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catharticconsolation · 2 days ago

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when all is said and done

richie jerimovich x f!reader

my love, my life prologue.

warnings: some angst but a lot of fluff and softness, mentions of sex, teen pregnancy

notes: this idea has been playing on my mind for a very long time and is so close and dear to me. i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it. i am planning on turning this into a series, with this being a main overview, each part discussing each section in detail x

𖦹𖦹𖦹

You were twelve when you met Richie.

Twelve, that’s all you were, twelve little years earth side, and you’d already ended up glued to the side of the raggedy boy from down the street, who seemed to be clinging on to another boy, the Italian one, the Berzatto. Michael had always been the more popular one, the more attractive one, lean with the darkest eyes and the darkest hair. But you’d chosen Richie, you’d chosen the tall, gangly one who hadn’t grown into his feet or hands, the one with the sharpest blue eyes you’d ever seen, the one with the spattering of freckles across his crooked nose.

The one who liked to chase you on the school field, but would hold your hand on every walk home. The one who would get so embarrassed about his voice cracking, to the point where he’d go silent for a while, but would belt Céline Dion karaoke with you at every birthday party.

Puppy love. That’s all anyone would ever call it.

__

You were fifteen when people realised that the two of you were a permanent fixture.

Because Richie took you to your first school dance, and you wandered in hand in hand, matching dress and tie.

The pictures you came home with nearly made your mum cry, the two of you so loved up, cuddly and close and giggly.

You were together together.

__

You were seventeen when you needed each other the most.

A tummy ache at school that was soothed by Richie's warm hands at the lunch table, and the constant need to pee, quickly escalated to the two of you being laid in the back of Mikey's car, with a tiny baby boy laid on your flushed, sweaty chest.

He slept in the bottom drawer of your dresser, surrounded by blankets and towels and old jumpers to keep him warm. And Richie came round every evening, and when it turned eleven o'clock, he never wanted to leave.

Most kids, most teens, would be ashamed of your situation, and yet you were so proud whenever you were sat there on the foot of the bed, watching your Richie hold your tiny baby boy against his bare chest, reading a bedtime story.

Your world.

__

You were twenty six when you fell out of love.

You didn't blame Richie when he fell in love with Tiffany, yet it still hurt when you watched his stuff slowly leave the apartment that you'd bought when you turned twenty one.

Alfie kept asking about his dad, and you could never hold back the tears when you dropped him off for the weekend, giving him the sloppiest kiss on the cheek as a goodbye while you watched Tiff lead him in.

Richie always let you have a moment at the door, calming you down enough so that you could drive. There was always that tenderness between you, something transcendant. You would always love each other.

__

There's something about soulmates finding each other again that seems so picturesque in the movies. But when the two of you gravitated back to each other at forty, you realised that it wasn't a big, passionate reunion, it was just a gradual return to what felt so natural.

His clothes found their way back into your closet, and your bedsheets smelt like that old musky cologne that you used to know so well. And with the looming, lean figure of an aged and withered man came the energy and beauty of a little girl, her toys kept in the cubby beneath the TV for whenever Eva came over to sleep.

You had your family back.

__

Weddings. People say that there's love in the air and it's a time for family and celebration, and Richie Jerimovich wouldn't call himself a sap. Yet he feels like a sap, he feels that pure love and devotion as he stands near your table, watching the dance floor.

But he isn't watching Pete and Natalie, no matter how happy and loved up the couple are.

He's watching you, and his baby boy, who doesn't seem so little anymore as he dances with his mother. A seventeen year old, tall and proud and strong, and yet he seems so much older and mature than the two of you did when you had him.

You look free. Happy. The brightest grin on your face as your son twirls you around, dress swaying around your ankles as your head tilts back to let out that loud, loud laugh that he has ingrained deep within his chest.

Richie Jerimovich has had a complicated life, and yet everything seems so simple as you rush over to the table, flushed and sweaty and out of breath, reaching for a water bottle and chugging it down in the way that little kids do. He can't stop himself from huffing out a laugh at your little, 'What?.. ", and he just presses a kiss to your hairline in return, tugging you into his side by the back of your hair.

"Marry me..."

"Sorry?.."

"I said marry me."

#richie jerimovich x reader #the bear #richie jerimovich #ebon moss bachrach #ebon moss bachrach x reader #mae writes!!#my love my life series

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thegrlwthesytat2 · 3 days ago

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