing the number to memory before dropping your phone into the half full sink. 

He looked over his shoulder at you, “Looks like you need a new one. T’me it looks like you could even look into a new number, yeah?”

You looked down at the ground to try and hide your sudden smile. God he wished you wouldn’t hide it from him. His blue eyes roamed over you and when you looked up at him, that smile still on your face, a sudden surge of happiness from making you smile pulled at the corners of his lips. 

In the midst of your comfortable silence with Carmy, a yawn escaped you and you sheepishly covered your face, peeking out at him from behind a crack in your fingers. Carmy laughed and, “Alright, let’s get you back into the bed huh? Don’t worry, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

He followed behind you for some inexplicable reason. Maybe a part of him liked the way you looked burrowed into his bed? Maybe he wanted to see you safely asleep? He wasn’t sure. But when you crawled into his bed and pulled the covers up over yourself, a pang shot through him at the memory of Claire doing the same. Still so recent. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. Then, with a small smile, he rubbed at his chest for a brief moment before reaching over you to grab his spare pillow.

As he did you smelled that distinct smell he had, the one that comforted you earlier. Without thinking, you whispered so faint he barely heard it, “Will you stay here? With…with me?”

Carmy could feel something inside of him breaking at how small you seemed, how scared. He found himself nodding slowly, “Yeah, yeah sunny. I’ma just, uh, take a shower and make sure it’s all locked up. Is that alright?”

You let out a yawn before nodding into the pillow and resettling. Carmy moved fast and your eyes were growing heavier by the time he walked back in, his curls damp and a smile formed on your face as you deliriously thought of how that would dry in his sleep. You felt the bed dip as he climbed over you. His weight against you, if only briefly, made you flush slightly. He lay there staring at the ceiling, occasionally glancing at you, until your voice drifted to him, “Good night, Carm…and thank you.”

“Night, sunny, see ya in the morning, yeah?”

Carmy continued staring at the ceiling until he heard the sound of your gentle, deep breathing. A few moments later everything in him froze as you rolled over and burrowed into his side, your arm falling across him. A breath shuddered from him and when he inhaled, it was all you, the warmth of the room amplifying that scent that already seemed so familiar and comfortable to him. His arm wrapped around you and pulled you closer. His hand played with your hair splayed out. His breathing slowed to match yours until finally, he also drifted into sleep. 

And for the first time in a long time, not even occurring with Claire, his dreams weren’t haunted with visions of his past, nor anxiety about his future. And everything? Everything was tinged with the scent of delicate florals and warm spices.

Everything, as he slept, was slowly taken over by you.

[atinylittlepain]

Oh Baby - A Carmy Berzatto Story

dad!carmen berzatto x f!reader

carmy masterlist

a small family, a new family, trying to figure this thing out.

warnings | 18+ angst surrounding being new parents, work stress, but enough fluff to make up for it, i promise

a/n | this sweet little piece comes from a lovely request sent to me over DM, thank you so much for sending this my way, i hope i've done it justice. Also have to thank the cousins @tieronecrush and @northernbluess for reading this bad boy and letting me scream about the bear, love ya both

........................

He’s running late. It started with a question from Sydney about one of the new menu items, and then it was Sugar needing to show him a quote for some inspection they still need to get done. And then there was something with one of the new chefs, though he can’t really remember what it was right now as his brain fries with how late he is. 

He told her he’d be home by midnight at the latest, finish dinner service and get his ass home immediately. He had even made a joke about getting home just in time to give their girl her seemingly routine middle of the night bottle. But it’s now two in the morning and he’s only just getting on the L to get back to their apartment. 

It’s not like he has a hard time with the late nights. In fact, he always thrived on this chaotic rhythm. But he knows it’s not doing her or their girl any good. Getting home and crashing in bed, useless until ten in the morning, no help with breakfast or getting their girl dressed and ready for the day, shuffling into the living room to find her already working at her desk, her foot keeping a steady rock to the bassinet right next to it. A few days ago, the fleeting thought that she looked like a single mother, and then an immediate clench and clash of pain sliding through his chest. It’s the same feeling he has right now on the train, building and beating until he has to put his palm right over the hurt, like he might be able to press it out with the heel of his hand. 

He could slow down, everyone at the restaurant has offered that up to him. Shorter shifts, only there when he’s really needed, whole days off. So he doesn’t know why he can’t just accept that, why he’s still holding onto the restaurant with white knuckles. And right now, he’s too tired to give it much thought beyond how badly he wants things to be different. No more disappointed sighs, no more ships in the night, no more making promises only to break them. 

He’s only a little surprised when he walks into their apartment that the light in the kitchen is on, her light murmurings filtering through, enough to make that hurt even worse. He finds them standing in front of the microwave, waiting for a bottle to be warmed up, and for a moment, what a sight it is. She’s wearing an old The Beef t-shirt, legs bare and set in a slow shuffle side-to-side, her cheek pressed over the top of their girl’s head where she’s held in her arms, eyes dropped shut. A small smile that slides away when her eyes crack open to see him standing in the doorway. 

“You’re home.” It’s barely rasped on a whisper, a small frown pulling down each word. He considers for a moment that he’d really like for the ground to swallow him up right about now. 

“I’m sorry, baby, I–” His words crack when their girl starts to fuss, small coos and whimpers, tiny fists balled and pressing against her mom’s chest to arch her back away from her hold. And there it is, that sigh, that small collapse of her shoulders as she gets the bottle out of the microwave, no longer looking at him, brushing right past him to go sit down in the living room. He follows on her heels with all the timidity of a scolded dog. 

“I can do it, if you wanna go lay back down. It’s– I’d like–” 

“I can do it, Carmen.” Still not looking at him, her eyes focused on their girl, finger skating down the rounding of her cheek as she latches onto the bottle. He knows it’s one of the ways she tries to even the score with him, a petty thing to not let him partake in or watch this small wonder. When she was first born, and she was still breast-feeding, and he was still on a Sugar-mandated paternity leave, he’d hover endlessly. Just over her shoulder, watching the way their girl's hand splayed over her sternum like a perfect flower as she latched on, whispering in awe at her contented sighs and eager gulps. Always dropping a kiss to her temple, small words of love and gratitude, her chin tilting up, basking in them, warmth in the way she would look up at him. 

But now, now she’s looking at him with all of the kindness of a prison inmate, eyes blank and jaw set as she cups the back of their girl’s head, smoothing out the mass of curls already growing, just like his. For a moment, only fleeting, anger starts to rise like bile up the back of his throat. Anger that he’s here now, wanting so badly to be here now, and she’s the one boxing him out. But that anger is gone in a blink because he can see the way her eyes are starting to swim, red-rimmed and heavy down her cheeks. And he can see the way her lip is starting to tremble too, even as she coos and hums to their girl when she starts to fuss with the bottle. He can’t be angry when she’s hurting like that, when he’s the one who has made her hurt like that. 

He kneels down in front of where she’s sitting on the couch, a small relief that she doesn't flinch away when his palms come to rest on her knees. He can tell that she’s trying not to break, little sniffs to hold back the flood as their girl continues to suckle. 

“I don’t want it to be like this.” 

“Neither do I, Carm.” Said on a sigh, like, sure, nice words, not expecting anything to come of them though. 

“Tell me what I can do to make this different.” 

“I’m dumbfounded by the fact that you’re asking me to tell you what to do. Do you really not know?” Quick and clipped, still whispered so that it doesn’t disturb their girl as she finishes her bottle. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to arrange the right words to respond.

“You’re right.” The best that he can come up with at two in the morning, though at least it’s the truth. She just sighs though, shaking his hands off her knees so that she can stand up. And this hurts too, how easily she can do this by herself, or at least how easy she makes it look, transferring their girl to one arm as she pads back into the kitchen. A little more space between them as he follows behind her, watching how she holds the bottle against her hip to get the top screwed off, rocking and shushing their girl all the while as she soaps up the bottle. 

“Baby, let me do that. I can, here, just let me–”

“Goddamnit, Carm.” Still whispered, but still sharp, enough for their girl to let out a whine at her sudden exclamation, though she’s quick to soothe and calm against her shoulder. 

“Do you want to know why I don’t let you help? It’s because I’m trying to get used to doing this on my own.” 

“What?” It feels like the floor has dropped out from under him, a skittering, sickening feeling running up and down his spine. He wants more than anything to reach for her, for both of them, to thumb away the tears that are starting to fall even as she tries to steel her jaw. All he can do to ball his hands into fists over and over.

“You’re not here, Carmen. And when you are, it’s like– it’s like I’m living with a stranger. You told me before we had her that you would be here, that things at the restaurant were going to change. And I’m getting tired of waiting for that to happen.” 

“What are you saying right now?” She scrunches her eyes shut for a moment, pure frustration, and complete exhaustion, all the while still rocking their girl. 

“I’m saying that if this is how it’s going to be, I don’t know if I can keep doing this with you. My sister–”

“No.”

“Carm–”

“No. That isn’t– that’s not– you can’t just take her from me like that. We– we said we would do this together.”

“We already aren’t doing this together, Carm. And I’m just– I’m tired.” There isn’t any more to say, not now. She doesn’t look at him again, brushing past him through the doorway of the kitchen to get to the nursery down the hall. He doesn’t try to follow, numbly shuffling back to the couch, a full body slump, tilting his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose when the tears start to prickle. He listens to all the small sounds, stealing snippets of her humming, the quiet padding of her bare feet into their bedroom, the rustling of sheets. And then perfect silence, except for the broken exhales he keeps trying to stifle. 

…

Sleep happens, somehow. Curled onto his side on the couch, but not for long, the watery blue glint of dawn slanting in through the blinds when he’s woken up to the sound of their girl’s quiet babblings. The nursery is closer to the living room, so he’s almost certain she hasn’t been woken up by the sound yet. But he also knows that those soft coos will soon turn into full-blown wails, so he gets up, biting back a groan as his spine shifts and crackles upright before stumbling into the nursery.

Everyone seems to call their girl something different. She calls her bean, or sometimes pearl, any iteration of small, precious things, usually with a my in front of the word. Richie calls her cub, or cubby, a fitting choice given her father’s nickname. Sugar calls her curl because of that head of hair she’s already grown into. Sydney calls her miso baby, though it all comes out as one word like misobaby, on account of the cravings for broth and noodles her mother incurred while she was pregnant with her, something that Sydney was always happy to accommodate whenever she stopped by the restaurant. Carmy’s is less creative, he thinks, the first word he remembers coming to mind when he first held her in his arms, somewhere between wonder and utterly sweet devastation at the sight. 

“Hey, little, what’s going on in here?” It always shocks him, how light his whole world is when he picks her up in his arms, and how easily her cheek settles against his chest, his palm smoothing the small shake of her cries between the fragile wings of her shoulder blades. He remembers being terrified the first time he held her, that he’d somehow manage to ruin this most perfect thing. Laying in her hospital bed, watching, she reassured him that he wouldn’t, that he couldn’t, that perfect came from him just as much as it came from her. 

“It’s breakfast time, isn’t it? We’re gonna let your mom sleep in, okay? I’ve got it.” He drops his lips to the crown of her head, taking a long breath in as he shuffles out to the kitchen. And he does have it under control, after all, he knows how to follow a recipe. 

He keeps her close in one arm, only fumbling a little with the one-handed bottle into the microwave production, but he manages. And then onto the couch and honestly, he thinks it’s a little holy, it certainly feels that way. Watching her eyes slip shut in contentment as she drinks from the bottle, her tiny gasp and sigh when she’s all done. How could anything ever be as good as this? He doesn’t think it’s possible.

“Think we oughta make breakfast for your mom, huh? You wanna help?” She gurgles over his shoulder as he finishes burping her. He’ll take that as a yes. He maneuvers her high chair into the doorway of the kitchen with about as much grace as his one-handed abilities will allow him, trying hard to stay silent, peering down the hall to make sure she hasn’t woken up yet. Coast clear, he settles their girl into the high chair and gets to work. 

There’s a slightly old half of a loaf of brioche on the counter, something he brought home a few days ago, one of Marcus’ new projects. Eggs and milk in the fridge, so his plan is already forming. 

“You know, when I first met your mom– you’re a little too young for the details, but– the morning after, I made her french toast. I think it got me a second date.” He whisks up the eggs and milk quick, a pinch of cinnamon like he knows how she likes it. 

“I think for a while she was just coming back for the french toast. But I didn’t care, I was just happy that she kept coming back.” Butter melting deep and golden in the pan, and then the silent sizzle and snap of the battered slices of bread frying up perfect. He glances over to their girl in between checking on the bread in the pan.

“You weren’t done, were you, little? I’m sorry, I got you.” A little spit-up down the front of her onesie. He stretches between the stove and her high chair to dab it up with a clean dish towel, not even trying to resist the want to press a kiss to her forehead, earning him an exasperated gurgle from her.

“Already too cool for me, huh?” She smiles, showing off the two new teeth that have only started to come in. He doesn’t think he’s ready for any more teeth to start coming in yet.

He’s just plating up the first few slices when his ears prick to the sound of stirring, what sounds like a stretch groaning in her chest from down the hall. Bare feet padding, stopping at the nursery, he’s sure, and then coming closer, his heart starting to kick up in anticipation. 

“Good morning, my bean.” He can hear the kiss she drops to their girl’s cheek, and he chances a glance over to see her bending over the back of the high chair to nuzzle her face into their girl’s, contented giggles bubbling up in her small chest at her mother’s ministrations. His heart stutters stop for a moment before the gears start to turn again in a much better rhythm. But too long of a glance because–

“Oh shit.” The smell of singe, one of the slices burnt up and unsalvageable. He’s quick to scrape it out of the pan. Still plenty to make this right, okay, not perfect though. He was going for perfect.

“What’s all this?” She’s being quiet, not looking at him as she gathers their girl out of the high chair and into her arms, a small sway side to side. 

“I, um, breakfast– you hungry?” 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. Go sit, I’ll get it.” 

“Did she–”

“Yeah, I fed her.” She’s finally looking at him, bewilderment rounding and widening her eyes, though she quietly nods and shuffles through the kitchen. A soft graze past him and toward the small dining table they have set up in front of the windows, now letting in the first honeyed light of the morning. 

Two slices, steam still rising and melting down a sliver of butter. Syrup on the side because she doesn’t like it to get soggy. And a plate for himself too because he knows she’ll tell him to eat, even as mad at him as she is now. 

She keeps their girl in her lap, her arm curled around the soft round of her belly to hold her upright, and he can’t help but smile, sitting down across from them. A small sigh with her first bite and it feels like the greatest relief, something slackening beneath his ribs. 

“I didn’t play fair last night. I’m sorry, Carm.” Always beating him to the punch, he hates that she’s apologizing.

“No, you were right. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m gonna make some changes, okay?” She sighs, her lashes dropped to the tops of her cheeks, not buying it. And he doesn’t blame her, he’s talked about changes in the past. Though the changes have yet to happen. 

“Baby, I’m serious. I’m gonna talk to Sugar today and get this figured out. Not gonna keep messing this up.” 

“You aren’t messing up, Carmen. I know how important that restaurant is to you. And maybe it’s selfish, but I just want you here more, with us. You’re missing so much, and I don’t want that for you.” Their girl chooses that moment to start to squirm in her hold, pressing the dough of her palms into the edge of the table to stand up in her mother’s lap, turning around and wrapping her small arms around her mother’s neck, making a smile get big and bright on her face as she smacks a string of kisses on her cheek, a quiet thank you, my bean. Missing things like this, he thinks. His heart aches with it. 

“Nothing is more important than this. I think when she came– I was just like– holy shit, you know?” Her smile tempers, settling on him as she continues to accommodate the squirms and shuffling of their girl in her lap. 

“Yeah, I’m familiar with that feeling.” 

“This isn’t an excuse, I know it isn’t. But, I don’t know, I think I believed that if I could just work harder, make sure the restaurant was good and money was coming in that– that it’d somehow make me feel less terrified.”

“Terrified?” 

“Of getting this all wrong. I just– Jesus Christ, I want everything for her.” There’s more he’d like to say, but he cuts himself off with a resigned laugh, holding his head in his hand as he watches their girl twist around in her mother’s arms again, looking at him now like somehow she knows he’s talking about her. And then a small hand reaching out across the table. Small hand reaching for him.

She gets up with a sigh, rounding the edge of the table, an easy pass-off, their girl’s hands grasping at his t-shirt, the same one he came home in last night. He holds her close, taking another deep inhale of the crown of her head before looking up at her mom. Her mom, his woman, his partner, who carefully runs her fingers back through his mussed hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. 

“There are so many people also working to make sure that restaurant is good, Carm, and it is. But I– we need you here, we just do.” Her palm slips down along his cheek, and he turns his head to press a kiss to the center of it. A much smaller hand tugs at his curls to get his attention, making him laugh as he drops a kiss to their girl’s temple. 

“You’re right. This is where I need to be. I don’t want you having to do this on your own anymore.” He gets up with a sigh, hiking their girl onto his hip, reaching out for her with his other arm, his fingers curling behind the nape of her neck, a small coaxing that she allows, pressing her forehead against his.

“We’re gonna do this together, alright? I’m here, and I’m gonna figure out how to keep being here.” An answer in the way her nose brushes along the side of his, an okay. And the realization that he can’t remember the last time they were this close is enough to bridge what space is left between them, more of a sigh than a kiss, but he’ll take it. Quick to be interrupted by quiet fussing and a small fist pressing against his cheek, both of them pulling away with a laugh to look at their seemingly perturbed girl. 

“I think we’ve made a small monster.” She says it absolutely dripping in affection, her hand coming to brush their girl’s sleep-tufted hair back from her face. 

“Maybe, yeah. She’s still fucking perfect though.” He snakes his arm around her waist, pulling her close so their girl is half-sandwiched between them, eyes wide as she babbles up at them both.

“We have to stop saying fuck around her, Carm. It’s gonna end up being her first word.” 

“She’ll fit right in at the restaurant that way.” 

A small family, a new family, figuring it out in their sun-soaked kitchen. Tired eyes and bare feet and quiet laughs. And there’s going to be more messing up, he already knows that. Both him and her. Passing sorry back and forth, willing and receiving. But this is enough to make it right, to keep going. This can be perfect. 

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

To Market

Part Eleven of If You Can’t Take the Heat

Chopped | Masterlist |

Pairing: Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto x Reader

Rating: M (though it may have explicit chapters in the future)

Notes: It's been 100 years and I apologize

Summary: There hasn't been much PDA between the two of you—at least, not when there are so many other people around. Back alleys by the shop, sure. Outside his place at closing, in the middle of a dark street, yeah. But in broad daylight, with a hundred other people? 

“We’re gonna be late!” 

“There’s no late,” You insist, shifting your weight from foot to foot as you look at your outfit in the mirror. 

“There is a late. There’s on time, and then there’s whatever the hell we’re gonna be.” 

“You’re so dramatic.” 

The comment is chased by the insistent thumping of Carmy’s footsteps, and his groan of, “I am not being dramatic, I’m—” 

He stops in your bedroom doorway, giving your body a long, curious sweep as he braces his hands on the door frame. 

“What are you doing?” He presses. 

“Getting in my farmer's market mood,” You insist, turning back and forth and looking at yourself again. “Cute, right?” 

“Adorable. Come on.” 

“Oh, you so did not mean that.” 

“I meant it.” 

“Did you?” 

“I meant it!” 

“You sure?” 

“Honey,” Carmy groans, his eyes squeezing shut. You snort, walking over to him and cupping his cheeks. 

“I’m just razzin’ you, baby,” You chuckle, pecking his lips. “I just gotta get my shoes on.” 

“Okay.” 

“And maybe pee.” 

“...Okay.” 

“And put some coffee in my to-go mug.” 

"I can do that while you put your shoes on."

"And change over the contents of my purse."

“You’re killing me. You’re trying to kill me.” 

--  

“Oh, my god,” You gasp as Carmy puts the car in park. 

“What?” 

“The farmer’s market!" You point through the window. "It’s still fucking here!” 

“Alright, alright.” 

“I thought it would evaporate when the clock struck noon!” 

“Get out of my car.” 

“You’re such a sweetheart today." You push yourself out of the car and watching Carmy follow suit.

“You have an attack plan?” You ask, looking around. “This place is fucking massive.” 

“Yeah,” He nods, rounding the car to join you. “We’re hitting Vin’s produce stand first, then Chicago Spirited, that’s a, uh—That’s a distillery, I worked with the vendor when I was back in New York, sourced outta here.” 

“Okay,” You nod, taking hold of his hand as the two of you drift toward the market entrance. “What else?” 

When Carmy doesn't answer, you turn your head, catching sight of his gaze. He looks a little stunned, a little blank; his eyes are bright, but unfocused. 

“Carmy?” You press, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. He seems to snap out of it just a bit, clearing his throat and glancing down toward your joined hands. Your stomach churns. There hasn't been much PDA between the two of you—at least, not when there are so many other people around. Back alleys by the shop, sure. Outside his place at closing, in the middle of a dark street, yeah. But in broad daylight, with a hundred other people? 

Your palm begins to sweat with nerves, and you start to draw your hand away, but Carmy’s grip tightens on yours. His gaze is set stalwartly forward as his grip shifts slightly, fingers intertwining with yours. He clears his throat, and you watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. 

“There’s a stand I wanna hit up after that, this, uh—This local beekeeper. Their spiced honey’s supposed to be fire, so,” He shrugs a shoulder. “Thought I’d get a couple of samples, try it out.” 

You nod, trying to fight back your widening smile as Carmy keeps you close. 

“Are you making a marinade? Honey oat bread?” 

“Honey oat bread, you think I’m runnin’ a fuckin’ Subway?” 

“Jeez,” You scoff. “Ask a stupid question.” 

“Think your mind is still racing from fuckin’ Chopped. C’mon. If we keep lagging, Vin’s gonna be out of radicchio.” 

“God forbid.” 

--  

“Was there anything you wanted to check out?” 

He asks it with a slight panic as his gaze sweeps your tote-bag laden arms. You snort, shuffling one of the bags onto your shoulder and adjusting the other in your hand.  You’ve been going through the farmer's market for nearly an hour and a half, listening to Carmy speak to suppliers, watching him bargain and haggle, eating the odd sample that he’d passed over to you. 

“No,” You shake your head, “Not particularly. Still curious about the honey tho.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, me, too. It’s back this way,” Carmy nods over his shoulder, adjusting his own bags to one hand. 

“Okay.” 

“You got those bags—?” 

“Mhm.” 

“I can take one.” 

“I’m good.”

Carmy nods, mutters, “Alright.” This time, he’s the one to reach out. He takes hold of your hand, intertwining your fingers again. It’s a little gesture, but it feels a mile off from where you’d been when you got out of the car. You lean in, pecking his cheek before facing forward again. 

“I like doing this stuff with you, you know,” You comment. 

“What, running my shit errand list?” 

“Yes. Besides, this isn’t shit. It’s nice out here,” You look around, “Good space, chill crowd, tasty food…You.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Carmy mutters, and you giggle as you see a surging of pink in his cheeks. 

“I mean it,” You insist. 

“I know.” 

“Do you. Do you really.” 

“Yes.” 

“Proooooomise?”

“You drive me nuts.” 

“I know.” 

“I dig it.” 

“I know that, too.” 

“Hey.” 

“Mm?”

Carmy uses his grip on your hand, tugging you to a stop. You turn to face him, arching your brows. Your confusion melts as he grasps your jaw, tipping your chin toward him. You hum softly, leaning into him and raising a hand to hook in his collar as he kisses you. You let the pull of his breath and the hum of the people around you fill your ears as he presses a little closer. 

“Carmy?” 

You feel him go rigid, hear the smack of his lips as he whirls away from you, toward the sound of his name. Your eyes blink opened, following his gaze toward a blonde women approaching, a dark-haired man hurrying to catch up with her.

“...Sugar, hi,” Carmy greets. 

“Hey there,” She pushes her sunglasses up from the bridge of her nose to rest on her head. “I didn’t know you came here.” 

“Sometimes, yeah. Hey, Pete.” 

“Hey.” The dark haired man raises his hand, waving at both of you. You raise your own hand, wiggling your fingers in greeting. Silence falls between the four of you, and Sugar’s brows raise as her gaze darts between you, Carmy, and your joined hands. Then she raises her hand, finger waving between the two of you. 

“Are you going to…? Okay,” She cuts in before Carmy can answer. 

“This is Sugar—” Carmy’s voice cuts over her hand pushing out toward you, her explanation of, “I’m Natalie—” 

“And that’s Pete—” 

“And this is my husband, Pete.” 

“Hi there,” You greet, raising your hand and shaking her hand, then Pete’s as you introduce yourself, smiling before raising your hand to shift a bag to keep it from falling from your shoulder. It falls quiet again, and your stomach twists nervously. 

“Well we can’t stick around, we have plans,” Sugar warns, “But it was nice to meet you. Carmy, try answering my calls some time?” 

“Yeah,” Carmy mutters, “I’ve been meaning to, but I’ve been—” 

“Busy, yeah,” Natalie nods, gaze sweeping toward you, “I can see that. Nice to meet you, by the way,” She adds. 

“Sure, you, too.” 

“Bye, Carmy!” 

“See you, Pete.” 

You watch the two of them turn and go, brows raising as Natalie glances over her shoulder at you. 

“What, uh…” You shake your head, “What was that?” 

"That,” Carmy turns the two of you around, “Was my sister."

Tag list: @bobawithpomegranate ; @brandyllyn ;  @artemiseamoon  ; @amneris21 ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @backoff-imreading ; @quietpainter ; @milf-trinity ; @distinguishedfilipina ; @peoniarose ; @missredherring ; @estrela-rogers ; @silkiers ; @sammiekay01 ; @velmalav ; @themartiansdaughter ; @eddiemunson4ever  ; @whoahoney​ ; @wittyno ; @winchestershiresauce ; @artaxerxesthegreat ; @blueeyesatnight

[thegreatestsandwich]

We should love, not to fall in love (Carmy Berzatto x f!reader)

Masterlist

Pairing: Carmy Berzatto x f!reader

Word count: 

Summary: Midnight snacks, Midnight talks

Warning: Fluff

A/N: I don’t know, he just gives me such a vibe that he wants a hug

Coments, Reblogs and Asks are happily received! I love to read your lovely coments :)

You woke up at the sound of movement from your kitchen, your hand quickly went to the other side only to find it empty. It was still warm so you knew what was happening, it was one of those nights.

You sat down, the sheets falling to your lap as your hand tried to shake away the sleep from your face as you grabbed your phone to watch the hour. 2:45 am. You sighed and stand up, grabbing a shirt from the floor and putting it on, it was his shirt from early today, you could still distinguish the smell of garlic and onion. You couldn’t help but smile.

Ah, there he was.

Camry was sitting with his hands on his face, you could see how tense his shoulders were so you just knew it was another nightmare. He’s been having them more frequently now.  

You walked towards him, you didn’t speak, your hand touched his back and you felt him sigh, dropping his head with a low sound. “Are you alright, baby?” You whispered. Carmy turn his head slightly to your side but not fully, the soft lighting from the outside lights illuminated him softly.

“I’m alright.” He whispered to you, like if you were in a room full of people and he wanted only you to hear him.

You let your arms surrounded him from behind, hugging his neck as you rested on his back, his hands quickly grabbed yours, leading them to his mouth where he kissed them. “I’m alright.” He repeated.

You knew he was never one for many words outside from his job, you remembered the first time you saw him in his element, he moved like water, giving orders and receiving good results. It wasn’t always like that, you knew, but he always had a strong, direct, powerful and unwavering voice than anyone but you would understand. But in here, in here was different, he was more soft, often leaving you do the talking, his voice in here was something you didn’t need to hear to understand. He showed his feelings through his actions, through the way his body moved.

Camry pressed another kiss against your hands, a soft display of his affection and you couldn’t help but smile against his back. “I love you, you know?” You spoke softly from behind but he heard it as clear as water.

In a swift movement, Carmy maneuvered you from behind to sit you on his lap, his hands wrapped gently around you, resting his forehead on your shoulder, your hand quickly grabbed his hair, softly brushing it with your fingers. He gently placed a kiss on your shoulder. “I love you too.”

[mrscarmenbearzatto]

Just thinking about that scene where Carmy’s telling Syd about how he was talking to Claire and decided to make his own cannoli…

And just like. Imagine reader is like a chef at the bear or something, and Carmy’s crushing on her, and she mentions her fav meal or dessert once.. he shows up like the next day telling syd he had this great idea for a new thing on the menu and it just happens to be that exact meal… and Syd is just like giving him knowing looks… 😂

(Also like imagine a matchmaking Syd like conveniently making sure reader and carmy get put in situations by themselves and stuff… like 😭🥰)

-🐻

oh my gosh stop IMAGINE:

you, marcus and carmy are in charge of the bear's dessert menu. carmy is basically just standing in the background watching you (and marcus but mostly you) stare at marcus' sketches. "shut up, *insert your favorite dessert*?! marcus you know i love that and you would kill at it, i'm voting for this one." (for some reason you said cannoli and im picturing a chocolate chip cannoli and oh my god i need to write a fic about this)

and then suddenly the next day carmen and sydney are staring at sketches of said dessert! and she's like "whats with the sudden interest in this?" and he's just like "i think a lot of people would love it" AND SHE GIVES HIM A LOOK. just the look that says im onto you

from then on, sydney may or may not throw you and carmen into rooms by yourselves together or giving you two the closing shifts together.

and she's not shocked when you and carmen announce you're dating a few weeks later.

[writerpey]

Regressor Carmy Berzatto

I haven’t seen ANY agere content for the bear! and you know what they say… if you want a thing done, do it yourself. so… here’s an incredibly long post all about carmy as a regressor! side note: this is probably my favourite agere piece I’ve ever written. I just love the show so so much and understand carmy’s character very deeply (TW for bereavement, anxiety, typical carmy things etc etc)

Carm regresses for blatantly obvious reasons. His tumultuous family structure both before and after Mikey’s death, his time spent in New York under a verbally abusive head chef, and his overall inability to cope with it all. There’s a deep longing in him to go back to a time before he knew something was terribly wrong with both his family and himself.

He started regressing for the first time when he moved away from home to New York. Carm started paying more attention to the haze that would cover his eyes and grip his heart tightly when he felt so anxious it’d make him sick, his confusion from the familiar sensation of panic fading interchangeably into an odd feeling of comfort that he simply didn’t have the strength to hold off. As he spent more time working in NY, the feeling grew and grew, until one night he found himself coming out of his haze and realizing (as if a lightbulb appeared above his head) that feeling like a kid again, feeling small, helped the hurt in his heart go away, if even for a moment.

Carm started regressing in small ways. He’d make a comfort meal that reminded him of good times spent with his mom, or he would have the TV playing cartoons in the background as he perfected a veal consommé. He lied to himself about it in the beginning, convincing himself he needed the noise of the television to replicate what being in the kitchen was like, or that he wanted to see if he could perfect his mother’s recipes.

He didn’t truly understand how deep his regression went until Mikey passed. The child inside him cried out for his big brother, in desperate heaving sobs that left Carmy in a ball on his living room floor and his fingers in his mouth. Carm spent many nights battling horrid panic attacks by curling up on the cold floor in this manner.

And so while The Beef was sinking and Carmy was in charge of it all, he stayed afloat amongst his nightmares and reality which was the nightmare by regressing.

Carmy is a sweet, quiet and stuttering little. Always a shy boy, from his childhood onwards, he’s the least likely person to tell anyone about his regression, let alone his anxiety and trauma. So he spends most of his time regressing alone. Carm loves to draw and colour and make art when he’s regressed, usually sketching his favourite cartoon characters or funky dish ideas that come to mind even when he’s small. Most of his works of art end up crumpled and thrown in the trash because of his self-conscious nature, but occasionally he’ll be very happy with his work and he’ll put it away at the bottom of a drawer somewhere to look at when he’s little again.

He’s also keen on cooking when he’s little, but doesn’t do a very good job at it. His patience is even shorter than when he’s big, and his attempts at cookies have ended up in frustrated tears and an empty stomach. Carm has a tough time getting enough to eat when he’s regressed, and so he ended up freezing portion-sized meals that are simple for him to warm up when he’s feeling small.

Because Carmy is naturally shy, he has a difficult time accepting some of his traits and desires when he’s regressed. He doesn’t have anything child-like aside from a plush puppy that he keeps stuffed away in his dresser under a thousand white t-shirts, and it only comes out on nights when he’s feeling significantly smaller than usual. Its ears have been chewed at and its stuffing is lumpy, but Carm would rather set fire to his restaurant than walk into the children’s aisle of a store and buy another plushie.

Carmy is an emotional little. When he’s happy or excited his eyes practically twinkle and sparkle, and when he’s upset or embarrassed he turns red from his ears to his neck and his eyes prickle with hot tears. A tell-tale sign that he’s about to cry is when his bottom lip trembles or he runs to hide somewhere. Being in a small, dark space makes Carm feel safer to cry.

Nat and Richie are the only two people who truly know about Carm’s regression. He told Nat, in a longwinded roundabout way that made half the sense he wanted it to, but Richie found out by coming over uninvited and interacting with a Carmy who was half regressed and half trying to act like his usual self. A screaming match about Richie being an everyday asshole and Carmy being a stubborn asshole ended with embarrassed tears running down Carmy’s face and a rather shocked Richie. Richie drew Carmy into his arms and apologized while Carmy failed in shoving him off and instead quietly accepted the comfort.

Carm’s regressed at work before, a prospect drawn on by a panic attack outside during his break from being overstimulated in the kitchen, alongside the impending feeling of doom that came with the thought that he wasn’t good enough to be at the helm of anything, let alone Mikey’s lost dream.

Upon coming back to the kitchen, he completely shut down, frozen in place with his eyes focused on nothing, his mind somewhere else. Richie’s concerned utterances of ‘cousin’ and the feeling of his hands patting his face and shaking his shoulders brought him back to the surface, his eyes wide and terrified when he looked up at Richie. One glance around the kitchen to see Syd staring at him with a mixture of pity and concern made a garbled, strange sort of whine leave his throat, and Richie immediately led him back outside. The older man knew what was going on when Carmy declined a smoke with a jerky shake of his head, and called Nat to take him home.

Nat doted on Carmy like a mother when she got him settled into his apartment, the younger completely silent and meek as she bustled around his bedroom, fluffing pillows and bringing him hot tea that he accidentally sloshed all over his sheets. She uncovered his plush puppy from under one of his pillows and he had smacked it out of her hand while holding the tea. He practically cowered when she stared him down angrily, and reluctantly accepted the puppy when she picked it up and pushed it into his arms with a resounding, “that wasn’t very nice, Carm.” It’s safe to say Carmy didn’t call her for over a week afterwards, ashamed to have let her see him in that state. Telling her about his regression by no means meant that he would ever feel ready for her to really see it. His puppy was back to being jammed in his dresser in no time. But Nat was more than happy to be able to take care of her brother, content with seeing him deal with his feelings in a way better than fading after a panic attack and cussing out his employees and chain smoking. It did break her heart a little to see him so much like the baby brother she once knew, but it wasn’t as if it was unfamiliar territory to take care of him.

Carmy’s regression took on another layer when he decided to close The Beef and start fresh. Syd seemed to make sure of it, at least. She had no idea he regressed, and the thought of her finding out squeezed Carm’s insides with a vice grip. But her kindness and willingness to forgive him when he slipped up helped him to focus— both on the restaurant and the thought that maybe he could be kinder to himself when he felt small. Syd made him feel small sometimes, and not in a way that was an escape from his own issues, but rather a warm, safe place to come to when he felt comfortable, alive, and strangely contented. Her reaction to his food art did that, for one.

Her praise of his drawings made him less critical of his own when he was regressed at home, and the mere thought of her being impressed put the softest of smiles on Carmy’s face after he drew the latest dish she had been working on. He smacked it on his fridge with a magnet and didn’t take it down even when he was no longer feeling small.

Even just the domesticity of having Syd over to test new dishes and techniques made him more comfortable and willing to embrace his inherent small-ness. He liked being around her outside of the restaurant, her company giving him a sense of family without the sting of Mikey’s memory. Carmy found himself thinking about her more often when regressed, daydreaming about how she would treat him and quietly asking his puppy what it thought of Syd.

With newfound confidence from Syd’s steadying presence in his life, Carmy was willing to throw crayons into his basket while doing a grocery run. On top of the crayons came a head of lettuce, and then beside it his favourite childhood snack. He allowed himself a little more happiness, a little more to make him smile instead of climbing into his closet with his hands over his ears.

Things were far from perfect, but Carmy knew that if any part of his long broken heart wanted to heal, he had to be willing to let his regression — and his loved ones — be a part of that process.

<3

[laiiaaa]

MY LOVE, MINE ALL MINE — CARMEN BERZATTO 1. BUTTERSCOTCH — you finally say hello to a familiar face in the city after a little girl bumps into you. (2.7k) masterlist | next | taglist

Carmen keeps track of the running grocery list in his head:

Green onions? Check. Shallots? Check. Rolled oats? Check.

“Alright,” he huffs into the phone, a stupid thing tucked snug between his shoulder and jaw.

“Carm, I’m serious—”

“Nat, I got it, alright? I’ll call the fuckin’ guy.” Strawberries? Check. Eggs? Check. “I’m at the store, ‘n I’ll be back, ‘n then I’ll call him. It’s fine.” Dino nuggets? Check. That way-too-sugary cereal Sofia likes—? Even though he wishes Richie never gave it to her—? Check, check, check, so fuckin’ checked. “Now, do you wanna talk to—”

He looks to his side, where Sofia once stood with chubby little fingers hooked on the cart, that raggedy old stuffed animal always caught in the other fist. Gone. Carmen’s heart stops and catches in his throat. 

Natalie’s voice again, much quieter now that the phone’s not at his ear. “Hello?”

He doesn’t even hear his sister, doesn’t process her words.

He turns around. “Sof?” But she’s not there.

He tries again, facing forward, a little louder. “Sofia?” Nothing. “Fuck,” he mumbles to himself, ending the call without a second thought. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—” 

He shoves his phone into his pocket, abandons the cart altogether, pokes his head into the aisle over. “Sofia.” Nothing. “Shit—”

He can’t breathe. A closed fist shoots to his chest to try and soothe the droughted ache. The ceiling’s closing in from above, every aisle looks the same, his feet are too heavy to carry him fast enough through the store.

Where’s his fuckin’ kid?

You’re spooked out of a fatigued trance by a clumsy little girl at your feet in the produce section. 

She can’t be older than four, her chubby little face framed by golden brown curls, dressed in a cute little black dress and pink tights, ballet flats to boot. By her hand is a well-loved stuffed animal: an orange tabby cat with lint fuzzies along its body, teetering on the edge of the display about to fall into the lettuce.

“Well, hello,” you start.

She peeks up at you through stray curls with a grin. “Hi.”

You do a quick scan of the immediate area but spot nothing other than a worker stocking bananas twenty feet away, another pushing a cart of mangoes. “Where’d you come from, hm?” You perch down next to her and try to offer a warm smile to keep her calm.

“I’m here with my daddy.”

“Yeah? Where’s he at?”

Her lips, shiny with drool, puff into a pout. “I…” Her little voice wobbles, and you know that fucking wobble, that precursor to something uncontrollable and wretched, and for a split second you consider letting her cry, just on the off chance her dad hears it.

But you come to your senses: it’ll take all but five, no more than ten minutes to cover the entire store ground. You graze your hand by her back and offer her the sorry excuse for a cat. “Hey, don’t worry, it’s alright. I’ll help you.”

“B-But…” Those pretty brown eyes of her turn glassy, ready for tears, and her lip quivers, her cheeks puff out.

“I’ll help you find him, okay? We’ll wait right here, and I promise he’ll find you. We won’t leave this spot til he does.”

She hesitates before she nods, gives you a warbled, “Okay.”

You give her your name—something you read or heard from word of mouth, how putting a name to your face makes you more trustworthy. “What’s yours?”

“...Sofia.”

“Sofia,” you repeat. “That’s a very pretty name.”

The dimples that come through with her smile have you swooning, your chest filling with something sweet. A supercut you’ve long since abandoned flits through one of the best and worst years you’ve endured: kisses at the door for hello and goodbye, chilly Chicago mornings spent in someone else’s sheets, serving coffee in thick handmade mugs and being thanked for it with lips pressed to your cheek. But that was a year ago, and it’s long gone. You’re better off now—occupied with work, and running a business, and trying new things, and finding comfort in the solitude of an apartment that’s filled with nothing but the smell of coffee grounds.

Your pointer finger lifts her toy’s head: “And who’s this?”

“Butterscotch,” she says, Butter sounding a whole lot like Buttah.

“Yeah? Where’d you come up with that name?”

“My daddy’s a chef, he teached it to me.”

A chef, you hum, No wonder he’s here at seven in the morning.

And you do just about everything you’d want someone to do if this were your kid: you keep her right where she is like you promised her, you listen to all her stories she has with Butterscotch, you answer the silly questions she asks while she holds your finger in a squishy hand and bears a gummy smile.

Until—

A man wrought with stress approaches. Fitted white tee, loose denim on his hips, beat up Nikes that’ve probably seen better days. Golden brown curls like the little girl’s, only thicker, darkened with age, and half-straightened, probably from the way he runs his fingers through them like he does as he walks toward you and the girl. Buff arms, built shoulders, and they’re littered with tattoos…

Not what you expected. And he looks so fucking familiar, yet you can’t put your finger on it—

“Sofia,” he huffs, and she scurries over to him in tiny yet quickened steps and jumps into his arms, his eyes closing and brows furrowing with a relief that’s palpable as he tucks his nose into her swirling hair. “What’d I tell you about comin’ to the store w’me, huh?” A veiny hand with the letters S O U inked on the fingers cups the back of her head as he sways her from side to side, failing to give her much of a stern look at all despite his frustration. “You gotta stay by my side, I told you, you’ll get lost.”

“But I wasn’t lost, Daddy,” she pouts, “I was right here, and—and I had to find Butterscotch, and you—you weren’t there—”

“Okay,” he soothes, rubbing his hand along her back before he thumbs away budding tears from her fleshy cheeks. “Okay, hon…” He props her at his hip. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You just scared me ‘s all, alright? Didn’t know where you were, had me lookin’ all over for you.”

“...I’m sorry,” she mumbles, clearly upset, nuzzling into her dad’s shoulder as he presses a sweet kiss to her head.

He looks to you, then, and you lend him a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry about her, she’s, uh…” He peeks at her, so lovingly— “She can be a handful sometimes.”

“No, don’t apologize, she was great.” Your eyes drift to his hands. They’re big, strong, like he knows what to do with them around the house, with a baby girl...with her mother, too, though you wonder where that stands. You try not to. “She’s talkative, makes for a fun conversation. A great storyteller, too.”

He smiles, and it’s hearty, with a twitch of a brow as he draws just a bit closer—it’s slight, so slight you almost think you’re imagining things. “Think so? She doesn’t usually, um…doesn’t usually wanna talk to people, y’know?” He hikes her up again, and she turns so that she’s facing you. “Get all grumpy, don’t ya, Sof? Like with your Uncle Richie?”

“But she’s nice,” she chimes in, lifting her head from his shoulder and leaving the cat’s head peeking through. “Not mean like he is.”

Again with that smile, he looks at her with raised brows, bobs her up and down as he holds her tight, like she’s his entire world. “Yeah?” He shoots you back a look, half-impressed. “You don’t wanna see him today, huh?”

“No,” she grumbles, face smushed into his tee. “Can she come to work with us instead?”

“Sof…” He scoffs, cocking his head to the side, and his eyes dart between you and his girl. “That’s not—we can’t just—”

“Pretty please, Daddy…” She pouts at him, pulls on his neck with her arms looped around it, starts trying to lean back to stir up trouble but his hands hold her firm to his torso. “You said Eva and Vivi can’t play today…”

“I—I know, hon— . . . It’s just— . . .” Kissing his teeth, he contemplates for a moment. “She probably has work to do, y’know? Just like I have to work? And how sometimes you can’t come with me?”

“Where does she work?”

“Uhhh…” In an awkward pause, he seems to realize the dilemma. The expectant glance your way is almost painful. “Shit,” he hisses, holding Sofia with one hand to run fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry, I should’ve—I should introduce myself, right?” The pained look on his face makes you think the question is genuine, and he offers his right hand to you— “I’m Carmen, but, um, most people just call me Carmy.”

It clicks: He’s Carmen Berzatto. Not just some guy or some chef in the grocery store you’ve happened to meet, but the guy. The guy who owns the fine dining joint across the street from your cafe; the guy who showed up to the city a few years ago only to revamp his family-owned sandwich shop in its entirety; the guy you’d heard so much about from the gossip around the block between vendors; the guy who left his roots to be something so much bigger than anyone could’ve imagined; the guy who came back with a reputation with none to rival and a shattered family in its shadow. The prodigal son of Chicago. You heard of him but never met.

“Y-Yeah, right, right,” you nod, stumbling for the right words. “I thought you looked kinda familiar.” You take his hand graciously as you give him your name. His handshake is firm, solid, sure of himself, with a callused palm and dry skin and cracked knuckles, an inked-on hand with a knife through its palm on the back of his hand. “You own The Bear, right?”

“I do.” Sheepish, like it’s embarrassing to be successful.

“Cool, cool, I’ve, um, I’ve heard a lot of good things about it, but I’ve never been.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Something warm in your belly comes to the surface and you try to drown it. “I own the cafe across the street—? Just a, uh, a smaller place—” You shake your head as if to dismiss the thought of him even knowing about it. “I dunno if—”

“No, no, yeah, I know that one, a few doors down—” he nods, fervently— “Etta’s, right?”

You smile. He knew of it so quick, with so little detail you want to think it means something. “Yeah, that’s the one.” For fuck’s sake, the guy probably just likes to support his local businesses. Get a grip.

“My sister loves that place, goes there all the time. But I, uh…” A soft smile at his girl. “I don’t usually have much time to go myself…”

“Yeah, I can imagine you’re pretty busy with her.” Unless her mom is in the picture…?

But he doesn’t take the bait—he only smiles, hums with a subtle nod, gives Sofia a pat on the back to get her attention, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Hey, cub, guess what?”

She comes to only slightly, with pale blonde locks like angel’s hair tickling Carmen’s neck. Grumbles something akin to a Hm?

“You know those chocolate chip muffins you like? The ones your Aunt Natalie gets for you?”

Her curls are already caught in her eyelashes. “With the sparkles on top?”

He gives you a knowing look: sugar, not sparkles. “Yes, with the sparkles. Did you know our new friend here runs that shop?”

Her head perks up with a gasp. “What?” Her excitement is so soft, and she can’t even stave off a smile now, tiny teeth shining through to show the dimples in her cheeks again.

“You heard me.”

From her mouth is only a whisper, a doe-eyed look targeted right at you. “No way.”

You smile at her. “Yes way.”

She puts on those puppy dog eyes, looks at Carmen with a pout as she tugs on him again. “Daddy, can we please—”

 In one fell swoop, his hand whisks her hair out of her face. “Uh-uh. Nice try.”

Oh, but she’s a stubborn one. “But please—”

“Not today, baby, we gotta finish shopping, hm? Then go to work?” His eyes dart to meet yours in a knowing glance, a silent apology and excuse to leave. “Maybe I’ll ask Aunt Natalie to get them for you tomorrow. How’s that sound?”

She huffs and buries herself into his neck again, turning away from you now that she’s in a surly mood.

“Okay,” he sighs, smiling to himself, and you can’t deny the comfort in seeing his little girl so cozy with him, like he’s either the only parent around, or he’s really just that good of a father—and husband, or fiancé, or boyfriend, or whatever he might be. You don’t know if you should feel guilty for wanting to pry.

The conversation lulls to a hesitant stop, like neither one of you is sure how to bid farewell—or whether you want to do so at all.

“Y’know,” he starts, with a finality to his tone, “I’ve still gotta—”

“Yeah, me too—”

“And I left the cart in the other aisle—”

“Right, right, of course—”

“And they need me at the—”

“Same here, I need to, uh—”

“Right, yeah, so um—”

“Yeah—”

“I guess I should—”

“Probably—”

“And, uh—…”

“It was nice to meet you, though,” you finish, maybe a little too enthusiastic for only having just done so minutes ago.

But if it were, Carmen doesn’t show it. “Yeah, it was nice to meet you, too. I’ll, uh…I’ll see you around.”

You offer a softened smile. “Guess so.”

And he leaves you with a curt nod before he turns around with Sofia’s face smushed into his shoulder, her arms loosely wrapped around his neck to leave Butterscotch hugged to the nape of it. That’s all you see, then: just a beaten up stuffed animal and springy golden curls as Carmen rounds the corner of the aisle, your breath gone short and face gone warm by the end of it.

Half of it, you’re sure, is the simple brevity of it all: consoling a lost child, to chatting with her father, to finding out he’s a business neighbor. And against your better judgment, the other half of it is a twinge of attraction to him.  Even though he has a kid, and he may very well be married, or at least in a relationship, and by the looks of it, stressed out of his goddamn mind…

But there’s just something about him.

The way he was worried about his daughter like he’s supposed to be, the way he holds her and dotes on her and rubs her back like it’s nothing but natural to him, the heartwarming smile that reaches his eyes just by looking at his precious girl. The hard-earned strength in his hands and arms, the symbolic imagery of his tattoos that you’ve yet to dwell upon in late night hours, the awkward demeanor about him like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to talk to you—or if he even knows how. And all this, you see in a man working down the street, a man you’ve never spoken to until today, who could be the worst person in the world for all you know.

You don’t, is the thing. You don’t know his middle name, or his favorite color, or favorite food, or where he’s even worked, really, other than here in Chicago. You don’t know if Sofia’s mother is still around, or whatever happened to her if she isn’t, or if it’s a topic he breaches freely or not at all.

You don’t know enough about him yet to judge. You don’t know much at all. You don’t know if you want to, whether it’ll send you head first into a mess of pasts not unlike the one you’ve been trying to crawl out of alone for the past grueling months, if it’d upturn all the good you’ve tried to make stick.

But if there’s one thing you do know, it’s that you want to see him again. 

And that you’ll have to make a batch or two of muffins first.

masterlist | next | taglist

@knight4xmas @ajourneyforjoy @penguin876

[queers-gambit]

Opening Night and Open Hearts

prompt: opening night - a mother's fear, a locked walk-in freezer, confessions through a thick metal door, questioning what's deserved, and a proposal at The Bear after hours.

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

word count: 9.8k+

note: i think i give enough background for you guys to feel as if you don't need to read any other relating works, but i linked the fics that could be read as a small series (maybe?) also let author be lonely in peace

warnings: reader nicknamed Peach, established relationship, cursing, spoilers, fluff, angst, relationship angst, hurt and comfort, Carmy still (desperately) needs a nap, depiction of physical illness, boys are dumb and emotions are hard, reader-insert, depiction of toxic family, OC Carmy that grovels a lot, not edited!

⚠️ season two, episode ten spoilers

not necessary to read, but other relating works with Peach:

Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant

God's Plan part two: Two to Tango

Neon Sticky Notes

"Hi, yes, I can hear you - sorry about that, I was just making note of your reservation," you spoke smoothly into the phone, trying not to ogle your boyfriend wrapped in only a clean blue towel. "So, that's a party of four for Monsieur Claude Badeaux - all right, that's so lovely. I'm obligated to remind everyone that tonight's opening is a fine dining experience and the proper, corresponding dress code is being asked for. Are there any allergies I should make note of for your party?"

"Jean Paul has a tree nut allergy," you were told.

"All right, that's noted and highlighted: Jean Paul has a tree nut allergy. If there's anything else I could help you with?"

"Non," he chuckled. "I was surprised to see your invitation to this evening, though, mon cher. It's been so long, yes?"

"Well, it was my pleasure to extend the offer, we're ecstatic by your reservation," you chuckled. "We'll see you tonight, Monsieur, and should you need anything before then, you may call this number again."

You said your parting words in French, smiling at Carmy when you hung up and dropped your work phone. "Did I hear that correct?" Your lover asked with a broad grin, "Was that...?"

"Senior marketing advisor at The Washington Post?" You filled in for him. "Uh, yeah, I think it was, but you know me - I could be wrong."

"You invited someone from The Washington Post to the opening tonight?"

"Is that okay?" You asked, standing from the bed after making note in your datebook. "You look kinda - I don't know, shocked?"

"I-I am," he blinked at you, watching you gather his pristine clothing to hang on the closet door. "But in a good way - I can't believe you did this," he chuckled, wiping his mouth. "I mean - holy shit, Peaches."

You offered a toothy grin, "Figured I could pull a few of my own strings to help get the word out about your love-child."

This made Carmy snicker, "Hey, now. Tonight's important, don't make fun."

"I know," you nodded, leading him back into the bathroom to view your hair products. "Which is why I invited some important people and some not-so important people. I know this is serious, Carmy," you smiled at him, hoping to convey your support, "and I wanted to help in whatever way I could."

"You being there tonight is more than I could ask for," he chuckled, helping you onto the small bathroom counter. You squirted a bit of hair product in your hand, watching him flinch back a little, "Uh, I just don't want my hair greasy, Peach, you know? Not a good look and I'll sweat it out in the kitchen."

"I feel like I should be offended by you having no trust in me," you teased, insisting, "I know whatcha need, baby, lemme help."

Carmy smiled softly and held still, letting you run your hands through his curls to push everything back and away from his forehead in a stylish but manageable "do". There was a silent, serene moment as you and Carmy just existed together in a mundane space, his big, sad eyes watching your face as you worked. He wondered, "Think tonight's gonna be okay?"

"I think tonight's gonna be more than okay," you assured softly. "I think tonight's gonna go better than you're anticipating."

He sighed and planted his hands on either side of you, suddenly dropping his gaze. "I, uh... Sugar invited Mom t'tonight..."

"Yeah, I know."

"You know?"

"Sugar and I are still friends outside of us dating, Carmy," you smiled patiently, slowing your hands so you more toyed with his curls; pushing some strands behind his ears. "She needs someone as much as you do and I don't mind."

"But isn't that what Pete's for?"

"Yes, but you know, Pete's Pete."

Carmy snorted, "Yeah, yeah, good point."

"I don't know if she'll show up tonight, Bear, but whether she does or doesn't, it won't matter - you're not doing this for her. This is for you, Carmy, tonight's about The Bear opening - it's about you and this incredible, amazing thing you've done. Okay?" You caressed both his cheeks in your hands so he could only look at you directly. "If she shows, that's great," you whispered with a soft smile as your thumbs swept the apples of his cheeks, "and if she doesn't, it won't make tonight any less special. That, I can promise."

Carmy's forehead met yours, both pausing to breathe together; peace always a fleeting feeling as of late and being something you both capitalized on. You brought him in closer for an embrace, his face burying in your neck as your arms snaked around his to keep him as close as possible. His arms were tight around your waist, legs spread to accommodate him; both needing the feel of being close before that night's inevitable stressful event.

"Wow, well, don't you look all pretty! Wow, Peach," Pete greeted you when you scurried to the table with your friend in tow. "Oh, hi there!"

"Pete, this is my best friend, Danielle, and Dani, this is Pete, Sugar's husband."

"Hi, it's really nice to meet you," your friend greeted, the two instantly chattering as they both just blew past their introductions to instantly compliment one another's clothes. You smirked, knowing they'd get along famously, and looked around the brand new, packed restaurant.

"Hey, there she is, my pretty girl," Richie greeted smoothly, approaching your standing form to slide his hand around your shoulders.

"Hi, Cousin," you beamed, offering him a hug in greeting. "The place looks fantastic - it's so - I mean - just wow, Richie," you complimented. "You guys did such an amazing job. I need to tell Fak, too, this is - you guys should be so proud, it looks incredible. Hardly can believe what it was before this."

"It really is something, huh?" He grinned. "Hey, Pete," he nodded.

"Hey, Richie."

"And you must be the famous, the fabulous Miss Danielle?"

"That's me," your friend grinned. "You're Richie, right? Carmy's cousin who's not really a cousin but is as good as blood?"

"Yes, ma'am, the very same," he nodded with pride. "We've some drinks coming your way in just a moment, but I need to borrow Peach for just one second."

"Why do they call her Peach?" Dani asked, but Richie was leading you away as Pete was heard answering,

"Oh, because she mastered this peach cobbler with Carmy's mom, Donna, and she started the nickname..."

"What's wrong?" You asked softly with a smile as to not give the illusion to others that you were worried. "What can I do to help?"

"No, no, nothing too bad, you were just requested by the Frenchie-French guy."

"Oh, right, that's right, yeah, I can help with that," you sighed gently, smiling as you approached the table. Greeting the two men and women was easy, Richie impressed by your connections in the professional world. Tonight, The Washington Post didn't just dine with them - no, it was also the director of social media for three luxury, designer brands: Jean-Paul.

Yes, the man was so elusive that he just went by Jean-Paul. Fuck a last name!

Either way, it impressed Richie to hear the introductions. The two women were executives in their own companies, names Richie didn't catch because he was busy taking note of the way Mr. Frenchie-French was basically eye fucking you in front of them all.

"Well," Richie smiled stiffly, "tonight's incredibly special for us. In fact, uh, Y/N's boyfriend is the owner and head chef."

"Really?" Frenchie-French perked his brows, shifting his gaze over to you. "You always had a soft spots for chefs, non? For those who were versed in the culinary arts?"

"Well, mostly I appreciated a man in the kitchen simply because I burn water and would probably unintentionally starve myself," you teased easily, deflecting the man's subtle dig. "I'm actually here with family tonight, so, please, ladies and gentlemen, enjoy tonight - I know I'm biased when I say the food is exceptional, but I look forward to your own opinions."

"We will talk later, mon cher, I am sure there will be plenty to discuss," the Frenchman promised, kissing the back of your hand as you let Richie lead you away by your free hand.

You released a long sigh, muttering, "Bring them a bottle of real champagne, please, Richie, I had a few bottles imported just for them. Listen closely," you lowered your voice as you both paused on the side of the dining room, "bring them a bowl of thin sliced strawberries sprinkled in sugar and pop the cork at their table - it's impressive for whatever reason."

Richie pecked your temple and gave you a tight squeeze, "I got it all covered, girly. You all right? Look like you're gonna be sick?"

"Just men being men grosses me out, I guess," you sighed with a small shrug. "He's always had a thing for me, I figured I'd use that to get him here tonight - Carmy's work speaks for itself, but maybe he'd be inclined to publish an article or two for us if I play nice."

Richie paused you a few feet from your table, complimenting, "I hope Carmy knows he doesn't deserve you, Peach."

"You said years ago neither of us did," you smirked gently. "Said I wasn't relationship material, right? Remember?"

"I was wrong," he nodded. "I even said y'all would never be serious, but..." He scoffed to himself, "I've never seen that boy so crazy about anyone in his life. You've really changed him, Peach. I don't really know how to thank you."

"You can start by buttering up those flirty Frenchmen," you teased, giving his cheek a peck.

"On it," he winked, parting from your side.

Inside the kitchen some twenty minutes later, Richie approached Carmy, directing his attention, "Cousin?"

"Yo."

"Peach is on 17 with Pete."

"Okay."

"Go say hi."

"Yeah, eventually," Carmy nodded absently, never halting his work.

"Eventually?" Richie repeated with distain, something in his stomach twisting.

"Where the fuck is Josh!?" Carmy called into the kitchen, another chef echoing his concerns.

"Yo!" Richie barked as calmly as he could, "Just go say hi to your girl, Cousin."

"Yo, I'll go when I have a minute," Carmy deflected strongly. "I'm in the fuckin' shit, leave me the fuck alone."

"What? I'm saying - "

"I'll get there when I can get there!"

"I'm saying!"

"What?" Carmy barked.

"She's got important fucking people in that dining room, man," Richie scoffed, hands held up in defense. "Just for your ungrateful ass! Maybe the least you can do is go say fuckin' hi - even if you're fuckin' busy. She knows that, it'd be a nice gesture - or whatever fuckin' shit - I don't know! She's your girl!"

"Yeah! Exactly!" Carmy barked. "She's my fuckin' girl, she knows the fuckin' drill, I'll go say fuckin' hi when I get the fuckin' chance, Richie! Fuck's sake! Always tryna meddle and shit!"

"Jesus, fuck," Richie sighed, turning out of the kitchen with his hands waving Carmy off in defeat.

You were none the wiser, entertained by Pete and Dani's gabbing as Sugar was in-and-out, dealing with all the little things going wrong. These little things came to her in the form of notes left at the table subtly for her to go solve, you wanting to help but being shot down every time. Eventually, Carmy was approaching your table with a tray of food, shocking you slightly.

"Hey, Peach," He greeted softly, lowering the tray to balance on the table and lean over to kiss your cheek. "You look gorgeous, baby, wow," he complimented in a whisper, offering another quick kiss.

"Thank you, Chef," you smiled brightly, touching his forearm in a sign of affection. "What's all this you've got for us?"

He hummed and explained what he set on the table in front of you guys; eyes alight and cheeks flushed from the heat of the kitchen. He poured whatever sauce came with the main dish, smiling at Dani, nodding to Pete, then looking to you.

"I'll check on you later, all right, baby?" He mumbled, watching you nod. "I gotta get back," he whispered, "but thank you for being here, my pretty girl."

"No where else I'd rather be, Cream," you rushed, letting his lips find yours briefly.

"Stick around after, would you? When we close, just... Don't leave yet."

"Yes, Chef," you whispered against his lips with a grin. He gave one single more kiss before pulling away to stand upright.

"Enjoy," he bid the table before walking away.

"So, like," Dani trailed after making sure Carmy was out of earshot, "when's the wedding? 'Cause that might've been the cutest thing I've seen. I mean, opening night, he's cooking, but paused to come serve us? Serve you? And he's so soft with you, kissin' you, bein' all cute," she pouted dramatically. "I want a reason to wear a maid of honor dress, please."

"Hey, hey, chill on us. There's no wedding," you sighed with a small laugh, trying to play off how the subject made your stomach twist. "We haven't really talked about it, you know? No biggie."

"What?" She sputtered. "Wait, hang on. Y'all have been together - like - a stupid, ridiculous amount of time. The fuck you mean you haven't talked about it? What are y'all doing, just ignoring the elephant in the room?"

You shrugged lightly, "I don't know, we know if we ever got married, it'd be to each other, but that's really it. We know we want to be together, we know we want to marry each other, but there's been no serious conversation about it."

"Uh, does that sound right to you?" Dani asked Pete.

He shook his head as you all took dainty bites of food to savor the flavors (and save Sugar some). "When I knew with Natalie, I didn't hesitate."

"Well, Carmy isn't like you, Pete," you defended. "He's got a lot on his plate, too, you know?"

"You've said that since Mikey," Dani frowned, her voice quiet.

"With good reason, don't you think? Carmy's just - he's just going through a lot right now and it's a challenge, you know?"

"No, it's more like Carmy's got the emotional intelligence of a fucking teaspoon!"

"Hey," you snapped, "that's not his fault, he doesn't know much better, so watch your mouth."

"He does with you, like... He knows better when he's with you, when it comes to you, Peach," Pete offered softly. "Look, maybe Danielle has a point - it is a little weird. I mean, you guys have been together, what? Six, almost seven years? Creeping up on a decade of just dating - that's a long time. And didn't you guys do that weird little half-dating thing for two years before making it official? Don't you think that's enough time to know if you want to marry someone, and then, you know? Actually marry them? Or at least ask them?"

"Sure, maybe to other people, but Carmy and I have never been conventional, so, I don't see why we need to start now."

Danielle scoffed, "Look, God love Carmy and everything, but you're just wasting time now. He needs to either commit or let you find someone who can actually love you like you deserve."

"Oh, and Carmy doesn't?"

"Wasn't all that long ago that you two took a break 'cause he called you clingy - and some other unsavory terms," Danielle shrugged. "Doesn't really sound like someone who loves you unconditionally - the way you should be loved."

You sighed and sat back in your chair, "I appreciate the insight, but Carm and I are fine. Okay? We've got years under our belts, we don't want to fuck up what obviously works for us so chill out on the questions, okay? I don't have answers to them."

Danielle and Pete shared a look before the man got up to excuse himself to the restroom. You and Dani finished your meals before sipping your wine, waiting for Pete, but Dani sighed, "This lady's been staring in here for, like, ten minutes already. It's freezing, doesn't she want to come in?"

"Hmm? What're you - ?"

"This lady on the street," your friend pointed over her shoulder towards the window her back was now turned to.

When you peaked out, you gasped lightly when you saw Donna Berzatto smoking a cigarette. "Oh, shit!" You stood from your seat, rushing, "Okay, so, uh, yeah - just - can you just sit here for a second? I have to go handle that."

"Who is it?" Dani wondered earnestly.

"I got it, Peach," Pete told you, passing by the table swiftly with a hand patting your shoulder to keep you at your table.

"What the hell's happening?" Dani asked. "Who is that?"

"Nothing, no one, it's okay, I think that's someone we know, just, uh, hang on a second? We'll be right back."

"Sure," she nodded in confusion, watching you get from your seat and follow Pete out the door onto the blistering cold sidewalk.

"Hey, Mama Donna," you greeted happily, arms crossing over your chest to protect from the wind. "Have you been inside yet? We saved you a seat and all, but isn't this - just wow?" You grinned, trying to encourage her to say anything about her children's hard work.

"Oh, no, no, not you, too, Peach, why are you here?" She groaned lightly, looking upset and close to tears.

"I'm here 'cause of Carmy? I-It's opening night, yeah?" You offered in confusion. "Why? What's wrong, Mama D?" You worried, glancing at an emotional Pete.

"No, it's just, I can't come in, I can't, just no," she backed away, only now making you notice the way Pete cried. "I'm so sorry, Peach, honey, but I was never here. Okay? I-I'll call them later, I swear, I promise, I'll call them - but I-I-I wasn't here. Okay? You can't tell them I was here. I'm so sorry."

"Donna, don't do this," you begged, head shaking. "Don't, please. Just come in with Pete and I - just sit there for a bit. Just come in and see what your kids have done - Donna, it's so beautiful. You'd be so proud, but you should really see it for yourself - "

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I can't, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, not tonight, no, I'm sorry, I can't," she deflected in a rambling mumble, turning and hustling down the sidewalk with her head shaking like a Etch-A-Sketch.

You rounded on Pete, "What the hell was that? Pete, what just happened?"

"Um, I-I don't - I didn't mean to."

"Pete? What didn't you mean?"

"She didn't tell her mom about the baby," he rushed, tears falling. "Nat didn't tell Donna, Peach, and I think I just did - I think I just fucked up and told her."

"Oh, no... No, Pete, you didn't."

"I didn't mean to! I swear it was an accident!"

"No, I know you didn't mean to, honey," you rushed, opening your arms to bring him in for a tight hug. "Oh, you poor boy, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Pete."

He sighed, "I'm sorry, too, Peach."

"For what?"

"That... We fell in love with Berzattos and this is our new normal now, right?" He sniffled.

You half-smiled, "Yeah, something like that. But it's okay. See, where Donna's afraid to give her love, neither of us are. Sugar and Carm deserve that from us, right? To be authentic and just love them?"

He nodded, "Yeah, you're right."

"And that's all we gotta do... Is love them, Pete."

"God knows where else they'd get it," he huffed, wiping his face. "Hey, um, I'll be in, in a second - I just need a minute alone, I think, in the cold."

"Take all the time you need," you agreed.

"We're not - we're not telling them about this, right?"

You sighed, "No, I don't think so - at least right now. It might hurt them more, you know? To know Donna was here, but never came in. That she ran away... Again. It'll hurt, they deserve to be happy about tonight."

Pete nodded rapidly, looking like he was gonna burst into tears. Instead of going back inside, you just moved to Pete's side and stood there; producing a cigarette, lighting it, offering Pete a drag that he turned down, and the both of you just standing silently; one smoking, one crying, both processing.

"Wow, look at these gorgeous ladies! By far the baddest in the whole place! Yeah, man!" Fak teased as he approached you and Danielle after closing the The Bear officially. "What a privilege to have you both dine with us this evening! Ugh, truly an honor to see you both here," he praised comically, evening giving a small bow that his brother mimicked.

Your eyes rolled, "You're laying it on really thick when I already tipped you." He snickered with Theo. "Hey, seriously, though, tonight was incredible. I mean, it was all so beautiful, you should all be so proud."

"Oh, we are," Neil giggled, his brother hanging off his shoulders.

"Good," you teased. "Uh, is now an okay time to go back and see him? Kinda wanna offer my compliments to the chef directly, you know?"

"No," Fak answered instantly, "uh, well, probably not the best time."

"Yeah, probably not," Theodore echoed.

"I can sense you two ramping up to something," you sighed, "so, I'm gonna ask you skip all that and tell me what's wrong. Why can't I go see my boyfriend? He just had an incredibly successful opening night, I kinda wanna kiss him if you don't mind."

"Um, well, h-he didn't want you to worry, so, he said not t'tell you, but, uh... Yeah, no, Carmy's, like, locked in the walk-in freezer. Han Solo style."

"What?"

"Locked in the walk-in," Fak nodded rapidly, "yeah, no, the handle - like, the whole handle came off. He's locked in, Peach..."

"Oh, my fucking God," you breathed. "Are you saying he - he missed opening night? Neil!"

"Yeah, kinda... Well, sorta - I mean, technically, but - "

"Oh, Jesus," you breezed past them all.

"Mmm-mmm, the fridge guy's name is Terry," Tina corrected Carmy, flinching a little when he slapped the other side of the metal door he was locked behind.

"See, th-tha-that's what I'm talking about!" Carmy raged. "I'm so fucking distracted, and for what? For fucking what? 'Cause of a girl?" He chuckled ruefully to himself.

"Nuh-uh, don't do that, Carmy," Tina scolded. "That's not no girl, that's your girl, that's Peach - you don't lash out at her, baby."

"Yo, maybe - maybe I'm just not built for this. Right? Maybe that's okay! Maybe that just is. She'd be better off, Tina... I'm just - I'm not built for this."

But what Carmy didn't hear was Sydney asking Tina to cover her at the front because she needed to step out the back, get some air; Tina accepting and telling Carm to hang on a moment. Something he missed. While Tina took Syd's spot, Syd rushed outside, and you slipped in the kitchen door; Carmy being surrounded by shitty ripped tape and an entire side full of the flowers he had brought in for tonight - for you. It was a haunting reminder; something suffocating.

When you got to the walk-in, you were prepared to call out for Carmy, but he started speaking from within, halting any word on your tongue.

"I wasn't here b-because I was looking a-a-at fucking engagement rings when the fridge guy fuckin' called," Carmy ranted, your heart stalling in your chest. "Right? Like, what the fuck was I thinking? Like I was gonna get married? Commit to this relationship? Be h-her fucking husband or some shit? Have a fucking wife? I'm a fucking - I'm a fuckin' psycho!" He laughed a little, the tears springing to your eyes as his words disarmed your heart and emotional dam. "That's why! That's why I'm good at what I do! That's how I operate! I am the best because I didn't have any of this fuckin' bullshit, right? I could - I could focus and I could concentrate and I had a routine and I - and I had fuckin' cell reception, and Peach and I just had our own routine! We didn't need this extra bullshit, and now..."

You just listened, leaning on the freezer's door, tears silently leaking down your cheeks as you had the horrendous realization that you were what now slowed Carmy down. You were what currently stood in his way, when this whole time, you thought you were helping; making things easier; supporting him. No... No, his words rattled your heart to accept that you were now the bane; the object of his ire. You and your relationship was what was wrong and was causing Carmy hurt and professional complications.

Something you never wanted to contribute towards. You both always said if this relationship got to be too hard, you'd walk away. Better to feel anger than resentment; and now, you knew you had to walk away else risk that resentment fester.

Carmy started up again, "I don't need to provide amusement or enjoyment, I don't need to be someone's 'to have and to hold'. I don't need to receive any amusement or enjoyment, nor for someone to have and hold me... And I'm completely fine with that. Because no amount of good is worth how terrible this fucking feels." You were ready to open your mouth, but he finished by nailing the final nail in the coffin of your relationship, "It's just a complete waste of fuckin' time - entertaining what I know I shouldn't. Being in this relationship, trying to give what I don't have, wasting everyone's time."

You took your chance, speaking through your tears, "I'm really sorry you feel that way, Carmen."

"Peach?" Carmy rasped from behind the door, sounding more alert than he had before. "Baby? Hey, hey, Peaches? That you? Peach - hey. Hey," he sounded desperate as you backed away from the door, a fist pounding into the metal, "hey, no, Y/N? Y/N!" The seriousness settled over you both, Carmen understanding you heard a lot more than ever intended and once those words are out there, there's no getting them back. "Y/N, baby? Hey, no, no, Y/N - listen to me - hey, no, no! I-I didn't know you were there, baby, okay? No, Y/N, please - tell me you're there now, let me explain." He paused. "Let me explain! Please! C'mon, baby, please, let me fucking explain - tell me you're still there! Y/N? Y/N!"

You sniffled and walked away, feeling smaller than you ever had in your life. You barely noticed when the kitchen door opened, not until a figured dressed in black stopped you. "Peach? Hey, hey," Richie halted you - taking note of the tears. "What's wrong? What happened? Are you okay - who fuckin' did it?"

You just stared at Richie for a long moment, opening your mouth twice before sighing and smiling sadly. "I never wanted to be what got in his way," you whispered sadly. "I'm sorry, Richie."

"Peaches, hey, what's - "

But you reached up to kiss his cheek, "Tonight was so beautiful, Cousin, and I'm so fucking proud of you all. Thank you for everything - not just tonight, Richie, but everything you do." You smiled again, whispering, "Take care of him. Okay? He'll need you."

"What're you talking about? What's going on? Where are you going? Hey, where are you going, Peach, please?"

"Have a good night, Richie, I love you," you whispered, leaving out the kitchen door as quickly as you could. "Hey," you sniffled, approaching Dani with the Fak Brothers, "can we go now, please?"

"Are you okay?" Dani worried in shock.

"I'd really like to go, Dani, please," you rushed, throwing your coat on and smiling at the Brothers as if your heart wasn't in pieces. "Thanks again for tonight, you guys, it was magical."

"Peach? Wait, hey, are you okay, baby? What just happened?" Neil worried, watching you snatch Dani's hand, but pause when screaming was heard from the kitchen. Everyone stared at the door, Neil muttering, "The fuck are they...?"

"Now, Dani, please," you whimpered to your friend, who wasted no time in escorting you out of The Bear. The moment you were outside, you burst into sobs, Dani grunting a little as she lead you down a side alley to lean you on a brick wall and beg you to breathe normally.

"What the hell just happened? Hey, honey, you need to breathe," she smoothed hair off your face - but it was like you were drowning in the air with the way you gasped and gaped and panted and whimpered and choked yourself.

"I-I-I-I think - I think w-we're done, I think we're done, I think - oh, fuck - I think we just broke up," you sobbed, hands on your knees. "Oh, my God, Dani," you whimpered, "I-I think - I think we're done, Danielle, oh, my fucking God. I-I heard things tonight that I just - I can't not know, anymore! He said - fuck! He was just so candid, he didn't know I was there so h-he was sayin' things I have t-to now confront - and I really didn't fucking want to! He just - he doesn't want to really marry me, D, and-and-and he was apparently looking a-a-a-at rings - fucking engagement rings! But then he said that w-was the issue - he missed the fridge guy's call 'cause he was looking at fucking rings for me and this is why he missed opening night - 'cause the fucking fridge broke! Oh, my God, Danielle, i-i-it's my fault, it's my fucking fault, he missed the most important night of his life and it's my fault - "

You were cut off by your stomach lurching, emptying your insides onto the pavement. The delicious appetizer, the tantalizing main course, Marcus' fresh baked bread that was delightfully soft on the inside yet baked crisp on the outside, and every bit of the sweetened dessert - all wasted on Chicago bricks.

"Okay, okay, ah, shit, just get it out, babe, there you go," Danielle held your hair, catching you in a suffocating hug once you were done puking. "I've got you, babe, I've got you. You're okay, no, hey, this isn't your fault. I've got you, come on. I think we need pints of ice cream and the saltiest pretzels we can find," she pushed some hair from your sticky forehead, pouting dramatically, "maybe some Pepto? Few Saltines and ginger ale? C'mon, we're going back to mine, there's a good girl," she coaxed you from the ground and away from the wall, "c'mon, you're stronger than this. There's my girl, here we go, just one foot in front of the other - together, with me, just like that."

You sobbed, not knowing that Sydney and her father stood listening just a few feet away behind a set of dumpsters.

The moment the freezer's door was open and Carmy was free, he was sprinting around the kitchen to grab his coat, leave Neil in charge of closing, and racing out the door as the Fak Brothers yelled at him for hurting your feelings.

"Hey, hey, hey, Chef! Carmy, wait!" Sydney chased him outside.

"No time!"

"Wait! She went with her friend!"

Carmy came to a tripping halt, catching himself before he hit the pavement before whirling around to approach her, "What?"

"Her friend? She was with some girl tonight?"

"Yeah - yeah, yeah, yeah, uh, um, that's - yeah, that's Danielle," Carmy nodded. "Her best friend, yeah, they were here tonight, sitting with Pete and Sugar."

"Listen, Carmy, I heard them when they left the restaurant... Peach was really upset, like, more upset than I've ever heard, saying you two broke up? Or something? She cried so hard, Carm, she actually threw up, it sounded like she was in genuine distress. I-I didn't know if I should've intervened, but her friend was with her and helping."

"Shit - fuck - Goddamnit," he seethed. "All right, thank you - "

"I doubt they went to your place, I think I heard her friend saying they were going to her apartment."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, great, I know where Dani lives, thanks Syd!" Carmy bid, sprinting in the other direction - never bothering with the public bus system, just running into the night. Sydney was left to sigh on the sidewalk, Neil and Theo joining her before Richie followed - all watching Carmy disappear down the sidewalk.

"He's a fucking idiot," Richie shook his head.

"What the hell even happened?" Syd asked.

"Carmy mouthed off in the walk-in, Peach heard it all," Richie supplied. "You know the dumbass was gonna propose tonight?"

"What?" Syd blinked in shock.

"Yeah," Neil tacked on, "we had a whole plan and everything. Candles, soft music, flowers - there's a bunch of flower bouquets in the walk-in."

"I'm sure that was hard for Carm to look at," Syd sympathized.

"Doesn't excuse whatever he said," Richie snapped. "She looked devastated."

"She cried so hard, she threw up in the alley," Syd frowned.

"How do you know?" Neil asked.

"I heard her," the other chef frowned. "My dad and I - we actually both heard her."

"Jesus fuck," Richie seethed.

"I mean... Should we still set up?" Theo wondered to his brother. "What if they kiss and make up, like always? Carmy might still wanna go through with the proposal, right? You know?"

"Maybe," Neil trailed, looking at Richie.

"I don't fucking know," he sighed, hands on his hips.

"She thinks they broke up, I imagine whatever she heard was pretty nasty," Sydney frowned. "Think they'll really make up tonight?"

"Let's hope," Richie sighed. "That fuckin' idiot isn't gonna find anyone better than Peach. Fuck," he looked around the city street. "All right, fuck it, fine, let's fucking set up. Not like the jackass deserves it, but let's do it for Peach."

Neil and his brother grinned at each other, turning to hustle back into The Bear - leaving Sydney and Richie on the street. No words were exchanged, just silent shakes of their heads before they followed the Faks with the intention to help set up for a proposal nobody even knew if would still happen.

The cold night burned Carmy's lungs, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of suffocation he felt earlier when listening to one of your voicemails while trapped.

Your words were sweet as pie, as they usually were; a voicemail left when you were still at work, but feeling so excited to see him that night that you just had to call him. You reminded him of the adoration and love you held for him, relaying how proud you felt - and that you knew Mikey would be, too. You were always doing that, reassuring Carmy; and maybe that's why he felt so freaked out, he wasn't used to it. Even after almost 7 years together, he just wasn't used to what he didn't know he deserved.

Because Carmy didn't think he deserved anything remotely close to love, understanding, compassion, patience, and / or reassurance.

He had sobbed out loud as he locked his phone, not having the heart to delete your message. He often never did - he liked listening to your voice on long, hard nights; it brought him peace when the world felt too loud. He also kept whatever little notes you left for him, even going as far as to get a few of your hand-drawn hearts tattooed on his forearm. One for each anniversary you've shared together. He realized he never wanted to be without you and all his doubts and fear was him projecting his own incompetence towards this relationship; so, he locked his phone, he didn't delete your message.

The moment the fridge door had been opened, Carmy was out of there, shot off like a Roman Candle - your words of love and understanding still ringing in his ears as he was freed. He needed to apologize, and he needed to apologize right fucking now.

The whole run to Danielle's apartment, Carmy wasn't sure what to say to you; mulling over different ideas in his head. He tried to plan his speech, but the only thing he could think of was how much he loved you and that the ring in his pocket weighed a hundred pounds.

He pounded at Danielle's door. Carmy paced slightly as he waited, knocking frantically, and surely waking the neighbors - but that didn't matter. All that mattered was talking to you, something he was desperate to accomplish. When the door opened, your friend offered a stale look and shook her head, "Nope."

"Dani, please," he halted the closing door, "it's all a misunderstanding, I swear to God, please, just - let me try to fix this. Please, okay? I-I need her - I fucking need her and I have to fix this 'cause she's all that matters, okay? So, let me talk to her - please. Please, Danielle!"

"Yeah? The only thing?"

"More than anyone, more than anything - more than The fucking Bear, I swear to fucking God, Danielle! Just - Just one chance, please. I-I don't know how it all got so fucked, but please, I have to try - "

"Whatever you said in that freezer, Carmen, fucking gutted her, you hear me?" Dani stood in her doorway protectively. "Should've had your ass frozen for the hurt you caused her. How the fuck do you intend on making this right? Huh? It's been almost a fucking decade, dude, if you're seriously still afraid of commitment, just fuck off and leave her alone. Let her walk away 'cause I promise, there's a line of dudes who would love to put a ring on her loyal-ass finger - "

"Please, let me fix this," Carmy begged, sounding close to tears. "I need her, Danielle, please."

"It's okay, D," a voice whispered from behind Danielle, and when she turned, you were revealed - jacket and purse in hand, looking completely exhausted, drained, and disheveled. "I'm just tired, Dani, but we have to talk about this... So, I'll go home with him and call you tomorrow, okay?"

"You sure?"

"It's a decent walk, gives us too much time to talk," you shrugged, refusing to meet Carmy's bloodshot eyes. "Thanks for tonight, sorry I was such a mess," you whispered, hugging your best friend since pre-school.

"Girl, don't you ever apologize to me. But hey, look, I don't know, you were just drowning in your tears, like, five minutes ago. Sure you really wanna go? You can stay here as long as you'd like, girl, fuck him."

"Better to work it out now than later, I guess," you whispered, letting her kiss your cheek and see you guys out.

"She calls me cryin', Carmen, I'll kick your ass," She threatened as you moved down the apartment's hall. You might've snickered just a little, but the amusement was wiped clean when you rounded the corner and came up to the elevators.

Now that it was just you two, it was dreadfully awkward.

"Baby - "

"Just - don't talk for right now, Carmen," you sighed, shaking your head. "I'm still digesting all you said."

He frowned when you walked onto the elevator without a single emotion on your face, following you, and when on the ground floor, moved out to head home. It was quiet, it was awkward; only the sounds of traffic filling the space between you as you walked.

"Listen," he started with a long sigh, "you came in at the worst time, Peach, heard some shit you shouldn't have that I-I didn't even mean. I was just," he paused, sighing, "really angry and frustrated, fucking running my mouth 'cause I didn't know what else to do."

"Sounded like I came in at the best time since you're not very forthcoming with emotions. So, hearing your confession put a lot in perspective for me, Carm."

"I was just angry, Peach," he frowned, hands deep in his pockets. "Felt like I was self sabotaging myself, I wasn't sure what else to feel. So, I just lashed out. I didn't mean it, but I just felt like being angry... So fucking angry, baby, I just - I didn't know what else to feel."

"I don't know if I can be with someone like that," you whispered. "Someone who throws our relationship under the bus when he's angry, someone who's first line of defense is apparently to blame the relationship he's been in for over half a decade with the same girl. Someone you've known your whole life..."

"Peach - "

"If it's that easy for you to just disregard us, I don't think we should continue this."

Carmy took a breath and reached out to pull you to a stop. He dug in his pocket for a moment, then showed you the black velvet jewelry box. "I was gonna propose tonight, when everyone was gone," he explained when you took the box to open gingerly. "I think because that was on my mind already, something I was more than nervous to actually do, you're right, it did become my first line of defense to blame us - not just you, baby, but us. You and me... Mostly me, though," he chuckled sadly. "You're this perfect, sweet angel who just loves me out loud when I don't deserve it, and I'm... I'm just me," he sighed, eyes reddening. "And I know I'm never gonna be enough for you, I think I started to get in my head about if you said no. How I missed the call from Terry about the fridge 'cause I was picking out an engagement ring that you didn't even want, that you rejected - rejected me; and in turn, I missed opening night, and it all just - it got to a boiling point. Look, Peach, it's never been a secret that I don't think I deserve you... But I wanted to be the man that could at least give you an honest try of my best. You've stuck by me the past seven years when you should've ran for the hills, and I knew I wanted us for life years ago - but everything was still so up in the air. So confusing. So fucked up. I figured, after opening tonight, if things went t'plan, I could propose - prove to you that we're on our feet and there weren't any rugs to be pulled."

"What if things didn't go to plan?" You whispered.

"We're kinda living it now," he admitted, hand rubbing the back of his neck. "But even if tonight was all a total failure, I know I might've still done it because it's you, Peach. It's you... I've known for years you're who I want, I just never knew how to do this - to move us forward. You're my first relationship, hopefully my only relationship, and I just didn't know how to advance us. I think when things got real for me, my insecurities crept in, and I just reacted - I didn't think."

"We always said when this wasn't healthy or when this wasn't good for us anymore, we'd walk away," you reminded. "That we'd rather be sad or angry about a breakup instead of letting resentment fester from being together."

"It's still good for me, Peach, we're still good," he whispered, stepping closer. "Is it still good for you? Or did I lose you completely tonight?"

"I don't know, Carmy, you've been lashing out a lot lately. At me specifically."

"And with The Bear now open, I-I should be okay. You know? Back to normal?"

You chuckled dryly, "I see, back to your high walls? Emotional constipation?"

"Then maybe not normal," he corrected, "because I just needed to get us here, to tonight, to opening, and then show you that it's over. Show you that part of our lives is over and we only have more adventures to look forward to. Not ones like this, though," he gestured up the street, your eyes cutting over and realizing you were back at The Bear.

"Do you really think you're a psycho?"

He chuckled, "After tonight? Yeah, pretty convinced... Plus, I, uh, I saw in the freezer the way we're labeling things - and got angry about it. Angry about the way we were tearing tape and labeling things. It was so fucking stupid, but I just - I felt so crazy. I still do, I still feel like my head doesn't make sense and I'm a bit, you know... Crazy."

You nodded slowly, "Then how can you promise me this kinda shit won't happen again?"

"I don't think I can, but I can make you the promise that I am working on it; trying to identify when I feel reactive, trying to calm that down. I'm trying, Peach, I really am - it's just... Taking a lot of time," he sighed sadly. "And I know you don't have any more left to give me."

"I've already given you this many years," you reminded softly, "I think I could spare another or two if it meant you getting your shit together, that you get better, stop feeling so crazy."

"I don't deserve anymore time - "

"I think you need to step back and reevaluate what it means to be deserving because you always say that. That you don't deserve something - even as simple as time. Everyone deserves time and opportunity to figure shit out, Carmy, and you're no exception."

He nodded, "I'm... Trying." He took a long, deep breath, "I'm, uh... Going to meetings, you know, like, uh, Al-Anon and whatever."

"That's good, they're there to help," you nodded, stepping closer to take his hands in yours after closing the ring box and stuffing it back in his pocket. "Now, I think you need to do something."

"Anything, Peach."

"Take my hand, bring me back to The Bear, and go about your plan."

He froze in shock, blinking at you in earnest, "You really mean that?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

"No, ma'am, and I think that scares me more."

"You'd rather break up? 'Cause at this point, Carm, we either move forward with this engagement and fucking work our shit out, or we break up. It's been almost a decade. It's your choice, you're the one who was saying he couldn't be someone's husband, that he didn't need to provide anyone nor have them provide you with anything. So, you tell me what you want to do - because all I know is that I love you, I want you for life, but not if you're going to resent me and regret moving our relationship forward. I don't need to get married, Carmy, but you can't keep jerking me around like you have been. So... Make a decision based on what you want - based on what's best for you. Not what's best for us, but put yourself first right now, Carmy, and make a decision about what you want."

With a nod of his head, Carmy cleared his throat and offered you his hand. When he felt you lock your fingers with his, he glanced up and down the street, then lead you across it. Up the sidewalk and to the front door of The illuminating Bear, he paused to produce his keys and then lead you inside.

The lights were dim, but a flip of the switch brightly lit up the newly constructed restaurant. He seemed nervous at your cool demeanor, watching you shed your coat and set your purse down; but his hand took yours again and lead you further into the place. He seemed nervous, but once in the kitchen, it was almost like Carmy's stress melted away.

"I was... I had this plan," he explained softly, leaning on one of the work stations with both hands in yours to keep you in front of him. "I have all these candles, right? Was gonna distract you in here," he looked around the fluorescent lighting, "while Richie, Fak, Tina, and the others set everything up. We'd hang in here after the place was closed down, you know, show you around the completed kitchen. And really casually, I'd ask if you were ready to go, so, we'd go out the front, and we'd walk right into the candlelight..."

"Yeah?" He nodded, thumbs running over your hands as he pushed off the counter. "Don't deviate from your plan now..."

Carmy smirked, "Wanna hear the boring kitchen stuff?"

"Of course, I do."

So, he lead you around in a tour of the kitchen; showing off the new office space that he invited you to take advantage of whenever you wanted. The sleek appliances were shown off, the vast fridges, freezers, new cutlery, state-of-the-art dishwashers. Everything, he showed you, knowing you helped him pick a lot of it out - it was still nice to see it all come together finally.

And then, slowly, he lead you out of the kitchen, but to your honest shock, the dining room was covered in lit candles and different bouquets of thick, gorgeous floral arrangements. "Oh, holy shit," you breathed, Carmy hiding his confusion much better than you.

You came to a slow halt in the middle of the room, the lights out and only leaving the candles to provide an ambiance. "I had this whole speech planned, too," Carmy told you softly. "Remind you of the day we met, how you saved me from those jackass bullies - remember?"

You smiled softly, emotions swirling in your chest, "First day of first grade, you had a Buzz Lightyear backpack and some kids were picking on you 'cause of it."

"And what did you do?"

You felt bashful remembering, but humored him by answering, "Pushed their faces in the mud at recess and made them apologize."

"You've been my best friend since that day," he nodded, bringing you in a few steps closer. "And when we got to high school, my feelings changed. You weren't just my best friend, but the girl I was madly in love with... Took me a couple years to buck up the courage to ask you out officially, though."

"Sure took your sweet time," you whispered with a smile, "but all good things to those who wait, right?"

"And I think you've waited long enough for a man to be who you deserve," he frowned. "All these years - it's been you at my side. You even - fuck - you even came over to Amsterdam for a bit because I was feeling overwhelmed and lonely. Sad, maybe even a little homesick. But you just - you just showed up like it was the most common thing in the world."

You chuckled through your tears, "Yeah, we had some good times on that boat, didn't we?"

He nodded with a softening smile, pushing hair from your face and behind your ear; pausing to hold your cheek carefully. "And when we came back stateside... You were still the only constant presence in my life. You were my family without blood, and I knew after that Christmas that you'd forever be my other half, and I'd spend my life conveying how grateful I am for you. I just - I never knew how to put it into words until now."

"What changed?"

"Realizing that I wanted to marry you years ago - and I should've. I know I shouldn't have drug my feet with us, delay our inevitable, because honestly? I couldn't see my life without you in it and I knew I needed you with me forever. Peach," he frowned, reaching for your other cheek, "we agreed when this wasn't healthy, we'd walk away - I remember that. But I need you to know, I'll never fucking regret you. I'll never resent you. You've been unwaveringly supportive and loving and... And I've been the luckiest man to experience it all. But now," he pushed himself a step closer so he was hovered over your lips, "I know that you deserve someone just as present in this relationship as you are. I knew once The Bear was done, I was done - I was done beating this bush around and wasting time. I knew what I needed to do because the idea of you not being in my life anymore terrifies me more than anything. I don't remember life without you, Peach, and I don't ever want to know what it's like. So," he cleared his throat, "here, in the restaurant I so desperately wanted to give up on so many times, but you always stopped me, I wanted to make this official. I wanted it to be here to show you that the past year of our turmoil - it's fucking over, Peach. We did it," he whispered, "and now, the next and only thing I want to focus on is us."

Carmy readjusted you both for a little bit of space, holding your left hand tightly as he lowered himself to a single knee; looking up at you with those big, wide, sad blue eyes that were growing redder by the passing second. The candlelight created a romantic atmosphere that cocooned you both in a warm embrace, the flowers around you projecting their floral scent.

"So, I need to ask you something real important, baby," he whispered, his throat bobbing to restrain his emotion that clawed up his throat, "because if I don't, I don't think I could breathe again." He cleared his throat, pulling the ring box from his pocket and opening it to present to you officially. "Y/F/N Y/M/N Y/L/N... My sweetest Peach, I've loved you almost my entire life, you're my best friend, my most loyal and sweetest confidant. You make me want to be a man better than I was yesterday and never before have I ever seriously considered marriage - until you. Now? Now, I can't get the idea out of my head, so, my sweet girl," he took another breath, the tears in his eyes swelling and slowly dripping down his cheeks as you slowly got on your knees in front of him, "I need to ask you... W-Would you do me the honor? Of being my wife?"

"Carmen."

He grinned at you, both with tears down your cheeks. "Will you marry me, Y/N? I can't see my life without you in it, so... I want this, I want you for life. Y/N, will you marry me?" He paused, adding a meek little, "Please?" at the end.

With a deep breath, you slowly reached for his cheeks in a soft caress to wipe his tears; both just staring at one another for a good few moments before a face-splitting grin nearly cracked your lips. "Yes," you finally answered, "yeah, yes, yes, of course, I'll marry you, Carmen, yes!"

"Oh, thank fuckin' God," he laughed, letting you lunge forward to knock him backward in a hug - missing the candles arranged in a small circle for you two to stand in. Carmy laughed loudly, happily, giving you a tight squeeze as he mused, "Had my heart beatin' outta my chest for a second there, Peach."

"Oh, please," you laughed, "after all this time, you really thought I'd say no?"

He shrugged meekly, "Thought my most recent fuck-ups would've added to any reasons you might have to say no."

"Oh, spare me - you're my best friend, Carmy, you know I couldn't ever say no to you. Not without puking in nervousness."

"Can we maybe not talk about puke when we just got engaged?"

You laughed and nodded, "Fine, fine, fine, then put the ring on, please."

You presented your left manicured hand, watching Carmy almost giddily removed the band from the box, took a slow, deep breath, and then, the most beautiful ring was being slid onto your finger in an official show of your engagement. Of your undying love. Of your commitment, promises, and future together.

"YEAH!" An array of varying cheers and hollers of support and excitement rang out around you; startling both you and Carmy to look up. Richie, Sydney, Tina, Neil, Theo, Pete, and Sugar all hung in the bathroom's alcove - watching with splitting grins and cheering in celebration.

There was no time to question them as Richie lead the charge over; helping you to your feet for a giant, bear hug before gushing over your engagement ring. Neil and Theo popped one of the authentic bottles of champagne, pouring different flutes for those present.

"Calm down," Natalie scolded Richie lightly, "and move out the way, I want to hug my engaged bestie!"

You squealed with Sugar when her arms wrapped around you tightly, Rich moving on to congratulate Carmy - who apologized for his angry words earlier and thanked them for still setting things up. Richie promised it was for you, not Carmy, but still hugged the little shit with a laugh - indicating he was just joking.

"Let me see!" Natalie grinned, examining the ring Carmy chose and squealing again. "Oh, my God! Oh, it's so pretty! Oh, shit - sisters!" She gasped, holding your hands tightly, "We're going to be sisters - like, officially!"

"Sisters in law, but yeah, cupcake," you beamed at her, wiping your tears and giggling. "I can't - this just doesn't feel real," you told her softly, looking the few feet over to see Carmy with the lads as Sydney stood with you and Sugar. "Him proposing? I genuinely thought it wouldn't happen," you tried to laugh your nerves off, looking at your ring and fiddling with it.

"Yeah, right," Sydney laughed. "I haven't been around that long and even I knew this was gonna happen."

"Oh, please, she's right," Natalie grinned when you went to retaliate, "he first started talking about how he wanted to marry you when he was, like, 15. This has been the longest thing coming."

"Thank you guys for helping," you whispered with a smile. "It's all so beautiful."

"Happy to help for a good cause," Syd smiled, complimenting your ring as Neil called for a toast. Everyone was given flutes of champagne, Carmy's arm wrapping around your waist as each friend gave their own little speech, congratulating you both before the alcohol was being drained.

"Uh, and where are you two going?" Sugar asked about an hour later with a small giggle when Carmy wrapped an arm around your neck after helping you into your coat again.

"Gotta celebrate alone with my fiancé," he smirked, "later, guys! Don't forget to lock up!"

"Carmen!" You scolded with a small laugh, gaping at him.

"What? They got this," Carmy chuckled. "Thanks, you guys, see you tomorrow!"

"We can help clean," you told him as he lead you out of the restaurant.

"Nah, we've got bigger plans," he smirked at you. "Got plenty t'celebrate, yeah? Ever fucked as fiancés before?"

"No - but I hear it's some crazy sex," you whispered, locking your arms around his waist to stay close. Neither of you cared about the bus at this hour, opting to walk home in the cold - not that you felt it. Your love burned brighter than the cold biting your skin.

requesting rules and masterlist

The Bear masterlist

[devils-dares]

hi lovely can i get a carmy x college reader where she comes to his for dinner when the dining hall food is bad 🥹🫶🏻

YES YOU CAN

he's grumbling, pouring over his notebook with a cigarette dangling from his lips. he can't get this one recipe right and it's pissing him the fuck off. he's so pissed, in fact, that he doesn't even hear the door unlock. he ends up throwing the notebook across the room, burying the heels of his palms in his eyesockets. suddenly, you feel really bad about coming here to bother him, trying to sneak back out.

"what're you doin' here, sugar?" he asks.

"was just leaving, i didn't wanna bother you." he sighs deeply, standing up from the floor. he walks over to you, taking your hands in his.

"what's going on?" you blink a few times, thinking about how stupid your disruption really is.

"the dining hall food is bad and i haven't really been eating much. came over here cause i was hungry and-"

"you wanted me to cook for ya, sugar?"

"yeah," you frown, "but you don't have to. you're stressed."

"and my girlfriend's hungry," he says, kissing your forehead. he squeezes your hands gently before pulling you into a hug, "what can i make for you?" as you think, he scoops you up and plops you on the counter, standing between your legs. he brushes your hair out of your face, smiling at you. the stress lines seem to melt away from his face the longer he looks at you.

“make me whatever you feel like making,” you say, smiling at him, “long as it’s warm, i don’t care, it’ll be yummy.”

“bear secret menu item?” you giggle at his words.

“you’re just saying that so you don’t have to admit to stealing syd’s ideas.”

“syd can butt the fuck out of my relationship.” he starts taking some ingredients out.

“nothing too elaborate, carm, just messy and warm.”

“are you hungry now or can you wait?”

“i can wait. i brought my bag, i’ve got some reading to do.” he nods. you slip off of the counter, grabbing your book and notes out of your bag while he starts to cook. the smells enter your nose while you study, and your stomach grumbles loudly.

“when was the last time you ate?”

“good food?” he laughs.

“any food, sugar.”

“i had… a cereal bar this morning.”

“that’s all?” you nod. he sighs.

“how about i make you dinner, and then get some stuff ready for leftovers?”

“please?” he laughs softly.

“‘course, princess.” he starts to chop up some veggies as you pull out your books and laptop. immediately, the stress of school comes back, and you find yourself rubbing at your forehead already. as you;’re getting into the nitty gritty of your notes from your lecture earlier today, you see a glass of wine get dropped off at the table.

“gotta relax more, sugar. all that stress is gonna take a toll on you.” you smile up at him, swirling the wine in your glass before taking a sip.

“you don’t like this one.” you say as he takes a sip as well, “you hate pinot.” he shrugs.

“pairs well with the food.”

“no it doesn’t.”

“no it doesn’t.” he nods, repeating what you said and agreeing. you smile as he turns around, taking a sip of his wine. you can see the sides of his neck tense up, and you imagine the scrunched up look on his face from the taste of the wine.

“carmy-”

“it’s good, yummy.” he says, taking another sip and fighting the sour look on his face.

“i love you.” you laugh. he grumbles and goes back to the kitchen to cook.

soon enough, you’ve got a steaming hot plate of food in front of you, and your laptop gets whisked away.

“eat, and then study if you need to, but you’re not touching this until your stomach is brimming with food. i’ve got seconds.”

“won’t you come eat with me?” you ask, a pout on your face. he tuts.

“yeah yeah.” he refills the wine glasses, his wine looking much darker than yours this go around.

“cab sauv? not the best pairing.”

“better than fucking pinot.”

[spacecowboyhotch]

The Bee and the Bear, Chapter 2: Back in the Beef

summary: carmy takes the first step to mending his relationship with you.

pairing: carmy berzatto x fem!reader (Bee)

contents: 18+/NSFW/eventual smut, grief, death of family member, explicit language, pining, longing

wc: 2.3k

an: back with part 2! i really love these two and the whole “will they, won’t they” vibes they give off. like obviously they’re in love and have been avoiding their whole lives, rippppp. let me know if i missed any warnings. thoughts/comments/reblogs are always appreciated!

series masterlist

chapter 1: And Then There Were 4 < |

Carmy usually doesn’t answer the phone– not because he doesn’t want to and not because he doesn’t care but because he’s busy. There’s always something to do. He’s always needed in the present, always necessary with each new step forward and that lends itself to be distant with those who aren’t right in front of you. But, when you call Carmy to let him know that The Beef is his, his phone is in his hand. He nearly drops it, watching as your contact name and an outdated picture of the two of you pop up on his screen.

He doesn’t decline the call, he watches it ring and ring until it goes to voicemail. And when your face disappears from the screen, his chest goes empty. The voicemail icon replaces the missed call notification on his phone and his hands grow clammy. He shoves his phone back into his coat pocket and fishes out a cigarette, lighting it quickly. After a few pulls he feels much more equipped to listen to your message.

This had to be about Mikey.

You’ve given up on him and stopped calling years ago when he failed to reciprocate your attempts at connection. Carmy’s sure that Mikey’s death is the only thing that could make you tolerate him after that. The ship he so desperately wanted to get on but ignored has sailed. But, maybe this call could be a lifeboat. Maybe through loss, he could get you back.

Were you calling to give him your condolences? To chew him out for not showing up to his brother’s funeral? He could take something like that from Sugar or Richie, even his mother– but not from you. From you, it would feel like a knife to the heart. He listens to the voicemail anyway.

Too much time has passed since he’s heard your voice. It's different and yet somehow all the same— a little deeper and less girlish— but still so smooth and sweet. You sound nervous and the beginning makes him chuckle under his breath in a white puff of air from the cold.

“Oh fuck, sorry. H-Hi, Carmen. It’s…it’s me. Nat and I just went through Mikey’s will and well…he left it to you. The Beef I mean, it’s yours. Sugar really needs you to come home to figure this out.”

Carmy goes breathless, eyes shutting as his mind starts to whirl. The restaurant he never got to work in is now his? Mikey had left him The Beef? Mikey had hardly ever trusted him with anything once he went away, and now is the time that he wants his skills? When he’s dead?

There’s a swell of emotions in his chest that make it tighten— grief, anger, devastation— and he’s about to hang up by smashing the phone into the ground when your voice plays again.

Your voice is softer this time, but infused with desperation and even some grit: “Just come home and help your fucking sister. Please, Carmy.”

He has no choice now. Not when you sound like that. He goes inside and quits his job. On the walk home he books a plane ticket and once inside he packs everything he can fit in a suitcase and calls around for storage units.

It’s time to go back to The Beef.

—

Carmy puts the ad out for a sous before he’s even finished packing. A day later when he gets a call from a chef named Sydney.

Sydney’s been waiting for something like this to roll around. She scours and picks through ads no matter the time of day: while she cases her route, in her ice-block of a mail truck on lunch, at 2 a.m. when she’s up writing recipe notes in her tiny black book. Before he’s even seen her resume he can feel that she’s the one but tells her to bring her resume to stag at the end of the week. He needs to feel the click in person before he just hires her on, especially with the shitshow he knows he’s about to put her through.

Mikey wasn’t wrong: The Beef is a mess. Nothing is clean, there’s no technique or nuisance, and the staff is rowdy and combative. Thank god for Sydney and her training, her tact. He’d be drowning otherwise. He was right about her, they’re perfect partners, finishing each other’s thoughts and movements, and ideas.

Richie’s hovering, ignoring his responsibilities to fuck with Carmy when he says, “Still can’t believe you let her walk out like that.”

Carmy meets Richie’s playful gaze with a glare, “Cousin, do me a favor and shut the fuck up.”

“Let who walk out?” Sydney asks curiously, eyes trained on her prep.

“Bee,” Fak supplies, perched on the counter behind them.

“Shut up, Fak,” Carmy pleads.

Sydney glances over her shoulder at him, “And who are you again?”

“I’m Fak. The Fak. Well there are multiple Faks but—“

Carmy cuts him off quickly, not in the mood to hear another one of his rants, “He fixes things for us. By the way Fak, aren’t you suppose to be, I don’t know, fucking working?”

“You got it.”

Sydney tries to keep her voice nonchalant, hoping that Carmy won’t feel pressured by her when she asks, “Who’s Bee?”

“Childhood friend,” He says reluctantly. “Can we focus on prep?”

Sydney ducks her head, that regret from before surging inside of her, “Yes, chef.”

“Thank you, chef.”

For the first time since he’s arrived, Carmy’s grateful for the insanity of The Beef. For the way that Tina and Ebra and Marcus and Richie never stop talking a mile a minute because they distract him from thoughts of you. All the guilt and shame that comes with the way he treated everyone of course, but most of all you. He’d always gotten vibes from you, even before he did on his own, Richie and Mikey and Sugar were trying to get him to open his eyes. Somewhere along the way he convinced himself that freeing you of him was the best for everyone involved.

“Cousin.” Richie’s voice pulls him out of his robotic routine.

Carmy’s eyes dart to the kitchen’s entrance but his hands don’t stop, “Fuck, what is it?”

When Richie’s voice is that quiet and earnest there’s a problem. Your face popping around Richie’s arm is enough of an answer and Carmy’s heart drops into his stomach. This wasn’t how he hoped to see you again. He’s been crafting a text for days, trying to figure out the best way to ask you to talk. But talking about all of it sounds so daunting. The double-edged sword of picking and prodding at all your shared wounds in some hopes of healing.

You glare up at Richie, “Richie, where’s Sugar? Why are you bein’ a fucking weirdo?”

“Oh, another person. Ok, ok,” Sydney nods, before turning back to her prep.

“Bee– what’re you doing here?” Carmy’s voice breaks and he winces at the way it sounds. It's not that he’s disappointed to see you, he just never wants you around this place. He’s all too aware that that sounds too much like Mikey, but quickly pushes the thought into the back of his mind.

Sydney’s curiosity peaks again at the sight of you. What are the odds that the seemingly infamous Bee would show up after Carmy avoided talking about her? 100%. She waves her knife at you, “Hi, I’m Sydney. Carmy’s sous.”

You smile at the woman, eyes lingering on her beautiful, patterned scarf for a moment, “Hi Sydney, good to meet you. Since Richie’s not answering my questions, have you seen Sugar?”

“Sugar’s not here,” Richie says simply, leaning up against the wall as eyes flicker between you and Carmy.

“She’s not here,” You repeat, your face twisting with confusion.

Carmy wipes his hands on his apron, stepping over to you with eyes full of concern, “Why? What’s wrong? What’s up?”

The way he’s looking at you makes your heart flutter in your chest. Goddamn those fucking blue eyes, so soft and so sad. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. She just— she told me to drop this off to her. Why would she not be here?

Carmy groans, scrubbing his hand over his face. His fucking sister. Always having to step in, always having to meddle and get in her hands in places they don’t belong. She’d set you— both of you up.

“I’ll be right back, Syd.”

“Gotcha.”

“Come with me,” He murmurs. You realize a beat too late that he's talking to you, so he grabs your hand and pulls you back to Mikey’s office. To his office. He releases your hand quickly, “Uh, what is it?”

You ignore the sweat that slicks your palms, trying not to think about whose it is, “Some paperwork that you’d need for the restaurant? I think it’s the deed, y’know switching it from Mikey to you. You’ll need it for like inspection or taxes or—“

He takes the envelope from your hands, his fingers brushing your own, “Thank you, thank you.”

“Yeah, of course.”

He does that thing he always does, squinting at you for a moment that shows he’s turning a thought over and over in his head.

You smile awkwardly at him, though that familiar look on his face endears him to you, “What?”

“Do you wanna hang out tomorrow night?” He asks in a mumbled rush.

He speaks so quickly that you almost don’t understand him, except that you’ve been waiting for him to ask you that question since you were 18.

“What?”

He shrugs, running a hand through his messy hair, “Hang out, do you want to like do something?”

“With me?”

He raises a brow like he doesn’t know what you mean, “Yeah, you could come to my apartment? I could cook.”

“Oh. Um, yeah, sure. It’s been a while.”

He laughs, nodding a few times, “Yeah it has.”

You chuckle, licking your lips, “I imagine this is what Sugar wanted.”

His eyes track your mouth before he can stop himself but he forces his gaze back up, “Yeah, she’s smart like that.”

“She is. I’ll let her know her plan worked,” You tease.

He laughs again— a short, bright sound, “Cool, cool. So, I’ll text you my address?”

“Yeah, that’d be great. Should I bring anything?”

“Some wine, maybe?”

“Any kind?”

“Anything you want, Bee.”

And god the way he says your name. The way he’s looking at you again with those stupidly pretty blue eyes. You never stood a chance.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

He sighs in relief now that the hard part is done, his smile widening at the thought of you sitting at his kitchen table, “Heard.”

You snort, shaking your head at his stupid chef talk, “Heard.”

The two of you are too wrapped up in each other, floating in your bubble of awkward bliss to have heard that Sydney’s knife stopped chopping, or that Richie stopped fucking with someone else. Too occupied to hear their steps get closer and closer to the office, or that the tips of their heads are peaking around the corner. That is until you playfully push his shoulder, pushing his body in a way that brings them into his peripheral vision.

Carmy’s eyes go wide for a moment, his head tilting in inquiry as he looks at Sydney and Richie, “You two joinin’ forces, huh?”

Sydney gives you a sheepish smile, her eyes full of regret, “We were just— we were um—“

“Good to meet you, Sydney. Richie,” You say as you snake between the two of them.

Richie dips to press a kiss to your temple, “See you, sweetheart.”

Carmy returns to his station without a word to either of them even when they join him back in the kitchen. For a while there’s silence again– though this time it is clearly awkward, full of things unsaid.

Breaking the silence, Richie does his best impression of Carmy, “Hang out, do you want to like do something?”

Carmy points the knife at him, scowling, “Oh, fuck you Richie! Why don’t you fuck off.”

Sydney tries to hold in her laughter and fails, giggling, “She must be down pretty for that to have worked.”

Carmy’s brows raise so high it’s comical, “Oh, really?”

“I’m fuckin’ with you, Carm.”

“Yeah, fuck you, fuck the both of you,” He says through a laugh.

Richie does fuck off, going back out to the front of house to do his job for once. It leaves Sydney and Carmy in the hustle and bustle of prep again.

She bumps his shoulder with her own, “You deserve it, Carmy.”

His mouth twitches as he glances over at her and when their eyes meet, he knows she’s being genuine. “Thanks, Syd. Can we like, maybe never talk about this again?”

“Totally, yeah. For sure. Absolutely,” She agrees easily and they both laugh, deep in their bellies.

–

You drive home with a lightness in your step, one you are pointedly trying to ignore because this is nothing but two friends seeing each other after being apart for some while. You have a partner to go home, a life to go home to. And Carmy’s never given you any indication that this was more than friendship. He wouldn’t have left you out in the cold if it was more…right? He wouldn’t do this to you if he loved you like that, would he? It doesn’t matter how many times you try to rationalize what has and hasn’t happened between you and Carmy– it never makes it hurt less.

That night a wave of nostalgia washes over you as you lay in your childhood bedroom, thinking about Carmy. You feel 16 again, staring up at the faded purple paint covered in droves of flowers. As you close your eyes, you answer some of those questions that popped into your mind at the thought of calling him.

He is the machine you thought he’d become. But his eyes are just as deep, but sadder. His laugh is the same, a little awkward but just as genuine. The flush in his cheeks proves that his heart still beats. He is that boy you fell in love with all those years ago, even as the man he’s become.

He’s your Carmy. Your Bear. It makes you ache.

| > chapter 3: Like a Bear to a Hive

18+ carmy taglist: @treefingers, @mrsdominickstark, @princess-of-fanfics, @whore-for-murdock, @xxxstormyninixxx, @dreamingwithlens, @thecraziestcrayon, @jam1esl0v4, @lilylovelyxo, @jadeittic, @jotarokuj0, @bunnysthngs, @gcidrvsh, @mistalli, @luvr-bunnyy, @s3xymoonman, @salinaiacono6

If you ask to be added to the taglist but didn’t verify you’re 18+ you will not be added!

[lovethatlaiduslow]

This is the problem with being sick, with being back in Chicago—in Copenhagen or New York, the distance was a balm. Carmy didn’t have to think about this shit when he was halfway across the country, or when he’d buried himself in work six feet under. But there’s not anywhere to run anymore. He’s a thirty minute drive away from his brother’s gravestone, and it's a gravitational pull, dragging him in.

Carmy finds himself at rock bottom and keeps digging.