#carmen berzatto x highschool!friend

[faerygrant]

so much wine - carmen berzatto x reader

summary: Carmen wants to prove to you that your relationship means a lot to him, what better way to do so than introducing you to his mother over dinner.

warnings: angst, swearing, minor injury, crazy Donna Berzatto appearance

Christmas time in Chicago was indeed the most wonderful time of year, in your opinion of-course. Snow was falling, trees brightly decorated in twinkling fairy lights and colourful ornaments and most of all, it was a time for reuniting with family and friends.

The beginning of your relationship with Carmen was…unorthodox to say the least. He hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend in the normal way most men did, it was an awkward three months into your “arrangement” of sleeping together, him being partially moved into your brownstone and being introduced to all of his staff at the Bear when you finally posed the question. What are we?

He was stunned, you were stunned and you both stood there for a good 5 minutes in silence until he admitted he thought you were already dating, causing you to let out a loud sigh of relief. You’d told him that usually one asks the other to be their girlfriend to which he just shrugged and smiled, telling you he wanted you to be “his forever.” That satisfied you.

Now meeting his family wasn’t a big deal to you, you’d met Nat only a month into the relationship, as she was regularly at the restaurant, you’d heard about what happened to his brother but never pestered him much about it, as for the rest of his family, he never spoke much about them. He of-course called Richie cousin but you were mad very aware early on by Carmen, that they weren’t actually related in any way.

It hadn’t bothered you much until one night a few weeks ago, while out with your friends, Christmas plans were mentioned, one of them asking if you’d be spending it with yours or Carmy’s parents to which you admitted you hadn’t yet met them. Most of the girls shrugged it off but Mia, your highschool friend had taken this as a red flag.

“You’ve been with him for a year, he’s met your parents, you guys LIVE together and you haven’t met his mom?” Her eyes bulged in disbelief, leading you to down your cosmo worriedly.

“I’m sure it’s nothing and if it is, he probably has good reason. He could be protecting you, you never know” Your other friend Maisie assured, ever the voice of reason. You smiled at her words. Though you couldn’t pretend that you hadn’t began to internalise what Mia had said. You knew Carmy’s dad left when they were younger, but he never mentioned his mother, ever. Unless Sugar did and he’d always step out when they’d speak about her. The only photos you’d seen of her were when you’d visit Sugar and Pete’s and even then, they were old ones.

So yes, despite the holiday being the most wonderful time of the year, the past few days the issue of Carmen’s mom had been weighing on you heavily. You’d considered prying information out of Richie, but you knew he was too loyal to Carmen, Fak would rat you out to Richie, who once again, would alert Carmen of your questions. You knew the best thing to do was either ask your boyfriend or forget about it, unfortunately your brain wasn’t going to allow yourself to do either.

Luckily for you, Carmen had noticed how out of it you’d been acting the past days and had finally had enough. So one evening after work, the restaurant closing early due to heavy snow, Carmy had approached you, ready for answers.

“Are we good?” He asks, taking a seat beside you on the bed. His tattooed arms bulging as he crossed them, adorned in a navy sweater and grey sweats. His hair was a curly mess probably from the windy evening air and he smelt of cigarette smoke and cologne.

“Wha- why wouldn’t we be?” You place the book you were reading besides you on the table and turn to look at him, feigning innocence.

“I dunno, you’ve just been actin’ kinda’ off past couple a days” he pauses, brining your knuckles to his lips and slowly grazing them with kisses. “Thought maybe you were mad at me” his tone is questioning.

“Oh Carmy, it’s not that.” You feel horrible, leaning into him to peck at his face. “It’s just that the girls and I were discussing Christmas plans and the conversation slipped into parents and Mia pointed out the fact that you’ve never introduced me to your mom, even though you’ve met both of my parents.” Immediately you see the way he tenses up, his veins appearing and his body stiffens.

“That really what’s been botherin’ you?” He asks genuinely.

“Yeah.”

“I jus- my ma’s not all there.” He whispers quietly, you notice how difficult it is for him, so you take his big hand in yours, squeezing tightly.

“Carmen I understand, it’s just important for me. If we’re going to be married one day and start a family than I’d like to meet her. The last thing I’d do is judge her.” You assure him, hopping he’d somehow believe you.

“I dunno, we’ll see.” He whispers, failing to meet your gaze.

“Alright.”

-

It was two weeks later, with lots of talking, deep heart to hearts and support from Nat and Pete, Donna Berzatto was coming to dinner at your an Carmy’s place. Carmy was a nervous wreck, insisting on working on the food in the kitchen while you just relaxed and set the table.

He warned you about her and so did Nat, you thought you had an idea of what to expect, what was to come walking through that door in a few minutes but you’d underestimated Donna Berzatto, oh how you’d underestimated her.

Carmen had just placed the braised lamb dish on the table, while you popped open the bottle of red for the night when the sound of your doorbell continuously being rung alerted the both of you. That wasn’t the only sound however, shouts of “Carmen!” Sounded from the door, along with the banging of a flat palm. Ok so maybe you knew where the night was going to be headed.

Carmen sighed, rubbing your shoulder assuringly before making his way to the front door.

“My baby boy, oh you look tired and pale, why?” You heard her fussing, her voice echoing from the foyer.

“I’m fine Ma s’jus winter.” Carmen mumbles, when finally you see her walk into the dining room. Her blonde hair is curled, red lipstick, smudged eyeliner from what you can only assume was a cry session before she’d gotten here, a bottle of whiskey in hand and long bright red manicured nails.

“Mrs Berzatto, it’s nice to finally meet you.” You hold your hand out to shake hers and she simply looks you up and down before looking to Carmen.

“Would you turn the heat up in here Carmen, I’m freezing.” She exaggerates, before taking a seat at the table, completely dismissing your introduction.

“Ma, she was talkin’ to you, don’t be rude.” Carmy speaks, already becoming frustrated with his mother. She had the audacity to show drunk and disheveled, reeking of whiskey and then act rude towards his girlfriend.

“Didn’t hear her.” She shrugs, making herself at home and reaching for the bottle of wine which she grabs, pouring a generous amount into a glass and chugging.

“It’s fine baby, just turn the heat up, I’ll serve the food.” You brush his arm affectionately. You’d try to remain composed, you’d try not to let her win, after all it was your idea in the end to have her over and you weren’t going to crack easily.

Donna had somehow settled, the three of you eating in awkward silence, the only sound being the scraping of forks and knives and sips of wine, mostly on Donna’s part.

“So Mrs Berzatto, what’ve you been up to recently?” You attempt again at conversation with her.

“Not seeing my son obviously, since you’ve got him cooped up in here, you the reason he doesn’t even bother to call his mother anymore?” She drops her fork against her plate, a loud “clank” ringing throughout the room.

“Ma you know exactly why I haven’t called, stop tryna’ blame her.”

“Oh so now I’m the bad guy for missing my baby boy?” She stands dramatically from her seat, the table shaking slightly. She’s hysterical, tears beginning to stream down her face as she points an accusatory finger at you.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing, tryna use my son for his money and steal him away from me.” Her arms are moving wildly and before you know it, the glass of wine had swung off the table, the glass shattering onto the white tile. A large puddle of red, dripping below the table.

“Fuck, shit, fuck I got it” Carmen groans, but you push him to sit back down. You already felt guilty for pressuring him into inviting his mom over, he knew how it would go but you’d been so stubborn.

“It’s fine I’ve got it Carmy.” You try reaching for the pieces of glass while you hear Donna continuing her blabbering rant. You’re so distracted that you don’t even realise the blood that begins to pour from your palm.

“Fuck” you mumble, not wanting to alarm Carmen, however you’re too late.

“See what you fuckin’ made her do ma? Get the fuck out of our house now, I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt for her and you treat her like this? Not fuckin’ havin it, we’re done here!” He shouts and his mother is stunned.

“You’re really going to speak to your own mother like that?”

“Yes, and I’m going to show you to the fuckin’ door now”

-

“You sure you okay baby, no more pain?” Carmen asks for what feels like the hundredth time, his lips grazing your bandaged hand.

“I’m sure Carmy, thank you for cleaning me up.” He just smiles at you, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

“Carmen?”

“Hmm?” It comes out muffled, the sensation tickling your neck.

“I’m sorry for pestering you, you were right about her”

“Don’t apologise, you were curious and you deserved to know and see for yourself.”

“I know but I shouldn’t have pressed you, you were just protecting me, and I love you for that.” He removes his face from your neck, kissing you tenderly and whispering a quiet “I love you too”

-

“Can I ask you something?” He questions later while the two of you are in bed, cuddled up under the sheets.

“Anything.” You assure.

“Does this change the way you see me?”

“Never, you’re not your mother Carmy.” And those words are assuring enough to allow him to fall asleep peacefully that night.

#carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen x reader #the bear fic #donna berzatto #reader x carmen berzatto

[space-rot]

Something Stupid

paring: carmen “carmy” berzatto x reader

word count: 2.0k

genre: fluff, its all jokes bbyy

warning(s): smoking? Its carmy, what else does he do in his free time

summary: when you find peace in the small moments

a/n: better call saul and the bear? together? Well, don't mind if i do. anyways, i do not smoke, i do not condone smoking…but its kinda sexy ngl (thx @officialjimmybuffet for the images, smooches)

There is something so inherently nasty about cigarettes.

The unnatural smoke that burns your eyes, the chemicals that collect under your fingernails, and the smell that manages to leave an everlasting scent on your clothes.

You were never a smoker– somehow managing to avoid the advances of the punk outcasts trying to sell their self-rolled cigs in the back of your highschool parking lot for a dollar each. Sure, there was the typical uncle who seemed, and smelled, like he went through two or three packs a day. The faded voice of a family friend warning the children of the dangers of “the cancer stick,” and that smoking one was equivalent to signing your soul away to the devil.

A scoff leaves you, smirking as you free said cancer stick from its confinement. You were never one to heed the advice from strangers who believed they knew you better than you knew yourself anyway. Bringing it up to your lips and quickly lighting the end, basking in the warmth the small flame brings to battle the chill of the Chicago air.

It's not as though you didn’t know the risks that the habit came with, you are not ignorant to science and health officials; but as you inhale the first hit and can practically swim in the warmth of the filtered tobacco as it fills your lungs, you damn the professionals and all their holier and wiser than thou bullshit. But as you go for a second drag, the door to the alleyway opens and you’re greeted with unruly blonde hair, light blue eyes, and the face of a man who looks like he got the shit kicked out of him.

Because he has, you think, blowing smoke from your nose at the thought. Ever since the transition from The Beef to The Bear, things in and out of the kitchen have gotten easier, but that doesn't mean a headache doesn’t follow. Signing up to work in a kitchen comes with its ups and downs, mostly downs. But those scarce highs are filled with such intense feelings of euphoria, that it is the true addiction that should be studied.

Carmy walks towards you, quick rushed steps, leaning on the wall next to you, close enough to ensure that your arms are touching. A sigh leaving his lips as he rests his weight on the wall, raking a hand through his hair only to continue to drag it down his face. You can see him turn towards you from your peripheral, but you’re looking forward because looking at him means kitchen talk and no matter how long you’ve known Carmy you know that every break talk will just lead to him ranting and raving and you're on a smoke break for a reason and–

The cigarette is plucked from your lips, fingers decorated with SOU disappear with your cigarette just as quickly as they appear, bringing it up to their owners lips for one hit, a second, before he’s placing the stick back exactly where he stole it from.

To say you’re surprised would be a lie. This isn’t the first nor will it be the last time Carmy does this. Hell, he’s the whole reason why you kissed your lungs away in the first place.

You’ve known Carmy for a few years now, having met at that bastard of a restaurant in New York. You weren’t even supposed to be there, having worked at a restaurant adjacent to it, but they were low on staff and the GMs were close enough to send their chefs back and forth when need be.

It was moments before dinner service was supposed to begin, every chef taking last minute precautions to ensure they don't get chewed out by the newly established CDC, Carmen Berzatto. You don’t even know what he looks like yet, the kitchen is doused in pure silence that even asking someone what he looks like seems like a distraction worthy of a mental breakdown from a fellow chef. Even though your check didn’t come from this place, you prepared your station as well as you would in your own restaurant because that’s what being professional means; treating anywhere you cooked with the most respect.

Stepping foot outside and leaning against the wall, you began digging through your pockets for your phone, cursing to yourself when you realized you left it next to your station.

“Hey, uh, I got an extra smoke if you want,” says a voice coming from your right. Turning in its direction, you find a long, blonde-haired man sitting on a milk crate. A cigarette is dangling from his fingers, the smoke swirling dangerously close to his eyes before he brings the cigarette back to his lips, your eyes skimming on the tattoos that decorate his arms and biceps.

“Uh, I’m sorry what,” you question back, having forgotten the original prompt said by him. 

“A smoke,” he holds out a carton of cigarettes towards you, “that’s what you're looking for right?” The box is white but decoded with a strip of blue running through the center. The look he gives you is so inviting, but there's only one problem:

You don’t smoke.

Not once has a cigarette grazed your lips. Not once have you been possessed by the ghost of defiance and inhaled the breath of the devil. Not once have you been wrapped in the haze of smoke.

But the look of desperation that’s hidden behind his eyes, the subtle look asking to not be left alone in the back alley of the world’s best restaurant, is enough for you to reach out and grasp your one way ticket to demise–and oh how right you were. How could one assume that a measly little cigarette would alter the rest of your life.

The physics of it seemed easy enough: inhale and then exhale, breath in and then breath out, anybody can do it. So you take the cigarette out of the box, and lean back on the wall, inspecting it like it would sprout legs and run away.

“Hey, uh, do you have–,” the flame of a lighter is already being cupped by his hand. You bend over, close enough to this man to smell the left over nicotine mixed with the atmosphere of the kitchen. He doesn’t look away, mesmerized by the way your eyes drift to the flame to ensure the end of the cigarette is lit, the slight tilt of your head towards the heat. Even when you blink back up to him he doesn’t look away, he’s almost afraid to breathe in this moment, worried it’ll be another thing he manages to fuck up.

But then you're inhaling and–

“Holy shit are you alright,” there’s a hand on your back, patting with a gentle force with the hopes of expelling your coughing fit. “Here, have some water,” he hands you his container of water, because what kitchen has bottled water?

Taking a sip, you contemplate a universe where you can save this situation. How does one manage to fuck up this badly? All of the movies make it look so easy, but the burning of your lungs say otherwise. But the warm hand on your back doesn’t move once you stop coughing, and you turn to see worried eyes meet your own. A beat passes, then two, then a scoff leaves your lips as you shake your head in disbelief.

“Sorry, I uh,” you scramble for something, anything, to save your pride, your dignity. Here is this incredibly attractive man willing to give you a small piece of his world, and you spat it back out in his face. He must be thinking the worst demeaning thoughts, because what chef isn’t thinking in the worst way possible? Here is some person who can’t even inhale properly, what makes them think they can handle the smoke in the kitchen? Coughing up a storm all because of what, one drag of a cigarette and the chef needs to tap out–

“No it's okay, I know these ones taste bad as shit, but they’re the only pack I had on me,” he rubs the back of his neck with his free hand (the other is resting still on your back, not that either of you noticed), “I normally have this other brand, y’know a little sweeter and not as bitter and uh, yeah sorry about that,” he trails off, looking sheepish at the thought of giving out a shitty cigarette brand.

You are given two choices now: one, you can lie and agree that the brand is shit, keeping a small amount of pride and dignity, or two, come clean and admit to this total stranger that this is the first time you’ve held a cigarette and you only agreed because he looked pretty.

A former option has never looked more inviting.

So you lie, you lie out of your ass and agree that the brand is shit and that you have to get back to your station. Packing in a joke about how fucking insane the CDC apparently is and that you’re glad to only be here for the one night. You wish him luck for the night, he gives a small chuckle and wishes you luck as well.

It was five minutes later that someone pointed out that the CDC just walked in from the back and you realize that he was the same man whose cigarette you coughed up.

But that was years ago, and now here you are, with the same CDC behind his new restaurant, a now shared cigarette between your lips. You followed Carmy throughout his time in New York, you followed him to his brother’s sandwich shop, and you will follow him throughout his new endeavors at The Bear. Following him wasn’t always easy, if anything there are more lows than highs, but it’s the small moments like these that make everything worth it.

“You wanna know something funny,” he asks, stealing the cigarette again.

“What?” 

“This is the same brand I had you smoke the first time we met.”

Pulling the pack out of your pocket, you let out a hum of acknowledgement, “holy shit you’re right,” the blue stripe around the box stands out against your palm.

You turn to look at him for the first time since he’s stood next to you, backs against the harsh brick of the building.

He’s already staring, a knowing smirk growing across his face, “Thought you hated that brand?”

Stealing the cigarette back, you let out a last puff of smoke, “Only hated it cause you were the one to give it to me.” You finish the cigarette, throwing it onto the concrete and stomping it out, “Come on Berzatto, this place won’t run itself,” you call out with a small wave thrown over your head, walking back towards the kitchen.

Carmy laughs, knowing that you hate the story of how you two met. He can’t help but tease ever since he found out he gave you your first cigarette by accident. You didn’t know anything about different brands, just that you found the man giving you one attractive. Carmy only knows this after taking you home after a drunken night with Sydney, you babbling about anything and everything that it took him a few hours to put the whole story together.

Of course he feels bad at certain times, such as watching you pat yourself down for a smoke only to find that you finished your last pack the other day. But Carmy is always there to give you one of his, whether it be his last one or not, only if you two can share it with a small moment together outside.

And so he walks back inside, looking forward to the next smoke break, and the one after that, until his lungs couldn’t handle anymore, only to keep going if yours haven't given out yet.

#carmen berzatto #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto fic

[faerygrant]

waiting room - carmen berzatto x reader.

summary: Carmen’s neglect of your relationship finally comes to a boiling point on the eve of your ten month anniversary.

The table had been set, your favourite China, courtesy of Pete and Nat upon their return from a couples trip two months ago. The bathroom adorned with rose petals and illuminated by a fiery orange flame, vanilla bean scent of your overpriced candles billowing throughout. The bubbles hadn’t subsided, still foamy and enlarged, though you were sure the water had probably gone cold by now.

You sunk to your knees, the caps hitting the cold hexagon shaped tiles leaving you to slightly shudder. All at once, you blew the candles out, the itch in your throat only growing. At any moment now you knew you’d crack, it was only a matter of time.

Once the candles were blown out, the tub drained leaving the damp petals to cling to the sides of the bathtub you made your way back to the dining room, the glistening China never failing to catch your attention.

You took a seat, the Picarde you’d worked so hard on preparing for Carmy was still placed in the middle of the table, covered by aluminium foil. The 2006 bottle of Barossa Shiraz, a gift from his uncle, peaked your interest leading you to pour a glass full for yourself.

With your glass in hand, wrapped up in your white robe you scattered out of the dining and into the living area, where you sat solemnly on the sofa. You’d taken off the dress you’d bought specifically for this night, if Carmy couldn’t remember to even show for your ten month anniversary, there was no reason he deserved the effort you put into looking nice for him.

Your relationship had started of very spur of the moment, introduced to him by a friend in highschool you’d lost contact once he set off for New York but still frequently thought about him. Once he was back in Chicago the two of you were set up on a date by said friend and things took off from there. The honeymoon stage had been almost perfect, his time, attention, affection it was all on you. But as the restaurant became busier and business grew, his attention shifted and his attempts to keep you happy had turned lousy.

So here you were, clad in your white bathrobe and a two piece set from agent provocateur you’d planned on surprising him with. A glass of Shiraz in hand and a heart that was slowly breaking every second the man you loved remained away from you.

At least 30 minutes had gone by and by this point the bottle of Shiraz had found it’s way into your lap, when the sound of the keys fiddling sounded from the door.

“Yo, you still up?” Carmen’s voice calls from behind the sofa, though you make no effort to acknowledge him. You can smell a mix of cologne and cigarette on him as he rounds the sofa and takes a seat by you. He makes no mention of your silence, almost as if he doesn’t notice it. Instead he opts to toe off his shoes and stretch into the chair.

“We were fucked today, Syd and I tried to keep shit running smoothly but we shat the bed with the new recipe. Salty as fuck, don’t think that balsamic glaze could save it” he speaks, his hands covering his face as he leans backwards, clad in his usual pristine white tee and black slacks. You once again simply ignore his words, waiting for him to address the elephant in the room.

“You listenin’ or am I talking to myself?” He brings his hands away from his face, finally acknowledging you. You place your glass of wine down and simply shrug.

“Alright what the fuck is the matter? You fuckin ignored my texts all day, I tried not to make a big deal of it, now m’home tryna’ tell you about my day and you’re not sayin’ shit?” He yells, louder than necessary, the vein in his neck bulging like it always does when he’s upset. His outbursts don’t frighten you though, not anymore atleast.

“What day is it today Carmen?” You quietly whisper, arms crossed over the other, your fingers playing with the fuzzy fabric of your robe.

“I-I don’t fuckin’ know, Wednesday?” He questions, elbows on his knees as he stares at you intensely.

“No, I mean what’s the fucking date today Carmen?”

“The 24th, why is this relev-“ he pauses for a second and instantly his eyes bulge. “Oh fuck, oh shit.”

“Exactly.” You mumble, watching as he goes red, already beating himself up.

“I’m so fuckin sorry, I- I fuck- I don’t even- fuck.” He yells, standing up and pacing the living area, refusing to meet your gaze.

“I’m a fuckin idiot, I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin sorry I don’t even know how I could forget I just, I- I don’t know.” He blabbers and you simply shrug. Your silence killing him.

“Say somethin, fucks sakes, anything.” He pleads with you.”

“I have nothing to say Carmen.” You stand from the sofa, face to face with him, his eyes already fling red, tears rolling down his red face and stray hairs sticking to his forehead.

“Please, fuckin take it out on me I deserve it” he grabs your arms placing them against his chest, pleading with you to hurt him like he hurt you.

“Fine, you want me to take it out on you, I will. I planned this whole dinner, a special night for the two of us since you’ve been working nonstop for the last two months and in return you couldn’t even remember our anniversary. I’ve tried Carmy, so hard to be understanding of your job but I can’t be left to wait for you forever.” A lone tear dropping from your eyes, as you watched his face fall in realisation.

“What’re you doin?, hm what’re you tryna say?” He yells with urgency. The purple-ish blue veins bulging and illuminating his pale skin.

“Carmen I’m not going to be left in the waiting room forever, I refuse to be second in a game I know I’ll never win. Your job means the world to you and I’m not going to make you choose.”

“You- I- please don’t do this, don’t do this, please don’t fuckin do this. I- I lo- I love you” He sniffles, hands bringing your face to his, both your heads leaning against the others.

“It’s for the better.” You whisper, eyes closed, forehead against his and heart shattering.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x you