#a ofc berzatto

[ankhmutes]

Forbidden Fruit (Richie/Berzatto sister)

So I did a thing I never thought I would do.

Wrote a one-shot smutty thing about Richie and a Berzatto sister. I hope y'all enjoy. It is unedited, done under the influence of a big fat beer and pizza. Honestly, I'm half horny for Jon Bernthal (Mikey) not even remotely interested in Richie, but my brain wouldn't let go of this plot bunny.

Minors please do not interact, since ya know, sex and all of that. Proceed at your own risk.

Richie knew he was fucked, when he set eyes on Mikey’s shadow, the youngest Berzatto girl. He remembered her as an annoying tag-along always in ripped jeans and Converse, always trying to chase after him and Michael. He’d chase her away, make her play with Carmy and Sugar. She and Michael shared the same dark curls, dark eyes, with the mischievous playful streak of pure hell and terror for anyone who dared to get close to them. Every family portrait, you could see the chocolate-haired and tattered bookends, with the graceful blonde Carmy and Sugar right smack in between. 

Until Michael ate his gun. 

Carmy flew home from New York. 

Shadow flew home from Seattle. No one knew where she had been, bumming around the pacific northwest, hunting for fucking bigfoot or taking pictures of trees or some bullshit, until sugar called her. 

“you gotta come home.”

Like they knew she’d come hurtling back, as if she heard Michael’s voice asking her to come play. 

There were no more games. There would be no more fights, no more screaming, no more forks thrown at the dinner table. 

It was friends and family night, and he hadn’t recognized her.  at first, at least. He wasn’t used to Michael’s Shadow with long hair, not since she had chopped it short after he and Michael had put gum into it. Her braces had disappeared, her smile a beaming smile that he saw every day in Michael’s face. Michael’s eyes staring at him. 

He remembered seeing her at the funeral, but that was a fucking funeral. His brain had been somewhere else, with Michael, in the ground. Now, he was alive, and his brain was telling him that this, this was something to be happy about. 

“You’re home!”

“What?”

“Shadow! She’s home.” Natalie said, shoving Richie to the side, throwing her arms around the tiny girl. When she had been tiny, thought Richie as he gawked down at the girl, just about Carmy’s height. Wild brown curls tangled with blonde, and Richie shut his mouth as he stared down at the youngest Berzatto. 

He had never seen her in a dress, Richie realized belatedly as he stared at the long legs; a small excuse of a dress wrapped around the soft curves of an actual woman with breasts- Before Richie could mentally compare the breasts in the dress to fruit, Sugar had her turned around, and Fak was in the way. 

Fuckng Fak, thought Richie as he blinked for a minute and concentrated on his job. He had to make the people happy. 

“Sit here, have my seat, keep him company.” Sugar said with a wink as she shoved the girl down in her seat. The younger girl giggled and nodded as she leaned forward, greeting her brother in law and exclaiming in delight over the baby and the restaurant. 

“Did you tell her?” Fak asked, peeking over Natalie’s shoulder, as Shadow glanced up  from her chatter and smiled, fucking smiled, right at Richie with that mischievous spark that he could remember in Mikey’s eye, which meant–She was up to no good. 

Blinking, Richie turned on his heel and tried not to blush, his hard-on trying to blast through his pants. Smoothing down his tie, Richie thrust himself into the work. Chatter in the kitchen picked up once Sugar announced that Shadow was here, and Mom was quickly forgotten. Richie blinked away his thoughts, throwing himself into his work and trying not to remember just exactly why he didn’t like Shadow hanging around so much… 

He remembered the painful hard -ons he had to endure during that last summer, before she left. That tiny little green bikini of hers, and the tank tops that did nothing to hide the pert little nipples he had fantasized about every night for several months, after he had accidentally gotten a glimpse of her breasts when her top came off at the pool.

The sounds of Sugar chattering with Shadow brought him back to reality, as the service ended. Fak was hanging about, his eyes eating her up, just like Richie was, and Richie let out a long sigh, running his hands along his scalp as he moved further away from Shadow, but keeping an eye on Fak.

“Carmy did what?” Shadow giggled, her hand over her mouth as she leaned into sugar, one hand holding on to a wine glass. Fak was at her side, telling her the story of why Carmy was not there in the kitchen, his eyes moving to her breasts every so often, and then darting up after a quick second. Richie scowled, annoyed that Shadow had moved from the dining room into the kitchen- his space- and was leaning on Fak, her breasts moving up against his arm every time she moved. His brain hurt, from trying to suppress the memories of the dusky pink nipples that hid behind the dress.

“Didn’t he have a girlfriend? I thought it was Sydney? I’m so sorry-” the little Berzatto said, blushing as her dark curls got everywhere, flying as she turned her head from Sydney to Sugar. Sydney stuttered, and Sugar giggled loudly, gasping with laughter. Girlish chatter filled the silent echo of the kitchen as everyone cleaned and put away things after service. Memories of watching Shadow at the Beef made Richie scowl ferociously. He didn’t want to remember trying not to stare at her tits too much when she came by on a hot day with ice cream for him and Michael. Fak caught Richie’s eye and shifted back slightly, ducking his head and keeping his eyes off of her tits. 

As always, Shadow was an echo of Michael. It was as if Michael had come back- for a few seconds at a time, with a laugh or twinkle of her eye at a word said a certain way- Richie blinked hard and slunk into the office to escape from the sudden sharp stab of memories threatening to gut him. 

He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to see Shadow, all grown. Shadow was supposed to be like sugar, just like a sister or something. A chick that was pretty, was nice, but you didn’t want to fuck. The word fuck shouldn’t be on your mind when you looked at her. Hell, she was the chick who stuck lollipops on his car windshield, shattering it to pieces. He shouldn't be getting turned on by her.

It was as if his dick had a mind of its own. He tried to tune out the loud chatter from the kitchen. His hand hurt, and he belatedly realized he had been holding his hand into a tight fist the entire time. 

Breathe, thought Richie. You can do this. His eyes darted to the poster, covering up one of many secrets. Richie’s eyes darted to the darkened office door, and he let out a sigh, sitting down in the desk chair and putting his head on the desk. 

He needed to clear his head. 

You know what you really want, his traitorous mind whispered to him. He gulped, his hand brushing along the strained tent in his pants. Heat shot through his body as he tried to think of the reasons why he shouldn’t even be thinking of Shadow in this way. Shadow was Mikey’s little sister, the annoying tag-along that would set off fireworks under his car, or dump all of their beer because they refused to let her have any. Not the girl that ran around in a green bikini top, nipples poking through and cut-off shorts so short you could practically see her thong if she bent over just right....a

“Richie? Cousin?” Shadow’s voice burst through the bubble of solitude Richie had found into the office. 

“Uh- here.” Richie said, leaning against the desk in hopes it would hide him from the waist down; he couldn’t think he could get any harder, as his eyes caught sight of her dress. He had never seen her in a dress, and she had the perfect body for a dress, all curves and softness in the right places. 

“You’re hiding away from everybody- you’re turning into fucking Carmy.” the girl mocked, a flash of Mikey echoing in her taunting grin. Her eyes roved over the office, studying everything with a slight squint. “Got a smoke?” she asked, turning to glance down at Richie, her wide brown eyes glinting. Richie shook his head, not wanting his hands anywhere near his dick, and not trusting his mouth right now. 

“Fuck, I’ve never had you this quiet. Something wrong?” Shadow asked, genuine concern softening her tone. Leaning forward, she opened a drawer, searching for cigarettes in the usual hidey-holes that Michael would have had, or Carmy, or one of the boys. 

“Oh- wait, that’s’ not a pack of cigarettes, is it?” Shadow gasped out in amusement as her hand landed on Richie’s lap, about to lean over to hunt into a side drawer. 

“Nope, ain’t it.” Richie choked out, half-chuckling. Shadow’s eyes blinked and Richie held his breath, unsure of what exactly would happen. He could envision Carmy and Sugar barging in, yelling at him for daring to even have a hard-on near their little sister. Alternatively, Shadow would just laugh and run away, saying something about dick size. 

What he didn’t expect, however, was Shadow to grin that Michael-grin and get on her fucking knees. Richie was at a loss of words, watching Shadow undo his belt, and take his dick out, stroking it gently with her fingers. Richie watched her pink manicured nails gently trace over the vein, and it bobbed in a greeting, begging for more. 

“What are you waiting for? The door’s locked and everything.” Shadow said, eyes moving up to meet Richie’s, a cocky grin spreading along her features, and her hands busily scooting her body up against the desk, allowing Richie to cradle her body between his knees. It wasn’t until Shadow nudged him, that Richie allowed himself to accept that it was actually happening. 

“I accept that.” Richie stuttered out gently, blinking as he stood, still not quite believing that this was happening. “You really need this, don’t you?” he realized as he looked into her eyes, seeing the need and mischief in her eyes. 

“You’ll have to get me dirty, you know- I wasn’t exactly planning on this happening, but I lov–” Shadow said as she tilted her head, dark curls falling over her shoulders. Richie chuckled, and leaned forward to shut her up with a long kiss, his hands moving down to gently stroke her legs. It was a blissful moment that Richie relished, his hands moving up slowly to massage her hips, slowly coaxing the panties down past her knees, and gently spreading her knees. 

“I’ve gotta taste, ya know.” Richie said as he licked his lips, getting on his knees and burying his nose in her scent, taking in each sweet taste and smell, her heat overwhelming all of his senses. Richie moaned as his mouth took over, exploring each slick fold that she presented, holding on to her as she squirmed against his mouth. 

“I think you– you definitely know what you’re doing.” Shadow whimpered, her breathing echoing throughout the small office. “You– you— c’mere, Richie–” 

“No, no- not until I’ve tasted everything.” Richie said, lapping at Shadow, his fingers moving in and out of her, rising to mutter dirty things in her ear, fingering her until she came all over his fingers. Richie moved his hand  up, smirking as he licked his fingers clean of her taste. 

“Finger-licking good, yeah.” Richie leaned forward, lining himself up with her core. “But I still gotta make sure.” Richie slid into her ever so slowly, laying her back along the length of the desk. He slid her dress down around her waist, revealing a strapless bra, sliding it down and leaning forward to suckle on her breasts, he had dreamed of sampling the sweet flesh since he had seen them neatly tucked away in the dress at the start of the evening. 

“Richie.” Shadow whimpered, Richie’s mouth moving from one breast to another, making sure to knead and massage each to keep her panting and whimpering. When he was sure he wouldn’t come on the spot, Richie started moving again. His motions slid the desk ever so slightly. 

Richie fucked her gently and slowly, ever so quietly that the only sounds that could be heard were their bodies moving together and the creaking of the desk. Shadow’s legs held on to Richie, held him close to her as he plunged into her flesh, moving faster as he could feel her tighter than ever, squeezing his cock so beautifully. Richie held on to Shadow, watching her come and his resolve shattered, his movements becoming ragged and out of control, fucking her hard into the desk. The desk ended up crashing into the wall.  Richie slid out, just in time as his come hit the ground, gasping 

“Fuck, if they didn’t hear that–”

“Hurry up, before someone comes.” Richie said, panting as he grabbed his belt and a handkerchief, cleaning up the mess while Shadow righted herself, the two moving the desk back. 

“You okay?” knocks on the door. 

“Yeah, yeah,yeah.” Richie said with a sigh. “Just– letting off some steam. Be right there.” He could hear Sugar asking about Carmy, if he was out of the refrigerator yet. Fak’s voice murmured answers, and the voices moved further away. 

“Well- “ Shadow began with a sigh, running her hand through her hair. “If you ever… need some more stress relief, I may be in town for a little while longer, maybe?”

“I wouldn’t complain, no. I– I didn’t expect you.” Richie said after a long pause as he fiddled with the doorknob, on the edge of leaving. Shadow wasn’t exactly a once and done fuck, he wasn’t sure he was even that kind of guy. It had been ages since he had even thought of doing something like that. Hell, he hadn’t been divorced that long, had he?

“I’m sure you’ll find me if you need me.” Shadow said with a soft laugh, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss Richie on the side of his stubbled jaw. “Give me whisker burn anytime.” she winked, giving herself a last once-over before leaving the office in a whirlwind of brown curls, twinkling brown eyes and mischievous smiles. 

It was as if Michael hadn’t left, thought Richie for a brief moment, listening to the girls chattering to Carmy in the refrigerator, scolding him about his girlfriend; or new lack thereof. 

A jab of guilt shot through Richie as he moved out of the office, spotting a photo of Michael, fully realizing that he had just fucked his little sister, his best friend’s little sister, and– wanted it. Wanted some more. 

“Sorry, cousin.” Richie whispered, tugging at his belt, adjusting his tie as he nodded up towards the photo briefly in an acknowledgement of Mikey. He was pretty sure this wasn’t incest, since they weren’t actually related, but still- 

She was a Berzatto. That came pretty damn close. 

“Watch out!” sparks flew as the saw finally brought freedom to Carmy, and all thoughts of his interlude with Shadow left his mind, his attention swept up in the drama. 

It wasn’t until he was lying in bed, alone in the dark, that he had finally realized what he had done. 

He had tasted the forbidden fruit of a Berzatto, and craved it. 

He needed more. He was rock-hard again at the thought and memory of her tight around him; his hands clutched at his sheets, and he blinked up at the dark nothingness that was his ceiling. 

What was this? Richie’s hand automatically went to his dick, his mind replayed the encounter with more fervor, promising himself he’d call her in the morning….

[becsabillion4]

false god (we still worship)

pairing: carmen berzatto x f!reader

summary: Carmen has a bad shift, but you’re more than willing to turn his night around and show him exactly how good he is.

word count: 3,362

tags: SMUT, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral sex, creampie, semi-public sex, window sex, lingerie, praise kink, vulnerable Carmy, 18+ only

note: this is explicit 18+ only and yet again NOT an advert for safe sex. with that said, it’s fucking hot ;) and thank you to the wonderful person who submitted the prompt that inspired this, based around Carmy having a tough day and reader taking care of him (even though I’ve failed at tumblr and can’t find the original message). enjoy!!

thesydkid

Yo. Awful shift. Glad you weren’t here to see it.

whochefsouschef

fuckkk what happened?

thesydkid

Newbies think they know better than Tina because they went to CIA. You can imagine how Carmy took that.

whochefsouschef

was it kyle? he’s been like that since he started.

thesydkid

Yeah

Classic

whochefsouschef

syd?

I know that’s not all. kyle doesn’t warrant a text warning

thesydkid

Carm got food sent back.

whochefsouschef

shit.

thanks for the heads up

thesydkid

Good luck, cya tomorrow.

—------------------------------

It’s late, the kind of late where even the drunks winding through the streets have stopped their singing, the kind where it���s already too late to go to bed and get an ounce of good sleep. It’s the kind of late where you would have known it was a bad night even if Sydney hadn’t texted you first, because you know how hard Carmy cleans when he’s upset, and exactly how long that takes.

You sit up in bed abruptly, pushing your hair out of your face and considering your options. You have maybe ten minutes if Sydney texted you as soon as Carmy left, ten minutes to decide how you want to handle this kind of bad day. You feel a surge of frustration that you weren’t on shift tonight. As the Front of House Manager, you could have soothed the moronic, greedy, power-tripping customer who wanted to pull one over on the best chef in Chicago by sending back his perfect food-

Actually, maybe it was for the best you weren’t on shift tonight, or you might no longer have a job.

You smile when you think about how Richie will have handled it though. His courteous, collected energy even as he probably said something like, “Oh, you’d like to send this back? Wow, I’ve never heard a, uh - what do you call ‘em - oh, complaint before. Are you sure you know what this dish is?”

The smile fades when you think about Carmy’s reaction. You push yourself out of bed, decided by the image of his frustration, the anger he uses to hide his sadness. There’s been a few particularly bad shifts since you and Carmy moved in together - and Richie labelled himself as “matchmaker to the stars” for hiring you - and you know that if left to his own devices, Carmy will happily stay up all night stewing.

But you’re here now, and you’re determined not to let him. So you set your plan in motion.

By the time you hear his keys clink in the lock, you’re settled by the sofa, bare skin slightly chilled by the evening air coming in from the cracked window. You glance up as Carmy walks in, catch his eye, and he stops dead, hand still on the lock.

Bluer-than-blue eyes flicker across the scene you’re presenting for him - your best lingerie, your patient kneel, steady eyes - and he straightens from his tired stoop.

“Hey,” he murmurs, eyes still tracing how the lace drapes across your skin in the low light.

“Hi,” you smile. “Join me?”

Without looking away from you, Carmy shuts the door, drops his stuff in a careless pile. “Syd texted?”

“I couldn’t sleep. And I wanted to surprise you.”

Carmy’s eyes drift away from you for a second, glancing around the room, like he does when he’s thinking something through. You can almost hear his brain clicking through the gears. Turning the kitchen off, turning something else on.

“It was bad, sweetheart,” he says. “Fuckin’ shitty.”

“It’s over.” You raise a hand to him, tilt your head towards the sofa. “Get over here and let me do filthy things to you to make up for it.”

He laughs at that, toes off his shoes and takes the few steps to the sofa. He doesn’t sink into the cushions like you expected though, but kneels in front of you. You reach out, run a hand over the side of his face, feel the days-old stubble rasping under your touch. Bringing your other hand up, you cup his face, thumbs tracing over the bags under his eyes like you can smooth them out with that simple touch. You can feel his exhaustion in the way he leans forward into the feeling, and it breaks something in you.

When you kiss him, you intend for it to be careful and slow. Bring him out of his shell, remind him that things outside The Bear exist. But the moment your mouths press together, the moment you nip the edge of his bottom lip, the drained and defeated Carmy is gone.

He surges forward, almost sending you tipping over backwards, arms wrapping around your waist. One hand slides to your lower back, stretching to cover as much of your skin as he can possibly grasp. Pulling you forward, Carmy bows his head to suck a bruise into your throat and you know for damn sure it’ll be visible tomorrow. A glaring mark, a “fuck you” to the rest of the world painted on your skin.

Your hands are far from idle either, and as one pulls at his T-shirt, rucking it up to explore the muscles beneath, you run a finger from the other over the arch of his ear. Carmy shudders in a broad, full-body motion and his hips stutter, jerk forward into you. You both moan at the contact and you want to chase it, feel him pressed between your thighs, but clearly Carmy has other ideas.

He reaches under your arms and pulls you up to stand with him, letting his hands continue their journey down your sides to reach your waist. All you have time to do is gasp as he hoists you off your feet, and he’s already walking towards your floor-length window as you desperately try to wrap your legs around his waist. He doesn’t give you much chance to breathe, the hand not holding you up pushing deep into your hair and curling strands around his fingers so he can pull your head back, press more kisses to the hollow of your throat.

For a dizzying moment, you can see the lights of Chicago upside down, but you manage to pull your head up just before your back hits the cold glass. You hiss at the chill against your bared skin and Carmy runs a hot palm around to your back in apology even as his tongue continues its insistent sweeps against your own.

You barely register the soft clink of his belt, the push and rustle of fabric between you until his cock is pressed close, the only thing keeping it from filling you your own stupid lacy underwear.

With a frustrated groan, Carmy gently lowers you until your feet sink into the carpet, but he still gives you no room to move, pressing you into the misted-up glass as if he can’t tear his body from yours.

“Carmy,” you pant, unsure what you’re asking, but you know he understands when he grabs your upper arm, spins you around to face the view. The glass is warmer now, but still cold enough that the press of your barely-concealed nipples to its surface makes you moan as you hear Carmy kneel, feel him sliding your panties down your legs.

He doesn’t even let them reach your ankles before he’s up again, kissing his way along your spine as he goes, and finally, finally, the head of his cock nestles in where it needs to be.

Its hot and heavy presence has you pushing your hips back, wanting to feel the glorious slide of him, lose yourself in the moment he splits you, and all you can see, eyes half-slitted in pleasure, are the glittering lights of the city below. You live pretty high up and the lights are low enough that none of the busy pedestrians below should see, but all it would really take is a glance up and an observant eye. To see your breasts pressed against the glass, Carmy’s possessive hands gripping your hips as he finally drives into you. Even from this distance, you imagine the pleasure on your own face and your walls flutter around Carmy until he growls, pulls your hands from where they were flat against the window into a bind behind you.

There is nothing kind and gentle about this moment, no give in Carmy’s body as he fucks into you, and you revel in it. Let him take his pain and translate it into pleasure through your body. Let him take and take and take until he has nothing left to give, and let the world see him doing it. Let them see what’s his.

These thoughts alone have you teetering, desperate for a few more strokes, but the surprise of Carmy reaching around to draw lazy circles over your clit as he snarls, “Fucking look at you, look how good you take me,” has you seizing up instantly. You can faintly hear your own surprised cry through the buzzing in your ears, and Carmy’s gasps as he feels you pulsate around him, but you only fully come back to yourself when you press your forehead against the blessedly cool glass.

The strength of your orgasm is enough that your legs are visibly shaking now, and without a word, Carmy bends to scoop up your lower half and pulls you in, cradling you across his front. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to calm your breathing as you push your face into his chest, but before you can even begin to get your head straight, you feel soft sheets on your back as he lowers you to the bed.

He sinks down beside you, and all his desperation from a moment ago is gone as his body finally relaxes. He’s still hard and straining towards you, but the light has dimmed in his eyes, so when you reach for him, it’s to run a hand across his cheek, to bring his eyes to yours. When you move towards him, it’s to curl your legs with his, to press your forehead against his and settle his breathing with your own.

People think Carmy is so used to taking shit that it doesn’t hurt him anymore, but you know. You know how each word drives so deep that he doesn’t know how to take good anymore, how he invites the anger and the aggression of a kitchen into his soul because the alternative is realising that all the shit he’s been through is too awful, too devastating to reconcile. To keep feeling it, so he has no time to wonder what his life would be without it.

You see the weakness and the fear and the vulnerability, and you know how he absorbs the feeling and translates it into his work, how he uses it to fuel him, how he turns the criticism and the insults and the hatred into being better, being perfect, doing a good job.

“You are so wonderful, Carmy,” you murmur, and when he tries to look away, you hold his head still. “Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing. Shit, not really anything.” You’re silent, and he sighs as he caves under the pressure of your gaze. “Back when I was in New York, you remember that chef I told you about?”

You nod, because you know you can’t say anything remotely okay about that particular chef.

“He had this thing, about pasta. Thought he was some kind of expert because he spent, like, three months with Massimo Bottura. We had to boil water from cold every time, for every single batch of pasta we served, and there was this exact amount of salt we had to add. It wasn’t like a teaspoon, it was seven point three grams for every hundred of pasta. And he could fucking tell if you were off, he barely had to taste it. One time I saw him smell somebody’s pasta and tell them they were off by point two.” Carmy’s voice is shaking, and you move your thumb along his cheekbone slowly, calmly, giving him something to root himself to. Remind him he’s not there.

“And I was thinking about it while I was cooking the bucatini, and it’s like he was in the room again, saying the same shit he always did. Watching over my shoulder as I added the salt, and it made me so mad,” Carmy mutters, breaths coming in pants now. “And I didn’t even think, I just added like way too much salt. Enough to fuckin’ ruin it, ‘cos I just wanted to see him choke on it. And then I sent it out.”

You don’t take your eyes from his face as you curl one hand down to straighten the fingers of his, to stop the nails he’s digging deep into his palm from cutting into his skin.

“And of course it got sent back, and Richie apologised and comped their bill, and they didn’t care. But, like, I just sabotaged my own restaurant. My own reputation, becuase I can’t stop fuckin’ thinking about salting pasta,” Carmy finishes in a rush, and he finally meets your eyes.

“Carmy, you’re working in a kitchen every day. It’s no surprise you remember other kitchens you’ve been in, and the kind of behaviour you’ve had to endure. But it’s not that kitchen anymore. This is your kitchen we’re talking about, your space. When you look over your shoulder, he’s not there anymore. Syd is, and she’s got your back. We’re not some pristine, sterile team with no heart. Richie’s there.” You feel a surge of emotion so strong for the brilliant, vulnerable man in front of you that you push your face into his shoulder, hard enough that he has to steady himself from falling back onto the bed. His other hand comes up to card loosely through your hair, and you suppress a soft noise of comfort to finish with, “I’m there.”

“I know, baby,” he responds, pulling you closer until you’re practically curled into his lap. “And I think it’ll get easier, it’s already easier. I just don’t think I’ll ever entirely stop sabotaging myself. I’m not like the food I make, I’m not composed and-and, perfect. I’m not, uh, not always good at stuff.”

“Okay, but you’re good plenty of the time,” you whisper, looking up at him. You smile as he glances down, catches your eye. “I could go on for days about the stuff you’re good at.”

“Oh yeah?” Carmy murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, down and round the edge of your face to the shell of your ear. You shiver instinctively, press into the feeling.

“You’re good at that. Good at getting me out of control,” and your voice is already shaking.

“You’re not out of control, babe. I’ve got you. You’re mine,” Carmy is muttering inbetween kisses as he rolls you onto your back, pins your arms to your sides with his legs and begins to fully slide off your lingerie, slowly, carefully. His hands are, as always, steady. You remember all the times you’ve watched him roll a cigarette, piece together edible art as flames lick at his chef’s whites, and you can’t remember a time you’ve seen them shake.

From the eye of the storm he’s creating in you, you watch as he slides down the bed, skimming his lips across your trembling thighs until he sits back, and moves his hands to your knees.

You can almost feel the pleasure it gives him as, at the lightest touch from him, you part your legs, let him see what he does to you. What he has done. When he growls, you realise he can see remnants of your earlier escapade against the window at your entrance, his come marking you.

When Carmy dips his finger inside you, your hips jerk towards him, but he holds them down with one hand. His finger delves deep for a moment, and then leaves you suddenly, but before you can protest, he brings his hand to your face, offers you the digit. You’re entranced by the silent command in his eyes, and with no hesitation, you open your mouth and let Carmy’s come-covered finger slide inside, press deep towards the back of your throat. When you swallow, the bitterness makes you moan, envision being on your knees for Carmy, his fingers twined so deep into your hair it hurts, feeling his white-hot heat at the back of your throat.

It breaks whatever tension was stretched taut between you, and Carmy wraps his arms around your legs, pulls your body towards him and lowers his face between your thighs. For a moment, he teases you, nibbling at the juncture where your leg curves into your hip, skimming his teeth across the bone, but you know he���s secretly just as impatient as you are, and when he takes his first tender lick across your clit, he moans even louder than you do.

Giving head is an art for Carmy, and feels like a privilege to you. You’ve seen him enjoy food in the kitchen, give somebody that blown-away glance that they’ve worked their whole lives to see, but he never takes more than one bite.

But this, with you, as you watch him devour you whole...It’s the only meal you’ve ever watched him finish.

Tongue swirling delicately across your center, breaking for hungry kisses to your thighs as his hands grasp at any inch of you he can reach, you can’t help the words that spill from you, “yes, yes, Carmy, you’re so good, you make me feel so good, my good boy, please-“, but you can’t continue as he slides two fingers deep inside your aching pussy, so deep you don’t ever want him to move.

At this point in the erotic novels you read during your lunch break (which, if Fak were to find them, would spell the end of your career), the heroine says something about how it feels like hours pass with her lover between her legs. But this is real life, and all Carmy has to do is mutter, “Finish for me baby, finish for me,” for you to come embarrassingly quickly.

You’re practically incoherent on the comedown, and all you can summon the strength to do is pull him into you, press kisses to his forehead and mumble over and over how fucking amazing he makes you feel.

“If you lose everything else, Carmy, if you ever think there isn’t a thing in this world you’re any good at, just know that you are a god at giving head,” you pant eventually, and when he pushes his face into your neck, you can feel his smile there.

For a moment more, you just enjoy the press of his body against yours, revel in the sweat and slick between you. It dawns on you slowly just how slick it feels, and you gasp as you realise-

“Carmy, did you-?”

Carmy laughs into your skin, tracing one hand across your chest idly until you shiver. “Yeah. You, uh, you were moaning and telling me how good I was and…it was hot.”

You laugh with him breathlessly, still kind of in awe at how well you fit after all this time, how at home you feel with him. “Well, I hope that made your bad day a little better.”

Carmy is silent for a second before he murmurs, “You have no idea what you do for me,” and you can see the shine of his eyes in the glitter of the city lights filtering through your window. “There can never be a bad day if I end it right here, in this bed, in your arms.”

You would reply, but he’s kissing you into silence before you can, and you wonder for a moment if any words will ever need to be said between you and Carmy again, or whether you can communicate all the fear, all the anger, all the love, just with kisses and touch and his lips against yours. But eventually, as you slip into sleep with his body twined around yours, you decide that tongues were made for more than just talking.

[currymanganese]

Fak is too involved in Carmy and Claire's relationship. From giving Claire Carmy's number to showing up at her job with his equally annoying brother. He needs to mind his business and stop assuming what Carmy wants. In s3 ep9 Fak tells Claire he thinks (then later says knows) Carmy loves her. If you don't know Carmy's true feelings about her, why tf are you speaking for him?

Also sometimes it seems like Carmy doesn't even like Fak like that. They rarely have one-on-one scenes together and their conversations are mostly surface leveI. I always thought Fak and Richie were closer. In s2 ep3, when Claire and Carmy are talking on the phone, Carmy says Fak isn't his best friend (but then backtracks 5 seconds later saying he's probably my best friend). Then in s3 ep5 when they are preparing for the photoshoot, Fak said Carmy was #1 on his best friends list. The friendship is obviously unbalanced. Fak is one of those childhood friends you have outgrown but keep in your life due to history and familiarity. This is just another example of Carmy being stuck in the past and not being able to let go. He either needs to set some boundaries with Fak or end the friendship.

I love your blog btw. Your analysis on The Bear are very thorough.

*EXTREMELY HOT TAKE INCOMING*

Thanks for the kind compliments / thanks for the ask, but I'm starting to think that, if my suspicions are correct, that depending on how season 4 goes, that she and The Faks may shape up to be fantastic characters, at least from a trollish comedic parody perspective - and that this may be a huge 'star making role' for Molly Gordon and the rest of actors cast as the Faks if what is being set up is executed well post-reveal, and they demonstrate that, contrary to what we have seen thus far on the show, they definitely have acting range.....

Because I'm like 88% sure now that Claire x Carmy x Sydney's love triangle is an allegory/deconstructed (in part) version of Lilith x Adam x Eve from apocryphal / Jewish tradition. And that 'Sammy' Fak may be an archangel Samael figure

Lilith is Adam's first wife apocryphally and in Jewish mysticism that left him and became a she-demon / mother of demons / the "queen of the night" after being impregnated by / becoming a consort of the archangel Samael (whose name means Venom of God and is a seducing/destroying angel).

My thoughts are too incoherent right now to make a post about this theory in its own right, but all of the above could explain why the scenes where Claire is physically intimate with Carmy are shot in darkness and low light, compared to warm /well lit scenes when Syd and Carmy are emotionally intimate; it could explain why the songs that play during Carmy and Claire's scenes are frequently morbid or are outright about death, or lyric less ambient scores that invoke the feel of psychological horror,

and why mostly love songs are played for Carmy and Syd's.

I've made some posts /edits pointing out the parallels between Claire / Carmy / Syd and these biblical / mythological figures, and a post on why I think John Cena as Sammy Fak is a case of good casting (from a comedy perspective) if the Faks are really meant to serve the function that I think they are meant to below;

but some additional similarities between Claire and Lilith are that they were 'created' in the same way, 'formed from the same dust', as their 'Adam' (whose name can also mean red clay/earth and Claire's last name means mud or muddy fortress) - since Carmy and Claire both come from the same neighborhood/highschool and, depending on how much we see of Claire in the future, they may have both come from dysfunctional homes / be the adult children of alcoholic parents.

The posts I linked below are:

1. A webweaving on Sydcarmy + Adam x Eve parallels;

2. A fan edit that I did that was inspired by the webweaving; side note: if Carmy's words to Sydney at the end of their first convo was foreshadowing for them starting a literal nuclear family of their own, and how many kids they're gonna have, I'll scream;

"We're gonna make family, it's meat, (👀) plus three, and we'll eat around two."

3. A reblog add-on to @espumado et. al's @thoughtfulchaos773 @vacationship @kdbleu 's etc. thread on the theme of haunting / religious / mythological imagery and parallels in the show in season 3.

4. Another thread on religious symbolism in Season 3 and Claire and Syd / Carmy's relationship kicked off by @vacationship.

5. Another reblog add on I made in response to @glitterslag about the episode Review in Season one possibly representing/parodying the biblical "Fall of man".

6. A fan edit that I made for clairecarmy with the intent of being humourous at first, but unexpectedly turned out pretty nightmarish / psychological horror-esque without much work because the material/ dark imagery is there; including an eye opening parallel between Claire and Donna.

7. A post on the Bear being a super deconstructed Shakespearean pastoral comedy e.g. like As You Like It.

8. The religious symbolism of Carmy's red string of fate dish for Syd possibly being a visual allusion to the sacred heart of jesus, which is an emblem of God's long suffering and passionate love, an add-on to @twokisses post

Tagging @ambeauty @angelica4equity @imliterallyjustablackgirl @devisrina @ripley-stark @bootlegramdomneess @gingerylangylang1979 @outmakingmoonshine @pureseasalt @augustmonsooning @brokenwinebox @whenmemorydies @mod-doodles @bioloyg @caiusmarciuscoriolanus @post-woke @myloveismineallmine @turbulenthandholding @anxietycroissant

@moodyeucalyptus @ago0112 @unbeweavvveable @blackjack-15 in case anyone wants to chime in.😭

[darlingshane]

Salt of the Earth ~ Part 3 (Final)

Pairing: Michael Berzatto x OFC

Summary: She was Carmy's best friend growing up, and Michael never looked at her as anything other than that until years later when she comes back to Chicago to start over. In the process, she turns his sorry excuse of a life upside down.

Content/Warnings: 18+. Explicit, Friends to lovers, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Smut, Shower Sex, BJ's, P in V, Family Drama, Dysfunctional relationships, Addiction, Alcohol, Pets, Pet names, Dialogue heavy, Undisclosed age gap.

Word Count: 12.3k // Chapters 8-10 // AO3 Link.

— Part 1 (Chapters 1-4) // Part 2 (Chapters 5-7)

A/N: This part includes my version of the famous 'Fishes' episode. Though having Maya in it changed a few things, most of it is pretty faithful to the actual script. I also borrowed some of the dialogue to keep it as close as possible.

Chapter 8: As warm as toast

Maya is hugging Michael’s back when the warm breath of her dog is pressed against her ear. She tells the dog to go back to sleep, but Coco, ignoring her request, whines a couple of times until Maya has no choice but to get up. Though it's still terribly early, she takes Coco out to the park down the street from Michael’s building. It's freezing outside, but that doesn’t stop Coco from zooming across the park a hundred times until she’s spent while Maya paces along the fence, wrapped in thick layers of hat, scarf, mittens and a bulky coat.

Upon their return, Maya fills Coco’s bowl and makes some coffee.

They’ve fallen into a nice routine with Michael. He’s made room in his life for them, as much as they’ve welcomed him open into theirs. Half a week they spent in his apartment, and the other half at Maya’s house.

While she sips on her coffee, she tries to guess what's inside the big wrapped box that has been sitting in Michael’s living room for a week. Curiosity has been killing her since she saw it the other day. Her fingers tap on one of the sides and lightly pull on the edge of the red and white paper, trying to sneak a peek of the box.

“I told you to leave that alone, Maybird. That’s not for you.” Michael catches her red-handed as he comes out of the bedroom.

“C’mon, Bear, let me open it already. It’s Christmas.”

“Uh-uh, it’s Christmas Eve.”

“Is it a sex swing? It feels like a sex swing.” She keeps tapping on the box.

“It's not a sex swing. Keep guessing.” Michael snorts, leaning over to kiss her good morning. “Your face is cold, did you go out?”

“Uh-huh.” She glances at Coco, who’s currently devouring her food by the kitchen. “She woke me up and dragged me outside.”

“At least she knows how to hold it and ask for the head.” Michael goes around the breakfast bar to fill a mug with coffee. “Remember that yorkie that Francie had that couldn’t stop peeing everywhere.”

“Well, training goes a long way.”

“That's what everyone kept telling her, but her parents ended up leaving a poor thing in the kennel.”

“I mean it's Francie. I'm not surprised. She really can't be trusted to take care of anything. How's she? I haven't seen her in ages.”

“She's around. I think. Last time I saw her was probably a couple of years ago. She’s banned from our house.”

“Why?”

“Beats me. It's a Sugar thing. I think Francie tried to hit on Pete or something. You'll have to ask Sug.”

“Really? Just when I thought she couldn’t sink lower.”

“Tell me about it.” He pulls up his sweats as he takes a seat on the couch next to her.

“Okay, stop trying to distract me. So, if it’s not a sex swing, or a pizza oven, which I really wanted by the way…”

“The sex swing?” He lifts a brow at her and takes a sip of his mug.

“The pizza oven, smartass. How about… a weighted blanket?”

“First, you don’t need any of those. You can cook pizza already in your oven, and why do you need a weighted blanket or a sex swing when you have me?”

“That’s true.”

“You know what? Go ahead and open it, but you’re gonna need Coco, cause like I told you, that’s not for you. C’mere Coco Girl.”

Coco’s floppy ears perk up at Michael’s call. The dog turns her head to look at Michael for a second before continuing chewing her food.

“She’s too busy to open presents right now.”

“Figures.”

They wait till she’s done, and Maya beams in delight, quickly tearing apart the flashy wrapping paper. That delight turns into a mocking frown when she finds out it’s a big, fluffy dog bed for Coco.

“Oh, you weren’t kidding. It’s not for me.”

“Aw, don’t be jealous, sweetheart. You know I have something else for you. She needed a bed here. This couch is so uncomfortable, no even a dog wants to lay here. She’s always either hoarding the bed or sleeping on the rug.”

“Yeah, I know.” Her lips curve up, watching Coco inspect her present before attempting to curl inside. “That’s it, baby, lay down. Good girl.”

“Are we still up for tomorrow?”

Maya sighs, “yeah, I think so. Did you tell them I was coming?”

“I said you might. Just in case you change your mind.”

“Do you want me to change my mind?”

“No,” he strokes her hair with his free hand. “I really want you there.”

“What are we going to tell, y’know… everyone?”

Everyone – meaning Carmy. Though their relationship is practically nonexistent, the last thing she wants to do is show up holding hands with Michael and flaunt it on anyone’s face without a warning.

“Well, Richie is the only one who knows.” Cause he caught them last week making out at their usual bar. “I guess Tiff knows too. Does it freak you out? Do you wanna back out now?”

“No, no. I just… I guess I’m not ready to announce it on a day like this. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s okay, baby. I get it. It’s driving me crazy, too.”

“If they find out, that’s great, but I don’t just wanna put it out there right away.”

“We’ll just have to keep a low profile, then. How hard can it be?”

“I’ve never had a secret relationship before. It could be fun pretending, even if it’s just for a few hours.”

“We just have to hope Richie doesn’t blow our cover.”

“Oh, we’re screwed.”

“I don’t know about that. But I can tell someone is about to get screwed. Shower?” His brow playfully arches.

“Hmm, you’ve read my mind.”

It’s that rush of excitement of being with someone new that leads them quickly to the bathroom. He undresses her just as fast as she pulls his sweats and underwear off him. He hasn’t finished taking off her bra and his lips automatically invite themselves into her neck as she fumbles to get the water going so it warms up before stepping inside.

Under the warm spray of the water, their bodies fuse together. Lips against lips share a vicious amount of kisses and laughs. Their arms tangle around the other, her hands become his, and vice versa. The steam filling the room boils hotter when Michael turns Maya around and presses himself on her ass while one of his hands slides between her legs. Her palms brace the tiled wall, as his mouth bites the flesh at the curve of her neck. Her moans and curses sound like heaven when the blunt tip of his cock slides into her opening. His hips push painfully slow as her walls stretch inch after inch. Once he’s fully sheathed in her tender pussy, his eyes squeeze shut, he lets his desire guide the pacing of his thrusts. Maya waves her hips at the same time, countering his moves until both find the same rhythm. One of his hands clutches the curve of her ass, keeping her secured, as the other stays right on her pussy, rubbing her swollen clit with passion.

His back turns red as the hot water keeps pouring over him. The fiery pressure rising up in his core makes his cock throb inside her. He looks down to see his length disappear inside her fast with each push. At the same time, his mind dissipates somewhere up, above the mist of the bathroom, somewhere above clouds. It’s like he’s traded one addiction for another. As long as he’s with her, he’s safe. It’s not the healthiest way to deal with it, but right now he doesn’t give a shit. The climb to that high is way faster, it feels better, it’s less toxic, but it lasts shorter. That’s the only downside.

“Michael… please,” her breathing swallows, as she inches close to the finish line.

“I know, sweetheart, shh…. Come for me. C’mon…”

Following her plea, he pushes a little harder, rubs a little faster until her body seizes up. She lets out a strained moan that bounces off the steamed walls, as her opening contracts around him harder than he’s ever felt. Maybe it’s the position. It feels like pure bliss to have her squeezing every last drop of him.

Catching his own breath, he hangs his head down to rest on her nape for a moment. While still riding that high, he slowly slips out of her and drops to his knees on the shower floor. His hands handle her body around so she's facing him. As her abdomen lines up with his face, he glances up to capture her glowing aura, stunning as ever. Maya’s still floating in that same sea of ecstasy he floats on. It makes her look like a goddess from his position. Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders, sticks to her skin as it touches the curves of her chest. Water trails down her body as if she was standing under a waterfall. And like the Goddess she is, he aims to devout himself only to her.

He gently holds one of her legs up, letting his lips glide across the surface of her thigh as he drapes her leg over his shoulder. His mouth waters as it gets closer to her center. Licking his lips, his eager tongue just to taste the heaven between her legs. It's slicked and tender, ready to consume. His mouth fits perfectly against it. Wide open. Desperate to please her with the flick of his tongue and ease his own affliction.

Maya leans her back on the wall, anchors her only feet hard to the floor, and grips at his soaked hair as his tongue works restlessly all over her sex. He sucks her clit between his lips, licks her folds, circles her dripping opening, and revels in tasting both, him and her. In a wild frenzy, he devours it all. It consumes his need and desperation for more. Her moans are exquisite. Her body writhes in his hold as she rises up gracefully to a higher plane.

Chapter 9: Bigger fishes to fry

“Are you really going to wear that?” Asks Maya as soon as she sees the outfit Michael has chosen for Christmas dinner.

“What’s wrong with this?” He gazes at his blue Under Armour shirt and jeans ensemble.

“Workout shirt, jeans and kicks, really? Why don’t you put on a nice sweater at least?”

“Baby, it’s just dinner at my house with the same fucking people I see every year. It's not like the Queen of England is gonna show up to have tea and biscuits.”

“C’mon, Bear, do it for me?” Maya pulls out her big adorable eyes and disarming smile.

“Ugh, alright, only for you.” Unable to resist her power, he easily yields and goes into his bedroom. From a drawer, he collects a dark blue fisherman sweater. Then he sticks his hand into the closet to pick up the vintage jacket she bought him for his birthday. To finish his new getup, he trades his sneakers for ankle boots.

Maya is taking out a dessert from the fridge that she bought this morning to take to The Berzattos.

“Wow,” her head turns when hearing his footfalls. “See, you look so much better now.”

“Yeah? You clean up pretty nice too,” he picks up her hand and makes her spin under his arm, capturing the stunning shape of her body hugged in a cream knitted dress that almost touches her knees. Right below, black leather boots cover the rest of her legs.

“Thanks, handsome bear.” After her spin, her head tilts to the side, capturing a chaste kiss from his lips.

“What’s that?” Michael points at the dish covered in tin foil on the breakfast bar.

“It's a strawberry tart.”

“You made a tart?” He lifts part of the foil to uncover the well-crafted pastry.

“What? Surprised that this tart made a tart?”

“Well, yeah. You almost poisoned me the last time you cooked.”

“You got me. I didn't make it. I bought it this morning when I took Coco out.”

Michael softly chuckles. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring that. Have you forgotten about pudding-gate? Donna's going to eat you alive if you show up with food.”

“Oh, I think that night was the first time I got drunk. I don't remember the details. But I do remember the pudding and eating a bowl with Carmy in the garage. Who brought it?”

“Uncle Jimmy's first wife.”

“That's right. She was never seen again after that. Okay, I guess I could bring a bottle of wine.”

“You're gonna make me look bad if I show up with nothing.”

“You could bring the tart, and say that you made it. I bet Donna will be delighted if it comes from the golden child.”

“That's a great idea, baby. It'll be a great distraction when she starts strangling me that people won't even notice this other tart.” His hand boldly squeezes her ass.

“Hey!” she swats his shoulder with the back of her hand. “I thought we agreed to keep our hands off each other.”

“I meant later. Here, I can still get a piece if I want.” He links his arms around her waist and peppers the curve of her neck with kisses, making her laugh with the coarse tickle of his beard.

“Oh, this is gonna be harder than I thought,” she whines when his lips nibble her earlobe.

“Yeah, tell me about it.” He laughs against her ear, gripping tightly at her hips. “I’m not sure how long I can make it without touching you like this.”

“Well, we better think of something…”

Ready to go, they hop in the car and drop Coco first at Maya’s house. While Michael waits in the car she collects a bottle of wine to bring for dinner.

It’s then that she gets jittery about the whole ordeal. It’s been years since she attended one of their functions. Christmas at the Berzattos was never a walk in the park, and as she has heard recently, they still aren’t. But she’s not the one to talk cause the Silvas have always had their own issues, proof of that is her desertion from her own family dinner.

“Okay, kiss me one more time,” she requests after parking at the end of the street. They both lean in to meet in the middle over the center console for a chaste kiss. “One more.”

Michael delves into her mouth a little deeper, hoping it’d ease her up.

As they walk up to the house, they pass Maya’s empty childhood home, and Michael just wraps an arm around her and kisses her hair.

“Their loss,” he mumbles. “Don’t think about them, Maybird.”

“I won’t.”

His arm unfurls away from her body as they get closer to the Berzattos’ house. When they reach the door, they stay there for a minute, filling their lungs with cold air as they muster the courage to cross the threshold.

The house is loud with people talking and laughing when they step inside.

Maya can see Michael's face changing as the door closes behind them. That raw vulnerability, his bashful expression he's not afraid to show her slips once again behind that mask he's fought so hard to get rid of. She can't hold it against him. Everyone has their coping mechanisms and this is Michael's.

She becomes suddenly the new sensation, everyone openly welcomes her as if they hadn't seen her in ages. Which is actually the case. She's bombarded with questions she doesn't really want to answer like — How are your parents? How does it feel being back? Are you seeing someone?

Mirroring Michael's, she just draws her best smile and tries to satisfy their curiosity while Michael takes a smoke break with Sugar leaving her to be eaten by wolves before she can protest.

To Maya’s disbelief, after the third degree, she’s welcomed with open arms by Donna Berzatto, who is just as intense as she remembers. Hair on point, makeup on point, fresh manicure softly scratches Maya’s jaw when she briefly holds her face.

“We've missed you, Mayhem Maya.” Donna actually coined that nickname after that incident when she broke one of her figurines when she was a kid. And she'd never live that down. It makes her feel like a child every time she calls her that or the way she manages to compliment her and patronize her at the same time.

“Hey,” she hears the familiar voice as Donna disappears into the kitchen.

Maya turns around to see Carmy climbing down the stairs.

“Hey, you made it,” she says a little hesitant, trying to decide whether to hug him or just shake his hand as he reaches the last step.

“You too.”

Hug. She goes for it and tucks her arms around his shoulders for no more than two seconds. It feels a little awkward and cold given their history but understandable. They're not as close anymore, and it doesn't come as natural as it used to. She tries to internalize that as best as she can, but there’s still something that doesn’t feel right. Maybe this wasn’t the best moment to show up back again into his life. Being Michael’s girlfriend, no less. Perhaps deciding to hide that wasn’t the best choice after all. It sounded reasonable when she chose that, but right now, it feels like she’s betraying him.

“How's Copenhagen?”

“Cold. How is being back?”

“Weird.”

“Tell me about it… Never thought I'd see you again in one of these functions.”

“Yeah, Michael insisted. You knew I was coming, right?”

He nods. “Sugar told me.”

They shoot back and forth meaningless questions without really diving into anything substantial. For the first time, she looks at his cold blue eyes and realizes they're not best friends anymore. She might have known everything about him once upon a time, but now it feels like talking to a stranger, and it breaks her heart not being able to pass that invisible wall between them.

Maya stares at him one last time as they are interrupted by the rest of the party. He’s dragged to a mindless conversation with Neil and Ted Fak, while Michelle brings Maya a drink and settles with her on the couch to catch up.

Carmy manages to escape the Faks and asks for some help from his siblings that were hiding outside.

Michael does another quick round before disappearing again somewhere with Richie.

“I thought you weren’t serious about bringing her.” Richie takes him to the garage where they open a couple of beers.

“I was dead serious. And please, don’t say anything. Tonight, we’re just friends, alright?” he gives him a menacing look.

“You’re dead for sure when Carmy finds out. Don’t get me wrong I love Maya, but is she all that? Is she worth the trouble, Cousin?”

“She’s all that and a basket of biscuits.”

Soon, Michael thinks. Soon everyone will know how much he loves her but for now, this is for the best. This is what she wants and he respects that.

When they go back into the house, Michael goes checking if she needs a break from socializing. Figures, she probably does as much as he does. She's not in the living room anymore, or anywhere on the first floor. He climbs upstairs and from the cracked door to his room, he finds her snooping around the bedroom with a glass of wine in her hand.

“Hey. What are you doing up here?”

“The bathroom downstairs was occupied, so I came up here, and I realized I never really saw your room. Was it always like this?”

“Kinda. It’s cleaner for starters. The walls used to be covered in Red Sox merchandise and movie posters. It’s all in the basement at The Beef now.”

“Traitor,” Maya mockingly squints her eyes before taking a sip of her glass.

“Why do you care, you don’t even watch baseball?”

“Yeah, but if I had to pick I wouldn’t even dream of going against my own home team,” she says, scanning a pile of CD’s on the corner of the desk and picking one from the middle. “Marky Mark, really? Who are you?”

“That’s Sugar’s.”

“Sure it is,” she laughs.

“This is why you came up here, to make fun of me?”

“Nope, I just like snooping.” She turns around and keeps flicking through those albums while Michael shuts the door to seize that as an opportunity to kiss her again.

“Hey, c’mere.” Quickly wetting his lips, he cups her face as it turns to the side and gently captures the flavor of her mouth soaked in white wine.

“Hmm, we’re a lost cause,” she says as his lips bounce a few times against her.

“I know.” Michael hums, unable to stop himself from going deeper into her mouth.

As she places her glass on the desk, his tongue swipes past her lips.

Michael moves his hands to her hips, as Maya links her arms around his neck, letting her tongue slowly play with his.

His mouth grows hungrier and desperate for more. She can feel it at the eager tip of his tongue demanding more action. He blindly guides Maya to the bed, and almost without breaking from the other, as she settles on her back, he pushes all the coats people left on his bed to the side. Michael lies on top of her, nestling between her legs, claiming ferociously another kiss from her mouth.

From zero to sixty, his hand slips beneath the hem of her dress and hikes the skirt up to her waist to grab her ass. He digs his fingers on her skin over her tights. He could rip the fabric apart in a second if he pressed a little harder.

Maya hums in his mouth, struggling to keep up with the burning passion he's pouring into her lips as the coarse texture of his beard scratches her face.

The setting is a little off-putting for her right now no matter how much she wants him and as his bulge hardens between her legs, she promptly puts a halt on.

“Michael, baby, shh. We can’t do this here.”

“We’re just making out. The door is closed.”

“We’re not just making out. You’re already hard. What if someone comes in?”

“There’s a lock on the door. I closed it.”

“The lock is not the problem. It's this place. This house.”

“The house is cock-blocking you?”

“Pretty much. Yeah. Let’s just take a breath and go back down. We’ll finish this later at home. See, this is why we can’t be left alone.”

“Okay,” he begrudgingly rolls to the side with a sigh, feeling a little disappointed to be honest and stares at the ceiling. “Is it the house or is it Carmy being here?”

“I don't know. Maybe both.” She leans on her elbow to look at him.

“I see.”

“It’s not like I don’t want to. I do. More than you know, Bear. I just feel weird about doing this right here. We said the other day that we should be honest with each other to make this work. And this is me being honest.”

“I know, baby. I get it. I just… All I wanna do is be with you right now. Can't stop thinking about you. That’s why this happens…” he gestures vaguely as his crotch.

“Now, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to give you blue balls. I know how much that hurts.”

“I don’t think you do,” he snorts.

“I’m sorry,” her palm covers her smile. “I really am. But I… I guess I could do something about it. Don’t move.”

Maya’s fingers glide over his crotch to undo his fly.

“Wait, are you changing your mind?”

“No, but I don’t wanna leave you like that either. Just trust me.” She shifts on the bed as her hand slides under the fabric to feel the pressure of his straining erection.

Biting her lip, she locks eyes with him as her fist curls around his shaft as Michael’s hand wraps around hers.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I wanna. Just because I can’t, doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t. Let me do this for you. Please.”

“You’re fucking amazing, you know that?” he sighs, letting her hand move up and down his hardness.

“I know. Just relax for me. I'll make it quick.”

Maya leans closer to his face to lock her lips with his. His low grunts echo in her mouth while her fist prompts him to spill his early drops of arousal. They help her pump more swiftly. He has to bury his sounds deep in his throat when she parts from his mouth and moves her head down his torso so he can finish him with a blow.

“Fuck, Maybird,” he moans as her lips wrap tightly around his swollen gland. Her hand keeps a nice pressure at the base as her head bobs quickly to have him climaxing all over her tongue.

She cleans him up, licks her lips and makes sure nothing was spilled on their clothes before taking a long swig of the glass of wine on the desk to get rid of the aftertaste of his cum.

“God, sweetheart, that was…” he stands up and pulls his clothes together while she finishes her drink. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

“You better.” She collects a pocket mirror from her purse to check her makeup. As she moves Michael's jacket out of the way, something falls from its pocket — a round pill container lands at her feet.

She means to bend down and pick up, but she freezes. It's Michael the one to reach and grab it. Maya stiffens, stares at him as he quickly tucks in his pocket. Unable to process any thought at all, she pins that in her head to revise later. As she intended to do, she fixes her hair and makeup.

Michael should have left those at home. He didn’t even mean to grab them. It was just exactly that– a habit he can’t break yet. Especially on a night like this.

“Hey,” he says softly, holding her chin under his finger and tilts her head up so he can capture her eyes. “We'll talk about it later, okay?”

“Okay.”

She checks her face in the mirror a second time to make sure there’s no visual signs of her just going down on Michael before leaving the room.

Their hands are still linked together when they step into the hallway, and it isn't until they spot Natalie coming from another room that they quickly pull them apart.

So much for being sneaky… There's no way she didn't see that. The shock flashing across her face is telling.

“Michael, can I talk to you?”

“We should go downstairs before… Carmy can't handle all those people.”

“This won't take a minute,” she says firmly.

He glances at Maya, and they nod at the other.

As Maya returns to the party, Sugar can't help but question Michael about it.

“I don't know what you saw, but it's not what you think, Sug.”

“You came out of your room holding hands. You don't have to be a rocket scientist to put two and two together. Are you dating her?”

“Would you have a problem with that?”

“I don't know… It's just… She's Maya. She practically grew up here. In this house. She and Carmy were… you haven't told him, have you?”

“Nobody knows yet. Well, just Richie. But it hasn't been going on for long, and we just thought it'd be best to wait.”

“And you brought her here tonight?”

“I didn't want her to spend the night alone. Do you think it's weird, me and her?”

“I don’t think it’s weird. I… I guess it's a little unexpected. It just caught me off guard. If you had given me a warning…”

“You wouldn't be so shocked. I'm sorry. I wanna tell everyone, but it's all so new, and she's…”

“Maya.”

“Yeah.”

“Look, it's an adjustment, but if you're happy with her, then I'm happy, Bear. Does she make you happy?”

“She does,” he smiles bashfully.

When Michael and Natalie join the rest, Cicero and his wife arrive. Uncle Lee follows.

The delicious smell of food cooking fills every nook with the house and Maya's stomach rumbles under layers of wine. She desperately needs to soak all that alcohol before it's too late.

She goes into the kitchen to find Michael casually leaning on the counter bantering with his mother as she works against the clock, cooking those seven fishes that’s the staple dish of her house.

“You doing good?” He gives Maya a look as she props her hands on the breakfast bar.

“Hm-hm.”

“You hungry too?” He guesses and Maya only nods at his question as Donna points at the meatball casserole on the counter.

“Here,” Michael grabs one meatball from the casserole, dabs the sauce on the edge so it drips as he lifts it up to her mouth. His eyes light up as she carefully bites half of it directly from his fingers. Then he shoves the other half into his mouth. Smiling at the other, both thinking about what they did earlier as they fight the urge of eating each other's mouths again.

A beat after, Maya looks to the side to see Carmy standing by the door as Donna barks something at him. She swallows, watching people come and go out of the kitchen. The timer goes off as voices get louder all around. Maya helps herself to another drink in the middle of the whirlwind of chaos of the heart of the house while Carmy takes him upon himself to organize the mess of the kitchen against Donna's wishes.

“Ma, why don't you let him help you? It's all he fucking does.” Michael picks up another meatball and offers it again to Maya, but she declines this time.

“What was that?” Carmy glances annoyed at Michael. “Like uh, that was a shot or…”

“Wasn’t a fucking shot.”

“Mikey, he’s helping me. Back off.”

“Yeah, that was a shot.” Carmen states more sternly this time. “I'm the guy that does food. You're the guy that what? You-you, uh… You start 100 different businesses and have zero follow-through.”

“You’re the one to talk,” Maya rolls her eyes, taking a long sip of her wine.

“Yeah, what are you doing here? Thought you had a husband.”

“Wow. Leave her out of this, Carm. She’s here cause I asked her to.”

“It’s fine, Michael. Let Annie Oakley take her shots at me.”

“Okay, this is why I didn't wanna come home. This is why.”

“Fuck you!” Donna shouts.

“What the fuck? Why the fuck would you say that?” Michael raises his voice. “It's fuckin' Christmas. Why would you say something like that?”

“Whatever, okay? Whatever.”

“Maya, sweetie, can you bring some ice from the freezer in the garage?” Asks Donna in the middle of the argument, and she just silently agrees.

All their voices ebb as Maya disappears into the hallway that leads to the garage to grab some ice and pull herself together. She stays there for longer than she should, collecting her thoughts and checking her phone for all her friends and co-workers messages and sending some of her own. Her eyes pull away from the screen when the door swings open.

She tucks her phone in her pocket as Carmy climbs down the two steps into the room.

“What are you doing here?”

“Grabbing some ice.” She glances at the freezer where her ass is propped.

“No. I mean, why did you come here at all?”

She shrugs, folding her arms against her stomach.

“Michael invited me.”

“It’s pretty fucking weird, don’t you think?”

“Why? I used to come here all the time when we were kids. Hell, the first time I got drunk was right in this garage with you.”

“Yeah, that’s my point. You and I aren’t friends anymore, Maya. It doesn’t make sense that you’d come anymore.”

“You've made that clear but hey, you’re the one who stopped talking to me in the first place.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. I’m not psychic, Carmen.”

“Doesn’t really matter anymore.”

“No? It matters to me.”

“Guess I got tired of waiting for you.”

“Waiting for me? You’re completely delusional, you know that?”

“Am I? I thought you were different, but you’re just…”

“Just what? Are you going to call me a slut or something? You better watch your mouth.”

“No. You’re… reckless.”

“I'm reckless? For what? Living my life? Growing up? Marrying another guy?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d rather be reckless than be anything like you, Carmen. You think you're better than me, than anyone in here, but you're not. You're conceited. You've always looked at everyone down from your ivory tower like you've never made a mistake in your life. You said you were waiting for me? You had many opportunities to say what you felt, and you never did, why is that? Because you’re a fuckin’ coward. I’ve watched string along girls you weren’t into for longer than you should have. Anytime anyone has shown you an ounce of love, you’ve run the other way. You've shut down me and everyone out cause you don’t know how to love anyone but your self-righteous, narcissistic ass.”

“That’s rich coming for someone who’s fucking my brother.” His voice comes out deeply loud as Maya swallows. “You think I’m dumb? It’s written all over your face.”

Her posture stiffens all of a sudden. She opens her mouth to contradict his words, but she can't. It's pointless. He's chosen to attack, and she's going to stand and take blow after blow without throwing some of her own.

“You had your chance, Carmen, and you never took it. And the worst part is that you expected me to do something about it, but it really wasn’t up to me. I’m sorry I never felt anything for you… but I don’t think you ever loved me like you wanted either. You only thought you did cause I was there all the time. It was easy, right? We were friends. Best friends. And you ruined that.”

“So did you.”

“Yeah, we can agree on that.”

“It’s fucked-up, y’know?”

“What is?”

“You and my brother.”

“You know what’s fucked up?” She pegs him with a harsh twisted brow. “You. Coming here judging everyone and pretending you know anything about me or him. Say, when was the last time you said I love you just cause you wanted to and not because someone said it first? When was the last time you were in a relationship that lasted more than two dates? When was the last time you woke up next to someone and the thought of leaving them ripped your heart apart? I'd rather take risks and be called reckless than feel nothing, do nothing, say nothing at all, and turn into a bitter asshole like you.”

Maya walks past him and heads out the door without giving him the opportunity to respond.

As tears threaten to come out, she stops in her tracks and draws a fortifying breath to keep herself from falling apart. Though she knew sooner or later she’d have to deal with Carmy, that conversation was truly more difficult to deal with than she expected. She couldn't handle that better if he wasn't acting like an asshole.

Disheartened… Maya feels just at home. It really is no different from being with her own family. Next year, she swears she's going to take a trip or just stay at home with Coco, which sounds like something she should've done today. Coming here tonight was a mistake. If she could turn back time to earlier in the day and convince herself to stay at home she would.

In the never-ending night of riffs, she overhears Donna yelling at Natalie in the kitchen as she crosses the hallway. In the living room, Michael has everyone's attention while telling one of his stories. Every one seems entertained except for Uncle Lee that has to poke the bear as usual.

It feels like an eternity until dinner is finally served it doesn't get better once everyone is sitting at the table. No. Because, of course, there can't be a moment of peace, everything escalates from that point.

Maya’s taking a swallow of her glass when Lee starts telling the story about the seven fishes and the Dutch oven when Michael makes a buzzing sound and throws a fork at him. It hits his shoulder.

“Wrong answer.”

“Did you just throw a fork at me?” Lee's high-pitched tone breaks.

“I did,” Michael snorts.

They both start bitching back and forth. The tension strains harder after every word, every sentence interrupted, every thought unfinished.

She places her glass down as the animated conversation grows more heated by the second. The voices get louder. There's a countdown hovering over the table showing how many seconds are left for the bomb to go off. Maya hears the ticking in her head, or maybe that's just the sound of her own heart racing.

In the heat of the moment, Michael borrows a second fork from Fak and repeats the same action. This time he misses Lee's head by an inch.

Everyone tries to put off the fire before it rises, but Michael is too far gone into his own head, nobody can talk sense into him.

“Cousin, you're scaring the normals.” Richie nervously laughs.

“This is fine. It's nothing.”

“Mikey, can you hear me, buddy?”

“Not now, Stevie.”

“Cut it out.”

“Hey, look, here's the thing.” He leans back on his chair ignoring everyone. “You see, I can throw forks cause this is our father's house. My father's house.”

“Okay you have everyone's attention so go ahead, tell us a story we've all heard a million times already.”

“That's good Lee.” He laughs manically while Lee goes on a rant about him living off his mom and borrowing money from everyone.

“… I don't know what the fuck you're on, but if you can hear me through the fog, throw another fork at me, you're gonna get fuckin’ rocked!”

There's a long moment of silence. Michael scratches his beard and gazes to his side, where Maya is sitting trying to process the whole thing happening before her eyes.

“Hey, Maybird.” He says softly, and waits until she looks at him. “I just… You think I could just borrow that for one second…” he points at her fork.

“Michael don't,” she tries to say, but the rest of the table speaks louder over her voice.

“It's okay, baby.” It slips out as he picks up her fork. “This is fine. I’m fine.”

“Michael. Please don't do this!” It's Natalie's words that stand out over the others. “Hey!” She calls his attention and when Michael glances at the opposite side of the table and Sugar lowers her voice. “I love you. Okay?”

“I love you, too, Sug.”

“I'm begging you. Don't do it.”

He vaguely nods. But he's dead set on making everyone shift in their chairs as the ridiculous dispute picks up again.

The flames touch the ceiling, and there's nothing she can do to smother the fire.

Maya nudges his thigh under the table with her knee, and says his name softly, hoping it'd be enough to calm him down. But it's too late, he's already so riled up that not even her can't stop him from rising from his chair, fork in hand taunting Lee non-stop.

Petrified, she stares at the man she loves, the one who looked like a dreamboat when she woke up next to him this morning, turning into something completely different. The cracks of his mask can't hold any longer. Behind it, it all slips out. His haunted expression taking over the rough edges of his face, the sorrow in his eyes, and his tired voice, makes her heart hurt.

“Bear.” She resorts to a term of endearment, but there is no use. He's on a different plane now, guided by his addiction.

Her eyes well up as Lee keeps repeating that he’s nothing. She can see his gears spinning in a different direction and for a moment everyone stays still watching everything unfold until Donna comes into the room.

That only puts a temporary patch on the wound. It's only a matter of time before someone takes it away to let blood spill all over the table. Michael sits back down, pushing his hair back before clutching the fork again in his fist as Donna lights up a cigarette and takes a seat.

“What did I miss?”

“Nothing.”

“I missed something.”

“Uh, Stevie, Stevie's about to say grace, Ma.”

“Ooh, good, yes.”

“Go ahead and take it away there, Stevie.”

“I uh… I don't think…”

“Just say the fucking thing, Stevie.”

The tension eases up for those couple of minutes while Steve improvises grace. It all seems perfect for a moment, they all nod and smile a Steve’s kind words, but that countdown is still ticking down every last fucking second.

Everything afterward is a tableau of surreal events tangled together that would play in Maya’s head for years to come… Donna’s meltdown, Michael throwing the last fork, flipping the table and taking a more physical approach against uncle Lee, Donna losing her hinges and crashing the car into the house, the police attending the disturbance…

Out of all the memorable dinners she's had in this house, this one really takes the cake.

It's the shitshow of a lifetime that nobody will ever forget.

Chapter 10: Basket of biscuits

It’s past the witching hour when all the voices, all the noise, all the sirens, and rumblings of his own thoughts quiet down in his head when he closes the door as he settles on the driver's seat. And at once, the only voice he wanted to hear the most echoes in his head with one simple word — his name. The fear in her tone haunts him. He probably scared the shit out of her after what went down. Staring at the ruins of the front of his childhood home, Michael turns on the engine and takes a final look before steering Maya’s car out of that place.

Maya left earlier, after the police took everyone’s statement. Though she wasn’t as drunk as he was, he begged her to take a cab back home. While Donna refused to leave the house, everyone eventually left as well. Michael stayed all the way through while they boarded up the hole in the wall as a temporary measure.

Sobering down, the road gets clearer the closer he gets to Maya. He can't stand the thought of her being witness to his frantic meltdown. All he can see now, clear as day, the utter disbelief and fright in her eyes when she was pleading him to stop. He should have listened. He should have held himself better in that situation. Drugs or not, there's nothing or no one to blame but himself. That was… Embarrassing. Even for him. He swore he'd never sink that low, that he'd never let anyone see that part of him. It was bound to happen. He lost control and everyone saw. And if he wasn't for Donna interrupting his act, he's not sure how far he'd have gone.

For a split moment, he blames it on something else taking over his actions, like being possessed by one of his demons. But it doesn't last long. He can’t continue denying the fact that he’s the only one responsible for his actions. Claiming otherwise would only delay the inevitable.

They say all roads lead to Rome, and if keeps driving in the same direction, he’d surely find the only possible outcome to this. It’s time to veer off the path and find that there’s more world to see besides Rome.

He has to find a new way, and she is the only thing that could save him from this right now. However, after tonight, it wouldn't surprise him if she was already thinking about kicking him to the curve. He would blame her.

Christmas lights and empty streets quickly take him to her house. He can even imagine what’s going through her head right now… but it’s time to find out.

He parks on the driveway and takes measured steps toward the front door as the weight of the world perches on his shoulders. He feels like shit and the biggest asshole in the world for breaking his promise.

The glow of the TV and tree lights shine faintly behind the curtains when he knocks on the door. He should have called before, he realizes on that spot. Or even just text her to say he was coming so she would know what to expect. But there’s not going back now.

She takes her time to open the door and when she does, he’s met with the reflection of all his fears coming true. It flashes across her face the disappointment and disgust and utter terror of what happened at the table.

“I brought your car.” He reaches out to hand her the keys.

Hesitantly, she collects them, and makes room for him to enter before closing the door behind him.

“I… You shouldn't be driving.”

“It's fine. Sobered out pretty soon after… Where's Coco?”

“Upstairs. Hoarding the bed.” Maya puts the keys on the console table as they stand by the staircase railing. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah, Carm and Sug stayed with her at the house for the night. Everyone else left. ”

“She wouldn't leave?”

“No, she locked herself in her room.”

“That's crazy.”

“Yeah, another Christmas at The Berzattos. Hey, but at least none of us got locked up.”

“That's not funny, Michael.”

“It wasn't meant to be funny.”

“I think you should go… You should've stayed with them.”

“I wanted to check on you.”

“I'm fine.” Her tone says otherwise.

“Are you?”

“I was about to go to sleep.” She’s already slipped into her pj’s and was just watching TV cause she couldn’t fall asleep.

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“What do you want me to say? Of course, I'm not okay. You lied to me.”

“What… When did I lie to you?”

She fights the urge of rolling her eyes and instead, crosses her arms against her midsection to keep herself together.

“You said you weren't using when you were with me, but tonight you did. Instead of coming to me and saying — hey I'm dealing with this and that, you straight up hid it, and then you just… went off. I thought we were being honest with each other.”

He hangs his head down as she tiredly leans her back against the wall.

“I don't know how to help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on, Michael.”

“There's nothing you could've done.”

“Maybe not but you didn't even give me the chance to. I'm really concerned about you and after tonight… I don't know… I'm out of my depth here. I knew it was bad, but it's worse than I thought… If you're not seeing that, if you're not willing to admit that… Then maybe we should take a step back and consider our options before going further.”

“Consider our options? You're getting cold feet now?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just…” she sighs in exhaustion. “You should go. It's been a long night. And I'm not in the mood for this.”

“If you're gonna break up with me, just say it. Don't wait till tomorrow.” Though it’d be the right decision for her to do, he can’t stand the thought of not being with her now that he’s seen what it is to have her in her life. It would rip his soul and heart apart to hear her say those words.

“I don't wanna break up with you, but I can see that you're going through something right now, and I think it’d be best to talk about this tomorrow or the day after with clear heads.”

“Okay, okay…” he says under a heavy breath, as he shortens the distance between them.

Michael cups her jaw, and places his lips gently on her forehead.

“Can I stay here tonight?” He tries to not sound desperate but it fails so badly.

“Michael…” He grabs his wrist and takes a step back to detach herself from his hold.

“Please, Maybird, I don't wanna go. I… I can’t be alone right now. I’d… I don’t know what I’d do…” There’s something brewing inside him and if tonight wasn’t bad enough, not being able to be with her would send him down to that hole of despair he’s dug himself.

“You're scaring me, Michael.”

“Fuck, I know… I know I’m an asshole. I just…” He frantically runs a palm over his beard as he keeps pleading. “I need you. Don’t make me leave. I'm begging you.”

Those words put her between the sword and the wall. As much as he loves him, as much as she’d want him to stay, she’s still shaken and would rather be alone right now. But she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if something happened to him because she sent him away.

Before she has the chance to reply, while she gathers her thoughts he dramatically drops to his knees on the verge of tears.

“Please. I’d do anything for you, but don’t ask me to go.”

“Michael…”

“Shh, shh, shh,” he grabs her waist, pulls her close, and links his arms around her hips, planting his full face on her abdomen. He swallows his sobs in his relentless ramble. “Please, baby, I need you… I’m sorry I lied to you… I’m so sorry that I'm scaring you… I swear I’d never hurt you…”

Her eyes brim with tears and unable to pull away she just holds his head protectively in her hands, threading her fingers in her hair to calm him down.

“You’re everything to me, Maybird. I know I’m a pathetic loser and that I don’t deserve you, but I’m fucking ready… just tell me what to do… I don’t know how to fix this… please just… let me stay…”

“Shh, it’s okay, Bear.” She’s so overcome by the love she has for him, she doesn’t have the strength to kick him out. So, she just gives up to his implore. “We’ll figure it out.”

Michael’s breaking point came like the most unexpected Christmas gift he didn't ask for. He can't return it or exchange it for something else. It's only up to him to either throw it away and pretend it didn't happen or use that as the catalyst to his recovery. They say that sometimes you have to break down to break through. And he went down so many levels, that there’s only one option but to go up from there. No because he feels like he has to, but he'd do anything to stay with Maya, and he knows the only way to do it is to climb out of the dirt.

After falling asleep in Maya’s arms, he wakes up in her bed alone the next morning. The clock says it is 10am when he looks up to her night stand and from the feet of the bed is only Coco, keeping a close watch of him. Her tail starts wagging when he gazes at her and extends his hand to scratch her head.

“Hey, Coco girl.” His voice rasps as she climbs up closer to lick his face relentlessly, slobbering all over his beard. “Okay, okay, that's enough, sweetheart.”

He holds her close and scratches her neck to calm her down, as Maya’s measured footfalls make the stairs creak when she climbs up. He looks to the door and watches her as she enters the room. She's fully dressed and by the amount of layers she's clad in, it looks like she's been outside.

“Morning.” She smiles softly as she proceeds to take off her hat and scarf.

“Morning.” He props himself on his elbow while Coco jumps suddenly out of the bed and circles around Maya’s legs before leaving the room at once. “Went out?”

“Yeah, just went for a drive and grabbed some breakfast. You two looked so cozy together, I thought I should let you sleep a bit longer. You're not opening today, right?”

“No. C’mere, sweetheart.” He finds her hand and gently tugs on it so she would sit down next to him. “I'm sorry about last night, I shouldn't have come here like that. I thought I was…”

“Sh, it's okay. You already apologized, hon.”

“No. That wasn't me. That was fucking embarrassing.”

“Is this you now?” She tenderly moves his straightened hair away from his forehead and combs it softly.

“Think so.”

“You look better.” Her fingers keep gently peppering him with caresses all over his head and neck.

“I feel like shit.” He gets a hold of her hand and kisses her knuckles. “You’re not mad at me anymore?”

“No. I can’t really stay mad at you for long. You know that. And the good thing about all this is that since last night, I haven't really thought about being ditched for Christmas by my family.”

“Fuck, I'm such an asshole… I had all these plans with you after dinner… and I totally ruined everything. We didn't even get to open our presents.”

“It's okay. I promise. We'll try again next year. Maybe just the two of us.”

“You still think we'll be together next year?”

“I have no idea. But I'm hoping so… I want to.”

“God, you’re a fucking angel.”

“I’m not,” she laughs softly.

“Yeah, heaven-sent. You took care of me last night when you had your own thing going on. Not many people would’ve done that.”

Maya leans in and kisses his temple before wrapping her arms around his neck. She bathes him with love cause she’s not sure what else to do than to show him that she needs him just as much.

“How about we get some food in you?” She smooches his head and as she attempts to stand up, he curls his arms around her, pulling her down with him.

“Not yet, baby. Let's stay here for a minute. I'm not hungry.”

She relaxes in his hold and cuddles with him until his phone goes off.

“It's Sugar.” Maya sees on the screen. “Are you gonna pick it up?”

He vacillates, but he ends up taking the call while Maya dislodges herself from his embrace. She collects a tray and some food from the kitchen while Natalie tells Michael that they finally got their mother out of the house. She'll be at Nat's for a few days until they fix the front of the house.

“Yeah… I'll take care of it. See you later.” Maya overhears as she returns to the bedroom with his breakfast.

“Everything alright?” She sits down on the mattress, placing the tray in the middle.

“Yeah. She asked me to go talk to uncle Jimmy's friend. You know, the contractor? He said he could get it done fast.”

“That's good, yeah?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“What's wrong?”

“I don't know… I just… how can I look at these people in the face after what I did.”

“Because you're Michael fucking Berzatto. And you don't take shit from no one.” She tries cheering him up. “Uncle Lee was an asshole. Nobody cares that you threw a couple of forks at him. They're worried about you. And I don't think anyone remembers what you did. Donna upstaged the two of you, I'm afraid.”

“How do you manage to put a positive spin on everything?”

“Someone has to.”

As much as he loves hearing her talk like that is time for a reality check. Besides Maya being the brightest light in his life from the past few months, the rest have been hell. The restaurant has been struggling for way longer than he’d like to admit and has become the biggest failure of his life. His dependency has only been exacerbated by the pressure he’s put on himself to try to fix all by himself. All the lies, the high expectations, and the way his family look up to him for answers and comfort have become a lead weight on him.

The Beef was an inherited mess that was passed down to him when his father died. He took it upon himself to carry the family business to keep the family afloat, especially since Carmen and Natalie were merely teens, and there was nobody else but him to provide for all of them. He always thought he’d had his own restaurant and part of that pipe dream was bringing Carmy along. That dream faded as soon as he got hit with the hard cold truth that managing a restaurant, even a sandwich shop wasn’t as easy as his father made it look. But to be fair the late Berzatto didn’t have the best system either. It was all back door deals and handshakes and fucking agreements with this guy and this other guy. It made him wonder if the old trio had some shady business going on. Even Maya’s uncle was involved at some point, he recalls seeing his name a couple of times in one of the accounting books.

To sum it all up, he was set up with a business that was already failing before got it. His optimism and passion could only keep him trying for so long. The last couple of years have been hell, and at this point he’s not sure if he wants to run it anymore. He’s toyed with the idea of burning it to the ground and starting over, or just selling it and walking away. But there are a lot of factors in play that are stopping him from doing that. Like disappointing his family or the people who work for him. And let's not forget the big question of what Michael would do if he didn’t have The Beef.

With a heavy heart he finally pours everything out to Maya. If someone can understand, it’s her. She knew when her life needed a turn and took it. He’s at the same crossroads right now, but unlike her, he doesn’t feel brave enough to do what needs to be done.

Maya draws a breath, absorbing every single thing Michael has laid out. It’s a lot to process, but her mind is already spinning ideas and questions that could potentially help him.

“You could sell and start over. The Beef is not your failure. It wasn’t even your dream to begin with. And I don’t think anyone will hold it against you if you give it away.”

“I guess I’m not ready to give up, you know? I don’t know what I’d do if I walked away now.” He shifts in the bed, laying on his side, placing his head on her lap while she plays with his hair.

“What about the restaurant you wanted to open with Carmy? It was all you talked about once upon a time. ”

“I can't bring him into this. He's better off without me.”

“He's not. Your brother is fucking miserable.”

“How do you know that? Did he tell you that?”

“No… but we shared some words last night, I don't want to get into the whole thing right now, but I could tell that he's not happy either.”

“Last night… He gave me this thing. It was a sketch he did about that restaurant… I just don't know how to make you both understand that I have no idea how to make it true. He's worked so hard to be where he is now…. I won’t be the one to keep it away from all that.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe you could learn something from him and that teaming up would solve all your problems?”

“Yeah, maybe. But I don’t want to take that chance. I won’t ruin his career. He’s where he’s supposed to be.”

“You know, you’ve talked a lot about not wanting to let everyone down and keeping everyone happy. But when are you gonna start taking care of yourself, Bear? All those people you’re caring for, they’re pretty much grown up. They don’t need you to keep holding their hand. Not Natalie, nor Carmy, nor your mother. And don’t get me wrong, the way you care for them is part of the reason I care for you… but at some point you’re going to have to care for yourself too. Cause I can’t keep an eye on you 24/7.”

“Did you go to shrink school or something?” He scoffs, glancing up at her eyes from his comfortable spot.

“No, I wish! It’s hard to put yourself above anyone else… I get it. But you’re going to have to, Michael. If you don’t, it’ll eventually catch up with you. The pressure, the pills, the need to please everyone…”

“What if it’s too late?”

“It’s not. I promise it’s not. I know it seems that way, but you, asking the right questions… That tells me it’s not too late. And the thing is that you don't have to decide anything right now. But hypothetically speaking, if you didn't have The Beef to take care of, and could do anything in the world, what would you do?”

“Well, If I could do anything, I'd stay in this bed, day, and night with you for a year.”

“Okay, let's say you've done that now. You wake up, get out of bed and where do you go?”

“I've always….” he pauses as the corner of his mouth pulls up.

“What? Tell me.” Her hand fists his hair without pulling.

“I've always wanted to buy a bike and drive across every state.”

“I could see you doing that.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Stop doing that. It's not an unattainable dream, Bear. You can do whatever you want.”

“Would you come with me if I asked you?”

“Hm, I don’t know… I’m not a huge fan of bikes. But I guess if I could follow along with my car and bring Coco with us, I’d go.”

“How about next summer?”

“Bring it on.”

“You know I’m joking, right?” He scoffs.

“I’m not. If you really wanna do that. Do it. What’s that thing you always say… Let one rip?”

“Let it rip,” he snorts and shakes his head, utterly amused by her way of messing up his motto.

“So, let it rip!”

“How? How do you walk away from everything?”

“You put one foot in front of the other and repeat.”

“Well, thank you for just describing walking, baby.”

“I’m serious, Michael. You take enough small steps and one day you’ll look back and won’t be able to see what you left behind.”

She holds his face firmly and dips to leave a small peck on his lips, then plants her forehead on top of his.

“I’d go anywhere with you. Would you?”

“Yeah, always.”

Michael’s palm slides along her jaw as his lips capture her mouth one more time. In this room, on this bed, he feels more safe and loved than ever before.

In the evening, Maya takes Michael to meet the contractor who comes into the house to survey the damage. After that, they swing by Natalie’s to check how Donna is doing.

Maya stays in the car. Her choice. She’s not ready to have another Berzatto reunion so soon.

She’s listening to the radio when all of a sudden a tap on the glass startles her. She glances to the side and finds Carmy motioning with his hand to roll down the window.

Sighting, she turns off the radio, as the glass slides down.

“Hey, can we talk?” His breath manifests in the air.

“I'm not in the mood for you to keep jabbing at me.”

“I wasn’t going to… I just…” he props his forearm on the roof of the car. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. You were right about… well, about almost everything. I have no right to tell you how to live your life and shouldn’t have talked to you that way. I still think it’s pretty weird that you’re dating my brother… but I guess I’ll have to get over it.”

Maya swallows, staring at her hands curling around the steering wheel. It feels forced to hear him say that so soon, but not completely dishonest. He’s making an effort, and she appreciates that.

“Thank you for saying that. I’m sorry that you had to find that way and that I called you a self-serving asshole that doesn’t care about anyone but himself. I know you cared about me… I just…”

“Hey, I get it. We both said a lot of things we didn’t mean.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“I don’t know… I couldn’t sleep last night and Sugar and I started talking, we were up for hours… I guess she knocked some sense into me.”

“Do you think we could ever be friends again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Could we pretend that we are just for five minutes? I need to ask you something.”

“I… I suppose we could. Can I get in? It's freezing out here.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Carmy goes around the car and hops into the passenger seat as Maya closes the window.

“What is it?”

“How's Copenhagen? Are you liking it there? Is it everything you ever dreamed of?”

“It's one of the best jobs I've ever had.”

“That's not what I asked.”

“I… I don't know what you want me to say… I guess I always thought I'd end up here with Michael… But I don't think he even wants me here anymore. Why are you asking me this?”

“God, he's going to kill me for telling you this… But hypothetically, what if he was in trouble and was too prideful to ask for help? What if he wanted to build that restaurant you dreamed of but wouldn't want you to give up your career for him? What if he was thinking of selling the shop but was too afraid of disappointing all of you?”

“Fuck, that's a lot of what ifs, Maya. Is that all true?”

“I can't tell you that, but if that were all true would you consider coming back?”

“You know better than anybody that all I wanted to do is work with him. If he asked, I'd be here in a second. But he's not going to ask, is he?”

“I don't think he's ready yet. I'm trying to help him as best as I can, but I feel like I'm not enough.”

“What do you think I could do if he doesn't want anyone's help… ”

“I don't know… he's too stubborn to ask for help. I'm just running out of ideas here… and he's looking at me like I have all the answers…”

“You think if I came back that'll change?”

“Maybe not, but if there's just a small chance that you were considering doing what you always wanted to do… if he saw that you weren't going anywhere, perhaps it’d point him in the right direction.”

“It takes guts to ask for help like that. And I'm not talking about him. I know you wouldn't be asking if it wasn't serious.”

“Yeah, like I said, if he knew I was telling you this…”

“I won't tell, if you don't.” He smiles softly.

“Thank you.”

“I'll think about it though.”

“Yeah? I'll keep trying too.”

As Carmy leaves the car, Michael comes out of the front door. They meet in the middle and Maya watches them quickly sharing some words before saying goodbye.

“Everything good here?” Asks Michael once he's taken his seat and closes the door.

“Yeah, we were just straightening some things up. I didn't want to tell you earlier, but we had an argument last night. It's all good now…” and she feels like an asshole for going behind his back, but if Michael is too proud or ashamed to ask for help, someone has to. She'd love to have all the answers laid out for him, but she has no idea what she's doing half of the time.

“He knows about us, does he?”

“Yeah, we weren't as careful as we wanted. Even Sugar saw. I mean… you even called me baby at the table. Don’t think anyone really noticed but… I guess it’s out now.”

“Does it freak you out that they know?”

“No. It was never about that. I just wanted to keep it just between us for a little longer.”

As they drive back home they toy with the idea of recreating the Christmas dinner they never go to have the previous night. They make a quick stop at a couple of places to gather some ingredients and scramble something together.

Michael has a lot of faults, but he's a natural in the kitchen. He feels right in his element when he's crafting a meal, especially when it’s for her. There’s no pressure laying on the counter, no bills to worry about, but the need to impress her makes him rise to the occasion.

After dinner, they exchange those gifts they put under the tree in her living room a couple of days ago. There’s a gift basket for Coco with toys, her favorite snacks, a blanket, and bathing products. While the dog is distracted with a chew on the rug, they sit on the couch to open theirs.

Maya’s gift to Michael is considerably bigger than what he got for her, which is a thin flat box as long as her palm.

“You want me to go first?” Asks Maya.

“Yeah, sure. Go on, baby.”

She’s kneeled by his side on the cushion, and he closely watches her hand unwrap the jewelry box that contains a dainty gold necklace with two twin pendants. Two small discs share an M etched on one side but are different on the back. One of them has the outline of a bear, and the other a dog paw.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it, Mikey Bear.” Her free palm slides at his nape. “Thank you.”

“Thought you could wear this one,” he points at the one with the bear, “and I could take the other.”

“Yeah, that’d be perfect.” She inspects the pendants for a bit longer before sliding the one with the paw on it out the chain. “We’re kind of an institution now, like M&Ms.”

“Or Eminem.”

“For sure,” she laughs at the same time she clasps the chain around her neck. “Are you gonna open yours?”

Michael nods and extends his hand to open the big wrapped box waiting on the coffee table. In it there's a record player set with speakers and a couple of Otis Redding albums.

“You’re the best, you know that?” He holds his chin on top of his fist for a second, mesmerized by how much he adores her.

“Hm, I’ve been told.” She smugly slings her arm around his lower back as he inspects his new gift and starts setting all the components on. “Wasn’t sure if you liked Otis, but it’s one of my favorites.”

“Yeah, I dig it. Everyone loves the king of soul.”

Tucking her palm under the hem of his shirt, she kisses his shoulder, as he carefully slides one of the vinyls out of its sleeve before placing it on the platter.

“I haven’t used one of these in a while, let’s see if I remember…” he thinks for a beat, staring at the levels and buttons as he figures out how to set it up.

“You know, there are instructions on the box, right?” She playfully scratches his back.

“Don’t need instructions.”

“Typical male response,” she scoffs.

“Look, it’s done.” After settling the needle in position he hits the on button and stares at the record as it starts spinning. It rotates a couple of times before the first track comes out of the speakers.

Michael curls his arm around her, pulling her flush against his chest as they lean back on the couch. Maya drapes her legs on his lap, pillowing her head on his shoulder as the ever so beautiful melody of These Arms Of Mine plays on the speakers.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Maya tucks her hand in her jean's pocket to collect a keychain of a miniature motorcycle she got at the gas station earlier. “I also got you this when we stopped for gas. I didn't have time to get you a real bike in time but– what do you say, you wanna go on a road trip with me and Coco?”

“A Harley-Davidson? I don't think the three of us can fit here.” He dangles the keychain between his fingers. “But we'll see.”

Maya smiles against his shoulder as he kisses her head.

“Hey, can I tell you a secret?” His voice changes to a softer tone.

“Uh-huh.”

He knows this is far from perfect and that he's probably going to screw everything up at some point, but whether it's perfect or not, right here, in her arms, everything is like it's supposed to be.

“I love you, Maybird.”

She tilts her chin up so he can capture the glint of eyes. She doesn't say it right away, it takes her a couple of beats to build up the courage to say back…

“I love you too, Bear.”

The End.

[xblackreader]

>> This song is so Carmy at Culinary School Coded

“All the pretty girls involved with me making pretty love to me, pretty… pity pity. Can’t feel a thing, can’t feel.”

[leahthedreamer]

If it’s one thing Season 2 reinforces is that Carmy NEEDS Sydney but Sydney doesn’t necessarily need Carmy to the same capacity.

Without Sydney and her leadership and intuition that restaurant would have never opened on time. Carmy is a work in progress, desperately needs therapy and probably a vacation and clearly couldn’t handle any semblance of a relationship while juggling stress and his past trauma.

Which is why if I had an ending of the show pictured, it would be them parting ways with Sydney earning his full respect as a chef and a Carmy hopefully free enough to achieve things himself and maintain some happiness in his life.

[daydreamgoddess14]

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The Bear

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Jason Sudeikis / Reader List

Whatta man 🥵

[thebirdandthebee]

OK, cause I'm thirsty today. Jealous Carmy! who has to cater an uncomfortably fancy event and F girlfriend is there wearing a hot dress and he has to keep watching all the rich dudes trying to hit on her until he can't take it and they end up sneaking outside and fucking (bonus points for Carmy eating her out). Thank you Chef!

College was a fun time for Carmen. No, he wasn't in college, but he was in culinary school and catering on the weekends to pay for said culinary school.

It was just fortunate timing that he'd be catering a party his girlfriend would be attending that night with some of her friends - their families all having donated big money to the university to earn an invite. It was a posh affair that she’d spent hours getting ready for. He’d personally zippered her up into a red silk number with a slit nearly to her hip.

He, however, was decked out in the caterer’s special - all white with a black bowie as he flitted about room holding trays of wasabi crab cakes and tartare tacos.

He was grateful for her girlfriends who were always kind to him when he’d sneak in and out of their college house. Tonight, however, he wished more of them were around, and less of the business-school, trust-fund babies that were flocking to her from all angles. He knew his girlfriend was stunning, that was a given. But he certainly didn’t appreciate everyone else knowing that as well.

He didn’t like how closely the suits were getting, and though he could swoop in once in a while, he was close to tossing his tray when he watched a tall, brunette with a dimpled chin touch her elbow gently as they both stood at the bar.

“I’ve got lobster puffs here,” he said, stepping up to the two.

“No, thanks,” the man replied, looking down on Carmen - both literally and figuratively. 

“I love lobster,” his girlfriend grinned, happily taking one and popping it into her mouth. “Delicious,” she moaned - a noise that both men knew was better suited for between the sheets.

“Maybe I will try one...” the other man muttered, taking his own.

Three more times in the next half an hour Carmen could see his girlfriend otherwise occupied by men whose fathers had attorneys on standby. It made his skin prickle in a way that he hated. He slammed down an empty tray on the back counter of the kitchen, catching the attention of the other staff members.

“Try not to get too heated, huh?” He heard the familiar purr, feeling a hand slide down his arm. Turning, he saw her with a small smile on her face - she knew this wasn’t fun for him. “Anywhere... private we can go?” She asked, eyes flicking over to the service door that led to the back alley. He simply slid his hand in hers, shoving open the security bar and sending up a quick thank-you to the big guy above that an alarm didn’t sound.

A moment later, his mouth was on hers, tasting that familiar cherry flavor of the lipgloss she’d swiped on over her red lipstick.

“Hate that you have to work,” she pouted, hands delving in his hair.

“Hate the entitled pricks who think they can just put their hands on you,” he countered, hand sliding up her thigh, hooking her leg over his hip. “You’re mine,” he said, lips pressed against hers tightly.

“Prove it,” she grinned, tilting her head with her wide doe eyes. Carmen flipped her around - an arm across her stomach as he kept her from being pressed against the rough exterior of the building. “I took my panties off in the bathroom,” she said, pulling it from her cleavage, reaching back to shove them into his pocket.

“God I love you,” he laughed, her hands braced against the wall as he nudged her feet apart.

She heard his zipper drop and the anticipation made her face hot.

“Hurry Carmy, what if someone comes out here? The valet is just around the cor-” She paused as he slid into her with one fell swoop. “Fuck,” she whimpered, boosting his ego to high heaven. He grasped her breast over her dress, pressing his face into the mess of wild curls she’d pinned her hair into as he pumped in and out.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he grunted, warm breath huffing in her ear.

“I’m yours,” she gasped as his free hand wandered down to the slit of her dress, easily finding her clit.

“Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he said feeling her squeeze him haphazardly.

“You, Carmy!” She tossed her head back, kissing him desperately.

“None of those fuckers in there can give you what I give you,” he all but growled. 

“Only you,” she agreed with a whimper.

“I’m gonna cum, baby,” he warned, causing a ripple of goosebumps to travel down her arms.

“I wanna feel you inside of me,” she begged, sending him over the edge. The feeling of his hot orgasm spilling inside of her pushed her off her own blissful cliff. A few moments later, he was using her panties to clean up what he could.

“Don’t look at anyone else, huh?” He asked, kissing her lips in a short series of sweet pecks. “Keep your eyes closed and hide in the corner till I’m done,” he all but begged, a small smile on his lips.

“I only have eyes for you,” she grinned, kissing him soundly. 

“Good.”

[sneakyblinders]

@zablife @moral-terpitude here we go. lil blurb bit of carmy berzatto x reader x tommy shelby. @carmens-a-bear is my carmy blog :)

The Bear was busy. The busiest you'd ever seen it, actually. Friday night. Everyone was celebrating something that night, it seemed. Anniversaries, promotions, birthdays, won health battles--anything worthy of celebration was on the books that night, per Richie.

You'd already had to calm Carmy down a few times, his stress bubbling over, hands raking through his hair, veins bulging in his neck as he shouted orders over the roar of the kitchen.

You'd been in your lovely pastry corner with Marcus for the evening, piping vanilla creme into the cream puffs and eclairs, whipping the meringue into submission for a special pie at Carmy's request, when Richie asked for your help with the front of the house. That was the disadvantage of being, in Carmy's words, "so damn good at every-fucking-thing". Getting pulled in every direction when anything was needed. Front of the house swamped? You got pulled to help seat tables, fill in special requests from the folks who had made reservations. Prep falling behind? You'd join the prep line right next to Carmy and prep the mise. Sydney was running behind with getting the meals out the window? You'd slide in and crank out a few plates to get them caught up. Marcus needed help icing a cake? You'd fill a piping bag and get to work. Carmy had issues balancing the books? You'd grab the calculator and tell him to scoot over at the desk. Perks and disadvantages of being the owners wife, ya know?

So when you pulled your apron off, donning the Bear's classic white button down and dress slacks attire, you were ready for the front of the house. You were so invested in what you were doing, in looking over the set reservations, and picking up the phone to call the couple who tried to get squeezed in if there was a cancellation, and Richie had just crossed off a name on the list, when he walked up to the front desk. You had thought something like this only happened once in a lifetime, and it had already happened for you. Where you see them and the world stops spinning on its axis. All the noise around you gets fuzzy and everything except for them blacks out around you. It happened when you first saw Carmy, on that cold New York night at the bodega, two tired, hungry chefs getting a gallon of milk at the end of their shifts. In a moment of boldness, you'd walked over and introduced yourself and gotten his number, and a year later you'd gotten married. So when the world stopped spinning again, and all you could hear was the man directly in front of you, piercing blue eyes staring directly at you, your breath hitched in your chest, heart palpitating as your hands shook. "Reservation for Thomas Shelby," the man said, voice deep and bruising, leaning a forearm on the front desk. You could smell his cologne faintly from the air conditioner wafting it towards you, and your knees buckled. Didn't this sort of thing only happen once? And you'd married the man who it'd happened with... Your head and stomach swirled with mixed emotions as you fumbled through the iPad to find his reservation and table. Thomas Shelby smirked, noticing your visible nerves. "Right this way, Mr. Shelby," you smiled softly, catching yourself batting your eyelashes at him as you turned to walk him to his table. You could feel his eyes on your backside, putting a little extra swish in your hips. "Your table, sir," you said, motioning to the table, setting down a menu in front of him, and two more to the other sides of him. "Would you like a drink while you wait for your other guests?" you offered. "Whiskey. Irish," he said brusquely, taking a seat, sitting his hat in his lap and checking his Rolex for the time. "They should fucking be here," he mumbled under his breath, rolling his eyes. "I'll be right back with that," you say, hurrying away to get his whiskey. You quickly brought back his whiskey, to which he responded with a grunt. "Your server will be right with you," you say, smiling softly at him. "I'd rather you serve us," he said, in that harsh tone of his. A tone that left no room for discussion, no room for debate. "Uh-I uh-I'm needed in other areas of the restaurant tonight," you stammered, appalled at his attitude. "The only fuckin' place you're needed tonight is serving this table," he said, taking a swig of his whiskey. "I'll see what I can arrange," you said, heart hammering in your chest, making its way up your throat. Your knees wobbled, head swimming with confusion.

Why were you feeling this again?

[becsabillion4]

take it out on me (carmen berzatto x reader)

so this is my first time posting a fic of mine on tumblr since i was 14 and i'm slightly terrified by the formatting but i posted this on ao3 yesterday and someone told me to post here too (<3) so i hope you all enjoy it as much as i enjoy the thought of getting pounded by carmy in the walk-in

pairing : carmen berzatto x f!reader

summary : Carmy is having a terrible service, and you're sure some time in the walk-in will help him cool off (although it gets hotter in there than you might think).

word count : 4,410

tags: SMUT, rough sex, angry sex, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie, choking, semi-public sex, ending with soft carmy which makes it all okay, 18+ only

note: this is explicit 18+ only and also this is NOT an advert for safe sex, it is merely a fantasy i have been playing with since my own days as a waitress and carmy has helped me to realise it. also i'm obsessed and i know y'all degenerates won't send help so instead i ask that you send me asks so i can write more about this wonderful man

Disorienting. Overwhelming. Stressful, painful, unrelenting. Burning your hand hard enough for it to stick to the pan, hard enough that you know on the way to the sink it’s too late, that you’ll bear the scar of that mistake for the rest of your life. Knives slicing always so close to your skin, living on the point of pain, focus trained so hard on the blade you can’t even blink. Shouting, screaming, the place could be on fire, and you wouldn’t look up from the art you’re creating. Flames licking at your apron. Beautiful.

Kitchens are the prison and the heart of a chef, and the one at The Bear is currently the pride and the bane of your life. Plating up your one billionth focaccia of the evening as Marcus rushes by holding a tray of cannolis aloft, you try to tune out Sydney shouting instructions to the new servers, trying to drill something, anything, into their panicked, under-developed skulls. 

But none of this worries you. What worries you is the ominous, creeping silence from the station to your right, where you know Carmy is cooking up not only the best food you’ve ever tasted, but an internal storm that is going to be unleashed any, second, now-

“Chefs! Where the fuck is my garnish? Tina, are you dead? ‘Cos you need to wake the fuck back up.”

Tina is already by Carmy’s side with the garnish, but the damage is done. She doesn’t bristle at his words, but shoots you a worried look as she slides by, murmuring, “Sorry, Chefs. Behind.”

Since you started working at The Bear six months back, you’ve witnessed a rare few Carmy outbursts, and you know everyone feels the same way when they happen. It’s like the moment you miss a step on familiar stairs, stomach lurching and fear sweeping through your body. Carmy is this kitchen, and his boiling point is the moment things tend to spin out of control. 

And yet, Tina’s reaction is everyone’s; disappointment in herself, instant forgiveness because she knows Carmy is doing everything he can for this team. Last week, after you and Sydney spent the evening getting wasted on her couch, she’d confessed to you how hard Carmy took his notorious opening night failure, and how he’s been struggling to make up for it since then. And it’s been working; his kindness, patience, and passion for elevating those around him have always outshone the occasional harsh word during service.

But this service is just bad. It’s been bad since 5AM, when you got here to take in the delivery and found out that the grapes needed for the welcome broth had somehow been left off of the order. It’s been bad since Marcus ruined three batches of cannolis in a row, and when Sydney tried to touch his shoulder and ask him what was going on, he stormed out. Since Sydney snapped at Richie for singing Taylor Swift badly during family. The hundred little underlying frissons of tension that normally dissipate as soon as service rolls around have congealed today, like oil in balsamic vinegar, rubbing together but refusing to meld into the team you know everyone can be.

And you know Carmy can feel it. His anger is a physical thing beside you, like standing next to a hot pan with too much oil in it and just waiting for it to start spitting at you. Knowing you have to keep stirring it anyway.

“Four top, two steak, one bucatini, one fish,” Sydney rattles off, and everyone responds “Yes, Chef!” a little too loud.

“Can I get some hands for this focaccia,” you shout through the din, pushing the two boards forward, but nobody responds. “Hands, please, get these off my station before I eat ‘em!” you call, trying to bring some levity to the atmosphere before-

“Hands, fuckin’ hands, Chefs, FUCK!” Carmy explodes, appearing by your side so suddenly you almost jump. His hands hover over the foccacia boards like he wants to adjust something on them, fix something, but you know as well as he does that they’re perfect already.

And of course, this just makes things worse.

Carmy properly looks up for the first time, straightening out of the “chef about to have an aneurysm over plating this fish” posture and into his “everyone here is about to get fucked” pose. “These are good to go, why are we not? Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. Go fuck yourselves-” one of the new waitresses approaches with trembling hands and Carmy pushes the boards at her, disgusted, almost taking them over the edge of the pass, “-all of you, what is the point of any of us being here if nothing is leaving the fucking kitchen!”

“Carm, it’s okay, they’re going out,” you can’t help cutting in, but you should know better than to try to soothe a wild animal. Carmy doesn’t say anything, turns back to plating up his fish, but his beautiful artist’s hands, which you often find yourself trying to draw in the margins of inventory checks, are shaking now. You’ve never seen him this bad. The whole kitchen waits on a knife edge. You glance up, watching the waitress leave with your focaccia, and have a brief but fervent desire to be her as the doors swing her out of this hellhole.

The fish is beautiful as Carmy puts the finishing touches to it. A server steps up to take it as other dishes for the same table coalesce at the front of stations, all elegant, all perfect, all more than worthy of the restaurant’s Michelin star.

Carmy is completely still. Staring. And you know it’s too late.

Plunging his fist down, he crushes the fish into sea-scented pulp. The shells of oysters, hand-selected, crack into broken-mirror shards; the sauce is peppered with shoddy scraps of lobster tail.

It’s still not enough for Carmy, as he picks up the plate and sends it spinning into the back wall, narrowly missing Sweeps’ head. “ Shit, ” Carmy mutters, turning back to his station and searching for more things to destroy. You watch him contemplate the knives, and you can’t stay out of it any longer.

“Carmy. Chef. Carmy,” you say as you reach out to grab his muscled arm, pulling him round to face you. You can feel the tension corded deep under his skin, see the sheen of sweat coating his tattoos. Normally, any skin contact with him sends your brain into overdrive, but you can’t afford to be anything but calm right now.

His eyes are wild, but you watch him steadily, and he watches you straight back. You’re not sure why, but the moment reminds you of how you felt on those rare occasions he invited you and Syd over to brainstorm new recipes in his cramped kitchen. Especially that time Sydney couldn’t make it, and you were midway through describing your idea for a yuzu-infused scallops course to him - “with maybe, like, a garnish of broccoli just absolutely smothered in hollandaise” - when he reached forward, tucked a scrap of hair behind your ear, and the very idea of food whisked straight out of your head - but you still felt hungry. And whilst he’d tried out your broccoli idea over and over again that night, you found yourself blushing every time he passed you a spoon to taste it. 

You never could get that dish right. Every time you thought about it, you couldn’t separate the flavours from the curious look in his eyes, the way he drank in your ideas, absorbed them before he responded, how his eyes tracked every thought that crossed your face.

Now here you are again, staring at that measured, thoughtful man turned savage, and you wonder if you have the guts to do what you’ve been thinking about doing for a while.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you murmur beneath the clatter of plates behind you, just for him. You don’t look away even when you hear something shatter. You move your hand from his arm, up over his shoulder, push your palm into the curve of his neck and hold it there. 

Then you wait, feel his shoulders jumping up and down with his rapid breathing. Wait until he leans into it a little, chasing your solidity, and it’s all the response you need.

“Come with me.” It’s not a question, but he nods anyway.

“Sydney, you got this?” You ask, never taking your eyes from Carmy’s face, worried that if you do, you’ll lose whatever grip you have on him right now.

“Yes, Chef,” she replies, and you feel her edge round the side of Carmy to put another fish on rapid fire. He catches her eye as she passes, and brings his hand up to his chest, rubbing it once in what has become the team’s official way to apologise during service. She responds in kind, and he lets you drag him off the station, past the others shooting him worried looks, straight into the walk-in.

You shut the door carefully, recalling the stories of Carmy’s previous imprisonment. It’s still securely closed, giving you both some calm and privacy to cool off.

Except cooling off is not really what you have in mind.

You turn to see Carmy slumped in the corner, curled in on himself and running his hands through his already-chaotic hair. He stands again suddenly, bracing his hands on the wall behind him as if to remind himself they exist.

“Carmy.”

“Yeah, shit. Sorry, I just need a second. It’s just, I didn’t sleep at all last night. I was thinking about doing something with ceviche, but I couldn’t figure out what fish would work best, and then that sorta spiralled into a panic attack which kept me up whisking eggs for something until three, and then-” You watch his eyes darting over the shelves around him as he talks, and you realise he’s taking stock of what’s there. Even during a full-blown meltdown, he cannot stop working, stop thinking. He starts pacing.

“Carmy,” you say again as you try to catch his eye. He’s staring at some spare T-bones like they’ll explain to him whatever dish he was whisking eggs for last night. Fuck it. You grab his chin, tilt it until he has to look at you.

“D’you know the best way to calm down?”

“Lock yourself in the walk-in for three hours?” He’s trying to relieve some tension, but you have other ideas on how to handle that.

“Sex, Carmy.”

There. You’re terrified that you finally acknowledged it, finally confessed to what you’ve been thinking about for months, but thank God it’s out in the open. You’ve been blushing at his compliments on your food for far too long, ignoring how good he looks in a white tee for even longer. And today has been such a shitshow it can’t possibly get any worse by admitting to this too.

You wait for Carmy to shut it down, laugh it off, maybe even fire you, but he just looks shellshocked. Then again, that is his default look.

“I, um…” He rubs a hand over his forehead, glances up at you almost shyly. “I mean, um. What?”

“Listen, you’re fucking up service. You’re distracted, tired, stressed beyond belief. I want to help you, and I won’t pretend it’s just out of the goodness of my own heart. I’ve been interested in you for a while, Carmy. You can take that or leave it or kick me out of this walk-in if you want, but I’m here. I want to help you work through things, through all this anger. And…I want you to know you can take it out on me. And maybe even feel better at the same time.”

Carmy is flushed, and you’re all out of words. You kind of wish he was still looking at the T-bones.

“We, uh, we can’t.” Carmy leans back on a freezer for support, crossing his arms in a pose you normally associate with him working something out in his head, deciding what a dish is missing or what it needs to take it up a notch. “I mean, not now. Not here, at least. And I don’t know, we work together. I’m your boss. It’s not a good idea.” He reaches a hand round to his back, starts massaging the strain away there. It’s an especially effective position as he doesn’t have to look at you as he does it, as he says, “Sorry.”

You shrug a little, smile. Try to pretend it doesn’t hurt. Keep it professional, or as professional as you can get in a kitchen. “Hey, it was worth a shot. Get some sleep, Chef.”

You turn to go, hoping that stirring and slicing and plating up will shake off the embarrassment currently burning through to your bones.

But you don’t live to regret the offer as Carmy grabs your arm, spins you and shoves you hard enough into the walk-in door that it rattles on its hinges.

“Hey, everything okay in there Chefs?” you hear Marcus call, and it’s a reality check you absolutely don’t want right now. Carmy doesn’t even seem to have heard him, trailing kisses down your neck, collarbone, shoulder as your body arches into the feeling. You’ve had one too many fantasies about this walk-in since you started, but the actual feeling doesn’t begin to touch the dream.

“Yeah, all good Chef!” You manage to reply, but you barely get the ‘Chef’ out before Carmy’s lips slide over yours, pushing, demanding entry as his body keeps you pressed up against the door. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place, is all you have time to think between kisses.

There is no room or time for playing around. Carmy needs this, and you intend to provide, but you’re damn sure getting everything you can out of it just in case it never happens again. One of your hands curls deep into his hair, pulling his head back as your teeth click together in the ferocity of the kiss. You swear you can taste blood, but neither one of you pulls back, the saltiness only urging you on. Your other hand is busy loosening his belt, and you tug it hard to pull the silver prong free of the leather, hard enough that his hips jerk forward into yours and you moan, long and low.

Gravity suddenly spins on its axis as Carmy lifts you, turns and drops you down onto the freezer Fak installed last week. And for once in your life, thank you, Fak. The movement seems to shake Carmy out of it for a second, and he pulls back, hesitates. A hand curves around your cheek, and you can feel an apology coming, see the reticence forming in his eyes. And honestly, fuck that.

You hook fingers through his belt loops, dragging him closer and then using them to tug his trousers down. You’re not gentle as you reach into his underwear, wrap a hand around his cock, and you can tell that’s what he needs as he hisses, his head drifting back.

Removing his hand from your cheek, you guide it slowly down to your neck. His head snaps up, and there’s a darkness, a need, that wasn’t there before as you move your hand slowly, torturously, down his length.

“Hey,” you whisper, reluctant to interrupt the low grunts spilling from him with each of your movements. “I’m not going to break.”

You squeeze his fingers around your throat a little tighter, and it’s this that has him surging forward, messy mouths pressing together again and everything condensing into a rippling, burning, rightness as the fingers of his other hand shove themselves between your legs.

He lingers there for a moment, breaths short and sharp in your ear as he breaks free from your kiss and whispers, “If we had more time, I would clean up the mess you’re making all over my freezer, Chef.”

“My apologies, Chef,” you pant, the sweetness of the apology marred slightly by your fingers tugging hard through his curls. Then you’re pushing up his white shirt at the back, reveling in the heat of him, the muscles straining under your touch. “What’s my punishment?”

Carmy hesitates, then withdraws his fingers from you slowly, and it feels like the calm before the storm. One hand is still pressed loosely around your neck as he brings the other up to your face, runs the edge of his still-wet fingers over your lips. Asking or demanding, you don’t know, but you’re happy to comply. His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the blue behind them, and when you slide your mouth over his fingers, taste yourself on him, he closes them in momentary bliss. And it’s so beautiful to see that you can’t resist pulling him in to share.

A Michelin-star chef with one of the most sophisticated palates on the planet. A renowned food critic once wrote of him, “In my next life, I’d like to be just one of the taste buds in Carmen Berzatto’s mouth.” And here he is, savouring you, tongue searching out every corner of your mouth as if he wants to figure out each and every component of your taste. Add the recipe of you to his menu, and make it every night.

You’re both done waiting, and the clock is ticking. You can faintly hear Sydney calling orders through the wall, although she sounds steadier now. You don’t know whether anyone out there knows what you’re doing, but a rampaging elephant couldn’t stop Sydney when she’s on a roll.

Carmy pulls you closer to the freezer’s edge, jeans and underwear falling to his ankles and suddenly he is right there, and-

“Oh, fuck,” is all you can say as he pushes forward in one swift, animal movement. And oh, pain flickers down your spine as he slides almost free of you and thrusts back, relentless, and this is exactly what you signed up for.

“ Fuck ,” he echoes, hand sliding down your neck to settle over your racing heart. “Fuck, you…I don’t know how you do this to me,” he pants, and you try to keep your moaning down so you can hear as words spill from him, “When you come in with your hair down before a shift, when you - ah - when you borrow my knife and I see you using it all service, when you let me light your fuckin’ cigarette for you. Shit. You drive me crazy on purpose, and you wanna know what the worst part is?”

You can’t breathe, let alone answer him.

“The worst part is I eat that shit up every time, ” he snarls, punctuating every word with a short, sharp thrust.

This is the animal you saw tonight, spitting curses, destroying his own food, all sharp edges and uncompromising will. Grunting as he bottoms out inside you, fingers clenched around your upper thigh hard enough to bruise, littering bites over your neck as if your colleagues aren’t an unlocked door away.

But the animal isn’t the end of Carmen Berzatto. There is more to him than the bear, and you intend to remind him of that before you’re through.

“Look around you,” you pant as he thrusts again, harder, sweeter, and you have to get this out before you tip over the edge. So you risk bringing the hand you were using to support yourself forward to turn his chin towards the walk-in’s walls, to beyond them, to the restaurant hard at work and the satisfied diners metres away who have no idea what’s going on in here, and fuck if that doesn’t make it all the more delicious. “Look what you made. Look who you are.” You watch his flushed face, hope he understands the praise, but you can’t hold on anymore to see your words land.

“You’re fuckin’ unbelievable, Carmy,” is all you manage to choke out as every muscle in your body lights up, tenses and releases in a flood so strong you wonder if you’ll ever surface, and if you even want to.

Carmy fucks forward into you twice more, and his head drops onto your shoulder as he groans, shudders, relaxes fully for what may be the first time in his life.

You stroke a hand over his head, pull him closer. You’re not quite sure when this stopped being a no-holds-barred quickie and became a quiet, intense embrace, but it feels right. All the desperation, the keyed-up energy, is gone from him. And if he never wants anything more than that, even though the idea is more than a little disappointing, you can take consolation from the fact that you at least managed to stop a raging Carmy in his tracks.

Although it is a little quiet.

“Carmy?” You ask, hesitant to break the silence. Thankfully, it still sounds like it’s all bustle outside. You wonder how long you’ve been in here, and try not to think about how you’re going to emerge with any shred of dignity intact.

Carmy pulls back, and you can’t define the look on his face, but it worries you. His eyes shine slightly, and his gaze skips across your face, down your body, not holding your stare.

“Are you okay?” You ask, praying this isn’t about to get really awkward really quick. The man’s still inside you, for Christ’s sake.

“Yeah. I, um, I should be asking you that.” Carmy’s hands skim down your sides, fingers pressing in randomly as if to check for bruises. He tilts his head to look under your chin, as if to check he hasn’t caused any permanent damage to your neck. “Jesus. Are you alright? I’m sorry, that was rough.”

“I’m totally fine.” You don’t know what to do to reassure him, so opt for two big thumbs up. “See? Voice working and everything.”

Carmy chuckles unevenly, takes a careful step back, and you try not to consider how empty you feel and how cold and slippery the freezer now is underneath you. You hop off, catching yourself on the side when you realise just how shaky your legs are. When you glance up at Carmy, he’s just staring at you, which is, frankly, unnerving.

“Do I look that bad?” you ask, pulling your hair out of what’s left of a ponytail to start again.

“No. No, I’m just…I’m just taking you in.” The raw honesty in his eyes pins you in place for a moment. But of course, Richie shouts “ Cousin!” before you can read into it too much.

There is a moment of panicked dressing and clean-up, a nod to each other to confirm you both look relatively sane and not totally fucked (even though you doubt it), and then a collective deep breath as you push open the door of the walk-in.

You don’t catch anyone’s eye for a second as you head to your station, Carmy’s presence like an open flame behind you.

“Corner. Corner. Behind, sorry Chefs,” you call as you slide back into place. Two quick glances calm you; one at the clock - seventeen minutes - and one at Sydney, who doesn’t look like she’s about to throw up and only has three tickets in front of her. You spare a final one for Fak in his position by the door, who you are positive would be grinning gleefully if he, or anyone else in the kitchen, knew what just went down in the walk-in.

“What do you need, Syd?” you ask, picking up the familiar back-and-forth of the kitchen again with some relief.

Carmy is quiet, focused, for the last half hour of service, but you can’t keep your mind clear. As soon as last orders are sent out, you slink to the back for a cigarette, hoping the smoke will at least wipe out your brain fog. It does the exact opposite. When you let me light your fuckin’ cigarette for you. You exhale, waving the smoke away as the words churn through your brain. I eat that shit up every time.

“Hey,” you hear, and you’re almost thankful to speak to the real him just to distract yourself from thinking about earlier.

“Hey.” You offer him a smoke, and he takes it, sinking onto the step next to you. The brush of his leg against yours is a lot more comforting than you expect it to be, relaxing a secretly worried part of you.

He takes a long drag, the kind of drag you only take when it’s been a shitshow of a day. “I just want to say I’m-”

“Sorry? It’s okay. It doesn’t have to happen again,” you finish for him. It hurts less that way.

“What? No.” He looks at you until you reluctantly meet his gaze. “Not for that. I’m not sorry about that.” He lets that hang there for a second, holds your eye. “But I’m sorry for losing my shit earlier. Nobody deserves to be around that, and…I want you to know I’m working on it. I wanna be…I wanna be good at this.” It’s a stilted apology as he thinks through every line, and it feels all the more sincere for it.

“That’s okay. I know. We all know.” You reach a hand out to touch his arm, and after a second, he lowers his head to rest on his knee, although his face is still turned towards you. You see his eyes flicker from your hand on his arm to your face.

“Although that wasn’t exactly how I expected that to go by the way,” he says after a moment.

You don’t try to pretend you don’t know what he’s referring to. “What, in the walk-in?”

“Oh, no, I’ve thought about it in the walk-in.” You ignore a pulse of feeling at his casual confession, at the idea that he’s thought about you. “I just didn’t imagine it so…heated, I guess.” Carmy raises his head again, traces a finger along your hand where it rests on his arm until you shiver. “Not that I didn’t enjoy it.”

You hesitate for a second before replying. Before extending the branch. “Well, I’m sure there’ll be other times, Chef.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and it’s your turn to watch his thoughts flickering there, watch as the fog clears, the idea forms, and he says, “Yeah. Next time.”

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

wow guys thank you for reading i pray through the act of writing this that my jeremy allen white obsession will calm the fuck down, but i fear i've made it worse

if you'd like to keep up with me on ao3, you can find me here and please do send me any comments or feedback or prompt ideas, i would love to hear them <33 thank you!!

[pureseasalt]

for s2 of the bear i need sydney and carmy to lose focus and have a consensual workplace relationship girl idc

[aceoflanterns]

one of the things about carmy/claire in the bear that i think is really important is that claire is carmy's first true glimpse into being loved outside of the kitchen. he's spent his whole life trying to impress mikey with his cooking, helping his mom in the kitchen, and showing other chefs up because everyone is competition and no one is on his side, not really. even at the restaurant, carmy can pass off others' care for him as just being professional, no matter how much they care for him outside of that space—richie, syd, sugar, and every other member of the bear's staff care about him, but he can't conceptualize that. in a lot of ways, claire is helping carmy to realize that he can be loved for who he is rather than the service he provides to others. and i think that's neat!

[darlingshane]

Salt of the Earth ~ Part 1

Pairing: Michael Berzatto x OFC

Summary: She was Carmy's best friend growing up, and Michael never looked at her as anything other than that until years later when she comes back to Chicago to start over. In the process, she turns his sorry excuse of a life upside down.

Content/Warnings: Friends to lovers, Fluff, Angst, Family Drama, Dysfunctional relationships, Implied/referenced drug addiction, Alcohol mention, Divorce, Pets, Pet names, Dialogue heavy. Undisclosed age gap (in my mind Michael is late 30s and OC is late 20s, but it's really up to your interpretation).

Word Count: 6.8k // 4 chapters // AO3 link.

A/N: This is set in the year of the Fishes episode on season 2. It starts in summer and slowly builds up to that Christmas.

— This was an anon request that I got a few months ago, I hope you're still around. I tried to fit all the ideas you sent as best I could. There's a bit of info dump on the first chapter, but I hope it isn't too off-putting.

Chapter 1: Best thing since sliced bread

Seconds stretch into minutes, minutes elongate into long hours on slow days like this at The Beef. Especially in summer when the air conditioner stops working for the second time in the middle of August. Any living soul that crosses that door must have a dying wish or be the devil themselves to adventure themselves to what has become Michael's personal hell.

It's been a testing year, and there's so much he can do to fix this place right now. While he waits for Fak to come check the damn AC unit, Michael tends the front while Ebra takes his lunch break.

Turning the paper's pages on the counter, he comes across an article about the extensive fires eating different parts of the country. A wretched thought crosses his mind as he reads – maybe it'd be better to burn this place to the ground and start over. He entertains the idea for a second until the door swings open, inviting more heat into the boiling pot.

He lifts his eyes from the words to find a familiar face approaching the counter. It's not Fak, but a much better vision of someone he used to know.

“Mayhem Maya.”

“Magic Mikey.”

That former thought of burning down this place disappears somewhere in the midst of that beautiful aura that saunters with her big brown eyes, long raven hair, nervous smile, and firm steps.

“It's been a while, Maybird.” Almost ten years since she set foot in this establishment. “What brings you to this hole in the wall?”

“Came to collect that meatball sub you promised at uncle Teddy's funeral, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

Ever since she moved to a different state, he only had seen her a handful of times when she came back for the holidays. Last time he saw her was at the beginning of spring, when her uncle, Ted Silva, passed away.

“I also had an interview at the new vet clinic on the next block.” She places her cross-body bag on an empty stool while she perches her ass on the one next to it.

“How's that going? Did you get tired of California already?”

“No, I love California. But I needed a change of scenery. It's been rough after… you know…” the divorce. She wasn't married for long, but she still can't bring herself to say the word.

“I’ve heard some of it.” He’s pretty much aware of how everything went down. Well, he’s got grapevine’s juicy version of the story, but he never heard her side directly.

Though Michael and Maya know each other as if they were related, they were never close confidants. She always thought he was the coolest guy in Chicago. And he always thought fondly of her, given their families association, and Maya’s close friendship with his brother.

Michael places an order for her sandwich and grabs a soda for her, while she explains she has two more job interviews later.

“Does your mother know you're back?” He folds the paper and props his elbows on the counter.

“She probably does.”

“Still not talking, huh?”

“It's not my fault she made me the black sheep of the family. She’s like vitriol on steroids.”

“Yeah? What happened at the wake? You left before I could say goodbye.”

Michael recalls the tension at the funeral, particularly at the wake when Angela Silva grabbed Maya by the elbow and took her youngest daughter outside the house as if she was still a child that needed to be scolded.

“Nothing. I barely said a word that day. Guess everything I do feels like a personal attack to her. I can admit that I'm not perfect, and that sometimes I've acted up just to get a reaction out of her, but that day she just went off again…” She pauses without finishing that thought to take a refreshing sip of her coke. “And that wasn't nearly as bad as the day I told her I was getting…”

“Divorced? Why can't you say the word? It's not Voldemort.”

“What the hell do you know about Voldemort?”

“How do I… Who took you and Carmy to buy those damn books? Have you forgotten?” Maya shakes her head. “You even tried many times invoking his name, so I was haunted by eaters or something like that. You two were real potterheads.”

“And you were just a pothead,” she laughs, stirring the ice cubes in her drink with a straw. “I totally blocked that out. We were just a couple of nerds.”

“I’d say!”

“Meatball sub!” Richie calls from the pass-through window and takes a second look when catching Maya in the joint. “Maya Papaya?!”

“Please, don’t call me that.” She scoffs while Richie promptly abandons the kitchen and goes around the counter to give her a welcoming hug.

“Did you know she was coming?” He asks Michael, as he props his ass on the bar.

“Had no idea. She just showed up.”

“Did you tell her about Carmy?”

“What about him?”

“He’s in Copenhagen.”

“Oh, I knew about that.”

“You two talk often?”

“Sometimes, I guess.” Barely more likely. They don't even text anymore. She's tried but there's been nothing but crickets at his end for months.

While Richie grills her about Carmy and what she’s been up to, Michael can’t help but look around the shop to notice, from every corner and wall, memories bouncing all at once in his direction. It takes him back in time to those days when she and Carmy were as thick as thieves.

Their shared history goes back to that same street their families have lived on for over thirty years… It’s still clear in his mind, like it was yesterday, when he was forced to babysit them when they wanted to go to the movies or trick-or-treating or the bookstore. That was a little annoying back then, now he fondly remembers all those times in summer, when they’d go to the convenience store to get ice pops on their bikes. Then they’d ride back and sit in the middle of the swanky rug in their living room and watch TV for hours. More than once they were yelled at by Mama Berzatto when she would come home to find melted colorful stains in the fabric. She would lose her shit. Carmy was used to it. Maya wasn’t, but the girl never flinched once cause Donna and her own mother were cut from the same unstable piece of cloth.

Maya and Carmy were really close up until they went separate ways for college. Their bond was something to admire. They had something so special that inevitably, Carmy fell in love with her. She was his best friend and confident. They kept each other's secrets, and Carmy thought she'd feel the same in return. It wasn't a crazy notion. They spent so much time together, everyone thought it'd lead to something more, but that never happened.

Mikey and Richie used to tease the youngest cub relentlessly. They tried multiple times to encourage him to ask her out, but he never found the guts to do it. Especially if it could potentially end their friendship. Carmy didn't want to lose that. Though he never confessed his feelings, Maya always knew. Even in her teens, call it a woman’s intuition, part of her already knew. Maya wished she'd felt the same toward him, but the heart wants what it wants, and she couldn't change that.

What was really fucked up was that she had the most ridiculous crush on the older Berzatto when she was a teen. While she knew he'd never look at her as anything other than Carmy's annoying little friend, that didn't stop her from daydreaming about it for years. It was a secret that no one ever knew and that was placed in a drawer at the back of her mind after she left Chicago.

After graduating, Maya and Carmy stayed in touch for a long time, until their calls and texts became less frequent. They followed different dreams that required a lot of attention and sadly their friendship got hurt in the process.

While she attended Vet School on the west coast, he became a chef on the east.

Maya thrived at school and work. She really went out on her own, and became the woman she always wanted to be. Unsheltered, confident, outspoken. She outgrew her shell and opened herself to new experiences and people. She loved it all. It wasn’t smooth sailing, but for the most part she was pretty happy with her choices.

And now she's back in Chicago, set on a new path and awaiting to see where it takes her.

She’s living in a house in Oak Park with her dog, Coco; Richie fishes out of her. Apparently, she got some money from uncle Teddy, and she’s invested it in a home for her and her beloved staffy.

“Does Carmy know you’re here?” Richie circles back.

“No, I haven't talked to him in months.”

“Why? Did you two have a fall-out or something?”

“There's no why. We're just busy.”

“Mike, help me out here. Weren’t these two fools supposed to get married?”

“Yeah, everyone thought you'd ended up together.”

“Man, I don't know what to tell you, we just didn't,” her head sinks between her shoulders.

“Just get over yourself and hit him up. The kid has been hung up on you since forever. It looks like things didn’t go so well with your marriage and all. You should take that as a sign, you’d never find anyone better than Carmy. The boy could really use some excitement in his life. And so could you.”

“C’mon, leave her alone. Go back to work, Cousin.”

Michael throws her a lifeline, noticing how miserable she looks every time Richie opens his unfiltered mouth.

“He’s not wrong, you know? You and Carmy… it looked like you two had something special.” Michael offers once Richie is back in the kitchen.

“It’s called friendship. You should look it up.” She points out.

“I have Richie.”

“Exactly. You have Richie. Why don't you two marry the other and leave me alone? If you think about it, you were as close to Richie as I was with Carmy. Even more. Should everyone assume you are in love with him? Cause that's what you're implying.”

“Touché. I'll drop it.”

“Look, as hard as it is to believe, there was nothing else between us. I was aware he felt something for me, but I didn’t feel the same.”

“You should give him a chance sometime. He might surprise you.”

It’s not the first time these two have been trying to play matchmaker between Maya and Carmy, and it’s bizarre to see they still do at any given opportunity.

“Okay, if I give Carmy a chance, you have to give Richie a chance. Those are the rules, Berzatto.”

“Oh, I've tried. He's not into me,” he remarks, amused, and leans closer to confess something in a lower voice. “Do you wanna know a secret?”

“Uh, sure.”

“He and Tiffany are having a baby. He just told me a few days ago.”

“What? You let him reproduce? I'll pray for Tiff.”

Chapter 2: Cool as a cucumber

Everything falls slowly into place as Maya settles back in Chicago. She secures the job at the clinic near The Beef, which is a huge relief after her rushed decision of moving back to her hometown without securing a job first. It was part of the plan all along to practice what she loves but never thought this would be the year. As much as she loved California, once her divorce was finalized she felt like something was trapping her there. And the money she got from her uncle gave her some leeway to improvise, get away from all that, and start over.

Maya is spending her morning going through the stack of unpacked boxes, finding a good place for everything, making it feel more homey. It's not a big house, but spacious enough for the two of them. The big selling point was the backyard for Coco to zoom around and cool down in her wading pool, which she loves. It didn't take long for the five-year-old pup to get used to her new neighborhood. They've even made a couple of friends at the park nearby.

A moment before the doorbell rings, Coco whines from her spot by the window, where she often sits to watch passers in the street.

“Who is it?” Maya playfully asks her dog as she makes her way to the front door.

Through the peephole, she sees Michael's profile as he inspects the porch.

“Hi,” her eyes widen as she opens the door. “Didn't know you were coming.”

“Yeah, I would've called, but I didn't get your number the other day.” But he got her address from Richie's intense questioning when she visited the shop.

“I knocked on two different houses until I got the right one,” he explains as Coco curiously circles around his feet, sniffing his pants, hitting his crotch with her nose in the process.

“No, Coco. Sit. How many times have we talked about no nut-tapping?” Maya glances at her with amusement as the dog sits on her haunches.

“It’s fine,” he snorts. “All dogs do that.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. But she’s not any other dog. I thought I had taught her better. So what brings you here?”

“This.” He offers the paper bag hanging in his hand. “It's just a little house-warming gift.”

“You didn't have to.” As she takes the bag from his hand she ushers him inside before closing the door.

“It's nothing, really.”

He glances around as Maya takes out the box from the bag.

“Wow, a set of knives? That's not nothing.”

“Everyone needs one good set of knives. But you can exchange them for something else if you want.”

“No. I like these. But I gotta warn you that I'm not much of a cook, and I'll probably use the same one for everything.”

“That's fine I can show you sometime though. Is she friendly? ” He points at the dog that keeps staring at him. “Can I pet her?”

“Yeah, she loves everyone. Go ahead.”

Michael cautiously pets the brown coat of her head as her floppy ears lower at the passing of his hand.

“Never pictured you with a pit bull.”

“Me neither. I always thought I'd be a cat lady. But I met her at this adoption drive when she was one, and she stole my heart.”

“I can see why.” Michael crouches down, and pets Coco with both hands. “She's really sweet.”

He lets her lick his chin a couple of times before standing back on his feet. Then they go on a tour around the house.

“It's still a work in progress. I'm thinking of painting a few walls, but we like it so far.”

“Yeah, it has good bones.”

“So you don't have to work today?” Asks Maya.

“No, we've had some trouble with the gas line, and we've been shut down for a couple of days.”

“That sucks. Now where am I going to get my sandwiches and coffee on my way to work?”

“Heard Starbucks is pretty good.”

“Shut up. Don't even joke about that.” She playfully shoves his shoulder as they go back to the living room.

“Are you doing something later?”

She shakes her head. “Why?”

“I don't know, thought you were having a comeback party or something.”

“I don't really have any friends here. And I don't feel like inviting my family yet. As you can see, I still have a lot to unpack.”

“Physically or mentally speaking?”

“Both,” she scoffs.

“Let's do something then? Just you and me. We could grab some pizza, or go out for a drink for old times’ sake?”

“Old times’ sake?” It's amusing, surprising and confusing his sudden interest in her. Maybe he can see how pathetic she thinks she is, and he's taking pity on her. Although, that was never Michael style.

“Yeah, c'mon, Mayhem. You look like you could use some fun.” He picks up a book that's sitting on top from the box opened by the couch that's titled — Dating Again with Courage and Confidence: The Five-Step Plan to Revitalize Your Love Life after Heartbreak, Breakup, or Divorce. “And maybe a rebound or something. You don't need a fucking help book. You only need me to show where to get the best guys, or girls. Whatever you're into.”

“Give me that. I don't need a rebound, a help book, or you for all matter finding me a date.”

“No? Then why do you have that?”

“My friend Paige thought I should give it a try.”

“Maybe she was onto something there.”

“I'm perfectly fine. Just want to finish organizing everything, focus on work and this handful I have right here.” Her hand gestures at Coco. “What are you so interested in my love life anyway? First you try to play matchmaker with Carmy, and now you want me to do what, exactly? Hook up with the first guy I see?”

“No, I'm just asking you to go out and have some fun. I know Carmy was the only friend you had here. And if I was in your shoes, I'd feel pretty lonely.”

“I'm not lonely, Michael. Do I miss my friends in Sacramento? Sure,” she admits. “But I don't wanna force anything. I'm just taking it slow. When the time comes I'll jump right in but for now, this is all I need. Really. Stop pitying me.”

“I'm not pitying you, sweetheart.”

“No? Then what is it? Where is this coming from?”

“I don't know… I've always thought you were the salt of the earth. And though we never really hung out together, I thought you could use… But I can see now that you're different, and that you know what you need right now, so I'll just shut up and back off. Let you do your thing.”

“Thank you. I do know what I'm doing, by the way. You don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine. But I appreciate you coming here anyway.”

“Yeah, of course. And I can help you unpack if you need.”

“Hm, if you don't have anything better to do, be my guest. We could grab a pizza later, if the offer still stands. Or just order some food.”

“Sure.”

Michael helps Maya unpack all the boxes and put everything in place in half the time it'd have taken her alone. They order some food for lunch and spend half the day talking and laughing until late in the afternoon when they decide to go out for some drinks to keep the good vibes going.

At the end of the night, she offers to drive Michael back to his apartment as a thank you for inviting her.

“Did you have fun?” Michael asks from the passenger seat as she pulls up in front of his building.

“Yeah, I did. I'm glad I changed my mind.”

“Me too. I didn't know you were this fun. You're nothing like I remember.”

“Yeah, I was kind of weird growing up. You guys probably thought there was something wrong with me. ”

“Nah, don't be so hard on yourself. We were all weird in our own way.”

“Uh-uh. No Michael Berzatto. You were the coolest guy back in the day, and you still are.”

“I don’t know about that,” he scoffs. “For the record… I never thought there was anything wrong with you.”

“You were probably the only one… Anyway, thank you for today. I know I said I didn't need this, but I guess I did.”

“You're welcome, Maybird. I'm glad you’re back.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Thanks for bringing me home,” he softly squeezes her arm before reaching for the handle to open the door.

“No problem.”

“You know you can call me if you ever miss your friends, y’know?” he throws casually.

“I uh…sure. I will.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she echoes back as he pulls the handle and the door opens.

“Have a good night, Michael,” she says as he gets one foot on the pavement.

“You, too, sweetheart.”

He closes the door and vaguely waves as she sets the car in motion and watches her drive away.

Chapter 3: Don't cry over spilled milk

In the few weeks he's been spending time with Maya, Michael has found himself enjoying her company more than he'd like to admit. Being with her grounds him. She makes him forget for a little while all that's wrong in his life. She's like a beacon in that immerse darkness that his sorry existence has become. Despite having her own set of problems, he's watched her rise above all that with poise. He wonders what it's her secret to her steadfast determination, even when her own family has disavowed her.

After closing shop, he dives into his stash to tame that brewing headache before driving to Oak Park to pay her a visit. She told him earlier via text that she was at Home Depot buying some paint to update the color of her bedroom and asked him to come over to hang out after work.

For some reason, he couldn't say no. Not even the storm in his head is strong enough to deny her request. He has a pull on him, tugging him hard like a dog tied to a leash in her hand, he can’t help but follow her lead.

When he arrives at her house, she's halfway done. Two of the walls shine bright new in a lavender tone as she starts working on the next one.

After having beer and playing a tug of war game with his new friend, Coco, Michael offers his help to finish painting the walls. He uses a brush to paint the corners, while she gracefully uses a roller like a pro with her denim overalls over a tank top, and her raven hair pulled up in a ponytail sprinkled with lavender paint beads. When she lifts one of her arms, he catches a glimpse of a tattoo on the side of her rib cage, leveled to the roundness of her chest that looks like the outline of a dog paw.

“What are you looking at?” She asks after catching him staring.

“You have paint on your chin.”

“Oh.” She wipes it with the back of her hand, but she just spreads the stain along her jaw. “I made it worse, didn't I?”

“Yeah.”

She shrugs it off and continues with the task ahead until the whole wall is covered.

“Is everything okay, Bear?” Maya puts down the paint roller. “You're quieter than usual.”

“Yeah, everything's alright.” It sounds so honest, he almost believes it. “It's just been a long day.”

“I'm sorry that I put you to work.”

“Don't be. This is relaxing.”

“Yeah?” She takes a step back and surveys how much brighter her bedroom looks already after covering most of the former downcast grey. “Is the color right? Do you think it's too girlish?”

Giving the room a once over he says, “it's a good shade. I dig it. It doesn't matter what I think or if it's too girlish, as long as you like it. Do you like it?”

“Yeah. I do.”

She dips the roller on the tray to cover another section of the wall.

“You never told me what happened at the funeral with your mom,” Michael leans on the stepladder, taking a short break.

“Do you really wanna know?” She glances over her shoulder.

“Yeah. Everyone does. I’ve heard some crazy stories about it. Thought I should get it straight from the source.”

“I never pegged you for a gossip girl.”

“I’m not. I’m just making conversation.”

She mockingly narrows her eyes, drawing a lopsided smirk, “liar.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wanna. But yeah, can’t help being a little curious about it.”

“I don’t mind telling you, but it won’t be as entertaining as those crazy stories people have made up.”

“I’m not here for entertainment. I just wanna hear your side of the story, Maybird.”

Maya lets out a heavy sigh and while keeping her focus on the wall she shares with him what really happened. She’s right to say that is not the best story she’s ever told, though when it comes to her mother, all her stories tend to have a surreal element even she can’t fathom sometimes.

That day at the funeral, she was taken outside during the wake by Angela Silva to get scolded about her imminent divorce. It wasn’t finalized by then, and her mom invoked one last Hail Mary to convince her to stay with her husband, who was also currently dating someone else. It was a messy situation that Maya couldn't wait to get out of, and the fact that her mother never offered an ounce of support wasn’t surprising, but still devastating. Somehow, Angela found that the reason for her separation from her husband was that Maya didn’t want to have kids, and that really vexed Angela. All she wanted for her three kids was to follow the same traditional path Angela was forced into, no matter how miserable she was. Her two older sisters followed her mother’s narrowed traditional values. But Maya, ever-the-nonconformist, swore she would never follow anyone’s drum beat but her own. Her husband thought she’d change her mind eventually. He was wrong. She knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, which led her here, to this moment.

“Is your mom ever happy?” Michael has always wondered.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her happy, except when she’s drunk. That’s why she has to make everyone else miserable.”

“Yeah, but she’s always had a fixation on making you miserable.”

“Like I said, every family needs a black sheep, and I’m it.”

“Is that why you became a vet?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“So, it's true, you don’t wanna have kids? I’m not judging. I’m just curious.”

“I honestly don't know. I just knew that when he told me he wanted to have a baby right away, it didn’t feel right. I said that maybe in six or seven years I’d be okay with it. Told him I wanted to travel and just be us for a while, and he said that was too long to wait. I don’t know… he stopped talking to me, and it was clear that he wasn’t changing his mind, and I wasn’t changing my mind, so. At some point I got tired of trying… He got a girlfriend as soon as I filed for divorce and I got a text from Paige the other day that said he got her already pregnant, like… that was never me. I guess it served me right… I married him on a whim, an impulse without really talking about what we wanted…”

“Hey, don’t feel sorry for yourself. You dodged a bullet there.”

“You really think that?.”

“Yeah, I do. You stood up for yourself and knew when to step back when it didn’t feel right. Not everyone has the balls to do that. Think how miserable you’d be by now if you had tried to please him or your mom. You seem happy now. That's what matters.” He means that with all his heart, and wishes he had the same drive to follow those same steps. As much as he loved the restaurant, he chose to run it to please people within his family. And that love turned into a nightmare he couldn't escape.

“You know… I liked you better when you were quiet,” she quips.

Michael huffs a soft laugh, picking up his brush to resume painting.

When the room is finished, she plugs a couple of fans and closes the door to keep Coco away.

Maya washes her hands and face in the bathroom sink. When she comes out, she catches the motion of Michael's arm as he shoves what looks like a pill into his mouth before taking a gulp of water from one of her glasses.

“What was that? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. It's just a headache,” looking down, he runs a palm over his short growing beard.

“Is it the fumes?”

“No, I had it before coming here.”

“Michael,” she sighs softly at his name. “You should've told me. I wouldn't have let you help if I knew.”

“Would you stop that? I wanted to help.”

“Okay, c'mere. Let's sit down.”

“No, I think I should get going.”

“Nonsense. I'm not going to let you drive until you feel better.”

He yields with a long exhale, and follows Maya into the living room, where her bed is settled askew in the middle of the space.

She takes a seat on the edge of the mattress and waits for him to sit next to her.

“Give me your hand,” she shows her palm up, as his eyes narrow. “C'mon, don't be a baby, give me your hand, Berzatto.”

“When did you become so bossy?” He slowly lifts his hand and as he lays it on top of her palm, his fingers tremble upon contact with her skin. Maya then uses her opposite hand to clip the webbing between his thumb and pointer fingers with her own and begins massaging that spot.

“My friend Sierra is really into acupressure. She says this is a pressure point that helps with headaches.” She explains while slowly increasing the force. “Does it hurt?”

“Not one bit. Is that like acupuncture?” His voice comes as a whisper as he focuses on her diligent fingers.

“Kinda. I think. I’m not really sure.”

“You don't have to fix me, you know?”

“I'm not trying to fix you, Bear. I just wanna make you feel better.”

“Admit it. You just love a good wounded animal.”

She smiles softly, placing his hand down on his knee and picking up the other. “Does it feel any different?”

He’s not really sure, it wasn’t truly a headache that led them to take that pill but the annoying rambling of his thoughts. She shouldn’t have seen that. And he shouldn’t have lied. But having her hands on his like this is straight up lovely. Inside of him, it truly feels like something is broken, wounded, and missing, and this is giving him a sliver of relief as he waits for the pill to kick in. If he was a better man, he’d tell her the truth. But he’s too far gone for saving. All he can do is keep that facade up.

“Does it?” She insists after not getting an answer.

“A little.”

“Do you wanna lay down?”

Swallowing, he responds with a nod, and they both lean back on the mattress at the same time. Looking at the ceiling, she keeps kneading that pressure point, unsure if she’s even doing it right.

They stay in comfortable silence for a good five minutes and when she finally places his hand down, Maya glances to the side and sees that his eyes have closed, and his chest gently rising and falling. She calls his name softly, but she can see that behind the sharp edges of his face and the ever-growing shade of his beard, he’s truly exhausted, so she doesn’t insist. She extends her hand to turn off the lamp, and curls on the other side of the bed without disturbing his sleep.

“Good night,” she says softly and closes her eyes.

From a dusty corner of her mind comes crawling that little forgotten part that used to harbor a lot of feelings for Michael. Though a few weeks ago he seemed practically the same Michael she knew, over the past month she’s keenly noticed little changes here and there. His eyes sometimes cast a dark shade tainted in nothing but sadness, it’s barely noticeable for other people. It comes and goes, but it tells her he’s not truly as happy as he pretends to be.

Michael wakes up disoriented at the crack of dawn.

It takes him a few seconds to remember he’s still in Mayas’ bed in the middle of her living room and that the weight that has his arm pinned is her body pressed against his. She’s warmly snuggled on his side, with her arms tucked between his chest and hers, and a peaceful expression on her beautiful face. She’s so awfully close, he can smell the scent of her hair, and feel the heat of her breath every time she exhales.

It's such an odd moment for him to have her that close. He's unsure of whether it would be better to slip out of bed unnoticed before she wakes up, or just stay there and watch her sleep for a bit longer. Either option would make him look like a creep, he thinks. So he opts to gently wake her up. His free hand reaches to his forehead to move a stand of hair away. Her brow scrunches as his light-feather touch grazes her skin. His lips curve up as he traces the shell of her ear to see her stir awake. She blinks slowly a couple of times until her focus shifts onto him.

“Hey, Maybird.”

“Hey.” Her lips move, it's barely audible.

“Sorry, I fell asleep.” His fingers absentmindedly massage her earlobe.

She's so stunned by waking up to that level of intimacy, she simply nods, as her mouth softly draws a smile.

“It's fine. Does your head feel better?”

“Much better. That pressure thing really worked.”

“I'm glad.”

“Listen, I gotta go open. Maybe we could do something later?”

“Okay,” she swallows nervously, hoping that waking up with him like this isn't just a dream. “Can you do me a favor first?”

“Sure.”

“Can you stay five more minutes?”

“I uh… I think I can,” against his better judgment, he decides he can stay for a few minutes more holding her.

The way her lips pull up timidly at the corners, revealing the dimples framing her mouth, completely disarms him. He’s always felt a certain affinity towards her, but being this close to her awakes a longing within that feels dangerous. He can’t bring someone new into his life. Not while everything around him is falling apart. It’s already hard enough having to pretend around other people.

He couldn’t do that to her. He won’t.

Michael will have to fight harder because when her arm tucks around his waist he can’t help but press his lips against her forehead.

Chapter 4: Hard nut to crack

Four months later…

After that initial moment of weakness when he fell asleep on her bed, he fought hard to elude that odd longing that has only grown into a big mass of love toward Maya. To anyone else in the world, a feeling as big as that would be a blessing, especially when it's reciprocated. To Michael, it's a weakness he can't afford right now.

Spending all that time with Maya has been like discovering a whole new planet Michael never thought existed. She's all vast, uncharted territory that fazes him more than it should. Despite his best efforts, he’s fallen into her alluring orbit and can’t find the way out into his own universe.

Far gone is that moody teenager that would mumble a few words here and there. And now there's this tragically stunning woman that looks you directly in the eye, says anything that crosses her mind, and laughs without a care in the world.

Though falling in love with her wouldn’t be completely wrong, it's not quite right either. It fills him with guilt to think about her in that manner. Moreover, it feels like a betrayal to Carmy, who’s far away in a different continent, prospering in his craft.

Michael tries to fool himself into believing that this is just temporary infatuation. He’s even attempted several times to convince her to get in touch with Carmy but hasn’t succeeded. It’d be easier for him if she were to put her focus on someone else instead of him. He has nothing to offer to her and has deemed himself unworthy of her, or anyone for that matter. If she only knew what’s really going on with him, she wouldn’t want Michael nearly as she believes she does.

Layer by layer, she’s tearing all his walls and defenses down. And after all the back and forth, he's absolutely sure she wants more than he can offer her. She’s been giving him the right signals. She doesn't shy away from it. Maya is direct and impulsive, and everything about her is fascinating and intimidating.

It’s time to either cut her loose, or accept that he’s madly in love with her and do something about it.

Amidst coming to terms with a final decision, he's lured into a surprise party she's organized for his birthday.

Michael is left speechless by her determination. And a little annoyed too for reasons he can't explain. To be honest, he’s never been a fan of surprise parties, but the main problem is that this would make things much harder for him to let her down easily. She’s carved herself into his life and the longer he drags this out, the worse this is going to hurt.

He’s aware that it’s selfish and obtuse of him for being that ungrateful that someone who cares that profoundly about him, that they would go all out to prove that. He feels like an asshole, but the train has already left the station.

Using the same tiring self-defense mechanism, he draws his best smile and brings out the Michael everyone seems to love. Not without help. There's always that crutch tucked in his wallet in the form of a pill. Being high numbs him enough to deal with the situation.

The cherry on top comes at the end of the night, when he walks her up to her car and asks if he's had a good time. He lies through his teeth and for the first time, he can tell Maya is not buying it. Perhaps she never did, but he's well-versed on her tells by now, and he can clearly see she's fed up with all the bullshit that comes out of his mouth.

“Look, it's not that I didn't like the party. It's just that I hate surprises, and I was exhausted today. But it was a nice thought, sweetheart. I just… I wasn't in the right mood.” It's seemingly convincing the second time around, but her face shows nothing but regret. “I love the jacket you bought me, though.”

Michael has never been interested in fashion, but he's always loved vintage jackets, and the one she picked it's a perfect addition to his collection. It's a bomber jacket, aviator style, in brown leather with a couple of patches and fur collar.

As they reach Maya's car, they come to a stop. She turns to him, “I know I can be a little too much sometimes. But I promise no more surprises from now on.”

“You and I both know, you won’t be able to keep that promise even if your life depended on it. That's part of what makes you– you, sweetheart. Don’t let my bad mood ruin that.”

“I’ll try.”

After a beat, without hesitation she leans in to leave a goodnight kiss on his bearded cheek and on a whim, she decides to press a second one on his lips.

It takes him completely aback. He wants to dive so badly into her mouth, but he freezes on the spot. And when Maya attempts to deepen the kiss, he finally reacts by placing a placating hand on her shoulder as he pulls his head back.

“I'm… I'm sorry we can't do this, Maya.”

“Wait, I thought… Did I misread something?”

“No, you didn’t misread anything. I just can’t do this.”

“Why?”

“I can't.”

“You can't or don’t want to?”

“Guess I don’t want to.”

“Can you at least tell me why? Did I do something wrong?”

“You did nothing wrong, sweetheart.” He wants to spill out the old – it's not you, it's me – excuse, but he refrains. Every thought and action go against every good instinct he's ever had. He hates himself for making her feel insecure. And yet, he can't backtrack now.

“Stop calling me sweetheart. You see how misleading that is?”

“Sorry. I think I gave you the wrong impression.”

Her eyes narrow, and he can see the gears turning for a long moment before opening her mouth.

“I don't think you gave me the wrong impression, Michael. I think you're too chickenshit to admit that there's something between us and, for whatever reason, you're just taking the coward's way out. You've been weird the whole night, especially with me. I just threw a party just for you, the least you can do is tell me why.”

“I didn't ask you to do that. And I don't owe telling you shit! I was trying to let you go easy, but nothing is ever easy with you. So I'll just say it. This, you and me, is never going to happen.”

It sounds ridiculous as it comes out of his mouth, but he stands firm on that statement as her heart breaks in front of him.

In the end, it'd be better for her, he believes.

[let-it-rip-bear]

it's finals season so i dunno how much i'll be able to write...but i have a moment stuck in my mind right now and i need to get it out. this takes place in the final scene of "Braciole".

he's here, he's with me, he never left.

Everyone's gathered at the table. There's plenty of conversation going on, people catching up and getting to know each other, people digging in. Carmy almost refuses a plate out of pure habit, but before he can, Sugar passes a plate full of spaghetti to him. He accepts it gratefully and finds that, for the first time in a while, he actually wants to eat the food he cooked. He wants to taste it—he wants this food to fill his stomach and make him warm. He hasn't felt like that in a long time.

Carmy's a bit hesitant to dig in, afraid that the food might make his stomach do flips until he has to puke. It smells really, really good. But his biggest meal in the past several few months was been a double peanut butter and jelly sandwich paired with a bag of chips and a soda. This food is rich, filling, and it's Michael's recipe. He's afraid his stomach has shrunk and learned to run solely on shitty food. What if this is too much? What if he fucked it up?

(He's so fucking scared that he's ruining Michael's legacy; ruining the Beef, the spaghetti, his recipes, and failing the people that lost Michael, too. The first and only time that Carmy tried to make the pasta, someone said It's not like Mikey's and it launched him head-first into a panic attack. He didn't try again after that. Except for that day, with the tournament, he almost made it—he almost accepted that his execution of the family meal spaghetti would be disappointing, subpar, and a disrespect of Mikey's legacy. He didn't know what else to do, so he was going to make the spaghetti, and then Marcus called him Chef for the first time in nearly 6 months, and he felt grounded in his own body. Less like someone trying to walk in somebody else's skin. He remembered what it was like to take risks and the impossible feeling of creation. He remembered why he became a chef in the first place. In the end, he threw the can in the trash. He made sure everyone stretched the gravy, beef, and bread, because his sandwiches would be enough.)

Richie cackles, louder than everyone else, and it snaps him back to the present. He hasn't heard that full-belly laugh since high school. Then everyone seems to feed off the energy, and everyone is cackling. It's not quiet. He likes it. It's so loud, but no one's yelling at each other, no one's yelling at Carmy. They're laughing and grinning and it fills the room to the brim. It's chaotic but it doesn't make him feel trapped or overwhelmed. The feeling is not entirely foreign, but it's so very different from what his life was for a very long time that he doesn't recognize it at first.

It takes him a long moment to realize that he feels safe.

So Carmy takes a deep breath and twirls some spaghetti onto his fork. Carefully, reverently, he brings it to his lips. It's a good mouthful, not the tiny bites he takes for tasting, and—

Carmy has to close his eyes against the rush of emotions.

It tastes like Michael’s cooking. It tastes like Tuesdays, like watching Mikey work, like learning to chop vegetables. It tastes familiar and safe and it’s good. He finally understands why it was the best seller.

It's almost too much, the realization that this is Michael's recipe and Carmy's execution, and that it tastes good. Really good. He almost can't breathe around the love and grief (but aren't they one in the same?) in his throat. He thinks of years past, of trying new recipes with Michael and tasting their work, realizing it's incredible, and feeling whole. For just a moment, he can imagine he's sitting in their kitchen in their home, gathered around the island and urging Sugar to try it, too.

Someone gently taps his hand, then covers it with their own. It's Sydney. He opens his eyes and sees that she's holding a clean napkin out to him. He blinks, feels tears already rolling down his face; he blinks again and feels another wave overflow. Carmy takes the napkin and mouths thanks, drying his cheeks. It's a pointless effort because he's crying in earnest now. She smiles softly, bittersweet. Marcus, who sits to his left, carefully puts his arm around Carmy's shoulder. He leans in, turning his hand so that he's holding Sydney's.

Everyone seems to realize at the same time that he's crying and, after a quiet moment, they continue with their conversations. Just as boisterous as before.

His eyes land on Sugar and sees that her eyes are wet, too, and Pete's rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. The tide of emotions comes back, nearly as strong as the first, and he covers his eyes with one hand. It feels like there's space for him, for his grief. He finds that he couldn't stop smiling even if he tried.

It feels okay. He feels okay. Carmy takes another bite, savoring the flavors.

It's been a very long time since he's felt this close to his brother.

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

#After the trailer, a lot of anties freaked out and I’ve seen Tumblr flooded with loads of them posing as Sydcarmy truthers, impersonating us, to spread the anti gospel and undermine any certainty we, the truthers, have about Sydcarmy ever becoming canon. They wanna make us to doubt or give up altogether because they know we are a force to be reckoned with online and that we scandalously outnumber them. We shouldn’t play their game. We should spot them and ignore them completely, deny them the attention they crave. Treat them as what they are, a minority that is not driving The show’s numbers, which they very well know, that’s what kills them and makes them try to come and get us in their Troyan horse. They shall not pass! We, the Sydcarmy truthers, are the drivers of the most successful Disney TV show of the decade. Period. If we are not happy, Disney loses billions, if they are not happy and quit watching the show, the ratings and online viewership will drop IMPERCEPTIBLY. They can go to hell and try to convince the devil Sydcarmy is never gonna happen. We’re fine here, watching Storer write their love story and showing us in that trailer that Clairmy is dying, if not dead already, and that Carmy is bending over backwards for the woman he truly loves. Anties, you are dismissed. Don’t even bother!

I love sydcarmy with all my heart but I really don’t think they’re actually going to make them canon in the show…like they ALL said it was never their plan or anything they were interested in doing or even want to do. I fear we are being delusional sadly. I’m just so happy we are going to have more sydcarmy scenes which means more fanfictions and as long as ao3 exist I’m going to be fine, canon or not lol. Maybe I’m being pessimistic, but what are the things/clues that makes you think they will actually be a couple in the show when they’ve said otherwise?😩😭

Them straight up saying No it's not going to happen only confirms to me that it absolutely is going to happen. Because they could easily just play along with a will they won't they forever. Syd and Carmy's relationship is the entire premise of the show. It didn't begin with her failed business or his brother dying, it began with them meeting. There's a million things tying the two of them together that you can read through here. The inclusion of Claire in season 2 really only made me more certain that this is the direction they're heading towards. The series started on a sad note and I have no doubt that it will end on a happy one.

[thebirdandthebee]

Easy As

IDK WHY I CAN’T GET GD GIFS TO WORK HERE. will fix asap.

A/N: Okay ya’ll this is going to have a big time jump! We will be back tracking, but I’m so soft for Daddy Carm and I couldn’t resist a parenthood ask list. Curious if any of you were right about baby genders? I think this kind of scratches the itch below, but I’ve got a few more Daddy Carm requests to work through.

Should we do something special for 30 chapters? LMK!

Vanessa Monaghan is the great of fresh air Carmen had been gasping for.

Chapter 29: Mush

“And what do we do when we flush the toilet?” Vanessa asked, looming over Gabriel Silvio Berzatto.

“Wash hands,” he looked up at his mother with those same blue eyes as his father, completely disarming her. He hopped up onto his step-stool and hummed along as he washed his hands, itching to get back out to the kitchen where Carmen was cooking up some lunch for the Berzatto babies.

“Good job, Gabey baby,” she cheered, giving him a high-five. Potty training had been hell. Gabriel had no interest whatsoever in using the toilet and he was a real late bloomer in that way. He was walking, running, talking – hitting all the other milestones, but could not care less about potty training. But they’d been making headway and as long as he was fully potty trained in the next few months, everything would be okay. “Should we go see what Daddy has made the wrecking crew for lunch?” She asked.

Gabriel ran back to the kitchen, bare feet slapping agains the hardwood and climbing right up into his toddler tower to help Carmen.

“Okay, now that our sous is back, we can finish up with the accouterment,” Carmen said, looking down at the bundle that was cradled carefully to his chest. “What do we think, G? Peppers, mushrooms, onions?” He asked.

“No mush,” Gabriel countered, picking up his little Fisher Price set and chopping vegetables alongside his father.

“The sous has requested no mush, and while we don’t normally allow for substitutions, we will make an allowance just this once,” Carmen narrated, dropping a kiss to the fuzzy little head peeking out of the sling.

Vanessa could hear the giggles from the kitchen as she pulled on her boots, knowing she’d need to combat the slush on the sidewalks until she could get into the building for her wax appointment.

It would be the first time since baby Myles was born that Carmen would be alone with both the boys. But it’d been 12 weeks since Myles came home from the hospital and she was in desperate need of a brow wax, manicure and pedicure. Carmen would be just fine for a few hours.

She pulled her hair out of the collar of her sweater and tossed it over her shoulders, wiping her fingers under her eyes to catch any stray mascara before exiting the bedroom.

“Look at Mama, look how beautiful she is,” Carmen said, lifting his eyes from the cutting board to see his wife in the archway. “Tell Mama she’s beautiful,” he encouraged.

“Beautful Mama,” Gabriel repeated to the best of his ability, smacking his own vegetables around his blue, plastic cutting board.

“Thank you, my love,” Vanessa crossed the room to drop a kiss on Gabe’s head.

“No sugar for Daddy?” Carmen asked, scooping his peppers and onions across the board and dumping them into a prep container. Vanessa stepped into his personal space, her perfume swirling around him.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she grinned before kissing him gently. “How’s my little baby?” She asked,

“I’m doing okay,” Carmen replied, “slave driver of a chef,” he said, eyes flicking to Gabriel who’d been picking at his sandwich roll.

Vanessa rolled her eyes. “How’s my littlest baby?” She gently pulled the fabric of the baby swing away from Carmen’s chest. Myles little cupid bow lips were pouted, long lashes resting against his cheeks as she slept soundly against Carmen’s chest.

“Still sleepin’,” Carmen supplied. “He’ll be up for a bottle in a bit,” he replied. “Go enjoy your Mama time,” He insisted. “The boys have it locked down here,” he added.

“Call me if you need anything, okay?” She asked.

“I won’t, but I will,” he replied, kissing her once more. “Go ahead,” He said, slipping his hand down her backside and squeezing her ass in his palm.

“Just me and you and Myles, G man,” Carmen said, firing up the range. “Okay, now we toast the buns,” he said, holding up two thick rolls from the Vietnamese bakery down the street. Gabriel giggled upon hearing his Daddy say buns, making Carmen laugh.

“Buns,” he repeated.

Carmen narrated all of his steps, sautéing veggies and reheating some of the meat he’d pre-prepared the week before. With Myles being so young and Gabriel being a bit of a handful, he’d been taking a few hours each week to prep some proteins and veggies they could easily slap into a dinner and make life easier.

He was tickled whenever Gabe would cook with him. For Christmas, he’d gotten Gabe a little apron with his name on it and he demanded to wear it whenever they were in the kitchen together, observing his Daddy move around the kitchen from the toddler tower Nat and Pete had gifted them for Gabe’s first birthday.

Not too much later, Gabe and Carmen were sitting at the kitchen table, both enjoying their sandwiches as Carmen also carefully fed baby Myles his bottle, still snug in his sling.

“What do we think Sous?” Carmen asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Could have used a little more… depth, some umami.” He explained.

“I Gabe,” the little boy giggled, still not always understanding the concept of a sous chef. Carmen watched his son’s curls bounce with his laughter as he swung his legs back and forth in his chair. His blue eyes, his dirty blonde curls. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume Vanessa had nothing to do with Gabe’s procreation.

Myles was different, he was sure of it. Her dark eyes had appeared behind his delicate little eyelids and though he was still very bald, he held out hope that he’d have Vanessa’s dark hair.

“Did you know you’re my best friend, Gabe?” Carmen asked, taking another bite of his sandwich, watching his son. “You and baby Myles,” he added.

“Baby Myles,” Gabriel agreed, “best friend, Daddy,” he replied.

“That’s right, baby Myles is going to be your best friend, too,” he nodded, swallowing a dry patch at the back of his throat. “He’s so lucky to have you as a big brother.”

“Lucky Myles,” Gabriel parroted.

About two and a half hours later, Vanessa closed the front door softly behind her. Myles should be down for a nap and maybe Gabe had joined him as well. She didn’t hear any alarming noises as she slid off her boots and padded into the house. The kitchen and front living room were empty, but she heard the low volume of the TV in the family room humming and quietly slid in.

There, Carmen laid shirtless on the couch, Myles in just a diaper on his chest and Gabriel wedged between his Dad and the back of the couch, out cold and drooling on Carmen’s shoulder.

“Hi,” Vanessa greeted with a whisper.

“Hi Mama,” Carmen said quietly.

“Look at this cuddle puddle,” she grinned.

“I laid out here with Myles for some skin to skin and Gabe also wanted to take his shirt off,” Carmen grinned. “He got jealous and wanted a bottle, too.”

“Sweet boy,” Vanessa cooed, pushing Gabriel’s curls back from his face. Neither of his parents could bring themselves to get his haircut.

“How was the salon?” Carmen asked.

“Refreshing,” Vanessa said, pouting as her husband blocked her attempt to pick Myles up.

“My baby,” he said pointedly.

“Carm,” Vanessa gaped.

“Join us,” he insisted, “there’s room for you, Mama.” He added.

“There’s no way I can get in there without waking up the tornado,” she said knowingly.

“The tornado has requested Mama’s pasta for dinner,” Carmen said, tucking his free hand behind his head.

“Of course,” Vanessa grinned. “Babies are having an early bedtime tonight,” she said, trailing a freshly manicured nail down Carmen’s bare chest, tweaking his nipple. Carmen adjusted on the couch, a pleased smile on his face.

They had decided they didn’t want to wait long between Myles and their next baby, but this would definitely be the last. Vanessa and Carmen would never say out loud they were trying for a girl, but they were trying for a girl.

With Vanessa transitioning, at least for a few years, to staying home full time, they didn’t want to put too much time between babies.

“Mommy and Daddy time?” Carmen asked.

“As long as this one allows it,” she said, placing a gently hand on Myles’ back.

As if on cue, the newest member of the Berzatto family let out a crackly whine.

“Myles,” Gabriel grumbled, twisting against Carmen’s torso and burying his face further into his father’s chest. Vanessa giggled, picking up Myles so Carmen could tend to Gabriel as she walked back to the nursery.

“Are you Mama’s baby?” She asked, nuzzling into Myles warmth, cradling him to her chest against her soft sweater.

“I’m your baby!” Carmen called out.

“Not a baby Daddy,” she could hear Gabriel counter knowingly.