Give Me A Minute (1/2) | Chef Luca

give me a minute (1/2) | chef luca

pairing: chef luca x ex-wife!reader word count: 4.7k warnings: established former relationship, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, discussions of separation and divorce, luca and reader has a son, unresolved sexual tension 👀 notes: this fic has been the bane of my existence for the last couple of months or so. it all started as a simple thought of "ooh it would be fun to have a steamy smut with ex!luca" and then it turns into a whole thing with like proper angst and stuff lol. this will be split into two parts, and i think i need encouragement to finish the second part. so please enjoy this first part and tell me what you think! ✨follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notifications to get alerted of my latest fics! ✨

03:49 PM

Everything is fine, you keep telling yourself.

Your soon-to-be ex-husband is flying in from Denmark to finalize the divorce—and even after two years of exhaustive paperwork and mediations and court proceedings, you still don’t know how to feel about this. His visit to New York is meant to be a consolation prize for your six-year-old son Alfie, whose only facetime with his dad lately is through… well, FaceTime. But, given how extraordinarily difficult he’s being—fussing over his breakfast, stalling shower time by a record of 48 minutes, refusing to wear anything you picked out for him… you have an inkling that he might be a little nervous to see his father.

And to make matters worse, it’s raining cats and dogs outside, which delays Luca by two hours now and actively threatens the zoo outing he has planned out for him and Alfie.

So… despite the shitstorm that is happening in your apartment and out, you keep telling yourself that everything is fine.

Because it is. Your home is tidy enough, with all the toys and the mess tucked away in their little cubbies. Your son is dressed up enough; he’s finally put on his pants and shirt, although you missed a button and he won’t let you fix it. The storm is outside, and you’re safely sheltered in. And your relationship with your ex is civil enough, so you feel…

Fine enough.

But the doorman buzzes in, and you can definitely tell the awkwardness in his voice. “Afternoon, Ma’am. I have your husband— I mean, Chef Luca— I mean Mr. Bailey—”

You sigh, not having the energy to let this go on. “Yeah, yeah. Send him up.”

Alfie looks up from his coloring book and practically jumps out of the couch. “My tummy hurts, I’m gonna make a doodie!”

“No running!” You remind him just a second too late, watching him dash over to the bathroom and slamming the door closed. He has a nervous stomach just like you, and as you feel the icky twist in your gut… you can’t help but empathize with his antics today. You would be fucking shit up too, if you only could.

There’s a knock at the door, and you brace yourself as if you’re about to let the storm itself in (although, quite frankly, you probably are). Your hand feels clammy, and you have to wipe it off on your dress before you unlock the door and turn the knob.

“Hey.”

If the storm was a person, you wouldn’t have associated it with the man standing before you. So tall and broad and sturdy. With boyish features and dark blond locks like gentle daylight. It feels like a reach to imagine the seven years of your relationship with him was, indeed, an epic fucking hurricane.

Still. 

You can’t help that you miss him.

“Come on in.” You step aside, not really meeting his gaze.

He murmurs a small thanks and apology, a staple combination in Luca’s British vernacular, as he squeezes in through the door with his duffel bag and suitcase.

“I thought you’d dropped these off at your hotel before you came here.”

“I know. I was going to, but…” he puts down his bags close to the jacket closet, like he always does, “But I got held up for ages and traffic was awful and I didn’t want Alfie to wait even longer, so…”

“Right.” You nod absently. “Well. He’s in the bathroom, should be out in a second, so… have a seat. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Um, water’s fine.” He takes his seat on the dining table.

You’re not sure which one is more jarring; the sheer familiarity of this, or the fact that it isn’t anymore. The two of you just hovering in the home you used to share, courteous but distant.

Luca looks around the place, and notices all the differences right away. You kept the glass dining table and two of the chairs, but changed the corner seating into a plush dining bench against the kitchen island. He recognizes Alfie’s favorite stuffed bunny on the couch, although the throw pillows were new. But he takes one look at the wall… and his heart drops.

Gone are any traces of him in the snapshots of your life. The pictures are all of you and Alfie—eating ice cream in the park, grinning and showing his first lost tooth, dressed up on Halloween… He really shouldn’t be surprised or disappointed to find the wedding portrait gone, or the vacation selfie in Italy four years ago. But it hurts quite a bit to find a generic flower portrait replacing the picture of him kissing you on the forehead while Alfie, laying on your chest, merely hours after his birth.

“Yeah, I…” you clear your throat as you hand him the glass of water, “…did some redecorating.”

“It looks good.” He manages a stiff nod, taking a hesitant swig of water.

“You look…” good, you want to say. Because he is. He’s got that tan and the haircut that reminds you of when you first met him years ago. But you can’t say that. So you settle with, “You look well.”

He meets your eyes, really meets your eyes for the first time, and you try to convince yourself the little flutter you feel inside is just your nervous stomach. But he smiles, soft and earnest. “So do you.”

You turn back and open the fridge, welcoming the cold air and how it cools down the burning warmth on your cheeks. Trying not to freak out and decide what you’re getting, so you don’t look like an idiot. Your hand grabs a can of ginger ale, and you sigh in relief.

“How’s Alfie doing in school?”

“He’s doing alright. He’s enjoying his art classes. Math is still a struggle, but Ms. Rashad says his reading is quite advanced for his age.” You relax a little bit into the conversation. The topic of your son resets you a little bit into a somewhat common ground as co-parents. Plain and simple.

“Definitely takes after you. My dyslexic ass could never.”

You smile at that. Small jokes are still there, always a good sign.

“And the, uh…” he lowers his voice, “the anxiety?”

“Comes and goes. He’s been complaining about a stomach ache all day.” You glance towards the bathroom.

He frowns in concern. “Should we go check on him?”

“Sure…” You walk together with Luca following suit, tentatively knocking at the door. “Alfie? Hey bub, how’s your doodie?” It sounds silly, but you find it helps to ask open questions instead of showing your worries outright.

A flush from inside. “There’s no doodie,” he hollers. His voice is murmured from the barrier, and then the running tap water.

You catch the unease in Luca’s features, and you feel a little bad for him. It wouldn’t feel great that your own son is nervous to see you after many months apart. “You wanna come out, then? Your dad’s here.” You try to sound cheerful and upbeat, hoping it’ll hype them both up.

The two-second gap never felt so long. But the door opens, and there he is, standing meekly against the frame. Staring up at you and then at Luca.

Luca’s heart nearly stops as those big doe eyes stare up at him, a spitting image of you. The same softness. The same spark of stubbornness.

The same vulnerable look.

“Hey, bub.”

“Hi.”

“Can I get a hug?”

There’s a brief pause, before he steps forward and throws his arms around his father’s middle. Luca grunts softly, a little surprised by the sheer force Alfie is hugging him, his heart swelling three times over.

“Oh my God, look at you!” He ruffles the boy’s dark hair and kneels down to level with him. His cherubic face is small cupped in his large hand, but not as small as Luca remembered it. “You’re so tall now!”

“Of course. I’m 3 feet and 8 inches tall now. Right, Mommy?” He proudly announces, getting the exact height completely memorized.

“That’s right,” you confirm with a grin. 

Luca gasps, a smile blooming on his face. “What?”

Alfie nods. “I’m gonna be as tall as you.”

“No! Don’t grow up so fast!” He playfully cries out.

“Why?”

“Because I won’t get to do this anymore!” Luca seizes his boy into his arms and sweeps him off of his bunny-socked feet, sending Alfie into a fit of hysterical giggles.

The sight makes you chuckle, but the feeling could bring Luca to happy tears. He’s been gone for so long, he’s afraid he’d forget how it feels to hold his son in his arms again. Or worse, that his son would find his presence alien.

But he’s here now. With you and the son you share. Attacking Alfie in tickles and noisy kisses, and letting the boy climb him like monkey bars. And it calms his anxious heart a bit as he reminds himself, everything’s fine. 

And as things fall back into place, thunder crashes outside, as if sobering all of you back into reality. Alfie shirks into himself, climbing off of his father’s back. You want to reach out for him so badly, but at the same time, not wanting to interrupt his bonding time with his dad.

“It’s okay, bub. It’s just thunderclap,” Luca soothes emphatically over the sudden silence, bringing Alfie back down to his feet. He smooths his son’s hair gently, comfortingly. “I got you, I got you…”

“Do animals even come out in the rain?” Alfie is back to his withdrawn self, mumbling his words and avoiding Luca’s gaze.

“Some animals actually love playing in the rain,” you chime in helpfully.

Luca keeps his tone cheerful and bright. “Yeah, and you can wear your raincoat and your wellies and I’ll even let you jump in puddles—”

“I don’t wanna do that! I wanna stay home!” He whines, voice raising a little.

“It’s your dad’s time—”

“No!”

“Alfie.” Your tone is firmer now, as he struggles out of his father’s arms and runs to his favorite corner of the couch in the living room, holding his stuffed bunny tight. 

But Alfie’s got a point. This is not the kind of rain where you can take a leisurely stroll in. No, this is the kind where you stay huddled inside and hope it doesn’t flood the streets. Luca takes a thoughtful look at Alfie who is sulking and shrinking from the sound of thunder, at the window completely obscured from rain, and then at you… offering an apologetic smile.

So much for quality time with his son. 

Luca’s heart sinks a little. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe we should just wait it out…”

“Are you sure? I mean, you flew 9 hours to see him—“

“And I don’t want him to be pissed at me the whole time we’re hanging out,” he reasons. “Besides, I don’t think any Uber would take our order at this time.”

It makes sense, you think. As much as you want this awkward little broken family dance to end, you know that staying in and waiting it out is the best option. Alfie would feel much more comfortable at home than in whatever hotel Luca is staying in. And maybe it’s your protective side talking, but if he ever gets fussy, you’d prefer to be around to deal with it.

“Alright, fine.”

“Yeah? Is that okay with you?”

You shrug. The truth is a little more complicated, but ultimately you settle with a simple, “yes.”

Alfie takes a quick glance at you and Luca emerging from the hallway (you have your mother’s side eye, Luca always said), before returning to fiddling his stuffed bunny’s ears (your father’s neutral look of disapproval, you would say). Like clockwork, Luca takes the seat next to Alfie, while you take the puffy stool in front of him.

“That wasn’t very nice of you to raise your voice at me and your dad like that. I get that you’re nervous about the weather—a bit startled, too— but still. We don’t raise our voices in this household.”

Alfie looks at you and Luca. “I’m sorry.”

Luca nods in acknowledgement. “I’m sorry for being late, buddy.” He gingerly reaches out to touch the boy’s hand. “You’re right, though. It might be best to stay in for a bit.” He motions at the rain hammering down on the window outside.

“I told you. I wanna stay at home.”

“I know. And we are for now. We can…” Luca scans around for something to do. His eyes fall on the coloring book and the open box of color pencils next to it. Bingo! “We can… color some drawings in that book?”

He pouts, not entirely sold on the idea but not outright refusing it either. 

“Or, hey, I got some new drawings on me. You can color them, too.” Luca takes off his hoodie and shows off the tattoos on his arms.

God, you forgot about the plethora of trashy tattoos adorning his skin. Even worse, you forgot how it highlights the defined curves of his biceps. Focus, for fuck’s sake! You avert your gaze towards the flower portrait on the wall. 

Alfie perks up a little. “This is my old drawing.” His tiny finger pokes at his forearm, on a tattoo of a stick figure climbing up the stairs. “You still have it?”

“Of course. It’s there forever. I’ll always have it.” Luca finds himself choking up at that simple admission. A little token of childhood of his ever-growing love. “Go on, get your crayons.”

Alfie looks at you as if seeking permission, and it makes you want to laugh that he shares the same animated eyebrows as his father. 

“Go ahead, bub,” you usher him off lightly, and as soon as he’s out of sight, nods at your ex. “Good save.”

Luca half-smiles. “Thanks. You should chill out. Read a book, take a nap or something. I got him.”

“What, are you trying to kick me out?”

“No, I just—”

Your smile breaks out. “I’m kidding! Go hang out with Alf. I got a Zoom meeting in a few minutes anyway.”

He sighs in relief, chuckling lightly. “You almost got me there…”

You briefly pat his shoulder and for an even briefer moment, his hand is atop yours. The big ‘A’ tattoo on the back of his hand—your son’s initial in a bold Gothic letter— serves as a reminder of what’s past; a whirlwind romance, the wild days of being a family of a merry band of misfits…

Misfits. That’s the biggest takeaway here, you suppose. Your pieces don’t quite fit right. Not without little Alfie gluing you together. 

With a final squeeze on Luca’s shoulder, you make your way to your bedroom, making space for Luca’s puzzle pieces to fit with Alfie’s because they don’t fit yours anymore.

***

05:04 PM

By the time your Zoom meeting ends, the pelting rain outside is louder and the chatter inside is nearly inaudible. It feels nice for about ten seconds… until you remember that you have a six-year-old at home and long bouts of silence can be quite… well, suspicious. You pad out into the hallway to check on him.

“Let’s see. You wanna do the sunflower next? What do you think, my love?”

Oh right. For a moment, you forgot that the thirty-year-old other parent is here with him.

Luca has his t-shirt sleeves hiked all the way up, biceps in full display as Alfie colors in a tattoo on the back part of his upper arm. The boy’s tongue sticks out and his eyebrows furrow in focus. It seems like a delicate operation between them, so you linger out of sight for just a while longer.

“Why do you like sunflowers, Dad?”

The two of you have always supported his inquisitive mind, and he missed these kinds of questions most of all. Even if the answers can be a little complicated. “Because of your mum, actually.”

“You like it because Mommy likes it?” Alfie’s little nose crinkles.

Luca chuckles in amusement, sensing the judgment in his son’s tone. Damn you guys for teaching Alfie not to get carried away by trends. “Well… when your mum and I first met, it was winter in Chicago and it’s pretty bleak and gloomy and freezing. But, your mum had a little sunflower by the window—just like that one.” He glances at the little potted sunflower on the windowsill. “She said it’s a reminder to let the sun shine in. I thought it was adorable. We started doing that everywhere we lived and… I don’t know, it reminds me of home.”

“Do you have a sunflower by your window, Dad?”

His heart catches as he realizes the answer. “No, I don’t…”

“Why? You don’t miss home?”

There’s a sharp pang of hurt in hearing that innocent query. The apartment in Copenhagen, as nice as it is, has never been much of a home for Luca. He would get up before the sun is up and return from work late at night—lather, rinse and repeat. On his days off, he would either go on a morning run and spend much of his time outside, or sleep til noon and live on instant ramen and takeout. There’s no time for a sunflower by the window. No room. He made sure of that.

He doesn’t deserve one after leaving his wife and son for fucking Noma. 

Luca swallows back the lump in his throat, although the slight waver in his voice gives him away. “I got my sunflower right here, bub. My little piece of home.” He taps on his arm softly as his son finishes up. 

Alfie hums, pleased with how the tattoo looks, now filled in with yellow and black and brown crayons. “I think this is my favorite one.”

“Yeah? Not the tabasco?” Luca grins, looking down at his forearm—specifically at the mostly accurate red and green of the hot sauce bottle.

“No…” Alfie taps his chin with his finger thoughtfully. “This one is prettier.”

Luca maneuvers around to look at the sunflower tattoo a little better. “You’re right, it is much prettier. Maybe I should get the colors in permanently, huh?”

The boy’s face lights up. “Can you?”

“Yeah. I think I will. Nice job, my little tattoo artist.” Luca pulls him into a bear hug and kisses the top of Alfie’s head. 

You can’t help but chuckle, glad to see them bonding again, lost in your thoughts for a moment.

“Mommy! Dad says I can be a tattoo artist!” Alfie snaps you out of your reverie.

“Is that right?” Your eyebrows shoot up, struggling to maintain a neutral expression while staring at Luca like with all due respect, what the fuck?

He raises his hands in surrender. “I just said he’s my little tattoo artist, that’s all.”

“I colored in all of Dad’s tattoos! Look!” Alfie tugs at his dad’s arm, beaming as he shows off his work.

You step forward, studying the results of the tattoo makeover. Every single tattoo is colored in; some accurately, like the sunflower and tabasco, while others (like the purple fish and chips and blue scotch bonnet)… not so much. You don’t know which one’s more amusing; your son’s artistic style, or your ex’s bashful look as he models the art works on his arms. 

“Looks great, bub. Well done!” You ruffle Alfie’s hair, enjoying his improved mood.

“Can I watch Bluey now?”

You purse your lips comically. “I don’t know, bub. Why don’t you look at your checklist on the fridge and see if you can?”

Alfie bounds past you, towards the fridge, and reads the checklist out loud to himself. “Have you… brushed your teeth? Yes. Brushed your hair? Yes…” He flattens his wavy locks with the palm of his hand, continues reading with a lower murmur. “Mommy, I did everything except tidy up my room and play outside for 30 minutes!”

“Okay. Obviously we can’t play outside, so… why don’t you just go clean your room and I’ll let you watch Bluey for a bit?”

Alfie gamely nods and goes into his bedroom, his bunny socks muting his footsteps against the hardwood floor.

Meanwhile, it takes you an extra beat to realize how close you’re standing with Luca without your child between you. He rolls down the sleeves of his black t-shirt sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Your meeting went okay?”

“It’s alright.” You look at literally anything but the man in front of you, ultimately stopping at your potted sunflower by the windowsill. “That storm out there, on the other hand…”

“Yeah…”

You take an inconspicuous look at the hallway, making sure your son is out of earshot. “Weather reports say it might last a few more hours.”

Luca huffs, trying not to stress out about the possibility of street floods. Of all the things he missed, New York thunderstorms are not one of them. Still, this shitty weather has granted him some time with his son, at his former home… with his former spouse. And God, does he miss this more than he dreads the weather…

“Want me to make you guys dinner?” He offers earnestly.

You pull back, returning to your normal volume. “Oh. No, you don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind. Really. Might as well, right?”

You hear heavy footsteps from the bedroom and Alfie hollers from the hallway. “I’m all done!”

“Don’t forget your crayons!”

Alfie promptly makes a beeline towards his leftover mess. “Heard, Mommy.” He hurriedly puts his crayons back in the box and rushes into his room to put it away. Returning mere moments later with a newfound spring in his steps. “I’m done for real! Now can I please watch Bluey now?”

“I can cook while he gets his screen time.”

The two boys look at you with their best puppy eyes, and it’s the most disarming thing you’ve seen in a while—and the resemblance between them only makes things worse. You playfully roll your eyes in relent. “Alright, alright. Go ahead. Watch your TV and make your dinner.”

There’s a quiet little yesss from Alfie as Luca low-fives him before they scatter, one to the living room and the other to the kitchen. For a moment, you feel like you were transported back in time. For the first time in over two years, you’re caught between cartoon sounds from the TV and the kitchen alive again. All was well in the household. 

“Is he still a picky eater?” Luca mouths the last two words inaudibly.

You raise your eyebrows in confirmation. “All he wants to eat is chicken nuggies.”

“I can do chicken nuggies,” he shrugs easily, rummaging through the freezer and takes out a pack of chicken breasts. “Or some version of that.”

Upon overhearing the key word, Alfie’s head all but whips toward Luca. “We’re having chicken nuggies for dinner?”

“Er, kind of.”

“Can I help?” He perks up from the back of the couch, excitement bubbling over.

Luca smiles apologetically. “Maybe later, my love. Daddy’s gonna be using a big knife…” he says as he checks the blade closely, swiping it with his thumb. “…which is dull, by the way. When was the last time you sharpened this?”

“I… have no idea.” You frown. You don’t even remember sharpening any knives… ever. Meanwhile, Luca simply rummages through the kitchen drawer, which makes you ask, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sharpening it,” he states matter-of-factly, already setting up a makeshift sharpening station which… what?

“Didn’t even know we had that,” you murmur plainly as you watch him work. Taking out a block of whetstone from the drawer (where did that even come from?) and running it under the sink. Laying out a kitchen rag and the stone on top of it.

He chuckles a little, scraping the blade against the stone at an angle, firmly but carefully. “Can’t leave you good Santoku knives without the proper sharpening tools, right?”

“You never taught me how to do it, though.”

“Yes, I have.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“What are you talking about? Back in Chicago, I—”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that was one time forever ago! And you never let me sharpen the knives. You literally always do it.”

He pauses, grinning bashfully. “Fair…”

For the umpteenth time that day, Luca’s heart catches—this time from hearing you laugh. Your warm voice rings so pleasantly in his ears, and the way your face lights up… he almost forgets there’s a storm outside, because he’s got a lovely summer day right here in front of him.

And honestly, what is beautiful sunny Copenhagen compared to this warmth of the two people he loves the most?

“Alright, alright. You want a refresher? Come here.”

You gingerly take the place next to him, arms crossed so as to not invade his space. Neither of you say anything when your shoulders brush against each other. It’s brief, painstakingly so, but eerily familiar. You wouldn’t admit that you want to stay pressed against him a little longer, but… you do.

“Okay, so. You see this bit right here?” His finger runs up the line where the blade flattens into the edge. “Rest the knife on the stone on this angle, start from the heel—near the handle— and just… bring it in,” he demonstrates the inward sliding motion—short and precise and repetitive, “and work your way up to the tip.”

You silently watch him work for a moment, handling the knife. Firm and steady, but not harsh. On the contrary, it’s almost… delicate. You’ve seen many chefs work in your lifetime, but no one is as composed or stoic (or handsome, but that is beside the point) as Luca. It’s quite fascinating. 

“And you do this on both sides, right?” You vaguely recall.

“Good memory.” He nods appreciatively. “Some people like to do each side one at a time, back and forth, but I like to do one side, get that burr forming…”

“What’s a burr, sir?”

Luca chuckles at your little Hamilton reference. “So when you work on this side, you’ll feel a nice little rough bit forming on the other side like this.” He slides his thumb from the knife’s spine to the edge and carefully guides your hand through the motion. “Feel that?“

Yes. That should be an easy enough answer, because yes, you do feel the rough edge of the excess metal on the blade. But it’s a bit hard to focus on that when you’re more fixated on the rough calluses of his fingertips instead…

In theory, playing a knife with your almost ex-husband is as bad as a bad idea can get. In practice, though… Having your hand in his again, feeling him so close to you, smelling his perfume…

“That’s the burr. Once you get it on one side, you can switch over to the other side and balance it out.” His voice is lower now. Softer. “And you just… do it over and over again until you’ve worked off the burr and have a smooth and sharp blade.”

Luca switches the knife to your other hand and stands behind you, hoping to God you can’t feel his pounding heart as his chest presses against your back. Gently guiding you through the sharpening motion—the firm, steady, angled scraping of the blade towards you. You swear to God, every pull brings him just a tad closer.

“So you basically have to break the knife a little to fix it?” 

“That’s basically it, yeah.”

The storm feels miles away. His hands are still curled against yours. His chest flush against your back. His body heat emanates from within him and shrouds you like your favorite cardigan.

“Listen, I—”

“Thanks… for the refresher.” And with that, you put the knife down on the kitchen rag and pull away.

It takes him an extra second to snap out of it and step back to make way for you as you retreat back into your bedroom. “Yeah, yeah. No problem.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck your fucking life to hell.

***

if you've reached the end of this page, thank you so much for reading! do tell me what you think, reblog, send me asks, thoughts, ANYTHING. i would LOVE to hear your opinion!!!

Forget Me Not | 4

You confuse healing with hurting others; Azriel's ready to let you hurt him anyway.

WC: 3.5k

Warnings: TW: SA!!! Please do not read if this is triggering for you. Angst, feelings, my poor boy Azriel is sad.

a/n: I'm so thankful for all the support and kind comments for this story! There will still be at least 2 more parts. Sorry for this one being a bit shorter.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

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

Azriel hadn't interacted with you much since lending you his dagger.

He was always there, sure, but he seemed to be letting you lead wherever your friendship would go. He did not try to force you into speaking with him or being around him, but you did notice his nervous energy when you were around.

When you'd pass him in the House of Wind, run into one another in the library, or sit across from each other at dinner, you couldn't help but study how he'd changed. While he had been quiet before, he had always held a certain peaceful arrogance about him. Now, his silence seemed more insecure and anxious, as if he was not quite sure of himself in his own place of residence.

You hadn't had anyone stay the night with you since that night with Azriel either.

You noticed that he kept his bedroom light on every night, though. You weren't sure if he did this to pretend he was still awake, so you'd be less embarrassed if you needed to wake him, or if he did this to reassure you someone was aware and ready in the house during a time of the night you felt more vulnerable. Either way, you tried not to let it effect you too much.

Some nights when noticing the change between Azriel and yourself got too much, you would cry until your eyes became swollen and burned with exhaustion, finally allowing you to fall asleep. Other nights, every noise in the house caused your anxiety to skyrocket, and you found yourself heading to the library to read as a distraction, knowing you would have to try to rest the following night instead.

Nightmares came every now and then. You had mentioned this to Rhys, assuming that he might have experienced something similar with how much he had gone through, and he suggested a sleeping tonic from Madja. You took it nightly, and it seemed to help the majority of the time.

It had been two months since that night, and while your progress was no where near finished, and your trauma would forever be a part of you, you felt less fragile than you did in those previous weeks. You had started showing up to group events again with the whole inner circle, laughing had become more of a consistent part of your days with the help of Cassian and Mor, and the House had even helped prepare food you could keep down until your appetite was back to normal.

The only thing that didn't seem to be getting any better was your relationship with Azriel.

He tried to help in his own way. He left books out in inconspicuous locations that he thought you would like. There would be a box of your favorite pastries on the kitchen counter in the morning, as if anyone else in the household liked their tart flavor. Sometimes you would even notice shadows slinking into your room at night, tugging at the window locks and blinds to ensure everything was secure.

And you knew he wasn’t trying to be noticeable with these things. In fact, it seemed like he was doing everything in his power to not draw attention to himself. He would instead scan through the pages of the books to see if you had made any notes, check the pastry boxes to make sure you had eaten something, or have his shadows close the window when the cold air was beginning to wake you up.

The fact that it all helped only made you angrier.

The inner circle noticed your frustration around the shadowsinger as well, especially during Winter Solstice celebrations.

You had felt good enough to join the rest of the group at the River House, but it was obvious enough how tense things were between you and Azriel:

Friends exchanged gifts, hugs, and laughter, but Azriel kept to himself the entirety of the night, only occasionally sending one of his family members a small smile or taking a sip of his drink.

He had gotten everyone very thoughtful gifts, and he seemed genuinely touched at the presents he received in return. You tried not to flinch at the gardening book he had gotten Elain or the decorated sheath she had gotten him for one of his daggers.

Azriel and Elain didn't speak much that night though, as much as you tried not to notice. You really did try not to notice Azriel so much, but it was as if your gaze was being pulled to him by some unknown force, demanding that you acknowledge that he was here, close to your side, his attention all on you.

And you felt that attention more than ever when Feyre handed you a box wrapped in midnight blue, the wrapping paper glinting from where you sat by the fire.

Swallowing, you refused to look up at Azriel, knowing it would only make the feeling in your stomach worse.

You heard Rhys making conversation in the background, trying to ease the tension and take some attention away from yours and Azriel's exchange.

The shadowsinger also tried to give you privacy, chiming in here and there to add to Rhys’ conversation, but you still felt his eyes keep moving to you.

Fingers fumbled with unwrapping and pulling apart the box before finally revealing what lay beneath.

Underneath a layer of tissue paper sat a delicate piece of glass about the size of a piece of paper. It was transparent, but somehow held some light and color at certain angles, adding a sort of whimsical iridescence to it. It was stunning, and your careful fingers felt unworthy of holding such an awe-inspiring thing. Your only problem was you had no idea what it actually was.

Azriel cleared his throat, and you couldn't stop your eyes from floating to his.

"It's a translator." He fidgeted from the chair he sat in. "From the Day Court. If you place it on a page of writing, it will translate the text to whatever language you request. I thought you might want to expand some of the books you have access to."

Your heart pounded in your chest. He knew you loved reading. He knew you loved studying. He knew you and had gotten you a gift that made you so excited you had to actively scold yourself to loosen your grip on the glass.

His hazel eyes were filled with so much emotion as he tried to gauge your reaction, you felt something physically crack in your chest.

You tried to will your tears down.

"Thank you," you whispered, unable to make your voice louder. Azriel accepted it all the same, giving you a small nod before clasping his hands together and averting his gaze back to Rhys.

You hadn't gotten anything for Azriel.

You didn't have much to give him anymore. He knew that, despite the sadness that surrounded him that night.

Maybe it was because you would have gotten him a solstice gift before. Not only would you have picked something out months in advance, you would have teased him about it, gone giddy with excitement over the surprise.

After what happened, there hadn’t been a gift in that pile addressed to him from you, and it only served to show the damage that had been done to your friendship.

You tried not to let what he had done damage you further, continuing to build up your walls both physically and emotionally.

Cassian’s training was great for the body and mind, and you put all of your focus into that.

Training had allowed for you to channel some of the agony harbored in your chest into exercise. Every night around 9pm you would meet the general up in the training ring, going over anything from conditioning and weight lifting to actual battle tactics like sword training and hand-to-hand combat.

You knew that Azriel normally came up to train late at night, but it seemed like he pushed his time later in order to give Cassian and you some privacy. You tried not to think about how little of sleep he must be getting if he wasn't coming up to train until midnight. It wasn't your problem.

At first, you were scared both intrusive thoughts and your body's memory would hinder your sessions. You had been hesitant and nervous, but Cassian had quickly made you feel at ease. You knew he had trained Gwyn, and Cassian was a trusted friend, so you shouldn't have been surprised when the sessions went swimmingly.

Cassian was such a steady presence, someone you knew you could always rely on. He made sure to check in on you every night, casually asking questions that seemed nonchalant enough to not be overbearing or annoying while still showing he cared. That didn't stop him from overstepping at times though.

Hours ago, Cassian had been sparring with you in the training ring, his steps circling your own and hands raised ready to strike. You had followed his movements, trying to remember everything you had been taught while silencing outside noises.

You weren't sure if he had said it to get under your skin, to win the upper hand, or if it was something he had actually been pondering for a while.

When you had taken a step as if to attack, Cassian had eyed the dagger in your hand — Azriel’s dagger —and had bluntly asked, "Do you think you'll ever forgive him?"

You had nearly stumbled in your stance.

The inner circle had been very careful to tiptoe around you and Azriel. They didn't ask about your relationship or where you stood, never tried to force interactions or situations upon the two of you, and you had gotten used to the peace of their feigned ignorance.

You had to shake off the shock of his question before it festered in your chest.

"What?" You had decided to ask instead, buying yourself some time to think.

You didn't know what you were doing with your body anymore, if you were still on physically guard, fighting, or if all of your energy was being put toward guarding your emotions.

"I'm not saying you should," Cassian had quickly amended. "But I am wondering where your head is at."

Only staring at him, your eyebrow arched in challenge. "Should it be somewhere specific?"

Cassian's sigh had been near silent in the large room, and the large warrior seemed to deflate at your answer. "No. Of course not."

"Good," you had only replied, voice hard and final. "Then let's keep going."

Cassian had gone right back to his teasing, difficult self, but he left not too long after that sparring round ended.

That had been hours ago, but you were still there, knives and daggers lined up, throwing them at the boards across from you. Each throw had you huffing, and with your strength depleting, your aim became further and further off through the night.

Your arms were sore and numb, both from throwing the weapons and from sparring with Cassian earlier. But it felt good, knowing your muscles were being used, knowing you were growing stronger, more powerful and less vulnerable.

Sleep should have found you about an hour ago, but you knew you wouldn't be able to get any tonight. Cassian's words flowed nonstop through your head: Do you think you'll ever forgive him?

I don't know Cassian, do you think he'll ever stop being such a fuck-up?

The question made you angry, because this situation was never about him, and you didn't owe Azriel anything.

You knew Azriel was Cassian's brother. You knew everyone wanted your family to be whole again, to stop seeing each other hurting. But you were angry at the expectations placed on you by your friends to offer forgiveness, you were angry at Azriel for being too late in every area of your life, and you were angry at yourself for missing him.

Gods, you wanted to scream, to thrash, to hit yourself until you could force yourself into just minutes of peaceful rest.

Do you think you'll ever forgive him?

Do you think he deserves forgiveness?

You paused, breathing heavily as you thought over your own words and reaction. You knew he was trying, but you also knew some things didn't change. And some people weren't worth getting hurt over again.

Before you could pull the dagger in your hand back and launch it forward toward the wooden board, you noticed the shift in the air.

Shadows danced along the floors, curling and floating around training equipment.

You knew Azriel moved back the time he would come up here to train independently so that you and Cassian could have privacy. You knew that you were technically the one infringing on his claimed time and peace now. That didn't stop the wave of frustration that rolled over you, though.

Azriel's presence mimicked that same wave shoving you under. You were sick of it. Sick of feeling like you couldn't breathe, like you couldn't fight back, like every single inch of your body wouldn't listen to you anymore. You were sick and tired of feeling worthless, like you would never be loved, like you would never be someone's priority. And you were so fucking tired of being sad.

Fire burned within your veins, but it wasn't because of shame or hurt. You were angry again. You had deserved better, and you had gotten left in the dust like a piece of trash. And he thought a pretty present could fix things? Could fix you?

As if the iridescent glass sheet could blur the memory of the male's tongue on your neck, the feeling of his fingers touching where they shouldn't, translating the history written on your body into something more pleasant, more beautiful, like a tale of a hero rescuing the dame and whisking her off to safety.

Before you knew what you were doing, you took the dagger Azriel had lent you and turned with a speed and strength you had never aimed at another person, heaving out a noise of frustration and sending the weapon flying toward Azriel's form just inside the doorway.

You saw red. The red of the male's blood in the alleywall, the red of your own blood, the red of Azriel's blood now beading along his bicep, the red of pure unfiltered rage.

"You are a piece of shit, Azriel. A fucking selfish, cruel, shallow bastard. Do you know that?"

Your chest heaved as you tried to control yourself, your fingers already itching for another weapon. It wasn't enough to see you had nicked his skin. You wanted him to fight back, you wanted to hurt him as badly as he had hurt you.

"Is that why you go after damaged females? In an attempt to find something redeemable about yourself? To act like the hero, like some sort of protector?"

He flinched at the words but otherwise remained unmoving. You hated him for it.

"You're no hero. You're a joke."

You watched as the blow landed, and a wave of adrenaline rushed over you. You deserved this. You had been bleeding for months, crawling up the well of your depression until your fingertips were raw and worn, and these attacks against him felt like a hand reaching down from the heavens, like an extra surge of energy to keep yourself going. You didn't want to be the one bleeding, it was someone else's time to bleed for once.

A step toward him, but he didn't move.

"Do you know what the priestesses tell me?"

He blinked, swallowing harshly.

"They say it's not my fault, what happened to me." You shrugged, letting out a bitter chuckle. "I guess they are partially right. Because it's your fault too. And the male's. But I'm not completely blameless here. I mean what in the Cauldron's name was I thinking, putting my trust in you?"

That got him. Eyes squeezed shut suddenly, eyebrows furrowing as if he had actually been stabbed. Good.

"After all," you continued, beginning to pace around the training area, languidly taking small steps as if you were telling your own tale. "How many of those close to you have you let down before? Mor, Rhys, Gwyn, Elain, your mother... I really should have expected to get hurt because of you."

You could see wetness on his cheeks, but you still did not back down. And he did not move from his spot, his hazel eyes not even hardening at the onslaught.

You'd just have to go harder.

"Sometimes in my nightmares, your hands are the ones hurting me in that alley. I can feel your scars as you pin me to the wall, as I'm violated." You let out a humorless laugh. "I think my mind keeps trying to tell me that's all you're good for: inflicting damage."

A drop of blood from his bicep fell to the floor in a perfect circle.

You stopped your pacing, only about fifteen feet in front of him, and dropped your hands to your side. With your head held tall, you looked him directly in his eyes, pausing to memorize the broken look of him.

His chest was hardly rising and falling. He stood completely and utterly still. Hazel eyes on your own, jaw clenched, cheeks wet.

He was a beautifully broken portrait. And you had just torn him to shreds.

Summoning the rest of your courage, you spit out the thought that had been tormenting you, curling its way around your heart until you felt it would be strangled.

A thought, and a promise.

"You may have thought me worthy of being forgotten, but I will make sure you never forget what you have done to me."

Breaking eye contact, you walked past him out of the training ring, refusing to turn back. If you thought you heard a wounded noise travel softly from his lips, you ignored it.

Maybe you were a bad person, maybe deep down you were a sadistic, cruel being, but saying those words finally lifted something from your chest. Air came easier, and some part of you felt vindicated after unleashing yourself, despite the shaking that immediately overcame you in your retreat.

You might have been confused. Your chest might have been swarming with overwhelming, conflicting emotions and adrenaline. You were filled with so much love and hate, so much yearning and anger, but you at least felt like you had a release, the swirling poison in your chest no longer sitting so close to your heart.

Do you think you'll ever forgive him?

It was cathartic. The sharp words, watching them pierce him down to his core, seeing as he cried over what you'd become. And for once, as you let the cool breeze wash over your overworked muscles, you felt tears build in your eyes not from sadness but from relief.

Like a fire burnt out, you dragged your weary body back to the House of Wind, barely making it to your bed before collapsing.

You imagined Azriel standing where you left him, bleeding from where you had slashed him. He hadn't even said a word — he had just let you tear him to pieces.

Was it his own way to punish himself? Was this about him all over again?

Do you think you'll ever forgive him?

Maybe if you knew what was coming in the days following, you would have said yes. Maybe you would have wanted to be around him more, to actually try, instead of pushing him away. Maybe you would have realized that you weren’t just punishing him but yourself as well.

But you didn’t know what was coming. So you pushed the image of his wounded expression, the way he had physically flinched at your words, away from your mind, closed your eyes, and went to sleep.

If you dreamt about his scarred hands scooping you up in that alleyway, bringing you close to his chest and keeping you safe, you'd never admit it.

Cooking Up Speculations

Pairing: Carmen Berzatto x fem!reader

Summary: With y/n rushing around to doll herself up for an event, it's only a matter of time before things get out of hand.

Word Count: 6.7k

Notes: I have never written something like this before, and I thought I would give it a shot. I haven't checked the grammar, but if Google Docs missed anything, that's none of my business.

warning: alcohol and mentions of throwing up out of nervousness but no one actually does, or even comes close.

__

The prep work was close to done and for once in The Bear’s short existence it was not a screaming disastrous mess. Everyone was on track and prepared, the sauces were sitting in the fridge, the cakes were waiting to be sliced, the rolls were warm and ready to be cut open and it was all thanks to (y/n) coming in extra early this morning. She had started the prep work for most of the chefs that had yet to arrive in the effort of softening the blow. She would be abandoning them for the dinner rush on what was predicted to be a very busy day.

What sport was being played? Who is playing? And who won were all unknown to y/n but all she knew was that the restaurant was going to be filled with rowdy and obnoxiously drunk men who were going to make everyone’s life miserable and she was going to get a “get out of jail free card”. She felt a small pang of guilt for basically leaving them for dead but sacrifices had to be made and if she could cover anyone’s shift with little to no notice she was allowed one day to herself.

The restaurant was expecting the dinner rush to crawl in at about 6:30 pm which left y/n about an hour and a half to get ready. Y/n was finishing up cutting up some garnishes so that everything would be perfect. The sounds of a spoon slapping skin was approaching and y/n knew that she needed to state her case convincingly so she could leave early. Fighting the urge to not bring anything up, work through her shift and miss her event was deviously tempting but with a deep inhale she put the knife down and turned on the balls of her feet.

Her (e/c) eyes meet his and before she could choke out a lame excuse as to why she was blocking him she spit out, “I was wondering if I could have a word with you.”

Carmen looked expectantly, he thought she was going to ask him to taste test the braised beef she had just finished prepping, or ask an obscure question about the food science between ingredients. Y/n had once asked if he found it annoying during one of their late night clean up sessions and he said it was a nice change of pace and he really didn’t mind. How could he when you were so eager to learn?

Y/n didn’t want to do this out here, people are working and if she was going to beg, which is how she expected the next 5 minutes to go, she didn’t want any witnesses. The damage that would do to her pride would force her to change her name, move to Vegas and make money by selling timeshares to idiot tourists.

She cleared her throat, “Privately, chef”

Although his face didn’t betray anything, y/n knew that she had caught him off guard. After a while of spending most of their time together cleaning the kitchen after hours and talking about every minute detail in their lives, y/n knew that she had raised a few alarm bells in Carmen’s head. If she paid attention she could hear the sounds of a car alarm blaring in the back of his head signifying that he thought something was wrong. He always assumed the worst possible would happen, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He wordlessly guided y/n to his office. The door was closed and it felt like they were transported to a different dimension where there was nothing outside but the vacuum of space, it was just the two of them in this room and if one of them were to leave the outside pressure would make their body implode and smash into the size of a ping pong ball. She really didn’t want any of them to leave.

With a silent inhale, “I have to leave early today.”

Carmen softened the crease in between his eyebrows, “ Yeah sure, take the day off.” The imaginary crisis was averted and the car alarm stopped blaring in Carmen’s head.

Y/n was surprised that he was being so easy today. Y/n had yet to ask for a day off but she had spent last night imagining the worst possible scenarios possible, she would get yelled at, rejected, or worst he would guilt her for leaving them to deal with the upcoming shit storm.

“Honestly, I was expecting a bit more of a fight.” Y/n joked, “I even made this whole pitch to convince you.”

“ I can hear the pitch so that it doesn’t go to waste,” Carmen said with a glint of humour in his eyes.

Carmen was giving her an inch and so she might as well take the whole mile. Knowing she was about to push her luck and Carmen’s patience a bit more she continued.

“I came in at 4am and started everyone’s prep and helped Tina with the sandwiches during lunch, and did all of Syd’s prep because she had that doctor’s appointment. And I think it's cruel and unusual that you wouldn’t give me a day off when all I did today was prove how much of an angel I am. The least I can get is a measly day off…What you're not gonna give me a day off you selfish prick? You see this is what always happens, little guys always get pushed aside by the Big man. Carmen you're supposed to be better than those billionaire pricks who probably hunt their interns for sport. And I think it's so unfair that I grace you and this business with my presence and I don't even get a single day off- ” Carmen let out an exhale from his nose and covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smirk. The move had almost made y/n fall to her knees, the way his hair was tousled, the way he looked up at her with his sharp blue eyes, the tattoo flexing on his hands that were a calloused and dry from years of washing them nearly a hundred times a day, the veins trailing up from his hands to under his white shirt.

“Okay, I get gist.”

Y/n knew he didn’t ask for an explanation but she wanted to keep him here for just a bit longer.

“I have this thing I have to go to and I live too far away to go home and change so I need your office to get ready. I would get changed and stuff in the bathroom but the lighting is really bad, the outlets don't work, it’s smelly-”

After a quick glance at his watch he realised that he had a few vendors coming by and he needed to get back to the kitchen. “I know, that bathroom is a real shit show. I told Fak to fix it but nothing he fixes lasts for very long. The office is yours.” Carmen rushed out.

“I'm going to be here till 12 so if there is anything you need me to do before I leave just give me a holler.”

Carmen gave a nod of appreciation before his eyes lingered on her face for a second before grabbing a few papers and a clipboard and then opening the door to leave. It was stupid and childish but y/n held her breath wondering if he would be crushed to the size of a ping pong ball as soon as he left but when she heard him yelling at Richie she knew that the “alone in space” fantasy had died.

Y/n slipped out and went to her locker where she pulled out a dress, makeup and a straightening iron. She had an hour and a chance to make herself look like she just came out of a Mattel box and it was a daunting task for someone who didn’t have much experience dressing up.

Makeup was a bit of a disaster at first because she didn’t want to ruin any of Carmy’s papers but after she accidentally dabbed a bit of concealer on a light bill she just stopped giving a fuck and finished up. The hair was tricky, the outlet was near the ground and she had to crouch to straighten her hair.

The last and most daunting task was the dress because y/n was about to strip in her bosses office and although she had dreams about something this amazing, the reality was much less sexy. In a small burst of paranoia she rolled the chair over to the door so no one would walk in by accident and quickly changed. In the back of her mind all she was thinking about was the small glimmer of hope that Carmy would be the one to walk in. In reality, it would be Rich or Fak because boundaries were a foreign concept to the both of them.

And with 10 minutes to spare, y/n was done. She sprayed some perfume and hyped herself up to leave. She knew she would get teased so she wanted a smooth exit, an Irish goodbye would be perfect, fingers crossed hoping that Richie was out back so she would get out before he made these stupid jokes.

After a few deep breaths, y/n picked up her things and opened the door. The coast was clear and she made a beeline to the lockers to grab her purse, change her shoes and go. She would leave most of her stuff, because if you want to survive you have to be light, like those firefighters that ditch their equipment so that they don't get burned alive. Everyone looked busy and with a quick once over, y/n tried to walk through the kitchen. And although women and heels have had centuries of history, the heels still managed to betray her at the very end. The long sound of heel on tile brought Syd’s head up. Y/n eyes widened as she shook her head as to signal to Syd to drop it but Syd let out a playful gasp and Y/n knew that the jig was up.

“You look amazing.”

And a sea of eyes were looking at y/n.

“You get all dressed up for me?” Syd joked and for a split second y/n wondered if she could make a run for it before she realised that she would fall and crack her head open.

“Who else?” Y/n joked back hoping to get out before she was held captive by their questions.

“You look so nice, where are you headed?” Tina said as she came closer and dragged you closer to everyone.

“Umm- I was actually going to-”

“You know who you look like?” One of those women who seduces James Bond at a casino.” Sweeps commented unhelpfully. A hum of agreement was shared among the crew. Y/n’s face grew warm.

“So where are you going?”

“A date, women don't dress like that if it's not for a date” Ebra chimed in.

Another gasp, “ IS it a date, is he handsome?” Sydney probed.

“Actually, I'm not- '' Y/n tried to finish before she was interrupted.

“What type of car does he drive?”

“We'll see when he picks her up. When is he picking you up?”

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU CLOWN JABBERING ABOUT '' Richie burst through the door to see what all the commotion was about and he looked like he was in utter disbelief.

“I didn’t know that it was possible for you could look like that”

Y/n was slightly offended.

“You normally look like death.” Richie laughed. Scratch that y/n was very offended.

“I could look like this everyday if I wasn’t in front of a stove, you clown.”

Ignoring her, Richie asked the room,“ Where is she headed?”

“A date”, Sweeps added.

“I'm going to my friends-” y/n tried to interject.

“A date huh, our little y/n is all grown up now. Soon we’ll be sending her off to college.” Wiping a fake tear and leaning on Tina for mock support, “They leave the nest so soon, it was like it was just yesterday when I saw her struggling to walk.”

“It WAS yesterday and I was only struggling because I hit my knee on the shelfs in the walk-in.”

“Who’s the guy?” Richie asked

“ Your dad.” Y/n knew it was childish and unoriginal but she was too flustered to be a bit more creative.

Richie ignores her and continues, “You know what you look like? You look like one of those girls who kills Johns”

“Are you saying I look like a prostitute?”

“A classy one for like the president and shit.”

“or an ambassador,” Ebra added.

“or a CEO,” Richie continued.

Y/n knew it was going to be tough but she wanted to get out before she was stuck forever.

“I have to go now, I’ll see you guys bright and early tomorrow. Richie you suck major ass. And just so you know, i'm not going on a-”

Carmen walked in with a clipboard and a pen not even sparing a glance up.

“Ok, I just got the beef delivered so we should have enough for Ebra till the end of the week.”

“Heard, chef”

“And Marcus”, who watched the whole thing and didn’t offer any help to y/n except the occasional chuckle.

“I have your eggs”

“Heard, chef”

Although no one said it, everyone was waiting for the moment that Carmen looked up and saw y/n. The dishwashers who never really left their stations shut off the water and were subtly watching this mess unfold.

It was the longest that y/n had seen Richie quiet. He just stared at Carmen, while hiding his mocking smile under the guise of rubbing his stubble.

“I know we are low on onions but the guy is coming in a bit so sit tight”

“Heard”

Maybe, y/n thought, she would be able to walk past Carmen unnoticed if she walked on the balls of her feet so that the heels made less noise. Y/n took a step forward to hightail it out of here so she could make it in time and even though the heel was a lot quieter then last time, the unusual silence in the kitchen made it impossible to disguise the sound.

The sound of heels on tiles brought Carmen back to reality.

He looked up and y/n didn’t know if she imagined it but she thought she saw him raise his eyebrows. And if she was really going to feed into her delusions, she would say that his eyes widened and his pupils dilated too.

All that came crashing down thought, because after a beat of silence barring the sounds of sizzling and bubbling. Carmen questioned, “I thought you would have left by now chef.”

“I got held back but I really do need to leave now. I'm going to miss you guys and I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.” And with a quick wave y/n brushed shoulders with Carmen as she left. The smell of her perfume lingered and Carmen felt a bit dizzy.

Carmen wanted to ask where y/n was going but he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, not when the two of you have already gotten so close. Richie had different plans, “Hey cousin guess where y/n going?”

“I don’t know cousin, that isn’t really any of our buis-”

“She is going on a date”

“A hot one” Syd chirped

“With a nice car” Ebra added

Richie’s comment felt like a ton falling on his head. Now he felt a different type of dizziness. He quickly composed himself

“Chefs, we have a dinner rush coming, now is not the time.” Carmen said with a bit of an edge.

Richie led Carmen to the front under the guise of asking a question about the tablet. The crew looked around and shared a knowing snicker.

“I can't believe that you let her go like that?” Richie added. “Right now she is in some guy's car about to get wined and dined to high heaven while you wait here with your cock in your hand like some cuck.”

“ Cuck?” Carmen said with venom, it's like he was giving Richie a chance to take it back before he killed him.

“I would be fucken pissed. I wouldn’t let someone take my girl out like that, all dressed up for someone who isn't me”

For a second Carmen imagined you sitting across from your rich new date with the nice car and the handsome face and felt like throwing up. He was angry, he was angry with this “date”, he was angry at Richie for saying all that stupid shit to get a reaction, and embarrassingly enough he was angry at y/n. He had no right to be but he just couldn’t help it.

“Richie if you don’t knock it off, I’m going to send you flying out the fucking window”

“Yes, chef.” Richie mockingly replied.

And with a swift turn Carmen returned to the kitchen with a different temperament then he had 10 minutes ago.

The dinner rush was a nightmare, but the kitchen was hell. There wasn’t a single thing that didn’t set Carmen off. He wasn’t screaming like he was with the to-go orders but he was on edge. They could feel it when they had to remake dishes because he didn’t like them, or when they had to listen to him criticise innocuous things after housekeeping. When that dinner rush ended, the crew looked like they wanted to be anywhere else but there. The second the restaurant closed, chefs cleaned as fast as they could to get the hell out of there. It was the fastest they had cleaned since the morning rush with the pre-orders.

With a quick goodbye, everyone but Carmen left the restaurant hoping that he would be in a better mood tomorrow.

Carmen did what he did every night, got on his knees and scrubbed the floor with a towel. Carmen knew it was unfair and he knew he had no right to dictate what you did. You weren’t his and he waited too long. A part of him understood where y/n was coming from, during one of their late night conversations he had mentioned that he had never had a girlfriend and he didn’t really have the time. This conversation took place some time after the two had gotten close but before he realised that he might have liked her for quite some time. Things were different now and Carmen wanted more.

He tried his best to be understanding but the thought of y/n clinging onto someone else’s arm and laughing at their stupid unfunny joke, made him livid. What if they kiss? Or what if they sleep together?” That thought made him stop scrubbing and sit on the balls of his feet and throw the wet towel with an unnecessary amount of force to another corner of the kitchen. He couldn’t do this today, he couldn’t be here. He got up and cleaned up the towel and bucket of dirty soap water and walked home.

He ended his night with a nightcap hoping that he would fall asleep easily but it didn’t work. He spent a good amount of time staring at y/n contact hovering over the call button before flaking out because it was 2 in the morning and he had to get to work at 6:30. Maybe Richie was right and he was a coward but before he could think too long, sleep had overcome him.

The restaurant was a bit of a walk away from Carmen’s house but he never minded it before, it felt like a good buffer between “Home Carmen” and “Work Carmen”. Today was different, he couldn't not think about y/n and that annoying date of her’s so for the first time in his time in Chicago he listened to music on his way to work. The music was so loud that it was just obnoxious noise and allowed him to stop worrying for a few moments. Carmen couldn’t think about y/n without feeling a bit… he didn’t know how he felt he just knew it was not a great feeling.

Being the first one in the restaurant was not new to him but it felt strange that after 30 minutes he was still the only one there, normally y/n would be there by now asking Carmen about a baking show they both happened to catch the night before, or ask what he ate for dinner last night and breakfast this morning. Carmen would always fight the urge to lie and say that he cooked something magnificent when in reality he probably ate a bag of chips and drank some flat soda. One of the things that these AA meetings emphasised was honesty, to both himself and others, and even if it was embarrassing he told you the truth. You never really judged him because you did the same thing.

After sorting through fuck ton of bills, a few of which had brown power on them and one of them had a (s/c) smudge on the corner he heard a buzz in his pocket. He looked at it hoping it was you saying that you'll be there any second.

(Y/N): I'm so sorry to do this to you but I'm going to be a bit late today, not super late but like an hour. I have to grab my extra apron from my place and I'm a bit far from there. I'll be there by 8 the latest. Again, super sorry :(

Carmen read the text a few times to check if he read that right, you were going to be late because you weren't home and slept somewhere else and needed a change of clothes. Which translated to, you were with someone else, which means you might have done something with someone else. He just stared at the text for a few more seconds before he heard the sound of the front door opening, Carmen didn’t have to look to know it was Sydney. He snapped out of it and sent back an “ok”, lowercase just to be a bit petty. Was it immature? Yes. Did he regret it? Not really.

Y/n spent the rest of her food budget for the week yesterday in a drunken haze with an uber from one side of Chicago to the other. The bachelorette party was a success and y/n was glad that her friend had a good time at the fancy restaurant that she picked out. Y/n was trying to be responsible and limit herself to a few drinks but it's hard to say no to the bride to be and before she knew it she had to leave her car at the restaurant because they took her keys and y/n and her friends crammed into an uber headed towards one of the bridesmaids houses.

Y/n woke up in a hurry, she grabbed a random shirt and joggers from her friends closet because all she had was that dress, which now had wine spilled on it. She quickly gathered her things and texted the group chat that she had to leave early so she could get to work. They would read it when they woke up. Not repeating yesterday’s mistakes she took the train to the restaurant, got her keys back and drove at illegal speeds to get to her place where she took a shower, changed back into her friends clothes because she was way behind on laundry. She took one last look in the mirror before grabbing the apron and sprinting out the door to drive to work. She got there at 7:30am and she felt like death. The hangover was finally catching up to her, and she poured herself some water from the dispenser out front. She knew everyone was in the kitchen by now. She gave herself a few more seconds of quiet before she opened the door to the kitchen and gave a quick hello and rushed towards the lockers to put her stuff in and change into her non-slip shoes and apron.

Richie raised his eyebrows. This was too good, it was too easy, all he needed was for Carmy to get out of that depressing office of his to bear witness to this.

Richie was the first to ask, “New shirt? Never seen it before? ”

“Good Morning to you Richie, if you need to know I borrowed it from my friend.”

Carmen wanted to rush out as soon as he heard your voice but he refrained. He promised himself that he would give you a bit of space to respect you and your date/boyfriend. That didn’t stop him from listening through the door.

“Some friend you got there, real close.” Richie jokes

y/n didn’t know what he was talking about, “Friends tend to be close, Richie. You would know that if you had any.” Y/n barked back.

“How was it?” Syd asked as she sliced what looked like gallons of onions.

Y/n knew that last night was probably a good night but she was so drunk then and so hungover now that it all made her a bit nauseous to think about.

“Honestly, I don't remember much but I do know it was fun.”

“Hungover?” Tina asked.

“Very, my whole body feels like i was run over by a semi”

Marcus handed y/n a gatorade before going back to work with the cakes.

“You come back to us in new clothes, showered, late, hungover, and sore. You must have one hell of a night!” Richie said louder than necessary just so that Carmen would hear, he had a feeling that Carmy was eavesdropping.

“Im telling you guys i didn’t actually go on a-”

Carmen didn’t want to hear anything after Richie spoke because he felt like he was going to hear something he didn’t want to know. He picked up a clip board, slammed the door open and began walking around.

“Chef.” Carmen said mechanically

“Chef.” Y/n replied back fully expecting this, she left early, came late and was now distracting everyone.

Y/n quickly busied herself with peeling garlic and the rest day fell back to its usual rhythm. The prep finished right before the restaurant opened and they worked on filling to-go orders along with the regular lunch and dinner orders. One thing was noticeably different to y/n, Carmen hadn’t looked or approached her once. Normally he would walk by all the chefs and ask how they were doing, checking the quality, etc but the second he got to y/n who was at the far end of the kitchen he circled back. He made comments to everyone’s dish and he had yet to even get within a 3 feet radius on y/n.

Y/n could feel that something was off and to test it, after the dinner rush she finished making one of the test items that Sydney and Carmen had wanted to try out and after a small taste she knew she killed it.

Y/n walked up to Carmen with the dish and set it down. “Can you taste it and tell me what you think?” Carmen didn’t look up, he just grabbed a fork, took a bite and said a quick “It's fine, chef”.

Y/n then looked the dish over to sydney and asked her to try it.

“It added a bit of chocolate because I read somewhere that Japanese people put chocolate in their curry”

“Chocolate huh?” Sydney grabbed a small notebook and made a note.

“It’s okay?” y/n asked.

“It's fire, chef. Great work”

In y/n mind that confirmed that something was wrong with Carmen. Y/n waited till the restaurant closed and everyone left to bring it up. It was just Carmen and y/n alone in the restaurant and y/n could feel there was something in the air.

“You don't have to stay late, you should leave early” Carmon proposed while not looking at her.

That was strange because Carmen never asked her to leave early. She walked up to Carmen who was sweeping the floor and ripped off the bandaid.

“Thanks for the offer but I want to stay with you for a bit longer.” Carmen’s grip on the broom toughened till his knuckles turned white. It was a risky thing to say and after a beat of silence y/n took the coward’s way out by diverting and changing subjects.

“I'm sorry I was so late today Carmen, are we good?”

“We're good.”

Another awkward silence.

“ I don’t think we're good, you seem, I don't know, pissed?”

“I'm good, you're good, we’re good” Carmen said by turning his attention to a very interesting onion skin on the floor.

“You didn’t say anything about the dish I made, or that I was late. Someone told me that you seemed off yesterday.”

“Was this someone named Sydney?”

“Cannot confirm or deny, Carmy”

Carmy finished sweeping and took a few steps back.

“There it is again! You keep walking away from me and not looking me in the eye.”

Carmen didn’t know that he was being obvious, he thought he was subtle because Richie would have brought it up if he wasn’t. Carmen forced himself to look up at y/n and felt like the wind was knocked right off his lungs, he really hadn’t seen her at all today and he missed her.

“You can tell me what's happening so that I can help or at the very least listen to what's wrong.” y/n offered

Carmen bent down, and started to scrub in silence. He looked like he was piecing something together and y/n didn’t want to intrude so she continued to scrub assuming the conversation was over and that they were going to spend the rest of their lives in this uncomfortable silence. A few minutes pass and then a long sigh is heard from the other end of the kitchen. Carmen looked up.

“I’ve been a bit..” Carmen started. Y/n wanted him to finish his thought before she called him a dick.

“It's been a weird day.. I know it shouldn’t but I can't help but ask..”

A pregnant pause passed.

“How was..” y/n leaned in so she could hear.

“How was your “thing” yesterday?” He spit out.

Y/n looked a bit confused, “Umm it was fine, I mean we were at a restaurant so it wasn’t anything to crazy”

“Why were you so late today?”

The other shoe dropped, “ I knew you were pissed that I was late.” With an exhale she continued “We went to dinner and then got shit faced drunk and ubered over to a friends house. I had to go by that restaurant in the morning to pick up my keys and drive to my place so I could take a shower and not smell like a walking liquor store.”

“How was he?” Carmen choked out after a few more beats of silence.

“How was who?”

“Your umm…”

“Mmm” Carmen continued.

Y/n waited but it felt like he was testing her patience,

“Your date?” Carmen finally conceded while swinging his head down.

“What date? I went to a bachelorette party with a few of my girlfriends.”

Carmen’s head shot up, “ I thought-”

“The people in here are so nosy, I kept telling them that it wasn't a date and they wouldn’t bother to listen.”

Carmen’s shoulders relaxed and he felt like he could finally look at you without feeling guilty that he was looking at another guy’s girl.

“What’s been on your mind, Carm?” Y/n probed and Carmen's shoulders tensed up again.

Y/n could feel the atmosphere change and she wanted to capitalise on it while she still could, she could trick herself into thinking that Carmy was jealous of some imaginary guy that he thought she went on a date on, when he probably was just diverting attention to avoid talking about his own problems.

More silence.

More scrubbing.

Carmen looked up with a look of determination, y/n assumed that he had finally hyped himself to tell her what has been bugging him. Although the tension was killing her she did want this moment to last for a bit longer. In this moment she could convince herself that Carmen was troubled because of her and not because work was drowning him or that he is a mess because his brother left him this shithole and left.

She wanted him to have a problem with an easy solution. If he liked her, the easy solution was that she would kiss him and tell him how much she longed for him. He would then confess how much he yearned for her and she would give all of herself to him and he would finally have a win in his life, something that wasn’t tainted by his love/hate relationship with cooking, his family, his brother. Something that he would have all to himself, her love.

Just for a few moments she repeated, that's how long she had till the dream died. This wasn’t the first time something similar had happened. They would stay late and in the comfortable beats of silence Carmen would look up with such a look of determination and y/n heart would flutter hoping for those three special words but she would get something completely different but still equally important, information about a very private part of his life whether it be the AA meetings, or the guilt he felt for resenting his brother. And everytime y/n’s heart would break a bit and then mend itself knowing that even if she couldn't have him like she wanted to, she would still be important to him.

That type of relationship, friendship, used to be enough, but not anymore. With his plans to change The Bear he was getting further and further away from her. It used to feel like it was the two of them but y/n was starting to wonder if she was going to be left behind. If she would stay friends for a while until the longing grew too strong and y/n would leave The Bear. Even if Carmen misses her for a while, y/n knew he would bounce back like he always did and she would slowly be replaced by Sydney or whoever. The thought that in a few years he will have learned to cope with his grief and trauma and move on from the past, move on from y/n, and maybe settle down with someone else made y/n feel like throwing up.

This time y/n didn’t fall for Carmen's “look”, she had a neutral face and was ready to hear what Carmen's issues were. She wouldn’t assume that she was going to get a confession. This time she will help him with his problems and move on from this one-sided crush. Maybe she WILL go on a few dates to forget about him.

“Carmen, do you want to talk about it?We don’t have to do anything you don't want to.”

Determination morphed into apprehension.

“I am feeling something, it is n-n-not…” He exhaled through his nose.

”It's selfish y/n. I'm being selfish. You have every right to do whatever you want but I..”

Y/n tried to look as comforting as possible trying her best to hide any confusion, if Carmen was any other person she would ask if he was sober right now because he was a total mess.

“I’ve never done this before, and I-” and he ran his palm through his hair.

Y/n refrained from thinking about how amazing he looked under the fluorescent lights with his tousled hair and apprehensive gaze. He could bring up his nightmares or sleepwalking, and she would feel so guilty for perving over his eyes.

“You looked very nice in that dress yesterday.” Y/n felt like a lump was forming in her throat. He was going to say something like this and think it's an off handed comment but she would go to the bathroom and cry because she knew nothing would come from it. Y/n thought it was a bit cruel.

“You looked so beautiful yesterday it was hard for me to look at you without making a fucking idiot out of myself. I wanted to run over to you and tell you that as soon as you left but Richie told me you're going on a date and it was…”

Carmen continued, “You are special and you deserve someone who isn’t…me. And you're free to do whatever and if this is completely …wrong…bad…i don't know, just stop me and we will never talk about this ever again…”

He searched y/n’s eyes looking for a sliver of doubt or disgust but he was met with glassy eyes and a look that longed for him to continue.

“When I thought you were going on that date I knew that I couldn’t not have you and that made me feel….” A sigh reverberated through the kitchen.

“ I like you…romantically.” Carmen uttered.

Y/n didn’t say or do anything for a moment, she spent a few moments wondering if she was hallucinating or dreaming. And in a moment of pure adrenaline, she scooted over to Carmen who was still on the floor before cupping his face in her hands and whispered, “Can I kiss you?”

The kiss wasn't electrifying; it felt like a wave of warmth seeped into every corner of their beings. It felt like dipping your hand in warm water after shovelling the show, the type of warmth that sends shivers down your spine. Y/n fingers get lost in his wavy hair and his hands hesitate, not knowing where they should go before landing one on her hip and the other on the back of her neck to pull her closer. Y/n heart was beating so hard she wondered stupidly if he could hear it, Carmen was wondering something similar. They slowly pulled away for air before getting a good look at each other, both their lips were swollen and red and their eyes were dazed.

Y/n knew he was a flighty person, one wrong move and he would go running for the hills so she refrained from asking if they were dating now, this could have just been a one time thing and she didn’t want to ruin it. Thankfully Carmen held her hand and stroked it with her thumb before swinging his head down and looking up at her.

“I want to be with you y/n”

“I like you too, Carmen, for a very long time.” And their lips meet once again.

Y/n resisted the urge to say that she only bought the dress in the hopes that he would take it off of her, that was a story for another time.

“Let's get you home” Carmen mumbled into her lips, the vibrations and the friction making her lips burn in sensitivity.

Carmen helped y/n get up before they both packed up their stuff and headed out the door. Both hiding the smile of triumph from each other, not really knowing how much the other loves them yet, and only time would remedy that.

An Inconvenient Affection [Chapter 11]

Summary: When a couples’ therapist is suspected of murdering his own patients, Y/N and Spencer must go undercover as a feuding married couple to draw him out.

Chapter Summary: The real world begins to creep in

A/N: Sorry that this so unbelievably late, thank you so much for your patience, as always! Love you all ❤️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fake Dating, Friends to Lovers, Smut, Fluff, Angst

Warnings: NSFW language, sexual themes, language, mentions of stalking & infidelity, discussions of jealousy and possessive behavior, kissing, fingering, oral (female receiving), angst (sorry)

Word Count: 4.7k

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Something about Dr. Harris’ words sits with him long after the session is over. He knew he loved her, but he did want to show it more. In a way it still didn’t feel real, the two of them being together.

Obviously the team didn’t know yet, and they couldn’t act like a happy couple outside of the confines of the apartment. The apartment that didn’t even belong to them. It all felt so strange when he really let himself dwell on it, lounging back on the sofa almost letting himself get fully lost in his thoughts before pulling himself back.

He was going to show her love, as best as he could within these four walls, so he grabbed his coat and raced out of the apartment in a bid to get some shopping done before all the stores closed for the night.

He’s not entirely sure what he’s hoping to find as he wanders the aisles of their local grocery store. Nothing on the shelves really screams romance, until his eyes land on a bouquet of red roses. They’re not perfect, but what did he expect really. So he grabs a bunch, or three, along with some candles, and some champagne, and he’s back at the apartment with a plan.

He has a bit of time before she gets in from her shift. So he really takes him time, setting everything up perfectly. He feels like a little foolish as he pulls the petals off several roses, scattering them around the bathroom as he waits for the water to heat. He leaves some in the water, others along the floor in a little trail out to the bedroom. He feels even sillier when he throws the remaining handful on their bed.

He tries no to let himself overthink it as he lights the candles he’s got set up around the bath. He’d like to think she’ll find the whole thing sweet, but there’s every chance she’ll find it corny and laughable. He just really hopes that’s not the case.

The bath is just about full with steaming water and frothy bubbles when he hears a key in the door and his legs can barely carry him fast enough. In spite of the probably overwhelming scent of roses that’ll hit her as soon as she opens the door, he still wants it to be a surprise.

“Hi?” is the first thing she says, confusion plain on her features when she comes home just before midnight and he’s waiting by the door, right in the same place he had been when she left him earlier.

“H-hey” he rushes out, trying and failing to contain his excitement, “How was work?”

She narrows her eyes as she looks up at him, suspicious now, “What did you do?” is the first thing she thinks to ask, “Did you break something?” is her follow up when he doesn’t answer right away.

“No! No nothing like that” he shakes his head, “Just— god, come with me” he pulls her with him towards their bedroom, leading her straight past the rose-petal covered bed, into the bathroom.

It’s not how she remembered their little bathroom looking. The candles that litter every surface of the bathroom flicker and glow to create a warm light that bounces off the tiles. The bath itself is full of bubbles and water, and the steam rolling off the top of it just makes it look even more inviting. Not to mention the red petals that float on the surface and coat the ground beneath her feet.

When she turns to him she’s almost welling up, little tears in her eyes threading to spill over at the very gesture.

“Oh, what’s wrong? I—is this okay? You don’t have to if you don’t want to— I —I won’t be offended.” he rushing out reassurance so fast he barely notices her head shake from side to side.

“No” she says through a light laugh, “No, it’s perfect you fool! I love it, I love you.” she smiles looking up at him, and he can see it now as he looks into her eyes, that they’re full of nothing but adoration. She places a light kiss on his lips and he can’t help but smile against her.

“I almost forgot” he mumbles as she pulls back, “I got champagne too. I’ll just go grab it from the kitchen” he says through an excited smile.

When he returns with the bottle and glasses she’s already undressed and stepping into the water. He takes a second to admire her from the doorway, still in complete disbelief that she was really his, that she was choosing to be with him of all people.

He places a glass down beside her as she sits into the warm water, watching as it envelops her and seems to dissolve any tension in her body as she sinks further beneath the surface.

“I’ll just be outside, but let me know if you need anything” he says as he places a kiss on her forehead, but she just looks up at him with an utterly confused expression.

“Wh- you’re not getting in?” she asks, turning her body to face him as he tries to leave the room.

“No, it’s for you. I wanted you to relax” he says with a soft smile. And it makes her heart swell but she still can’t let him away with it.

“You know what would be even more relaxing?” she asks, and he quirks an eyebrow, “If you got in here with me? Please?”

It doesn’t take much convincing to get him into a bath with his naked girlfriend. She gets him to sit with his back propped up against the smooth porcelain and she slots herself in between his legs.

The second he’s got her body pressed up against his chest, with his arms floating around her, he doesn’t feel like any of this was corny anymore. It’s hard not to feel a little soppy and romantic in a setting like this.

“Are you comfy?” she asks, like he could be anything other than perfectly content in the positions he’s in right now.

“More than” he says through a smile.

And they relax just like that, together. Doing nothing but enjoying the warmth of the water, and of each others company. But before the water gets too cold, she wants him to relax properly too.

Of course he had planned this whole thing for her, to help her unwind a little. But it wasn’t lost on her that he had been wound tight since the very beginning of this case. So she swivels around a little so she can look at him.

“Spence?” she asks, “Can we swap places for a bit?”

He looks a little puzzled at first, but he concedes.

She turns her body around and spreads her legs so that he can nestle in-between them, laying himself against her chest. She lets him rest like that for a few minutes before gently scooping up some water in her hands and pouring it over his soft brown curls.

“Hey!” he giggles, “What are you doing?” he asks, trying to crane his neck around without getting any of the water in his eyes. But he just catches sight of her reaching for the shampoo bottle and catches on quickly.

“Lie back” she orders, squeezing a dollop onto her fingertips as she waits for him to comply, “That’s better”

She takes her soapy fingers and begins to massage them into his hair. Taking her time, she digs them into his scalp, drawing them in patterns along the sensitive skin and watching the way Spencers eyes drift solely closed.

“That feels so nice” he breathes out in a sigh, the tension he perpetually carried in his shoulders slowly starting to dissipate as the evening went on.

She grabs the shower head and uses it to rinse out the lather before coaxing him back into her arms to comb the conditioner through his curls. She lets it sit in his hair then, something she’s sure he never does, in spite of how soft his hair usually was.

He can hear her heart beat slowly thumping as he rests his head against her chest once more, his eyes remaining closed so that he can savor all of the other sensations that little bit more.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this close with anyone” he mumbles out, and he’s more thinking it to himself really, taking notice of just how low his guard has dropped in that moment.

“At least, not like this, this is… I don’t know? I just— I can’t describe it?” he ponders, and he’s almost a little shocked when he feels her giggling against him.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, trying to maneuver his head around so that he can see her joyous little expression.

“I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you speechless before? Spencer Reid, at a loss for words? It’s an honor really.”

He shakes his head as he begins to giggle too, using his palm to flick some of the bath water back towards her with a grin.

“I’m trying to be vulnerable right now and you’re laughing?” he says, with a mock-offended tone, but she just nods enthusiastically.

“I couldn’t resist! I’m sorry!” she yelps as he splashes her again, “But for what it’s worth, I feel the same way”

As much as he loves the words that tumble from her lips, he loves the perfect sound of her laughter even more, so he splashes her again just to hear that melodic sound.

And when their messing continues past the point of lukewarm bathwater, and drenched candles, it’s finally time to get out. Spencer climbs out first, wrapping a towel around his hips before grabbing a large fluffy towel for her. Pulling her out and wrapping it tight around her shoulders, enveloping her in the soft warm fabric and placing a gentle kiss into damp hair.

“God you smell so good” he sighs, holding her wrapped in his arms for another moment, as if they hadn’t been pressed up against each other all evening.

But it’s after getting a little too late, and even though neither of them has a deadline in the morning, they still need rest. So they climb into bed together, foregoing pajamas in favor of freshly washed skin on skin.

— — —

When he wakes to the bed empty beside him his heart all but stops. But the shock only lasts a moment before he fully wakes up and realizes that he can hear the shuffling of pots and pans in the kitchen, and he can smell the warm scent of coffee wafting through the open bedroom door.

So he pries himself out of bed with far less effort than usual, knowing what awaits him in the kitchen makes the task so much simpler. Expecting to find her in her pajamas, cooking breakfast, or reading a newspaper, he hurries to get dressed.

But when he rounds the corner, the picture in front of him is far less innocent. He’s caught off guard by the sight of her bare legs, swinging off the edge of the counter as she sits on the surface. The smooth skin stretching all the way up, only to be covered by one of his sweaters that just about reached her hip.

But he wasn’t entirely off base, she does have a newspaper folded in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other as she sits on the countertop, seemingly too engrossed to notice he’s even entered the room yet. But he doesn’t mind, it gives him a moment longer to really savor the scene.

“It’s not fair that you look so much better in my clothes than I do” he says with a soft sigh, crossing the room to join her, finally making his presence known.

“While I appreciate the flattery, that’s just not true” she smiles up at him as he comes closer. Nudging her knees further apart so that he can stand in-between them, filling the empty space with his body. “You look perfect in your clothes, sexy, even.”

He shakes his head softly in disbelief. He’s not really convinced that he’d ever believe she liked him the same way he liked her, no matter how many times she proved it to him.

“God, it smells so good in here” he mumbles, only now noticing the sweet smell that was beginning to fill the room.

“I know” she says with a grin, “I’m making muffins, they’ll be ready in about 10 minutes” she tells him as she reaches her arms up around his neck, pulling him in closer so that he’s got no choice but to inhale the perfect smell of her hair mixed with his detergent. Something about the combination makes him happier than he can really explain.

“Hmm” he ponders right against her ear, “I don’t know if I can wait that long to eat…” it comes out as a rough whisper, and she knows that tone instantly, her own breath catching in her throat when she tries to speak.

“Always so impatient” she reprimands as he pulls away, slowly sinking down further and further.

His hands find her bare thighs, long fingers drawing patterns along the sensitive skin.

“I’ve spent far too long being patient” he says, his voice low, “I don’t think I can do it anymore” his nails sink in to the flesh as he speaks, slowly building enough pressure to leave crescent shaped marks in their wake.

When she lets out a stifled whimper he can’t hold himself back a second longer. From his squatting position, he hooks his hands behind each of her knees and pulls her forward, right up to the edge of the counter top where he was waiting eager between her legs. His breath hot against her already sensitive skin.

Looking up at her he places hungry kisses in a little trail, each one inching closer and closer to the damp cotton that barely covered her. When he meets her eyes, and they’re filled with the same fire that was certainly in his own, he let his fingers pull at the sides of her panties, tugging them off of her gently until there was nothing in his way.

“Fuck” he breathes, the warm air ghosting over her core, and forcing her to stifle a pathetic moan, borne out of his very proximity to her rather than any real touch. “Ah, so wet for me” he’s quick to praise, taking an extra second to admire the way she glistened in front of him.

“Is this okay?” he takes the time to ask, his eyes casting a glance up at her own, soft and sweet in their question. And she nods, maneuvering to drape a leg gently over either one of his shoulders, pulling him in even closer as an unequivocal signal that this is what she wanted, more than anything in that moment.

And he doesn’t need any more convincing than that as he leans in closer, dragging his tongue in one self-assured stripe between her folds, savoring the taste, the sounds, the feeling, as her muscles tightened instantly, a jolt of pleasure running through her.

She let out a pleased little whimper, barely audible if he weren’t so attuned to her every sound. As much as he wants to devour her, to lose himself in a pleasure he’s been waiting so long for, he just about manages to savor it. Pulling himself back after that first taste, that tease, to praise her even further.

“You taste like heaven” he groans as he places a wet kiss on the inside of her thigh.

“Fuck” she says through a shiver, her hands braced on the edge of the countertop, trying their best not to reposition him. But before she can really consider it he’s made his way back. But this time it’s his fingers that are toying with her. Not penetrating her just yet, just trailing delicately around the outside, gathering her arousal on his fingertips until her knuckles were blanched with the anticipation.

“Ah, please” she says in a tiny whimper.

He almost wants to tease her, to ask her what she means, to tell him what it is that she’s so desperate for. Purely so that he can hear it from her own lips that it’s him, it’s him that she wants so much that she felt the need to beg. But the thought alone is enough, and he can’t stop himself from giving her what she wants.

So he pushes his middle finger inside of her, slow, and gentle. Noticing the way she was so warm around the digit. So wet and unresistant as she lets out a pleased sigh. So he adds another, the two fingers stretching her out that little bit more so that her breathing grew harsher with each ragged inhale.

He curves them up ever so slightly after a few moments, and he’s reassured in his actions by the way her heels dig into his back, completely lost in the pleasure before he’d really even gotten started.

“Such a good girl” he coos in between sloppy kisses against her knees that made their way up to her thighs until he was right back where he started. His lips pressing a soft kiss against her pubic bone before placing a matching one against her warm, wet, centre, eliciting a perfect little cry from the woman above him. And the second the sound is gone, he misses it.

Continuing the steady rhythm of his fingers, he begins to suck gently on her most sensitive point and her back began to arch against him. Her hands giving in and finding their way into his hair in spite of how impatient it made her look. But it made him chuckle, a vibration that only served to further her pleasure, and in turn, his own.

“Ah, Spence— fuck, I…” she rasped out between shallow breaths, her hands knotted in his hair, her hips rocking against his face, chasing her release.

Again, he wanted to tease her, to ask her what was wrong, was she close, could she not even form a sentence. But his lips and his tongue had better things to tend to.

Feeling the way her walls tightened around his fingers with each movement, the way her hips alternated between grinding against him, and pulling away from the stimulation. It all gave her away. So before she could think to pull away any further, he sunk the nails of his free hand into the skin of her back, pulling her tight against him so that she couldn’t squirm away as she came. Whimpering desperate little pleas, a mixture of his name, and half hearted attempt to tell him she was too sensitive while continuing to shiver with pleasure from the shockwaves.

He nursed her through the dregs of her orgasm, only retreating when her grip on his hair actually pulled him away finally.

“Jesus! Spence” she gasps, her chest heaving with each labored breath.

He rose to his feet once again, taking his lower lip gently between his teeth to stop a self-assured grin form taking over his features.

“What?” he asks, and she rolls her eyes at his self-effacing little half-smile.

“What? That. Spence, what the hell was that? Have you been able to do that this whole time?”

He doesn’t stop himself from beaming then, but he still shrugs his shoulders, “You know I’m an overachiever”

She shakes her head right as the oven-timer begins to blare. Shocking her out of her little daze and bringing her back to reality, which was more like a waking dream as of late anyway.

Hopping off the countertop to reach the oven, she lands on her feet and almost falls instantly. Her legs all of a sudden unable to bare her full weight. But Spencer is quick to reach out and steady her, his tongue catching in between his teeth to stop himself from chucking.

“Sorry” he says, “I guess that’s my fault” he holds her steady by her waist, gesturing down to her trembling legs.

“Stop it, or you’re gonna get a big head” she reprimands before she reconsiders, “Actually don’t stop, I think I like it.”

With a little help she manages to get the food out of the oven. They sit at the table together eating breakfast, sometimes sitting in silence, sometimes reading the newspaper, sometimes talking. Half-way through she lifts her legs into his lap and he accepts them, his thumb rubbing gentle circles over the skin of her ankle with one hand while he holds his newspaper in the other.

— — —

A whole day stretched out in front of them felt too good to be true. And it was. Y/N’s phone begins to chime half-way through their movie, and she’s too comfy curled up against Spencer’s side to even reach for it on the coffee table. So he’s the one that has to shift, reaching his long arm forward and handing it to her with an amused eye roll.

She mouthes a quick ‘thank you’ up at him before she picks up.

“Hey Pen” she answers and is immediately countered with Garcia’s ‘serious voice’.

“I’ve been calling for like 30 minutes” she groans and Y/N just chuckles

“30 seconds”

“Whatever, it’s time sensitive! Is Reid around?” she immediately sits upright, her spine straightening out with the adrenaline, which makes Spencer do the same, looking over at her with a puzzled expression.

“Yeah, he’s right here, I’ll put you on speaker, hold on” she presses the button and leaves the phone down on the sofa.

“Hey Garcia” Spencer calls down to the phone.

“Oh great, I’ve got the both of you! So, the rest of the team is just finishing up a case in Michigan, they’ll be home tonight but not for long so we have to start making moves, I’m not sure they can keep going without the two of you for much longer. Hotch doesn’t think so anyway, and he’s been reviewing your reports and sessions and he thinks Dr. Harris is close to a breaking point so he wants to make the next move” Garcia explains and Y/N can’t stop fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, searching for any sort of distraction from the trajectory of this conversation.

“How soon are we talking, what’s our window?” Spencer asks, his leg bouncing up and down, filled with that same nervous energy.

“As soon as possible, tomorrow? Y/N you’re working tomorrow night aren't you?”

Spencer looks over to her and her eyes are wide, her mouth fumbling over the words, “Uh, I—um…”

“Yeah, she starts around 8” Spencer is quick to interject, his hand reaching out to rest softly on her knee, smoothing his thumb in little circles against her skin.

“Okay great, I’ll gather the team once they’re off the jet and we’ll all talk the plan through in the morning. Does 9am suit for a call?”

“Mmhmm, yeah” Y/N finally answers.

“Oh good, I can’t wait to have my babies home again. The end of this case can’t come soon enough” Garcia gushes down the line, and Y/N wishes it made her feel anything other than nauseous.

“Yeah, can’t wait” Spencer says with a half-hearted smile.

“Alright, I’ll let you two get some rest, you’ve got a big day ahead of you! Goodnight my loves”

When the line goes dead the two of them sit in stunned silence for a few moments too long. They both knew this was coming, it was an inevitability of the case, they’d been operating on borrowed time, but it still didn’t feel like enough.

Spencer opened his mouth, only to take in a shallow breath and close it again right away.

“Wanna let me in on what you’re thinking over there?” she decides to prod him a little and he shakes his head.

“I don’t know? I just— I don’t want this to be over? I know that’s stupid, I know this isn’t the real world but it just— it feels so…” he rambles, his eyes fixed on the carpet while hers just stay trained on him.

“It’s not stupid” she sighs, “I feel the same way, I don’t want anything to change, I love our little fake life” he lets out a small laugh at that which makes her smile.

“What do we do?” he asks then, finally looking up and catching her eye, “Do we tell the team? Should we tell them? Should we wait? How long should we wait— what happens if— ”

Her heart all but stops beating as he rattles off questions, she knows the end of the sentence from the way his face falls.

What if we break up?

“It’s going to be alright Spencer” she says, gulping down the lump in her throat to force the words out, “You’re my best friend, before anything else, that’s what you are to me” she reaches out to touch him as she speaks, resting her hand on top of his.

“That’s what—” he flinches at his own train of thought, “that’s what I’m afraid of”

“What do you mean?”

He shakes his head then, standing up from the sofa, slipping out of her grip. His hands come up to his hair then, running through the unruly curls and tugging at them with a little too much force.

“You’re just so important to me, and you have been for so, so, long. I—” he pauses to take a labored breath, “You’re the person I rely on for, well, everything really. You take care of me, and I take care of you, and you make me so happy right to my core… and…. I really don’t know what I’d do without you?”

She just looks up at him, her body slowly curling further into itself, her arms wrapping tight around her folded legs in an effort to shield herself.

“Please say something” he pleads quietly when he’s only met with silence.

“Well, I guess. I understand.” she says before she has to clear her throat, “If we… break up, we mightn’t— we could lose each other.” she can barely get her mouth to form the words, the very thought too painful to wrap her head around. The only thing that might hurt more than that thought, was the way she felt this conversation going.

So she fell silent again, willing the tears not to spill over.

“I don’t know why I started saying this” he says through a nervous laugh, but when he stops pacing and catches sight of her crumpled body on the sofa, her face buried in the crook of her elbow, he has to stop himself from diving in beside her.

“Shit, wait no— I’m sorry” he rushes out, and she peeks up at him, her cheeks already stained from the few tears that had escaped, and the little half-smile she gives him is enough to make him weak.

“It’s fine— I do understand. But the idea of not having you in my life…” she blinks back the fresh tears that start to gather, “I don’t really want to think about it”

“Well then let’s not” he’s quick to offer, holding her face in his hands, thumbs gently wiping away the wet tracks on her cheeks. “Let’s just go to bed, I think we’re both tired, okay?” he coaxes.

So she nods, and lets him help her up, guiding her to their bedroom. She tries not to dwell on the fact that it wont be their bedroom for much longer.

When they’re tucked under the covers he pulls her in tight against his chest so that she can hear his heartbeat.

“You know I love you” she says, clinging onto him just a little tighter as she speaks.

“And I love you too, no matter what”

— — — Let me know what you thought about this chapter here <3

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1: Why you gotta tempt my trouble?

2: Shades of pink

3: With your steady hand

Sydney Saw it First (c. berzatto x reader)

You’re Carmy’s friend from Noma and he asks tou to mentor Marcus before he heads to Copenhagen to stage. Sydney thinks you’re both fools in love and she’s determined to fix it. (fluff, sydney being the best wingman, inspired by the scene in new girl when nick points his shoes to jess, two fools in love)

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It was hard for anyone to read if the Carmen Berzatto cared.

Some days, he was loving but most days he was tenacious. It’s not like he meant it. It was just how he was wired; how he reacts to things. The crew learned that the hard way, when he exploded on Marcus, when he screamed at Sydney…when the stress gets to him, it really gets to him.

He’s imposed penance on himself for his actions, secluding himself from the world…being unreachable. If there was one thing in the world that he craved and that he was afraid of, it was love. So he secludes himself until he feels alone. Relationships were unnatural to him.

But it came naturally with you.

You were training to become a pastry chef at Noma when Carmy was there. You met each other at the halls, shared friends that it was inevitable for you two to become friends. He was your first taste tester when you first made croissants. He helped you make your own sourdough starter for the sourdough cookies that you were experimenting on. You were the first person whom he cooked his mom’s picatta. You were his sous chef, helping him prep the vegetables on important dates. When news arrived detailing Mikey’s death, you were the first person he called. 

You two were great. You were great.

If anyone deserved praise, Carmy thought that it was you.

He didn’t know why but when he saw that Marcus was really interested in pastry, he called you; asked you to come and teach a really, really eager student that was going to stage in Copenhagen soon. Sydney also suggested that sweets are needed in a restaurant. You didn’t hesitate to board the plane upon his request. If anything, you were glad that he was finally asking you for a favor. It only meant that he was still—if not more—comfortable with you. 

You arrived in Chicago all smiles, and greetings. It was Richie and Carmy who picked you up from the airport and Richi was floored. How did his cousin even manage to tolerate you? He didn’t hate you immediately, of course. In any case, Carmy told you about his little girl; you decided to bring her a little gift. 

“I didn’t know what to get you but Carmy said that you have a daughter so I got this instead,” you said, extending a toy. “My niece has the same one…so, I figured…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie nodded. He muttered a small ‘thanks’ before helping you with you luggage. 

The night before, Carmy instructed everyone during family to behave. 

“Look, there will be no funny business, alright? My friend is flying in tomorrow to oversee Marcus and act as his mentor while we fix the Bear. No taking her knife away, no screaming, no fighting, no fucking anything, alright, chefs?” he asked. When he was met with silence, “Alright, Chefs?”

A couple of ‘heards’ were thrown. 

“Who is this friend, anyway, Jeff?” Tina asked. “You didn’t tell us to behave when Sydney over here first came,”

“Someone from Copenhagen. She, uh—“

“She?” Sweeps asked, his eyebrows raised in anticipation. “You got a girl, chef?”

“No,” he replied. “She studied in Copenhagen as a pastry chef, okay? No big deal—“ he proceeds to mention your name and how you’re just really super cool. “No big deal—“

“Wait, Chef, that’s a big deal!” Marcus said. “Oh, you know her recipes are all over my station, right?” he asked. “Sydney—“

“I went to the place she worked at in New York after I graduated. Everything’s just so…good. Amazing,” she recalled. “So, yes, it’s a big deal,”

“Yeah, whatever. Just promise me to behave, alright?” Carmy asked. “She’ll have to make do with what we currently have but I’ll try to stock up and set up the station before she arrives tomorrow.” 

-

You arrived at the Beef—er, the Bear a day after your arrival in Chicago. You were able to find a place that was near the city center for a good deal. You were here indefinitely, still trying to figure out if you wanted to run your own bakery or just work with others for the rest of your life. Seeing Carmy take the leap was insipiring. 

“Hello, chefs, I’m Y/N,” you said, a friendly smile gracing your features. Carmy was right beside you, watching everyone. “I’m a pastry chef and I graduated with Carmy in Copenhagen. I’m here to mentor Marcus but of course, if you have any questions regarding anything, you can ask me. I know how to cook too…and uh, I’ll be taking care of family tonight,”

Carmy jerks from his relaxed position. 

“You sure?” he asks softly. “I can take care of family, if you’re too tired.”

“Yeah. It’s like initiation,” you nod, looking at him and then looking back at the new faces in front of you again. “Do you have any questions…”

Sydney raises her hand. 

“Um, I’m sorry if this comes across rude but why are you here?” she asked.

“Oh, well, I’m not really tied down to anything right now. When Carmy called me, asking if I could come here, I decided to go. I’m here in Chicago indefinitely and I’ve been receiving invitations to cook, teach a class, whatever. I might accept some of those,” you said. Sydned nodded. Damn, Noma’s chefs were being chased from left and right. She was in the presence of two. 

“Do you have a little notebook?” Tina asked, making Sydney scofd. “With recipes?”

“Um, no,” you shook your head. “I keep all my notes in my head and then write it afterwards,” Tina liked you already. 

“What do you think about Carmen Berzatto—“

“Anyway, that’s all, Chefs! Marcus, come to the office with me, chef,” Carmy said, breaking up the huddle, and making you laugh. He discreetly pulls down your shirt, a sign that you should follow him too to the office. When you were both out of earshot, Sydney asked no one in particular.

“That girl and Chef? There’s something,”

That afternoon, during family, Sydney watched the two of you like a hawk. Confirming her suspicions when Carmy stayed for family and sat beside you.

-

Sydney notices it for the second time. You were going over the Noma “picture book” with Marcus, telling him how some of the desserts came about.

“What’s this?” Marcus asked, pointing at a photo of the dessert that put you on the map. 

“That’s a dish of candied hallabong peel, with a prosecco peach sorbet, on a bed of meringue, topped with candied cherries. I got it because some of my friends went to Jeju sometime and brought back this orange hybrid. I think….I think we can recreate it but it wouldn’t be the same without the orange.”

“What about the flesh and the juice?”

“I turned it into like an orange-chocolate cake with chocolate mousse,”

Carmy was just passing by but he decided to watch you interact with his employees instead. 

“Anyways, where’s your chocolate cake? Let’s taste it and compare it from the last one. Also, I can send you my recipe for sourdough doughnuts. Just give me your email,” you said, looking up briefly to find Carmy already looking at you. It made him feel good to see you incorporate yourself so well in the kitchen. Well, it’s not like the Bear is open but his staff went to you for some tips and advice. They were all undergoing some sort of training to make everything more elevated. “Hey, Carm. Do you need anything?” 

“Hey-hey,” he coughed, ashamed for being caught. “Nothing. Uh—“

“Chef, did you ever try Y/N’s stuff?” Marcus asked. He’d really, really, really want to taste something that you made someday. They were all delicate and so detailed. It’s probably why you got multiple awards at such a young age.

“I did. She used to bring big Tupperware containers of things they made in the kitchen,” 

“He finished them all,” you told Marcus. “Wouldn’t spare me a bite,”

“I don’t know, bug,” he teased. “I vividly remember you begging me to do it because you were so sick of fucking croissants.”

“You’re so annoying,” you huffed, a playful smile on your face. “Go on now. Marcus and I have stuff to do and you’re distracting us.”

“In my own restaurant,” Carmy mutters, shaking his head. Sydney’s eyes immediately directed to Tina. Did you see? Did you hear the word ‘Bug’?. Tina only shrugged. 

-

Sugar dropped in to check on the improvements being done at the Bear  when she saw you and Carmen at the back, talking. She had to double take what she saw because it was quite…odd to see him talk to you with the same twinkle he used to have. She has never seen him like this. He was genuinely laughing at some of the things that you were saying, a shared plate of leftover chocolate cake between the two of you. 

“Who’s the girl outside?” Sugar asked, looking at Richie and Sydney for answers. 

“Some fancy pastry chef Carmy met in Copenhagen,” Richie replied. “It’s a whole bet now, you know? They’re always out in their own world ever since she got here,”

“Everyone puts in 10 to predict what’s going to happen,” Tina said. “You’re betting?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sugar says, giving a bill to Tina. “I bet…I bet they’ll fall in love right before she leaves Chicago. Like, on the way to the airport. Carmy’s going to tell her that he loves her and she stays,”

Laughter echoes in the room. 

“This is not some fucking movie, cousin,” Richie said. “Obviously, Carmy’s not gonna do shit about it.”

“I think…she’ll call him over and they’ll share a moment,” Marcus said. “He’s always at her place, did you know that?”

Meanwhile, unaware of the ongoing bet, Carmy looks at you.

“What do you think about Chicago?” he asked, a cigarette hanging idly on his fingers. 

“It’s nice…chilly,” you said. “But it’s nice. I’ve been offered jobs here, you know?”

“Hm?” he asked. “Are you planning to take them?”

“I’m…thinking about them. They’re all the same but like, I want my own bakery, you know? My own place.” you said. “It’s going to be a lot of work if I do that and I don’t necessarily have the staff to do all that.” you said. 

“If you want…you can come stay with us if you’re not sure,” he offers. “Like a pastry chef. Actually, I’ll have to ask Sugar and Sydney if it’s alright with them but you can stay here,”

“Bear, I don’t want to impose—“

Sydney was walking outside to throw the trash but she stopped her trackes when she heard you talk. 

“I want you here,” Carmy said with conviction. “But if you don’t-don’t like it here in Chicago, I wouldn’t mind either, you know? It’s just that…I want you here and-and fuck, I don’t know. I guess working with you made it so much more fun again, you know? Like us in Copenhagen. I mean, we’re always a team and-and it’s nice to have you here with me. Sugar and spice? Sweet and spicy or whatever the fuck they called us back then,” he chuckled, inhaling his cigarette to calm himself down. “We can make it work,”

“Yeah, yeah. You go talk about it to Nat and Syd,” you said, taking a swig of your water. “And then we’ll talk. Cool?”

“Cool,” he shrugged. Sydney leaves and goes back to where the commotion was. 

“I change my scenario,” she said. 

“You can’t do that, Sydney,” Richie said. “It’s a bet! You have to pay again,”

Sydney breathed, what was ten more, right? Fuck. 

“Fuck, sure, okay. Whatever,” she said, giving Richie the bill. “She’ll stay here. She’ll realize the there’s nothing waiting for her back home and she’ll stay here,”

“Where did you get this?” Fak asked. “Quite—oh my God. Sydney, did you fucking cheat?” 

“No, I didn’t fucking cheat!” she defended, it was a lie. “Can’t you see the two of them? Always in their own world? How would Carmy let her go?”

“Jeffrey has a point,” Tina shrugged. “But if she loses, just know that you lost twice, Jeff,”

“I know,” 

-

You, Sydney, and Carm all went to his apartment. It was where the two of them made a menu while you acted as a consultant and a taste tester. Their palates were fucked and they didn’t know what to do or what to cook anymore. So they asked you. But you weren’t there today. You and Marcus were in your apartment, making up stuff for dessert. The Beef has officially closed down and is a rubbled mess. There was no space and Carmy just wanted to be there with you.

“Can I ask you something and you can tell me to fuck off?” Sydney asked while she watched Carmy plate the hamachi crudo. 

“Hm?”

“Do you…have feelings for Y/N?” she asked, looking at Carmy. He blushed, his ears turning red for being caught.

“Is it obvious?”

“To everyone but her,” she shrugged.

“Fuck, really? I thought I was being discreet,”

“Oh, you can stay here! You’re so good and so smart and so pretty,” Sydney gushed, mocking Carmen.

“Fuck off,” he laughs. “I…I do,”

“Yeah?”

“I just…just…she’s uh, so amazing, and like, I’ve been feeling these feelings since…since Copenhagen,” he mumbles, finishing the garnish with an oil. 

“Damn. You never made a move?” she asked, getting forks. She gives one to Carmen and they both taste the crudo. It was amazing. “That’s good,”

“It is. Good job, Syd,” Carmy replied.

“It was her who told me to try adding jalapeno slices,” Syd said. 

“You can’t do that,” Carmy warned her. Why did she want to get you two together so bad? “But I haven’t done anything. I mean, like, she was dating these guys and they’re so cool that-that it was never really my turn,” he remembered.

“But you’re the best chef in the world! That trumps that,” she encouraged. “None of them worked out?”

“No,” Carmy shook his head. “She’d always end things and I don’t want that for myself. She told me none of them worked out…wasn’t what she was, uh, looking for?”

“Oh,” Sydney nodded. “Well, if you’re feeling brave enough…”

“I haven’t been having…fun,” Carmy acknowledges. “With the Beef and the Bear until she got here, you know? Made me feel like I was young in Copenhagen again,”

“Another question. You can say fuck off if you want,” Sydney says and watches as Carmy bites a smile. “The last one. Is that why you asked her to stay? It’s just that I heard you the other day and…”

“Fuck off,” he laughs but Sydney noticed how everything about him conveyed everything that she needed to know. 

-

“This is a quenelle,” you told Marcus. You, Marcus, Carm, and Sydney were at your apartment. It was bigger than Carmy’s and your oven didn’t have jeans in them. “This took me at least a hundred tries,” you chuckled. “You just…away, back, and then hands…” You demonstrated, making a quenelle of a yuzu mousse.

“Damn, Chef. How’d you do that?” Marcus asked, trying it for himself. He failed, his quenelle being a little bit smaller than yours. 

“I had a friend named Luca. He didn’t let me out of the kitchen until I made a perfect one,” you recalled. “Carmy was there and he was laughing at me. He could do it in like three tries and I remember hating him,”

“You hate me?” he asked, leaning on the countertop. He didn’t like to hear about Luca. He only wanted you to talk about the two of you.

“Hey, Bear. Try this?” you asked, spooning him the raspberry curd. Carmy opens his mouth and you walk over, feeding him the pinkish liquid and then watching his face. “It goes with a black sesame shell. Do you like it?”

He notices your close proximity and flushes.

“Y-yeah,” he coughed, looking away. “Really good. Uh, very good,”

“No notes?” you asked and he swore he could kiss you right there because you were so beautiful.

“No notes,”

“Thanks, Chef,” you said. Sydney whistles as you help Marcus master his quenelle. Carmy looks at her and she teases him with a mockery of what he just said.

Carmy and Marcus left after cleaning up. You and Sydney decided to have a girl’s night. You were both sitting on the couch, mud masks on your faces when she turned to you fully.

“You know, he likes you right?”

“Who?” you asked, trying to fit a handful of chips.

“Carmy,” you heard and you choked on the bits of chips in your mouth. 

“Fuck!” you choked. “Sydney!” You were coughing while Sydney handed you a glass of vodka cranberry. You gulp it down. “You—can’t say shit like that!”

“What?” she laughed. “Look, I’m not kidding! Whenever he talks to you, his feet are pointed at you. I’ve read enough fucking books and body language shit to know that he’s interested,”

“I don’t think so,” you said. “That’s bullshit,”

“It’s not though,” she shrugged. “He asked you to stay for a reason,”

“He needs a pastry chef,” you shrugged. “Besides, he and I are friends, Sydney. I’ve been trying to get him jealous all my time in Copenhagen but he never…he never got the signal,”

“Oh,” Sydney nods. Two idiots in love. “Have you ever tried telling him?”

“Of course not! He’s always on about how he doesn’t have the energy to love or date. I tried the jealousy thing before but it never worked. Trust me, there’s nothing.”

-

Carmy arrives at your doorstep the next morning, bright and early. Sydney had already left, telling you something about stopping by at her dad’s apartment to get stuff. You were going to the Bear with him to help Sydney choose plates for the restaurant. 

“Good morning,” he greets. Two cups of take-out coffee in his hands. “I got us some coffee while we walk on the way,”

“Thank you,” You took the cup from his hands and clutched your jacket tighter. It was so, so, so cold. “Didn’t know it was going to be this chilly today,”

“You wanna wear my jacket?”

“You’ll be cold,”

“It doesn’t bother me,” he said, already taking off the jacket to the best of his one-handed ability. He was only wearing a gray sweater underneath. “I have something. See?” He doesn’t take no for an answer, taking your coffee and your bag from you so you could wear the colorful jacket.

“Thanks, Bear,” you said, smiling at him. The sight of you in his clothes does something to him and he couldn’t help except give you a slight nod before forging on in the chilly Chicago weather. 

You both entered the Beef giggling amongst yourselves when the usual buzzing stopped.

“Remember when Luca—“

You halted, finding the silence odd. You looked around to see everyone looking at you.

“What’s wrong? Is something wrong?” Carmy asked, removing his hand from the small of your back. “Syd—“

“Love the sweater,” Richie teases. You look down and feel the warmth on your cheeks. 

“It was cold and he asked me to wear it,” you shrugged, leaving Carmen to deal with the staff out front. You were signalling Sydney for help but she only looked away. Traitor. “Um—“

“Y/N, if you could please help me out here,” Carmy called you. 

“Your boyfriend’s calling,”

“He’s not!” you huffed before walking over. “What is it?”

“I need you to time me, is that okay?” he asked. He nodded towards the stopwatch and you complied. “Thank you. I just need to check or like, map out the kitchen you know?”

“Of course,” you replied. 

“Do you need help getting on—“

“It’s okay it’s just an old thing,” you replied.

“Yo, cousin! If you’re done eye fucking, Sugar needs you.” Richie calls.

“We’re not eye-eye fucking!” you complained. “What the fuck?” You stood up from your corner before you could even work and accidentally looked down. If a man is interested his feet will—

You move to the side and Carmy follows. And then to the side again. 

“Y/N–“

“Stay there,” you asked, walking around him and him turning around. “Carm!”

“What?” he asked, grasping your shoulders. He looks down to his shoes. “Are my shoes dirty?”

“No, it’s just—“ you tried again but Carm still followed. “Sydney told me about like, how when a guy is, uh,”

“Cousin!”

“Fuck, okay. Let’s talk about it later okay? Once everyone’s out?” he asked, looking at you. “Can we do that?” His jacket felt softer on you than it ever did on him.

“Yea-yeah,” you nodded. “I’ll go help Sydney,”

The afternoon passed by and you were alone at The Bear. You waited for Carmen to finish up at the dining area like you promised. Your heart was beating so fast, maybe a thousand miles an hour. What Sydney said has been on your mind and what if it wasn’t true and you get embarrassed? Fuck, could you even handle that?

You sighed, burying your head between your hands when Carmy walks over to you. 

“What’s up?” he asked. “Everything alright?”

“Y-yeah,” you nod. “Can you stay there and just, I don’t know, be Carmy?” you asked, standing up to test the theory again. He just stands there, dumbfounded. You circle around him and he follows. You were looking on the ground. 

“Fuck, what the fuck?” he asked. “Is there something wrong with my shoes? I know they’re old and not—“

“Carmen, shh,”

“What?” he asked, grasping your shoulders for the second time that day to steady you. “What’s wrong?”

“Fuck, I don’t—“

“What’s wrong?”

“Sydney told me that there’s like, this body language thing and like, uh, says that when a guy is interested his shoes are always pointing at you and well, she told me to look at yours,” you rambled, looking away in embarrassment. “Look, if this will be weird between the two of us, I mean—“

“Why would it matter?” he asked, hands inching closer to your neck. He was nervous but maybe this is the opening that he’s been waiting for for years. When you didn’t reply, he asked again. “Why would it matter?”

“Because…because I’ve been trying to make you jealous for years in Copenhagen and it never worked,” you whispered. You were embarrassed. It felt like you were in high school telling your crush that you liked him. “I know you don’t see me that way,” you replied, trying to look for the right words. Carmy lets you finish. He wanted to hear you. “And it’s fine. If this is stupid, let’s forget that this ever happened. Okay? God, I’m so fucking embarrassed right now,” 

“Hey, hey,” he cooes, his thumb tucked the hair back and then caressed your cheek. “Whoever said that I wasn’t jealous? I had to leave all the time because I was so fucking jealous. Those guys were cool. Don’t-don’t be embarrassed, okay? I like hearing that-you, uh, like me,”

“Carmy…don’t lie to me, okay? You don’t have to pretend—hm,” 

Carmy had just kissed you. Carmen Berzatto just kissed you. You were clutching on his shirt so tightly, afraid that if he lets go, he’ll be gone. But he doesn’t. He just trails his hands down to your back, touching skin to skin until you’re one. 

“I’ve been waiting years to do that,” Carmy rasps, breathing heavily. 

“Yeah? Then, do it again,” you whispered, smirking slightly at how he seemed to blush hard. Before you could tease him though, he tucks your hair back again, bringing your lips closer to his.

He did.

A/N: Thank you for giving my recent fics so much love and for being so motivating. Your kind words really make my day and I hope that you love this too. Don’t forget to reblog and comment! Thanks again!

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