#carmy is a lot like michael

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

This fic is for those who love to see Carmy suffer #WIP

Published:2024-05-16

Updated:2024-09-07

Words:12,781

Chapters:6/7

[altschmerzes]

very excited for the wild dogs are hungry...something about nat and richie has always made me slightly crazy

LITERALLY ME TOO. their dynamic obsesses me and that fic is like. the brainchild of that. (as is, in part, 'where do the lonely hearts go' which is about how the berzatto kids stole hosted christmas. and has a Thread about natalie and richie that im already losing my mind about.)

[menstruatinginuyasha]

Cannot psychically bear (ha) to try and write out my very serious thoughts on this. But what so-called “fans” of the bear critically don’t understand is that syd has a man’s name and carmy has a woman’s name and there’s a reason she cried to laid by James in the last scene of season 3. Okay. There’s a lot going on in their dynamic and in their individual characters, they have such complex interiorities, and what people need to understand is that carmy is named after Carmen by Lana del Rey.

[deathlonging]

i think the main if not only reason the bear hit me so hard was the timing tbh if i'd watched it exempt from repressed grief + totally preventable guilt the feelings evoked would not have been half as strong

[donetbhlmao]

every time i rewatch the bear i think about how sydney (often) actively resists opening up emotionally to/getting closer to carmy - more under the cut

moments that immediately come to mind:

when carm asks syd about her dad in s2 e2: she interrupts him and brings the convo back to food.

when carmy asks syd about her new place and how her dad is feeling about the move in s3: i don't remember the actual episode but she interrupts him again to talk about work. what was the reason!!!

when carmy initially asks about syd's mom in s2: she has shown that talking about her mom is difficult (see: her convo with marcus at her place when she made him a beautiful meal), so this could be ambiguous but i think still worth mentioning.

WHEN CARMY TELLS HER SHE LOOKS NICE IN S3: she immediately takes off her bow???? i havent been able to stop thinking about this beat because why does she do that. does she not want to be perceived by him that way? does she feel guilty because she just got back from meeting with another chef for another position (thereby potentially dissolving her and carmy's partnership)? WHY WHY WHY (also she's so real for this because i think it's at least partially meant to signal that she's uncomfortable with his attention if he's not going to accompany it with meaningful communication). yes she favors scarves in the kitchen and she was getting ready for work but i think there's something else going on and have been rotating this scene in my head like it's a rotisserie chicken.

the fact that she half-lied about why she came to work at the bear in the first place, and, relatedly, that he made the best meal she ever had: maybe carm caught onto this one but she doesn't ever openly tell him that she's a fan of his work (and that he made the best meal she ever had!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) i say half-lied because she almost immediately tells him that she knows who he is. so.

i've been thinking a lot about syd's feelings for carmy and how she likely fears emotional intimacy with him. it's a stark contrast to how easily she opens up to marcus or asks richie questions about his daughter or even mentors/becomes friends with tina.

carmy is deeply interested in syd as a person and SHOWS it - in fact the few times in s3 that he's civil to her is when they are not working in the stresses of the kitchen and he's asking her about her life.

i can't think of a time where syd asks CARMY about his family (remember - she asks richie about michael), and when he opens up (without prompting from her!!!) about michael being an addict to her she lightens the mood with a joke, and when he opens up about how donna was a nightmare and he's trying to reclaim cannolis, all she says is "whoa." (btw i actually love sydney because she's so emotionally stunted like that's my girl <3)

she will open up about sheridan road, and her fear of failure (so inherent to who she is and her motivations in the show!), but not so much about HERself and her personal life. it's fascinating.

an exception to this is when syd tells carmy to call richie and apologize - even then it's not syd "asking" per se, but it is her taking a step and knowing what's best for carmy (and the kitchen) in that moment.

i think this is meant to indicate how carmy is different from everyone else in syd's life - almost like he doesn't "fit" into any of the other boxes she has for people.

now, i personally read this as romantic. there's something BIG blocking sydney from accepting that, though, and i think it's that carmy is so tied to her passion, her profession, her LIFE'S WORK, and she will not, cannot, fuck that up. we all talk about claire being an obstacle to a potential romantic connection between the two - and she is - but i truly think sydney's unwillingness to confront her interest in carmy is a bigger, more substantial hurdle (though not at all impossible to overcome!)

[springtyme]

51 ✨ for carmy 🐻

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐀𝐭 𝐀 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 ♡

Thank you for the request, anon! I hope you like it 💕

Carmen Berzatto x reader || Carmy playlist || Main masterlist

51: “I can’t live without you.”

The strain of Carmy's new responsibilities at The Beef has taken a toll on your relationship, leaving you worried and questioning your place in his life. And you're scared, but not for the reason Carmy thinks.

Angst (with a happy ending). Hurt/comfort. Mention of what happened to Michael.

word count: 2.1k

You stand in the dimly lit hallway of your apartment, anxiously tapping your foot against the worn floorboards. It’s late, much later than Carmen had told you he would be home. The clock on the wall mocks you with its ticking, each second feeling like an eternity.

Your relationship with Carmen has been strained lately, the weight of his responsibilities after taking over The Beef after Micheal’s death has taken a toll on both of you.

You and Carmen had met in New York, about two years ago, when he had moved into the apartment next to yours. You had not looked for a relationship and neither had Carmen, but it was like fate had kept pushing the two of you together. 

It had just started out with a few chance encounters in the hallway or at the local grocery store, with him stumbling slightly over his words as he asked you about your day or offered to carry your groceries. 

But it had been a power outage which had left the whole building in darkness that really had brought you together. You had fumbled your way out in the hallway to figure out if it was just your apartment that had lost power or if it was the whole building. And that’s when you had bumped into Carmen, literally. His strong arms had wrapped around you instinctually, preventing you from falling on your ass. 

You had candles in your apartment, unlike Carmen so you had invited him in to share the light and wait for the power to be restored. As the hours passed, you two ended up talking and getting to know each other better. It was a simple yet intimate evening, and from that moment on, you felt a connection that you couldn’t ignore and a sweet friendship had blossomed between you.

He didn’t have much time off, literally working at one of the best restaurants in the world, but the moments you did spend together were cherished, and it hadn’t taken long before your connection had grown even stronger, evolving into something more than just friendship and eventually blossoming into a real and deep relationship. 

You had not hesitated to say yes to move back to Chicago with him after his brother had passed away.

You never got to meet Michael, Carmen didn’t really speak to him through all the time you dated, you've never fully understood what had happened between them, but you have a feeling that Carmen didn't really knew it either, and he has never really liked talking about his family in general, but you do know that he loved Michael a lot.

You had tried to convince him to go to the funeral, telling him that you would be there for him, but he had kept shooting the idea down. He kept excusing it by saying that he couldn’t, his contract at the French Laundromat hadn’t expired yet, and despite that being true, you had a feeling that going to the funeral would make the loss of his brother feel all the more real, and that was something he wasn’t ready for.

You also had the feeling that he didn’t want to see his mother, at least not in that setting, so you had just decided that you would let him grieve in his own way, and just be there for him in whatever way he needed you to.

It had been the same you had done with his job after all.  

You know that he had loved his job in New York, in his own fucked up way. It was a messed up, down right toxic, work environment, and it had hurt to see him come home every night, tired to the bone, both physically and emotionally drained, yet he kept doing it. His ineffable love for the culinary arts that just couldn’t be extinguished kept him going. It is just after you moved to Chicago a month ago that he told you that he would throw up every morning before work.

It crushed you to hear that Carmen was suffering silently, but you understood why he continued to push through. The restaurant industry was demanding and competitive, and Carmen was determined to prove himself. You had hoped that the move to Chicago would bring some relief, a fresh start away from the toxicity of his previous job. However, the weight of his responsibilities at The Beef seemed to have only deepened the strain on your relationship.

You love him, and you want to be there for him, no matter what. But the constant absence and distance have started to make you question where you stand in his life. But most of all you’re just sad that he is sad, or really it's more that you're sad that he is in a situation that should make him sad, it's like he doesn’t even really allow himself to be sad, and that really hurts to watch. 

You try to push away those negative thoughts, you try yo remind yourself that Carmen is just going through a difficult time, but that just makes the worried feeling in the pit of your stomach feel even heavier.

As the front door finally creaks open, your heart skips a beat. Carmen steps inside, his weary eyes meeting yours. The exhaustion etched on his face is painfully evident, and your worry intensifies, yet you're just so happy to see him. As he slides off his jacket his white t-shirt comes into view, it’s stained with sauces and his hands bear the marks of countless hours spent in the kitchen, but it’s the weariness in his eyes that tears at your heart.

“Hey,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse from lack of rest. “Why are you still up?

You muster a small smile, trying to hide your concern. “I couldn’t sleep,” you admit softly, stepping closer to him. “I was worried about you. You said you’d be home earlier.”

Carmen sighs heavily, running a hand through his unruly hair. “I know, I’m sorry, it was just... things got really busy tonight.”

You nod, biting your lip to hold back the words that threaten to spill out. You want to scream at him, not from a place of anger, but frustration, to make him understand that his health is more important than any sandwich on the menu. But you also know that he pours everything he got into the restaurant.  

“I’m just worried about you, Carmy,” you finally manage to say, your voice tinged with both frustration and concern. “You work yourself to the bone, and it’s taking a toll on you. I can’t bear to see you like this.”

He sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I know,  but there is not much I can do about it, okay. I’m sorry for putting you through this. But I can’t just abandon the restaurant. If I don’t fix it Jimmy’s gonna sell it and turn it into a fucking Applebee’s.” 

Tears well up in your eyes as you take a step closer to him. “I get that, Carm. I do. But you need to take care of yourself too. It hurts seeing you like this.” 

Carmen looks at you, his tired eyes searching your face. There’s a mix of frustration and resignation in his gaze, as if he knows you’re right but doesn’t know how to change the situation. The weight of his responsibilities seems to visibly crush him, and it breaks your heart.

“I know, I know,” Carmen says, his voice tinged with defeat. “But it’s not that simple. The Beef is struggling, and I need to turn it around. I can’t just walk away.”

Your frustration builds, and you can’t help but argue back. “I understand that, Carmy, but you also can’t sacrifice your well-being for the sake of this restaurant. There has to be a way to find a balance, to take care of yourself too.”   

“I know I need to take care of myself, and I don’t want to keep putting you through this,” his voice taking on a more frustrating tone, he isn’t yelling, but there’s an edge to it. “But I just... I don’t know how to do that right now, okay”

The tone of his voice makes you pause for a moment, he has never talked to you like that before and you can’t help but slightly flinch. You know that he is just frustrated but it still makes you feel a deep pang of hurt. It’s not that you’re scared or anything, you know that he would never ever hurt you, you’re just sad that it has come to this. 

But seeing you flinch clearly affects Carmen, his frustrated expression softening, turning into an expression of guilt and regret instead.  

You swallow the lump in your throat and take a deep breath, trying to regain your composure before saying what you need to say. “I love you, Carmen, and I want you to be happy. But I can’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself in the process.” you’re taking a deep breath before continuing, “you’re scaring me.” 

Carmen’s gaze meets yours, the expression in his eyes breaking your heart. “I never wanted to scare you. And I-I would never hurt you.” 

This makes your heart break even more, yes you had flinched at his tone of voice, but not because you in any way had thought he would physically hurt you, never. The thing you’re scared of is that he’ll end up hurting himself…  

You reach out to take Carmen’s hand, wanting to assure him that you understand his intentions, but also wanting to convey the depth of your concern.

“I’m not scared you’ll hurt me, Carm. I know you’d never do that. I’m scared you’ll hurt yourself.” Tears are now streaming down your cheeks, your voice trembling as you’re about to unveil your biggest fear in all of this. “I just don’t want you to end up like Micheal, okay… I was scared that the reason you didn’t come home was because you had blown your brains out on a bridge somewhere.”  

Carmen’s eyes widen at your words, a mixture of shock and pain flashing across his face.

He reaches out to gently wipe away your tears, his touch warm and comforting. “I’m not going to end up like Michael,” he whispers, his voice filled with a mixture of determination and vulnerability. “I promise you, I could never do that to you.”

You hold onto his hand tightly, desperately seeking reassurance. “But Carmy, you’re pushing yourself so hard. You’re not taking care of yourself, and it scares me. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t live without you.”

He pulls you into a tight embrace, holding you as if he never wants to let go. “You don’t have to, I promise you.” His voice cracks with emotion, and you can feel his tears dampening your shoulder.

You hold onto him just as tightly, your heart breaking for the pain he’s been carrying alone and you’re just so happy that he is finally letting himself cry.  

Carmen pulls away slightly to look into your eyes, his expression a mix of gratitude and determination. “I don’t deserve you, but I’m so grateful to have you by my side.”

You smile through your tears, relieved to see him opening up and acknowledging the need for change. “We’ll figure it out together. We’ll find a way to make things work.”

“Yeah, we will,” he nods, before continuing. “I… I actually started going to Al-Anon, I go three times a week.” 

You’re taken aback by Carmen’s revelation, but also immensely proud of him for taking this step. You gently squeeze his hand, your love for him growing with each passing moment. “That’s amazing, Carm,” you say softly. “For how long?”

“I started going two weeks ago, I don’t know why I didn’t say anything earlier,” he admits, a hint of shame in his voice. “I guess I just needed to take it in my own tempo.” 

You shake your head, wiping away your remaining tears. “It’s okay, Carm, I’m just so glad you’re looking out for yourself.” 

Carmen takes a deep breath, his gaze filled with renewed determination. “I really don’t deserve you, thank you for not giving up on me, even when I pushed you away. I love you so much, and I promise I’ll find a way to make this work.”

You lean in and press a gentle kiss to his lips, feeling a sense of hope and unity. “I love you too, Carmy. And yeah, we’ll face this together, one step at a time.”

Thank you for reading! ♡ this is my first time writing for Carmy and I had such a blast writing for him, but I also was a little intimidated by this piece, so please let me know what you thought ♡

[yellowharrington]

sugar sweet -- carmy berzatto x reader

pairing + fandom: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader, the bear fx

word count: ~2.5k

warnings: brief mention of body image issues (not towards reader) and suicide (mikey's death), eating dessert and a lot of food talk, gn!reader (but mention of wearing heels), use of y/n briefly in texts. reader is mentioned as an accountant or adjacent professional person and smoking is mentioned (reader and carmy). please let me know if i missed anything :)

a/n: hey team !! i hope y'all enjoy this fluffy little blorbo about carmy's birthday bc i needed to write about being soft to him. this is an old wip i finally finished so pls rb and leave feedback and comments ily

summary: it's carmy's birthday and you want to make it special for him again.

-`♡´-

It’s not that Carmy doesn’t like his birthday.

No, it’s not that. 

It’s just that he’s never had a good one.

When he was 9, his mom tried to make him a birthday cake. French vanilla, with buttercream icing, multicoloured sprinkles on top. But she had somehow managed to get so frustrated that she had thrown the whisk across the kitchen, the burnt cake thrown in the sink, and taken to the backyard for her millionth cigarette of the day. She was breaking down, as usual, and Carmy was the one that had to go out and rub her back and tell her it was fine. That he was fine, that he didn’t matter, and no, she didn’t ruin his birthday. 

When he was 13, he ended up spending the afternoon consoling Natalie in her bedroom, after his mom had again, made a backhanded comment about her body. That yeah, she’d gained weight in her midsection, and yeah, the stress was showing on her hips. She was sobbing into her pillows, clutching her pink sheets and wailing, leaving Carmy with nothing to do but kiss her on the cheek and leave her alone. He assured her, again, that he was fine, that he didn’t matter, and no, she didn’t ruin his birthday. 

And when he’s 24 and scrubbing the floors of The Beef at midnight, sweat dripping down his forehead and into the collar of his shirt. Michael had just died, so yeah, it was a little raw. The fluorescent lights were beating down on his back as he dumped hot soapy water on the floor and scrubbed everything away. Scrubbed away his memories, every Christmas with his brother, every screaming match. He let it all go down the drain. He’s assured himself that he’s fine, he didn’t matter, and no, Michael’s fucking suicide would not ruin his birthday.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

He meets you later that year. Sitting in the park, doing a crossword at 7:00am, your BEC and hot coffee cooling off on the bench beside you. You’re obviously a professional of some kind: tight black slacks and a matching blazer, white dress shirt stretched over your torso, hair pristinely styled. Black heels, he notices, that you’ll switch out in the middle of the day because they squeeze your toes. 

When he sits beside you, you don’t pay him any mind. He’s disheveled, sandy curls pushed back on his head, a grey crewneck sweater over a white t-shirt, collar peaking through at the neck. He sets his identical breakfast next to yours, taking out a cigarette and slipping it between his lips. You look over when he flicks his lighter, a soft exhale leaving his nose. “Oh, sorry,” he takes the cigarette from his lips and wafts the smoke away. “I forgot not everyone in this city smokes.”

You smiled tightly, nodding, letting yourself relax onto the back of the bench. “I don’t mind.” He nodded back to you, letting his hand rest on his knee as he took another drag. “Anything worth reading in there today?” He gestures to the newspaper balanced on your knee. You look at him again, shrugging your shoulders, only to tap your pen against the side of your leg. “No, there never is. I just do the crosswords. You wouldn’t happen to know a 4 letter word for ‘kitchen second in command’, would you?”

He laughs a little, taking another slow drag. “Sous?” You look down at the newspaper, penning in the small boxes, sitting back to smile at him. “Thank you,” you raise your coffee cup to him. “‘m a chef, over at The Beef in River North,” he has a mouthful of his sandwich now, as he points in the general direction of the restaurant. “Oh, yeah, I think you guys catered one of our events one time. It’s like, sandwiches and stuff, right?” He nods, taking a sip of coffee. You follow after him, letting the hot coffee touch your lips. 

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I, uh, just took it over. It’s kind of a shit show right now but we’re tryna fix it.” You unwrap the sandwich and sink your teeth into the soft bagel, covering your mouth before beginning to speak. “What happened to the guy who used to own it? Did you just buy it off of him, or what?”

“He died,” he says, deadpan, letting the cigarette come between his lips again. “He was my brother and uh, yeah - he died.” You nod at your own embarrassment, at the thought of asking a random stranger about his dead brother by accident. “Oh, I didn’t-uh, God - sorry,” you stammer, letting yourself turn towards him. “It’s fine,” he waves the smoke away again. “It’s not a big deal.” You almost laugh at his demeanour, so nonchalant. You pull a cardholder out of your blazer pocket, the small clasp opening. Cream cardstock, black writing - a business card, handing it over to him, but not before scribbling your personal number on the back. “If you need anything, accounting related or otherwise, call me.” He takes it and looks for a second, raising his eyebrow at the pristine card. “I can’t afford you,” he laughs. “No charge. Thanks for the help on the crossword…” you wait expectantly for a name. “Oh, Carmen. Carmy,” he finishes. “Nice to meet you.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

It had been a few months since your first meeting. Now, you chose to spend almost every Sunday with him - his one day off. He’d usually make you breakfast, sometimes an omelette with gouda cheese and chives, or fluffy pancakes with a berry compote and homemade whipped cream. For a man that cooked all day, every day, he certainly didn’t mind making any meals for you, especially when you woke up next to him in his old t-shirt and nothing underneath. 

You’d known Carmy for long enough now to have pieced together the whole story - a few nights here and there coming around The Beef after closing had granted you the pleasure of meeting Richie, who Carmy affectionately called Cousin. “He’s a little fucked up,” Richie had told you behind the slightly ajar door of the office, as you sat and waited for Carm to finish up. “With Mikey and everything. He won’t let ‘ya know, but he is. I’m happy he’s got somebody,” he looks back at the kitchen, the usual pots and pans clanging behind him. “You didn’t hear it from me, but it’s his birthday on Sunday,” Richie gets closer to you, his hand coming closer. “Back up Richie,” “Sorry. Force of habit. Do not tell him I told you. Take it to your grave. He likes red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese icing like a little bitch boy, they’re his favourite, alright?” You nod, looking to see if he was anywhere near. “Heard.”

You catch Marcus on the way out while Carmy fucks with something else in the kitchen. “Hey, Marcus,” you grab his arm, right before he’s about to put a headphone in and start on his way home. “Hey, what’s good?” “I need a red velvet cake recipe. And a cream cheese icing recipe. And a walk through of how to bake a batch of cupcakes. Please.” He nodded slightly, looking down at his phone. “I’ll text you what I’ve got. Is it a special occasion?” You look over at Carmy, who was wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Yeah, uh, it is.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Marcus had let you borrow a few cupcake pans and a package of liners, as well as his KitchenAid stand mixer for the batter. You’d gathered all of the ingredients from the recipe he’d given you, set everything up in your tiny apartment kitchen on the Saturday before Carmy’s birthday, furiously mixing wets and drys in different bowls, sifting flour and separating egg whites from yolks. The cigarette was taught between your lips, tank top strap falling off your shoulder as you slowly began to mix the batter together. 

[Carmen] 11:18pm

Hey

How are you baby?

Just finishing up here

You flicked the cigarette ash onto the fire escape as you nodded your head in rhythm with the song on the speaker, letting the batter mix in the background as you started to sift the powdered sugar into the clean bowl. You weren’t even looking at the time until you heard the familiar chime of your phone, sticky floury hands grabbing your cell phone to see the text from Carmy. 

“Shit, fuck,” you turned the mixer off, putting the remnants of your cigarette out in the sink. 

[(Y/N) personal] 11:26pm

Hey, just busy right now

Will text in a bit

Love you

When Carmy reads the text he’s a little… surprised to say the least. For you to have plans on a Saturday night was not unheard of by any means, but it wasn’t what he was expecting. Anxiety creeped up a little, because what could you be doing at 11:30pm?

[Carmen] 11:27pm

Love you too

You ok?

[(Y/N) personal] 11:27pm

Of course

Come over when you’re done

A smile tugs on the corner of his lips as he continues to wipe down the stainless steel counter in front of him, nearly spotless already. Most of the other crew has gone home, save for Marcus in his station proofing his donuts for tomorrow and Richie texting someone at the expo line. He slips his phone in the pocket under his apron, undoing the knot on the back and dropping it in the hamper by the back door. “You guys can lock up, yeah?” Carmy calls, seeing Marcus nod at him and bid him goodnight with a small wave. “Heard,” Richie calls. “‘Night, cousin.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Carmy had called a few times, your phone ringing and ringing, but the chaotic kitchen had forced you to miss the calls. It was past midnight now, and you’d spent your whole day in the kitchen, the night getting away from you way quicker than you had intended. You had a small box in your bedside table, a thin gold chain you hadn’t wrapped for him yet, and your apartment was a fucking mess. Pans and bowls strewn across every surface, flour on the floors and walls, and somehow, and you had cream cheese icing under your fingernails. It was a bit of a mess.

When the icing was done, you managed to squeeze some on the tops of the cupcakes just in time to hear the lock on your door click. You stood, silently, as you heard Carmy quietly kick off his boots. He thought you might be sleeping.

Ha, far from it.

“Babe?”

When he rounded the corner, it was a sight to see for sure. Your hands twisted around a makeshift pastry bag, which was really a ZipLoc with a hole cut in the bottom. Apron tied in a bow around your waist, only accentuating the curves of your body. Carmy drinks you in.

“What are you doing?”

You looked at him like a deer in the headlights.

“Baking.”

“Yeah. I see that.”

He stepped forward tentatively, an amused smile on his face. His hand reached to the small of your back, a kiss adorning your cheek. 

“Why are you baking?” He takes a finger to the end of the bag, sticking it in his mouth and marvelling at the taste. “Why are you killing it at baking?”

You smiled. “Don’t be mad.”

His eyebrow cocked, noticing the desserts in front of him, really, for the first time since he stepped in the door.

“Fucking Richie,” his hand found his forehead. “Fucker.”

“Happy Birthday, Carm.” You let the bag of icing flop on the stovetop, while your arms wrapped around his neck. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, slotting them together to quiet the thoughts in his mind. You started to pepper kisses all over his face and neck, giggling between them, before he couldn’t help but burst into laughter himself. 

“He told me they were your favourite, and I asked Marcus for a recipe and I haven’t tried one yet, even!” the words tumbled out of your mouth as he pulled you impossibly closer, swaying a little with you in his arms. 

“Sorry. Richie told me not to make a dig deal, I just thought,” you shrugged, letting your hands slide down his biceps and tracing the faded tattoos there with your pointer finger. “I thought we could make it special again. If you want.”

The wild look in your eyes was enough to have him push forward again, lips crashing into lips, the amalgamation of all the tastes from his day on your tongue.

“Thank you.” He peers over your shoulder at the cupcakes, still in the tin, suddenly very interested in tasting the fruits of your labour.

“Should we try these?” His hand drops effortlessly to your waist, letting his body push past yours. He picks up a cupcake, handing one to you and ‘cheers’ing them playfully. He unwrapped the foil on the outside, sinking his teeth into the soft, sweet dessert. 

“Mmmh,” he moans, letting his eyes roll back into his head slightly. “Wow,” the red colour coats his teeth. “Yeah.”

You nod along with him, your own teeth sinking in. “Oh yeah, I kinda killed it with these.” 

“Hm, wait,” you put the cupcake down, pushing past him. You take the opportunity to put your hand on his broad back, feeling the muscles underneath.

When you return, he’s licking the rest of the icing off of his fingers. The way his lips wrap around his fingers makes your breath hitch.

“Before you say anything, it’s just small, if you hate it you can return it, blah blah blah…” you trail off, but you can’t hide the excitement across your features. 

He pulls open the clamshell box, the gold chain reflecting against the warm lights of the kitchen and dancing along the walls. His lips part slightly, forming an “o” shape, with surprise. 

“You’re…” he seems genuinely speechless. Carmy usually isn’t a man of many words, anyway, but this was noticeably different.

“Do you like it?” Your bottom lip is folded under your teeth in anticipation, eyes flickering up to meet his. 

“You’re perfect,” is all he can say, and you swear you can see his eyes get a little glassy.

“Aw, well, don’t get soft on me now,” you let your arms wrap around him once again, pulling him into a hug this time. Your head fits perfectly into his chest, smelling the distinct scent of his signature cologne, long now covered by the smells of the restaurant. Him.

His nose fits perfectly into the crook of your neck as he leans down, deepening the hug to pull you in impossibly close. His lips latch onto the soft spot beneath your ear, enraptured by your presence. 

For the first time in his life, Carmy is actually going to have a good birthday. 

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

[periprose]

Fly Away

Michael Berzatto x Reader

You're a family friend of the Berzattos and you're invited to have fun at their annual Christmas dinner. You think you still harbor feelings for Carmy, but as the evening progresses, you feel something for his brother.

Genre: friends to lovers, former crush on carm, really everything w carm is mostly platonic, unrequited stuff, insecurities, age gaps (reader and carm are 25, Michael is 38), takes place in 2017, takes place in S2E6, lots of angst, anxiety, some fluff, no use of y/n (you have a nickname: Birdie)

Word count: 11k

There’s a bauble and trinket everywhere you look. Festive, Christmas spirit seems to ebb from the very walls of the Berzatto household– and you would be remiss not to compliment it vocally in some way.

Donna is clearly waiting, teetering on a response from you as you take everything in from the front door. And you know how she reacts if you don’t say things in that perfect, supportive tone that she so desperately thrives off of.

“Wow, Mrs. Berzatto!” You clasp your hands, trying not to seem too cloying or ironic. “I love what you’ve done with the house. Such an eye for details.”

“Oh, stop.” She giggles, and lightly taps your shoulder as she takes your coat and hangs it up in the closet. 

“No, really. I wish my house was so… Christmassy this time of year.” You shrug, knowing that your dad isn’t the festive type after divorcing your mother.

“Aw. Well, we have love to spread here.” It’s a strange unseen sympathy coming from Donna, and she pulls you inside, and you take off your shoes, shuffling around in your socks and your comfy, hopefully chic, green loose turtleneck sweater. “Except you might have to wait a bit, because some of these fuckers are late.”

There’s that bitter tone you remember from Donna. You don’t really care for that– you tend to have an avoidant personality especially with how your own mother acts sometimes– and she yells out for Carmy and Mikey to greet you.

“Boys! Birdie’s here!” She calls from the stairs, and you suddenly feel self conscious.

Ever since your dad, a former co-worker and friend of Cicero’s, starting taking you as a teenager to these Berzatto hangouts, you have always had a eye for Carmen. It was hard not to be, seeing this bashful, slightly angry, awkward boy, around the same age as you, with dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes. You felt like sometimes, he really, really listened to you, and that was all you needed.

You wish you could be there for him too. 

It’s something you’ve never acted on, never bothered to actually approach him about– he always seemed so absorbed by his own thing.

You relished in the fact that he never had a girlfriend. You felt secure in that, because he just seemed safe. And it’s not like he would’ve been mean about rejecting you if he knew– you were always close to the Berzatto siblings. You were Bear and Birdie, ready to head out on a walk together, while the adults gossiped and drank.

Of course, you haven’t seen him in about… two years now. Around after he left to his apartment, and did his chef-education-training (you’re a bit vague on the details, honestly), and ever since then, as far as you know he’s slowly been doing what he loves. He does text you from time to time, but you’d be overstating those texts’ importance if you pretended it really quantified a relationship.

Mikey clambers down the stairs, wearing what looks to be pajamas, or very chill homebody clothes, and he raises his arm in a big, Italian gesture.

“Oh! Is that little Bird I see?” He exclaims, and pulls you into an eager hug. Maybe a little too eager– you think it’s almost as if you’re comforting him as you hug him back, his face coming down onto your shoulder, as he encapsulates you– and he pulls away, grinning.

He actually looks really good. You don’t know when you started thinking that Mikey was good looking, but it’s true– he has a certain, rough around the edges appeal that you find yourself drawn to.

“Merry Christmas. You’ve been keeping away from us.” Mikey points as you, intended as a stern remark, but you snort.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas. I’ve been busy with work and law school, Michael. I’m not a kid anymore.” You resist the urge to comment on his beard, and then do it anyways. “Are you sure I’ve been keeping away? You’re the one with a hermit-ass beard.”

“Oh… they grow up and just start taking shots at you, don’t they, Ma?” Mikey places his hand over his heart, as if he’s wounded, and Donna shakes her head in agreement, before heading back to the kitchen, already seeming annoyed about something. “Beards are fashionable in 2017, Bird. Maybe come back to our current time– no reason for you to start dressing like a grandma already.”

You scoff at that, pointing at your sweater. “It’s semi-formal, c’mon! It looks nice. Respect the gathering’s rules.”

“It’s my house, babe.” Mikey leans in with maybe a little too much comfort, his eyes shining with some warmth, mirth even, and you don’t exactly pull away– the guy is like thirteen years older than you, and even if he does kid around, play up an older brother thing, you’ve started feeling like he’s restraining something more as of late, maybe some primal level of attraction that he knows better than to mess around with. You know that the feeling is kind of mutual– but you really don’t know how to quantify it. “I’m man of the house, and I say you should wear something that maybe, uh, shows off the pretty twenty-five year old that you are.”

The last part of this sentence has you swallowing a little, and you feel your face turning warm, and Mikey himself looks embarrassed that he’s said it, that he’s given a bit of evidence to your theories– he seems to brush something off, inside himself. 

You have never thought you were all that. You’ve always been pretty sure you should be glad that you’ve gotten by without having to worry about your looks. The idea of wearing a nice, somewhat revealing dress to the Berzattos’ house has you cringing, because you know it would just be… bad. 

“I’m not–” Mikey scowls at himself and you can visibly see himself fighting something, looking a little anxious, and you tentatively grasp his forearm.

“I know what you mean. I’m not offended.” You smile slightly, making the effort to calm him down a little, because you would never want Michael to beat himself up over you (he really seems to do that as of late and you know you’re not worth the trouble), and he nods and inhales. “You look good, too.”

“Right. Right on, Birdie. You can do what you want, anyways. Not up to me.” He seems to really dial back some of what he said, and before you can respond, Carmy walks downstairs.

“Hi. Hey, Birdie. Merry Christmas.” He says, kind of quietly, and you find yourself somewhat happy to hear him say your nickname again. Carmy looks especially nice– deep blue has always been his colour, it brightens up his eyes– and he has slightly longer hair than you remember. 

He leans in for a brief but firm hug, and glances at your eyes once, before looking towards the floor again.

Mikey nods and proceeds to exit to the kitchen, and you’re left with Carmy grappling with what to say.

“How have you–”

“How’s law sch–”

Carmy coughs awkwardly, and you find your face turning warm as he looks towards you.

“Sorry, Bear.” You let him speak, hoping not to scare him away. “How’s everything? You okay?”

“Yeah. Uh… well, I’ve been training at Copenhagen?” He furrows his brows, runs his hand through his hair. “Just learning as much as I can.”

“Oh. Uh-huh.” Your curiosity is piqued– you didn’t know he was in Denmark, much to your disappointment– but you want to pry more of an answer out of him. He doesn’t seem interested in talking about it more than that. 

“Sorry. Sorry. Stupid answer, there’s just not much to say.” Carmy shrugs, and then realizes suddenly that you’ve been standing at the foyer of the house for quite some time now, which isn’t very polite or inviting of him. “Wait, hold on. Let’s go sit inside and talk.”

Carmy makes some offhand comment about how you need to speak up sometimes and stop being so nice and accommodating to idiots like him, and you snicker, knowing that this is the Carmy you remember– snarky, ready to fight people on sometimes, even if he is a little weird and bashful. Although he’s short– he makes up for it with his resilience.

Carmy leads you through golden-lit hallways, a certain pepperminty, pine tree scent seeming to overlay the entire house, and there’s bushels and wreathes and mistletoe everywhere, and somehow even more baubles, ornaments, trinkets, knickknacks, all gold and red and warm tones that do make you feel a little fuzzy.

Carmy sits you down in the living room, on the sofa, and you’re next to him, and you place a foot under your knee, trying to feel casual. Not freaking out about him sitting right next to you. Weirdly enough… you don’t think you feel anything anxiety inducing. 

Perhaps you’re just getting more reassured of yourself with age. 

“So? How is Copenhagen, otherwise? I know Denmark is really interesting, but you’re probably busy with chef stuff, huh?” You prod just a little further. Just out of your own personal curiosity to see how far Carmy will go for you, and he nods. “Any friends?”

“Ah…” Carmy winces a little. “Can’t say if he’s a friend yet, but there is this guy that’s out of this world with pastries. I don’t know if I can meet his standard on that.”

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes. “Bear, you make my dad cookies all the time. Or, well, you used to. You can’t be that bad at it, considering that he always eats all of them.”

“Oh, really? Fuck, man.” Carmy looks at you in disbelief, settling more into his corner of the couch, closer to the tree, but looking more openly at you. You feel yourself cower a little under his watchful gaze. “I didn’t know your dad enjoyed them that much… I would’ve made more. Did you ever try them?”

“Hm?” You were getting lost in the details around Carmy– the dark blue shirt, the little bits of stubble around his jaw, the tattoos peeping out from under his long sleeves– and you nod. “Ah, I tried a batch around the last time you gave him some. I think it was… macadamia, matcha, white chocolate? Really good.”

Carmy is unreadable, his eyes flickering from the ground to your eyes– you think maybe you’ve embarrassed him a little– but he thanks you. “Where is your dad, anyways?”

“Ah. He’s got the flu, and he was kind enough to not want to infect you guys.” You admit. “Even though he was trying his best to walk over here from our house.”

Carmy remembers that you live in the neighbourhood over. You two used to hang out a lot during elementary and high school. He kind of missed you– something he’d never say out loud, but Carmy knows friends are few with him, and you were always a good friend to him growing up. You were always a comforting presence for him– you never asked him for too much, and he could tell you were being careful to do so. No pressure.

You just became really busy with law school, and he became really busy with chef stuff, and now you’re both… you both just lost touch. He feels bad about it– bad like he always does, with former friends and acquaintances from high school that he’s accidentally ghosted and lost– but at least you don’t seem to be annoyed about it. 

He thinks it’s probably because in this case, you pulled away just as much as he had to.

“How’s law school, anyways?” Carmy counts the years in his head. “You’ve either just finished or you’re in your final year?”

“I’m in my final year.” You stretch out your arms, looking eager. “It’s a lot of work– I’m only here because I’m lucky enough to have a bit of a break in the winter months, and I’m ahead on my courses. But, uh… I don’t know. It’s fun.”

“Fun? Wow.” Carmy grins a little. 

“What?”

“I don’t know, Birdie. Fun is more… fucking, I don’t know, fireworks or something? Drugs, maybe, yeah.” Carmy watches as you laugh, and laugh, at what he’s said, and again he’s never really sure what’s so funny about what he’s said, but he likes to hear you laugh.

“Clearly you don’t know either.” You snort, and lightly punch his arm. “When did we become workaholics?”

“Probably when we became, uh, adults and entered the workforce.” Carmy states, and you wrinkle your brows.

“We’re not really in the workforce yet, but–”

“What, really? C’mon. You’re a fucking receptionist or some shit, right?”

“Business administration specialist.”

“Yeah, there you go. That’s work, especially with all the school you have to do.” Carmy shrugs. “But what do you really want to be, then?”

“Oh, we getting into dreams, then?” You cock an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t think you cared that much, Bear.”

Carmy, for some reason he can’t detect, turns a little red. “No, of course I do. We’re still friends, right?”

“Acquaintances.”

“For real?” Carmy looks back at you, affronted, but you have a little smile and he knows you’re teasing. “Oh fuck you. Stop it.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You shake your head, giggling a little, glad to have so easily fallen back into a comfortable, friendly banter. “Of course we’re friends, it’s just that… I always thought very highly of you, Carmen, and I can’t always be sure that feeling was returned. You know? I assumed that you’d be out doing sophisticated cooking in big, upscale restaurants, and the rest of us would just be reading about it. Forgive me for feeling a little behind it all.”

“No, no, no. You got it all wrong, Birdie.” Carmy half-laughs at how you put him on such a pedestal. “You were always the one doing real work, as Mom would call it. You’re the one who’s actually smart and good at arguing, debating– that’s a real skill coming from me, because I just yell fuck at everyone and hope it works. I always thought you were the impressive one out of all of us.”

You snicker, but you’re actually quite pleased with that, and you feel your heart warm at his praise. “Ah, that’s so sweet. Thank you. If it makes you feel better, I’ve been surviving off of ramen and convenience store food for the last month. I can hardly make the time to cook efficiently.”

“...” Carmy shakes his head. “That doesn’t make me feel better. You’re gonna eat good food today then, I hope.”

Almost as if on cue, Donna calls for Carmy to come help her with something– and you’re left sitting as he tells you that he’s going to hear about your dream job when he gets back.

/

Fifteen minutes later– Carmy is still MIA, and you’re starting to get a little hungry. 

You know it’s rude, but luckily Michael comes by and asks if you want a snack.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” You ask, and Michael snickers.

“You’re the same girl that can eat a whole number four combo at the Beef. I’m pretty sure you were hungry before you got here.” Michael jokes, and you blush in embarrassment.

“Oh my god, stop it.” You shake your head. “Anyways, yeah. A snack would be nice.”

Michael gives you a wink that strangely has you a little twitterpated, before you shake that off. He comes back a few minutes later, chewing on something himself– and he hands you a bowl full of Italian sausage stirfry.

“Thanks, Michael.” You smile up at him, and he nods, trying not to smile too much back at your gratitude, but he likes how you take a bite and look super relieved, happy with the food. He’s always loved giving food to people– taking care of them. Especially you, for some reason.

Michael heads back to the kitchen, and Natalie comes by and takes his place.

“Birdie!” She hugs you tightly, and you hug her back, equally happy. “Oh my gosh, if I knew you were down here I would’ve come by ages ago!”

“Aw.” You beam at her. “That’s okay, Nat. I’m happy to see you too.”

She’s off ranting about how Pete, her husband, is late, and how she can barely manage everything going on, and you’re sympathetic. You know Nat gets more of a harsh treatment from Donna, and you tell her that you’re there if she needs a person on her side.

“Oh, Birdie. I couldn’t do that to you. Even if you are amazing at talking, Miss Lawyer-to-be.” She lets you continue to sit down in your corner of the living room, as she heads off to check on her mom– maybe pour out some alcohol.

 Carmy comes back in, slightly powdered with flour on his forehead– and he sits back down, sighing, as he drinks a glass of water.

There’s the slightest air of awkward tension still– even if you and Carmy have fallen back into your old ways, he still keeps a slight distance, one that he’s grown into, and you feel that you have to break the silence. You don’t know if he’s just tired or if there’s some level of irritation of having to deal with all the holiday bullshit, but you take a guess it has to do with Donna.

“That bad?” You grimace, and Carmy matches your expression.

“That bad.” He shakes his head. “She always gets a little woo-woo around these fucking events. Like, I never wanted her to do all of this– but she insists and insists and doesn’t know how to let go of the, uh…”

“Hubris.” 

“Yes. Hubris.” Carmy sighs, glad you still have the perfect word for everything. “Whatever. Anyways, haven’t forgotten. Hit me with your dream.”

“Okay, it’s going to sound a little weird, but, um… I’m really interested in becoming a labour relations lawyer?” You feel almost too much glee at the fact that Carmy remembered, and you see Carmy bite his lip, a little confused, so you continue, hoping you don’t sound like too much of a fucking nerd. “Meaning to help employees get out of their shitty situations with wages, working hours, benefits and fight for their rights. Union stuff. I don’t know, just feels like everyone is struggling with this nowadays… might as well push forward and try to help them out.”

“Wow, now that you’ve said that, it makes a lot of sense.” Carmy blinks. “I mean, uh, it’s not just that you’re good at arguing– you always go for the justice part of things. Remember when Michael and Sugar were arguing about cleaning the basement?”

You do remember that. You suggested dividing up either equally or by who owned what, and they eventually came to an agreement based on that. Michael wanted to dip because he was older, and Sugar thought it was demeaning to ask a girl to clean.

“Or when Lee said that women can’t think analytically, or what was it… mathematically?” Carmy laughs as he watches your face turn angry again.

“Yeah. I especially remember that. I told him to think about Ada Lovelace and to shut up.” You wince. “Maybe not the most mature thing I’ve ever said. I don’t think that’s such a great thing… sometimes I don’t know when to let go of arguments.”

“It’s alright, it was funny.” Carmy plays with his fingers. “That being said, I think you’ll be good if you choose to be that. A labour relations lawyer. You’re smart, and god fucking knows we all need the help. You should check out how many chefs get fucked over because they work at places for the prestige of doing so.”

“Damn.” You make a mental note of that, feeling embarrassed over how much praise Carmy has freely given you. “Is that going to be you?”

“Doesn’t matter if it is. Sometimes you gotta do what you can.” Carmy doesn’t really give you a clear answer, and you feel bad for him. Bad that he’s still stuck in that mindset.

/

You can hear people hooting and jeering near the stairs, as you walk around the house, exploring a little. Tiff was grateful that you visited her for a brief moment– she told you being pregnant was not all it was cracked up to be– and now you’re just on the upper floor, near the stair railing, on your phone.

You’re not really one to eavesdrop, but you hear– you believe it’s Mikey and Richie– they’re chanting “Claire! Claire Bear!”

Your stomach drops, as you hear them hoot about how hot she is, whoever this Claire girl is– how stacked she is, apparently, the banging body she has, the glasses no longer ruining her appearance– and although you know it’s gross men talk, there’s a small, sad part of you that wants to be perceived as attractive, too. 

Still, even as you find yourself frowning and turning away in disgust, you can’t stop yourself from listening.

You remember her. Claire, one of the neighbours down the street. Went to the same high school as you and Carmy. She was really something, someone of note if you remember the popular kid cliques correctly, but she had largely gone unnoticed by you, and it wasn’t for any reason in particular. You can’t be close with every person in high school.

But still– you feel jealous. Just a teeny bit. What was so different about her?

Sure, she was a nice girl. But weren’t you? You arguably had more history with the Berzattos, and yet… it’s as if you’ve simply blended into the wallpaper, their assortment of home decor and furniture. You’ve always been here, and so you don’t stand out.

You might never stand out.

You can hear Carmy trying his best to argue against them, asking them what they did, telling them to fuck off with their teasing– but he sounds sheepish, embarrassed, righteously mortified in the telltale way one would be when they have a crush, and you feel sick. 

They’re heaping compliments on her. You know what they mean when they talk about her like this– she’s the clear, obvious choice, probably closer to the family, more interesting, more affectionate, a genius. You don’t really know Claire that well, but apparently, she’s perfect. And you know you, in your silly frumpy sweater, in your attempts to dress up– you are not. You feel humiliated that you even believed Mikey when he said you were pretty– he was clearly complimenting you just to be nice. 

You weren’t even an idea in their minds, not for Carmy, anyways. You don’t even think Carmy is capable of seeing you like that now, and it’s with a crushing blow that you realize you were holding out hope. Mistaking familiarity for affection.

It’s a rookie mistake. One that you thought you were self aware enough not to make, because you’ve always known Carmen Berzatto was just out of reach for you.

You wait for them to leave, and come down the stairs, running into Carmy as he groans in annoyance.

/

Carmy says he needs to wipe some of the flour out of his hair, and you let him go upstairs, not really wanting to look at him, doing everything you can to make your way back to the living room unnoticed. In the meanwhile, Michael comes back and flops into Carmy’s seat on the sofa, next to where you sit, sullen.

“Hey, Birdie.” Michael starts, and you can’t read his tone, and you’re a little annoyed with his fake-nice attention. “Why not sit with me, the Faks, Michelle and Stevie? They’re really good people, I promise.”

“How do you know I’m avoiding people?” You snap back, maybe a little too aggrieved.

“It’s written all over your face, little Birdie.” He touches his knee to yours, and you bite your lip, swallowing your confusion, and Mikey enjoys the fact that you’ve chosen to wear a deep, brick-red Christmas lip colour. It’s hot– he doesn’t get how you don’t seem to be aware that you’re attractive.

He wants to kiss you. Maybe mess up that fancy lipstick and that sweet, annoyingly justice oriented, always-right character of yours. But he keeps it to himself.

“Don’t be antisocial. You of all people shouldn’t be alone during the holidays.”

“I’m not trying to be antisocial. I promise.” You shrug, trying to keep your emotions, that sinking feeling in your gut at bay– the last thing you want is for Michael to see you upset. “I was keeping Bear company, but I can come sit with you guys.” 

“That’s my girl.” Michael pulls you up by the arm, and you can feel your face warming at his choice of words– you like being in Michael’s good graces, even if you feel less than great right now.

Michelle, cousin of the Berzattos, has always been sweet to you. She’s impressive in her own right, and as you sit down in front of her and Stevie– she gushes about New York.

“Ah, that’s not to say Chicago isn’t impressive. Right, Birdie?” She smiles at you, not unkindly, and you feel happy to be included. 

“Right.” You shrug, knowing that the law firm you work at isn’t all that crazy. You can’t shake the feeling that you’re nothing special, not after what transpired just a few minutes ago, and you voice it. “It’s just okay.”

“No, c’mon. You work at one of the top fucking law firms in the city– you’re gonna make it.” Michael admonishes you. “Out of us Chicagoans, I mean, Michelle, before you take offense.”

“Yeah, Mish.” Richie echoes, popping up out of nowhere.

“None taken.” Michelle fixes her eyes between you and Michael– perhaps reading on something that you’re not even really sure how to understand, let alone explain– and she laughs. “Anyways, what was I saying? Right.”

She launches into a story about hating a woman who didn’t understand the Berzatto name. It’s quite funny– you find yourself laughing every now and then, the dull ache in your heart less noticeable, especially with how good Michelle is at telling stories, and somewhere along the story, Michael’s hand has stayed intertwined with yours, without you really noticing. You only notice when he lets go, and again– a pitfall in your stomach, wondering if Michael just feels familiar around you because there’s nothing to be attracted to and thus respectful of– and it’s such a stupid thought, but you still just know you want to feel wanted. You want to get a hold on yourself– remind yourself you’re not owed attraction and there’s nothing wrong with Mikey or Carmy seeing you as just a friend.

You realize with a start that you’re feeling confused about Michael, too. Was it just a weird quirk of his, calling every single girl pretty just for laughs? Could you even trust what he said? Why does Michael’s opinion of you feel way more pertinent and important than Carmy’s does?

You find yourself mulling over these thoughts, not sure of what’s going on around you, and you hear Michael tell the Fak bros, Ned and Ted, to shut up about California, which they do.

Donna starts screaming in the background, which causes you to turn abruptly. “Oh, fuck me!”

Michael turns and looks at you with some caution– he’s used to his mother’s outbursts, but he never ever wants you to face them. You don’t deserve that, you’ve probably never done anything to deserve it. Not like him.

Stevie gets up, much to the surprise of everyone around him. “Looks like Auntie D needs help, huh?”

“No, no, no.” Everyone tries to stop him, including you.

“What?”

Michelle pushes him back down, but he gets back up, resilient. 

Lee decides to comment in. “Let him, why not?”

“I’m sure she could use a few extra hands. I’m going.” He goes, and you stand up to follow, not willing to let an innocent person get dragged into Donna’s insanity.

“Wait, Birdie. Where are you going?” Michael holds your hand again, and you turn red at his action– a little angry, a little glum that he seems to care for you, and you can’t even be grateful for it. “Don’t throw yourself to the wolves. It’s not fucking worth it.”

“Not throwing myself– just want to make sure Stevie is protected.” You move forward, your face stony, and Michael lets go of you, sighing as he wraps his blanket around himself, wondering when you got all pissed off, but glad that you’re not so upset that you wouldn’t act all lawyer-y for Stevie.

Lee is glancing at him, while Michelle looks pleased as punch.

“What? What the fuck are these expressions?” Michael looks around questioningly, and Richie gives him a side glance.

“When’d you get all sweet on her, bro?” Richie gags a little. “Not that she’s not your type, but, uh–”

“I’m just being friendly.” Michael dismisses him, leaning back in his seat. “It’s the holidays, she shouldn’t be lonely.”

“Bullshit you are.” Richie sniggers, and Michael lightly shoves him.

“Yeah, I call bullshit too.” Michelle grins. “I can see it– you’re blushing.”

Michael groans, hating to be so obviously vulnerable in front of everyone. 

“Well I, for one, think it’s a huge, fucking catastrophic mistake.” Lee starts, and Michael feels himself blanch under the judgement of this guy. “You’re going to ruin that young woman’s potential if you go around messing with her.”

“Lee, she’s not that young–” Neil starts. “I think she can decide that herself?”

“Whatever. This one knows he isn’t right for her– always wants what he can’t have.” Lee mutters, and Michael feels that white-hot rage– the anger he feels bubbling inside of him as of late. 

He does his best to swallow it down, but a part of him knows that it’s true. As much as Michael enjoys your random visits over the past two years, he knows– you’re too good for someone like him. Too young, too selfless, too honest and good and pretty, and he feels an overwhelming wave of shame that he came so close. It’s like he just… doesn’t know how to be a good, responsible person, and it kills him on the inside that he could be so shameful, be so abhorrent and take advantage of you like that, and even if there is a tiny part of him screaming that it’s not so black and white– that you could be just as interested, of your own volition, in him as he is in you– he feels guilt. 

Michael is ashamed of who he is. Over, and over, there’s that feeling again– kill yourself– that he doesn’t know how to suppress, and he ignores it as he starts up a new story.

/

Natalie is tearing up as Stevie hugs her.

You came towards them in the midst of Donna yelling for Stevie to get the fuck out of the kitchen, and Sugar shushing him and shoving him away, and you now place a hand on her shoulder– clearly Stevie has it handled, somewhat.

When he lets go, she sniffles and you smile encouragingly, albeit a little sadly, and Natalie wipes away a tear. 

“It’s okay. It’s fine, it’s nothing. You don’t need to talk to her.” She starts, and you shake your head.

“I’m not going to. I can see that would make things worse.” You squeeze her shoulders, and Stevie nods.

“Yeah, Natalie. But we’re here. We’ll always be here if you want to talk.” He tries, and you smile at her– but something about Nat’s slightly upset, off putting expression, and Donna’s grumbling in the background– you feel your heart seizing a little at the tense emotions, so similar to your own, and you excuse yourself.

You walk until you reach the pantry, hot tears already working their way down your face. Every single negative emotion have come to a head, and you’re in terrible danger of having to explain things if you don’t get it together in under ten minutes or so.

You sit on the high table in the pantry, trying not to cry anymore than you already have, your head between your knees– but something about today has all your nerves on edge, and you know it’s because you put in some effort to come here, to see your dear friends, to look appealing enough, to be someone worth talking to, and now you feel as if they never really cared about you at all. 

You know these are lousy, immature feelings. You know you can be above them if you really, truly tried, but you let yourself sink into them further, because something about this environment is terrible and you just can’t let it go.

Even worse, no one has really done anything wrong. If this was a court case, you wouldn’t even have any evidence to make a claim. You’re simply confused, perhaps looking at things from the wrong angles– but the fact that you can’t look at this rationally makes you feel worse. As if you’re not as smart as you believed.

You don’t know how long you’ve been in here, when you hear someone shuffle into the pantry, next to you– it’s Michael.

He’s quick on his feet– you try to move away, let him grab whatever household ingredient he needed– but his full attention is on you as his eyes narrow, scanning your tear stained face and your hunched over body.

“Birdie?”

You can’t quite look at him, and you desperately try to wipe your tears, burying your face more between your knees. 

“Hey, no. Birdie.” He shakes his head, grabs your arms. He thinks it’s a little strange he’s had to cheer up two different people in the pantry, but he chalks it up to how his house always is. “What happened? Was it Ma?”

“No.” You sight and swallow down the sobs in your throat.

“Then what was it?” Michael’s eyes turn steely. “Fucking ‘Uncle’ Lee? Asshole. Told me I can’t finish any fucking businesses.”

“But… you run the Beef, don’t you?” You say, amid sniffles, entirely honest about it, and Michael’s eyes soften. “That has to count for something.”

“Yeah, little Bird.” He’s glad to have you here– he doesn’t care if it’s fucked up, not when you’re the only person on his side at this moment. “But why don’t you tell me what’s up?”

“I–” You shake your head, and feel your head hang heavy as you slouch over the table, and Michael leans over you, pressing your head to his chest, and you feel yourself crying silently into his shirt, as he shushes you and combs back your hair, his other arm caressing your back.

Michael’s not the best person– not the most comforting to be around– but he knows, by being an older brother, by being someone people want to be around, he knows how to make it count when he does give in to comfort. 

He just wishes he didn’t feel so goddamned depressed himself, so he would know the right things to say. He doesn’t want to be so useless all the time.

“Mikey?” You voice is timid. Small. 

He feels both elated that you would trust him with this, and devastated that he’ll never be good enough to deserve your trust. 

“Yeah, Birdie?”

“It’s so juvenile, but I…" You shake your head and decide to commit to it. "I wish I was pretty."

“Is that it?” Michael’s arm wraps around your shoulder as he squishes onto the seat of the table, next to you. “You think you’re ugly, huh?”

“I don’t think I’m–” You inhale deeply, and wipe away your tears again. “It’s not about being ugly. It’s more like an objective reality that I have to accept. I’m just not… I’m not anything special to look at.”

“Wow, kid.” Michael tuts and shakes his head. “Ever heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? That stupid fucking mantra, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s true.” Michael almost starts laughing, but you look so solemn and serious, he resists the urge. “You’re not ugly. You might not think you’re all that, but you don’t see what I see.”

Michael tenses, and you watch as he falters over how to explain.

Michael thinks you're so damn annoying with that ardent, sweet expression– even if your tears are staining your face, you still look so grateful to hear him say those words– and it just crushes him. It crushes him to know that you look for his approval so much, when he knows you're worth so much more than that.

He doesn't want to let you down. You and Carmen– he will never be enough for the two of you. 

"I don't– I'm fucking stupid, Birdie, don't listen to me." He swallows, but you're hanging onto his words and your face falls again. 

"But I can listen to you get all poetic about Claire, right?" You mutter, angry, and you get up to leave– but Michael grabs your forearm, and he's quite a bit stronger than you are. 

“Hey. That’s different.” Michael tries, but you shake your head, and you’re left sitting on the table again. “I was only teasing Bear. It has nothing to do with you.”

“I know.” You turn even more glum, and Michael is left feeling terrible, wondering what was so wrong with what he said. 

You’re silent for a moment– you know that you like Carmy, but something about telling Michael about it feels weird, like you’re pre-emptively rejecting him rather than Carmy by confessing feelings that are slowly disappearing– and you just don’t want to.

But you know you need to. You need to accept that Carmy would never see you that way.

“I just… for a really long time, I thought that I…” You fall to silence, again, and Michael is staring at you, hanging onto every word, watching your side profile shake as you try to gather your thoughts. “I really liked him, you know? I don’t even know why– maybe he was just the clearly available, safe option, and now that’s not even true and I feel like I’m mourning something that was never even real. How stupid and childish can I get?”

“Wait, Birdie–”

“And I just… I know I’m not like Claire. I don’t know what I got myself into. I don’t even really like him anymore– it’s just that the situation makes it so damn apparent that I am just average.” You huff out your words with an air of finality that even has Michael flinching a little, and he runs his hands through his hair, unbelieving of what you’ve said. “You can’t even say I’m not, Mikey, because I know how you talked about her and it was just so different to how anyone here has ever thought about me.”

“Birdie, shut the fuck up.” Michael breathes out really heavily, pinching his brows, thinking that he regrets everything he said and he wishes he could take it back. “I didn’t really– I was trying to tease Carmy, you know? It didn’t mean the shit you think it does. Hell, I would be way more serious if I was talking about you.”

He takes a beat of silence– should he read your reaction to that, or keep going? And he decides to keep going.

“You can’t just act like you can read everyone’s minds because you’re a lawyer, Birdie.” Michael says it with a slightly lighter tone, and his hand traces the small of your back as you lean against your knees, staring up at him. “Didn’t you learn about intent or whatever the fuck it was? In school?”

“Yeah, I guess.” You admit despite yourself, and Michael smiles but continues seriously.

“I don’t think that about Claire, okay? If anything, I’m fucking embarrassed you heard me talk all of that shit– that was just meant to be, uh, guy talk. I swear.” Michael swallows, feeling guilty that he still had to be so low about it. “I don’t– I care so much about him, I just went too far in working him up. I think it would be a good thing for him, right?”

Hurt flashes across your face– you still don’t think you like Carmy anymore, you just don’t know how to feel about someone else being portrayed as a “good thing.” But you inhale– you know part of getting over it is having to accept this, and you let yourself think and then nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, I could see that.” You agree, and it doesn’t hurt as much since Michael is looking at you sympathetically. “I just… I want to be a good thing, too. Not for Carmy, just…”

“For someone?” Michael answers as you trail off. 

“Yeah.”

“Listen, Birdie. I’m gonna tell you something you gotta hear.” Michael has that determined look where you know he’s going to say something smart– he has his fleeting moments of wisdom even if he doesn’t believe in himself– and he goes for it. “I can’t believe no one has ever told you just to, I don’t know, fucking love yourself a little? Like, c’mon, you should be able to like yourself! You’re an incredible person and you deserve– you have the right to be insanely fucking confident and it’s so fucking annoying that you don’t see it.”

In the heat of his argument, Michael’s come too close again, and he can feel your breath on somewhere near his jaw or neck, and he has to remind himself to pull away again.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, and Michael combs back a strand of your hair.

“Don’t be sorry. Just listen to what I’m saying.” Michael inhales, thinks over why he can’t do this himself– Tina always tells him to be a little easier on himself, but he just struggles– and he thinks that you look terribly cute so it’s just a lot easier to root for you. “Don’t do it for some idiot guy who will never really appreciate you, little Birdie.”

You can feel the conclusion of that sentence, even if Michael doesn’t quite say it: do it for yourself. Be there for yourself. Listen to the good part of yourself, rather than him.

“Oh. I guess that’s…” You swallow, taking it in, knowing the value of his words. “It’s true.”

“See? You know it.” Michael leans in a little too close again, his face a mere breadth away from your own.

“I think you’d actually make a fantastic lawyer.” You slyly comment amid wiping your face, and Michael blinks and then laughs.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then you’d get to see me and hear my advice all the time.” Michael mumbles a little over his words but to his surprise, you nod. 

“Yeah, then I’d get to see some idiot who really does appreciate me.” You murmur even more quietly, and Michael, feeling stupid, has a wistful smile on his face that he maybe has not felt in a decade. It’s so sweet– he thinks his heart is bursting with something. 

Maybe love. Maybe that jovial, Christmas spirit that seems to emanate as the food smells closer to ready, maybe what Carmen gave him as a kind gift, most likely the closeness he feels with you– not just being close in familiarity, more like– he can make out the little spots and freckles adorning your face, every single eyelash your still watery eyes have, the faint lines in your still-red lips, and it occurs to him that he’s too close. Somewhere during this talk, his hand has stayed around your back, and you have been tentatively tracing his right hand’s knuckles with your own thumb. 

Michael knows how it looks. If anyone was to walk in right now (and he’s sure Michelle or Richie have already put it together that the two of you have been gone for a while) they would assume you two are a couple.

He has a sudden air of regret– it’s not because he wants to reject you, he just… he struggles a lot with feeling wanted. He struggles with the standards that people seem to put on him. Michael has always known he’s not a good guy– he doesn’t know how to be the person that everyone seems to think he is. Carmen, Natalie, Richie, you– you all seem to think the best of him, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. He nearly had a breakdown watching Carmen look up to him so lovingly.

Before he can pull away– with another responsible refusal, telling you that he’s too old and washed up, and that you deserve the whole world and he is not enough to offer that to you– you gently but firmly grab his face, tracing his cheek, and he thinks it could be wrong– what if you’re just feeling all confused and willy-nilly about feelings because you’re displacing what you felt about Carmen, what if you don’t actually like him and you’re assuming that you do because of his clear attraction to you, what if you’re just feeling the moment and the sweet guidance he’s given you?

Tons of questions seem to flow from his mind, things that he wants to ask you, but Michael thinks fuck it, because you’re leaning in first and pulling him in and it’s something he would’ve never expected in a million years, that you could be just as attracted to him.

He kisses you maybe a little too hard– maybe it should’ve been softer, more gentle since you’ve opened up to him so much, but you kiss him just as eagerly back, and he doesn’t fucking care to be gentle anymore. He’s leaning over you and Michael knows he’s quite a bit taller, so he has to pull you upwards to really reach your lips, and the table the two of you are sitting on is quite small– it shakes a little and there’s not much room for Michael to really feel you.

Until you climb into his lap, because of course you do, and now you’re just tangling your fingers in his hair, and he thinks he can feel whatever migraine that the day’s events have spurred on him slipping away, and his hands wrap around the smallest part of your waist as he pulls you in, pressing his chest against yours. 

You feel like Michael’s beard tickles a little– but you don’t mind that. You weren’t sure until you did it that you’ve wanted to kiss him for a while. You feel like maybe you’ve actually been more attracted to him than you ever were with Carmy, maybe even just going for Carmy due to his aforementioned security. 

Michael groans, and he slips his tongue into your mouth, and you sharply inhale as his tongue roams around your own, and he knows he likes hearing you gasp when his hands come up under your sweater, just to feel your bare skin, and you pull away.

Michael comes in too close again, placing a soft yet firm kiss on the corner of your mouth, and you laugh at him, and it’s one of the best sounds he could hear. No longer are you all gloomy and sullen in the corner of the room– but there’s still an air of heat around you two, and he knows he should let you go before things go too far. 

“Consider that a Christmas present.” You murmur softly, tapping his face, genuinely smiling despite the smeared lipstick, and you clamber off his lap, and peek out the pantry. “I think you’re good to go eat dinner– let me just…”

You wipe the red lipstick from his mouth using the corner of your sweater sleeve, so not to leave evidence, and it’s an intimate moment that has Michael staring at your hand, to your eyes, and there’s something in his eyes– maybe sorrow, maybe appreciation, but most of all, tenderness, and he takes a silly, soft moment to just kiss your hand. You beam at him.

“How long have you wanted to do that?” You tease him, because you know that Michael has always had that look, and he stiffens for a moment.

“Ah… maybe around when you came back from graduating college.” Michael admits, feeling weirdly high and low all at the same time, but he questions you too. “What about you? Don’t tell me you just decided to kiss me right now. That would fucking… that would be too much.”

His heart falls for a split second– thinking about how again you could’ve just been having a little fling– why would you ever like him? He struggles to think how you could, even after having kissed you.

“No, no. I swear it’s not like that.” You turn a little red and play with your hands. “Um. You’re not like a rebound, Mikey, I just… I think I liked you ever since I started coming around more, maybe around last year? I probably just didn’t notice because I thought I was into Carmy. You know? Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Michael tries not to let the relief show through his face too much. “I thought maybe I was… reading too much into it. Putting pressure on you.”

“No, you’re good.” You shake off his concerns. “I don’t think that at all. I really do like you… might’ve just been obsessed with the idea of a childhood friend turning into a lover.”

Michael grins. “Well, who’s to say that didn’t fucking happen, Birdie? Are we not childhood friends?”

“Eh… kind of. You’re a bit old.” You give him a so-so motion, and Michael jokingly pushes you a little. “I’m kidding! This is more like– your friend’s hot older brother gives you a chance and it’s crazy and exciting and you just want to know more.”

You were half kidding, but you’re so honest about it, and Michael loves it, but there’s still that undercurrent of agony– he wants to just openly like you, too, but he doesn’t want to be such a fucking failure about it.

“I’m gonna just head to the dining table, I think.” You check your watch. “Gotta go think about this a little more– is that okay? Not in a bad way, I’m just overwhelmed with everything that’s happened today…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s okay, Birdie.” Michael presses a kiss into your hairline. He knows it is a lot for anyone to handle– getting over a crush you thought you had, realizing that you like someone else– he gets it. “Take all the time you need.”

“Okay.” You smile eagerly at him and then walk outside through the hallway, wiping your mouth so it looks less kiss-stained, and peek around so no one is looking at you. 

Michael feels a million emotions hit him at once, and he knows he has to cool himself down before explaining to everyone where you’ve gone, what’s happened– or he’s certain to implicate himself, and he can’t have that. 

/ 

It all goes to shit not even twenty minutes later.

You’re sitting pretty between Richie and Tiff, who seem to be a little bit… awkward, maybe arguing mentally about something you don’t completely understand. No one has really commented on your disappearance, but you’re sure it’s obvious based on how Michelle and Stevie are whispering and smiling at you.

Michael gets a massive, depressive episode right after you’ve left him. He can’t exactly pinpoint why– he feels like a creep even if he isn’t one. Hell, he only actually met you when you were nineteen– he was in a different state when you started visiting the Berzattos. But even if Michael ignores his potential, old-man creepiness… he also feels like you’re headed for so much more than he ever was, and he knows he’s holding you back if he does this. 

For once in his life, he just wanted to be happy. He just wanted to be wanted without the stigma of not being good enough. 

You, Carmy, and Nat. He knows you guys are on your way. Michael feels a pit in his stomach as he imagines why you guys all have to look up to him so much– he just happened to be in the right place, at the right time.

He can’t ignore the feeling that he is just a major fucking loser.

That’s why Michael goes and gets high. He knows he’s making a mistake, and he doesn’t want to do something so disappointing– but he figures he’s already a disappointment anyways. He’s grateful you’re not here outside to see how pathetic he really is– how much he craves a hit just to feel a little less shitty. And yes, it calms him down as he feels the high of the painkillers exacerbate positive memories, like with you, Carmy, Natalie– but it still makes his anger, his depressive tendencies strong, too. 

When he sits down at the dining table– he’s not that intoxicated, but he knows it’s a little apparent on his face, based on the mild alarm on your own. You’re sitting just far enough from him for there to be plausible deniability, but still– you are worried about him.

“You good?” You mouth, and he waves away your question with an air of fake nonchalance. 

You don’t look convinced. You can see the red in Michael’s eyes, the general tension in his shoulders, the unnerving sense of resentment in his expression. You wonder what could have happened in the last ten minutes that you’ve been sitting at the table, why Michael decided to go and get intoxicated just minutes after kissing you.

Were you too much for him? Maybe.

You know Michael gets high. In fact, last Easter, you’re pretty sure he spent the entire time high on something– but you only vaguely know about his anger flare ups. About his negative emotions, the supposed depressive periods he goes through. You’ve seen him argue a bit with Richie, you know he’s gotten a bit harsh with Carmy, but you know he’s a bit more troubled than that. The whole family seems a bit troubled. Natalie has told you that much, and you have your experience with that– your mother and father’s fights are ones that still make you quiver to think about. But with Michael?

You don’t know how much you believed it, until now, because Michael always seemed kind of… like he always had the right thing to say. You almost feel like he’s in the right to get upset, because he’s had a hard time, with his family, some of his luck surrounding his career– especially with how Lee continually riles him up.

The table is formal and nice for a bit. Michael and Tiff converse about something, Carmy asks if you’re okay and you mostly are. Michelle asks Mikey to say grace, and he sounds resentful, again, of Lee cutting him off so often. 

Cicero, being the responsible uncle that he is, tries to push off grace to Stevie, who promptly rejects it, and Michelle decides to ease the tension by asking what the hell the seven fishes are all about. Lee, of course, gleefully answers, about the dutch potatoes and the bible.

Michael glares at him and throws a fork. A real, honest-to-god, heavy piece of silverware. It clatters on the carpeted floor– you feel yourself flinch, and you watch Natalie and Pete’s expressions crumble into the realization that Michael is not okay, and everyone seems to look towards him in fear.

“You see what you did, right? You already did that. You already bitched about the dutch oven.” Michael retorts at him, not completely coherent, and you can feel the lights glazing over– the Christmas tree, the wreaths and baubles, everything seems to lose focus in comparison to the red-hot anger that Michael is bubbling over with.

Cicero and Carmy try to call him off, but Michael isn’t listening, and you can tell– he’s in a place to be upset. It’s like a slowly proceeding car crash– as much as you don’t want him to do it, you understand why he’s going to. You feel like there is a bit of a double standard in place here– Cicero seems to want him to respect his elders, and Michael is being kind of childish, but you can’t say you don’t understand why.

Michael asks for Fak’s fork, in direct opposition to Lee’s attempts to play the father in this house. Despite Fak’s insistent refusals, Michael successfully takes it. Everyone speaks with the intent to stop him, and he’s too focused on Lee to stop.

You know you hate Lee too. But such a severe reaction, coming from Michael? It has you wincing a little. You want to pull him away– tell him to be the nice older brother you’ve always known him to be– but you know it takes time. You know it’s probably going to get worse. You try to catch his eye– and he can't quite look at you.

You have faith in him. You know Michael can do better than this– you just hope he can see it, too. 

Michael throws the second fork, and you feel regret in trusting him, again, because he’s making things bad but it’s almost as if he can’t help it. You catch Natalie’s eyes– she’s clearly disappointed, too.

Michael feels a sick sense of pleasure, as he often does when it comes to acting out his worst desires. But he feels a flash of anger with himself– is that what he did with you? Is he really this guy? He thinks that he is, he is a bad dude and he can commit to that role if that’s what’s needed.  

“Cousin, you’re scaring the normals.” Richie tries, looking at Tiff and you, but you’re still yearning to catch his glance– and Michael can only respond that it’s nothing, everything is fine, and you’re suddenly reminded of when your parents used to fight and how you used to have to be the middle man and convince them that things were alright.

Michael looks towards you this time– but you’re not looking at him. You have your hands neatly clasped in your lap, your eyes are focused on the set of candles in the middle of the table, and you look horribly upset, with your neck all tense as you wait for things to blow over, and he can tell– he’s fucking up big time. Stevie, Carmy, everyone is looking pained, and Michael can only think that he doesn’t give a shit. He wants to make Lee feel just as terrible as he does.

"You see– I can throw forks because this is our father’s house." Michael scoffs back, and there's real agony in his tone. “My father’s house.”

Michelle inhales. “We have lift-off.”

“Okay, you got everyone's attention, so go ahead, tell us a story we've all heard a million times already.” Lee spits out, barely holding back his own contempt for Michael, and Michael starts laughing as if everything’s alright. “Tell a story about how you're living with your mom and you're borrowing money off of her and any other sucker who'll listen to your bullshit.”

Everyone looks towards the table, feeling terribly awkward about Lee’s accusations– it’s not that it’s necessarily untrue, but there’s a hefty amount of his own assumptions, his own bias thrown in there, and you want to speak up.

“Lee, shut the fuck up.” Cicero looks absolutely pissed off at him, and you’re grateful someone has taken some of the heat off of Michael. It’s Lee’s fault, too.

“I’m sorry. I told you not to be a sucker, Jimmy.” Lee comments, and Cicero exhales, exasperated.

“Lee. That’s not really fair– you’re being too hard on him.” You utter through gritted teeth, and Lee’s eyes narrow on you. It's the first time you've spoken, and Michael glances at you– his eyes are bright and he genuinely looks sorry. Sorry he had to go this far.

“Oh, am I? Really, Birdie? I would suggest I’m not being hard enough.” Lee raises his hands, invites you to speak more, and you know that it’s not really your place to do so, especially because Lee and Michael seem to have a lot of history.

But you have your almost-lawyer tendencies, and of course you’re not exactly unbiased either, because you want to see the best in Michael– you want to like him. 

"Please, Lee… Michael's working on himself. You don't need to lie to him." You stare at him, and Lee’s face seems to turn darker with that. “I’m sure we all have our issues… it feels like a lot.”

"Is that what he's told you, Birdie?" Lee sneers at you, and you suddenly feel small. "He's a sick, fucking twisted man, and you would trust him, wouldn't you?"

He doesn’t go further than that– but it’s enough that you feel humiliated for being read so thoroughly. It’s obvious what he’s implying– you’re a silly little girl who doesn’t know any better. 

“It's fine. It's fine. Because this guy's nothing and he's nobody.” Lee points at Michael again, and his expression sours so much. You watch as Michael seems to zero in on what Lee’s rambling on about. 

Natalie shakes her head in little no-no motions.

“Hey… Petey… I just need to, uh… I need to borrow this for one second.” Michael’s got that nonchalant expression again, but there’s pain in his eyes, and there’s a clamour of everyone again telling Michael to stop, calling his name, trying to distract him.

"Michael. Michael. Please don’t do this. Hey. Hey. Hey!" Natalie calls at him, and you know she's just begging for him to leave it alone. “I love you. Okay?” 

You watch as Michael, holding the fork, just holding it, clear malicious intent in his eyes, tension building in the air and you feel a little sick, but his eyes are watering and he clearly doesn’t want to do what he thinks he has to.

“I love you too, Sug.” Michael says honestly.

Stevie giggles, Cicero de-escalates things further, and you think you see the light at the end of the tunnel, if not for the fact that Michael is still holding the fork. Still standing up, taunting him, acting like a big old child as Carmy rebukes him– and it’s really just two grown men beginning to get all macho and toxic about who’s tougher, who’s really the man of the house, and they start screeching at each other and you watch as Michael’s eyes glaze over with something, with Lee’s final insult that “he’s nothing.”

You watch as Michael takes his seat. He seems ambivalent, hard to read– he’s not meeting anyone’s eyes and you feel terrible about it.

Donna comes in and takes her seat– she seems rather drunk, too, and the last thing you need is more evidence that substance abuse is a bad thing– and Stevie starts the most wonderful prayer that still isn’t enough to dissuade Michael. You catch his gaze– he’s mulling over something, his eyes are watery, and you want to go over there and talk him down, even if that idea is unwise.

Donna cries over the prayer, and Natalie commits the most cardinal sin that she could at this moment: she asks if she’s okay.

You flinch with recognition as Donna starts screaming at her, about how she is okay and could a person who isn’t okay make such a gorgeous meal, and she exits the room in visible anger, and Natalie begins to hyperventilate, while Michelle tries to calm everyone down.

Donna throws a plate down on the floor, and exits the room continuing to scream– and there’s a beat of tense silence, full of angst and what-nows, and Lee decides to take initiative breaking that silence with a silly joke– almost in a paternal role, again, a hot topic between him and Mikey– and you watch Michael’s eyes start narrowing as he leans against his hand.

Michael throws the third fork.

It’s like every single nerve you felt, every bit of tension that was already in place, comes to a head as Michael starts going batshit, trying his best to attack Lee, while the Fak brothers and Richie are between them, and you can barely think straight as everyone starts screaming at each other. 

Tiff almost gets dragged into the chaos, and you're left shielding and comforting her from the fight. Pete and Richie hold Michael off and you're thankful– the last thing you want is to go up in there and get caught in the crossfire yourself. It’s genuinely a blur– you have no idea how bad things are getting until Cicero starts telling them to get the fuck out.

Suddenly, the wall of the living room bursts inwards, the Christmas tree getting dragged in the crossfire, and you realize with shock that someone’s driven a car inside.

Not just any car– that’s Donna in there, driving, and you think for a moment she’s dead. You can’t believe what’s happening– you can feel your heart hammering through your chest.

Michael runs towards the car, tries to open the front door, yelling and asking her what she did, asking her to open the door. She stirs a little.

Everyone else is standing there, in shock, not focusing properly on what to do, and you pull yourself away from the crowd of people, as they stare on in horror. You don’t want to be a part of this, but you are, and you know what a responsible adult would do. 

You go outside, into the December night’s cold air, and call 911. Specify for the firefighters and ambulances, because Cicero has a big thing against narcs and cops and you’re not getting into that right now.

Even though you’re freezing, and that’s what you should be focusing on? You’re in an incredible amount of despair because of what’s taken place. You hang up the call and feel exhausted by everything that’s happened, and you wonder if Michael really knows better. If he can be more than this. It’s not something you’re judging him for– but you feel terrible about his circumstances and you want him to get out of there.

Worse, you can’t help but feel a little upset with him. Because you know that Michael didn’t have to stoop that low– he chose to, and that’s what bothers you the most. He let his emotional responses dictate how he was going to act, and you know it’s hard to not be so provoked in this environment, but still: you are concerned and upset with him, and you know you need to take a step back. As much as it hurts you to stay away, you feel like it’s going to hurt even more if you intentionally stay around.

You wait for the ambulance and fire trucks to show up– you take a minute to direct them through the house, and then you trust that someone else has got it from there. Carmy, Natalie, Michelle, Stevie– they’ve got each other, they’re whispering about something, and you know where you’re not needed.

You grab your coat and leave, leave as silently as you can without interrupting everything that’s going on. It’s an strange walk home– ten minutes of you thinking about everything.

You hope next Christmas will be better.

/

Michael comes down from his high hard. Someone’s wrapped a blanket around him, and he’s sitting on the front porch’s staircase, wondering what the hell is going on. Donna’s apparently been taken to the hospital– and there’s a makeshift tarp where the wall has been crashed in. Everyone has gone home.

Where did you go? He has a moment of panic. Are you okay? Did he fuck it up that badly? That you would leave without saying goodbye? Michael can picture the disappointment on your face, and he wishes– he really wishes he was someone else.

He’s stressing really hard, his eyes are beginning to tear up. God, he knew he wasn’t really worthy of your attention– you’re young still, you have the whole world ahead of you– and he wonders if he can apologize. He wonders what he could possibly say to make it right. After such an insane situation, he can’t even blame you for taking off.

Natalie tells him, kind sister that she is, that you were the one to call emergency services. Of course you were– you have a strong head on your shoulders and Michael feels strongly that his family is in debt to you. And then you headed home, but Natalie doesn’t know why.

He does have your number. But he’s not going to call you, not right now– he’s not going to make a bigger mistake and fuck things up further. 

Michael sighs, and leans back. He doesn’t deserve to be happy.

[balancethescales]

thinking about the specific moments where the berzatto family falls in love with sydney (because of course they do, everyone does).

for richie, it takes the end of the beef and right up till the opening of the bear to happen. he is full of contempt and grief when he meets her and all he knows is that when he looks at her face he is afraid. he doesn’t like that feeling. richie is not a man who finds himself fearful a lot, but she is everything he is not and nothing that he is and he hates himself for it. if she is what it means to be passionate, then what is he? is he nothing but an empty shell of mikey, stuck on earth to shake his fist at passing clouds, because how dare they move and continue on like mikey was nothing to them, as if he wasn’t the very point that the earth revolved around? everyone is leaving him behind, and she is proudly leading the pack. it’s not right. but then— he gets it. he talks to garrett and jess and chef terry and he sees sydney in every corner of that restaurant. the fear slowly is replaced with respect as the week goes on and he realizes that just because she’s good doesn’t mean she’s out to get him. that’s the berzatto upbringing in him doing the talking, but it doesn’t have to, because shes a berzatto now, maybe not officially (not yet, but mark his words, she will be) but she is, and that’s not how she does things. so, he lets her lead them into the future to something good and different and better.

for sugar, it’s instant. she was born to a mother who is triggered by her very existence, and it has hurt her all her life. she is full of love and the one person she wants to give it to the most doesn’t want any part of it. she was born to give but is surrounded by those who are afraid to even take it, to reach out their hand and meet her in the middle. and if they cant take then they themselves have nothing to give, so she gets used to being the one who has to force feed her love down their throats, because if no one does, if no one shows them that they are worthy of good things, then they will crumble (“if i just talked to him more—” “no, nat—” “if i had just—” “it’s not your fault, honey. it’s never been.”). but when she meets sydney, it’s like looking into a mirror. she sees her bright eyes and soft smiles and careful but strong hands and instantly recognizes her for what she is: a giver. and sugars heart swells with even more love than she thought possible, because finally, she’s not alone— there is someone else there to slowly, albeit subconsciously, take care of her crumbling family, to show them that despite what their mother may have taught them, its okay to not be okay (she tries her best not to cry when syd asks her if shes okay, but she does. and syd doesnt grab her face or yell at her or call her stupid. she makes her a meal. and sugar cries some more).

for cicero, the love isn’t instant, and it’s not even entirely love. she is strong and she is assertive, but that also makes her naive and a very expensive risk. she makes him curious for what’s to come, intrigued by the way she doesn’t back down from carmy whose voice so often mimics the berzattos that came before him (“you’re better than this, kid.” “i don’t know what i am.” “whatever it is, it’s not this.”). she's self assured and knows her place in the establishment and is unafraid to let people know it. it’s a refreshing change of pace from mikey, who often resorted to intimidation to get his way, or carmy, who’s anxiety envelopes him and distracts him from what’s right there in front of him. but she is not them. she is focused and on track and is willing to put in the work to get what she wants. he doesn’t visit the bear often, only drops by once in a while to deliver bad news or to fulfill a favour or to just enjoy some good food, but when he does, she is always there, dedicated to ensuring that carmy and michaels, and now, her dream stays alive. she is good for his family, and he trusts her to keep the berzatto spirit alive.

for michelle, it’s quite simple. she always looked out for carmy, their little bear, so when she meets her it’s a family thanksgiving party at the bear and syd stumbles out of the kitchen, obviously frazzled and a little sweaty (“carmy, im not ready, i didn’t even change yet and the turk—” “don’t worry, tina will take care of it, you look great, they’ll love you, they just really wanted to meet you—”), but she’s smiling. she’s a little awkward when she introduces herself, and michelle finds herself endeared by her nervous ramble (“it’s, uh, really nice to meet you guys. sorry, i didn’t know that i was going to be pulled out of the kitchen so soon. uh, im sydney. yeah, i guess carmy already told you guys, huh? um. im sorry, how are you related to the family again? i mean, i dont want to offend but it’s just. uh. well, you guys are just very... normal?”) and she’ll laugh and look at stanley and the two of them will think to themselves, good job carmy, she’s a good one, before telling syd something dumb and nonsensical about a genetic mutation and richie interrupts to tell michelle it’s not a genetic mutation it’s called being boring and syd will laugh and michelle will too, truly happy that their little bear found someone normal, a breath of fresh air within the smoke of their family.

for donna, it’s weird. it’s tense. they don’t meet for a long time. they don’t meet at the bear when it first opens and not at the bear even when it has found it’s footing, but by chance. they are somewhere mundane (a grocery store, a park, or maybe just the street) and there is no other family member around when syd meets the berzatto matriarch. she only knows what donna looks like from photos at sugars house because carmys apartment is devoid of any actual sentiment (although that has begun to change since she made him get an actual dresser and he dedicated one of the drawers to her stuff). she calls out to her by her name, and donna turns around startled. she doesn’t recognize syd, of course, who introduces herself and informs her of who she is to the family. when donna smiles it’s not a real one, and syd knows this, but it doesn’t deter her. she tells donna that her kids love her (“even after everything, nat?” “she’s our mother. its all that we can do.”) and that her kids are great (“carmy, you are not broken.” “im a little broken.” “no, listen to me, the fact that you are still here, means something. its something.”) and that there will always be a table for her at the bear (“chef, someones calling in for a reso for 1 but we’re all full up… except for—“ “yo, dont finish that sentence. table 7 for ms. berzatto is an indefinite booking. is that understood?” “yes, chef”). donnas smile fades and her chest fills with anger but just as she’s about to explode in typical berzatto fashion syd interrupts her. she has faced the bear many a time before and has handled herself with grace and dignity everytime, so this is no different. she smiles brightly and thanks donna for listening to her and hopes she considers coming in, because she’d really like to cook for her. she looks like she needs a good meal. she deserves one. she turns and walks away. donnas stomach growls. that night, table 7 is occupied for the first time since the bear opened its doors.

and carmy? well, there isn’t an exact moment. its a culmination of awkward partnership (“i don’t want to be shitty.” “okay, then dont be.”) and flawless teamwork (“the menu needs—” “already on it, chef.”) and nights unwinding at the bar down the street (“of course you drink an old fashioned.” “what’s that supposed to mean?” “nothing, it’s just very… tortured-chef-from-the-slums-of-chicago of you”) and spontaneous phone calls just to hear the others voice (“why are you whispering?” “i… don’t know. my dads home. its a habit.” “you’re 27.” “and you’re white, you wouldn’t get it.”) till they’re just inseparable (“cousin, wheres carmy?” “with syd, duh.” “why'd i even ask?”). and then, sydney and carmen become something else. something tender and sweet and terrifying and beautiful all mixed together into… something. there’s no word for what they have. but it feels so right; to the guests who taste their food and recognize that the hands who put it together are full of love and care; to the staff at the bear who see the unspoken communication, the lingering touches, and their soft eyes that seem to always be on the other; to the berzatto family who notice that carmy looks a little brighter, and shakes a little less. yes, its love, but its so much more. it’s syd and carmy. it always has been, and always will be.

(“can i ask you something? something corny and lame and gross?” “always.” “when did you, like, know?” “know what?” “like, when did you know that you loved me? like, not as a chef or a friend, but as... y'know.” “that’s very middle school of you to ask.” “shut up, i did warn you.” “…” “so?” “its, uh, i don’t, i don’t know.” “well, that’s rude.” “no, i mean, i can’t say its one moment because... it was all of them. together. like, one moment you’re staging and then everything happened and, and, keeps happening but the next thing i knew you were there and you always were there and i just knew that i never wanted you to not be there.” “that’s…. really, really, disgusting, and frankly, a little unprofessional.” “oh, fuck off.” “no, like, i knew you were obsessed with me, but wow, that is a whole new other level.” “fuck you, get off of me, don’t touch me.” “no no no, please—” “i let you into my family—” “let me?” “into my restaurant—” “i think you mean OUR restaurant—” “only for you to humiliate me in my own bed? how dare you.” “…are you sulking?” “…” “…carmy?” “syd?” “me too.” “…heard, chef. now come back here.”)

(and it’s unspoken, but everyone knows that michael would’ve loved her too. i mean, she’s sydney fucking adamu, she conquered the bear. how could anyone not love her?)

[cinewhore]

The Only Exception

Pairing: Michael Berzatto x fem!reader

read extended cut here [x]

Word Count: 2.6k 

Warnings: mentions of drinking, toxic family dynamics, smut 18+ (groping, male receiving oral, penetration, unprotected sex, facial cumshot). fluff and some angst! 

A/N: girlies, the whore jumped out! Takes place during episode 6 season 2. Credit to the gif creator! I hope y’all enjoy it. 

Nothing ever goes smoothly with the Berzatto’s.

Why you thought this holiday dinner was going to be any different was beyond any rational comprehension.

Trying not to be a complete klutz and ruin the side dish you’ve been working on the entire day, you delicately balance it in your left hand while adjusting your scarf tighter around your neck with your right. Putting a pep in your step, you round the corner from where you parked, spotting the stoop instantly.

It was a rare sighting to see all three of the Berzatto siblings together. With Carmy being away at culinary school, Mikey doing his own thing with the restaurant and Natalie living her life, one person always missed the other. It warmed your heart to see just how much they cared about each other, even if they didn’t show it in a normal or healthy way.

“Is that who I think it is?” Mikey’s voice booms over the light traffic passing by, handing Carmy the cigarette he was puffing on.

You crack a smile, despite it feeling like your lips were stuck together due to the cold weather. “Sorry, I’m a bit late. Fuckin’ cat had my keys.”

“How many times did I tell you to get rid of the cat?” Mikey leans down to kiss you but you turn your head, forcing him to peck you on the cheek instead.

“C’mon, baby.” he drawls, throwing you a bashful smile.

You huff out a sigh, lowering your voice. “You know I hate the smoking.”

Mikey nods, face fading into something serious before vanishing. “I know you do. You didn’t bring fish, did you?”

Side-stepping the tall Berzatto, you get pulled into a hug by Natalie, followed by Carmen.

“Hello, gorgeous! It’s so good to see you!” Natalie kisses you on both cheeks before making the move to grab the dish out of your hands. You pull back, shooting her a look.

“Nat, please. I got it.”

“Are you sure?” you watch as her bottom lip quivers a bit. You steal a glance at Carmy, who just shakes his head.

“Fuck. How bad is it?” you gaze at the disheveled trio, awaiting an answer.

Finally, Mikey breaks the silence.

“It’s at a five. Six, at best.”

You lick your lips, rocking back and forth on your heels. “That’s not too bad, right?”

“Right.” Carmy agrees, with Natalie humming in agreement.

“Just don’t fucking ask if she’s doing ok.” Mikey glimpses at his sister, placing hand on your lower back to guide you into the house.

You take a deep breath and exhale through your nose, plastering a smile on your face before entering the shit show.

You’d only been there an hour and you were called the wrong name three times, objectified, cursed at and now Fak was trying to get you to put up five hundred dollars for baseball cards.

Listening with great intent, nodding at all the right times and twirling the wine glass in your hands desperately wanting to get another refill had your social energy spent.

“We could make you a lot of money, cousin.” Fak goes on, nudging his brother for support.

“Yeah-yeah! Think about what you could do with fifteen hundred bucks! Cold hard cash!” the lookalike chimes in.

“Wow, no, yeah this-this sounds like the opportunity of a lifetime.” you murmur. Don’t take it the wrong way, you loved Fak. His personality was infectious, you’ve never seen him get overly angry despite the other guys giving him shit constantly and he genuinely goes out of his way to help everyone. Back when you first started dating Mikey and moved apartments in the city, Fak volunteered to make sure your place was in tiptoe shape and refused payment.

Just then Steve, Michelle’s husband, passes by and you seize your opportunity.

“Steve! How are you?” you beckon him over, scooting over on the tiny couch so he could sit beside you.

“Ah, yes. Mikey’s girl who we aren’t sure how he managed to snag. Good to see you again.”

You brush off his comment with a tired smile, gesturing to Fak and his brother. “So, these guys have a proposition for you, right?”

You nod enthusiastically with them, giving Fak a secret wink.

“Oh, yes! Yes! Do you like baseball cards, Steve?”

“On that note,” you stand up and maneuver yourself out the nook. “I’m gonna go get a refill. Leave you gentlemen to handle business.”

Mocking a military salute, you dash towards the kitchen bypassing other members of the family.

Donna flurries around the kitchen, shouting instructions to no one in particular. You didn’t greet her as soon as you came in, knowing how she gets around this time of the year. To be honest, you were sure that she didn’t exactly like you.

“Donna, my goodness! You look wonderful.” you lay the complement on sweetly, smiling brightly. If you don’t wilt in her presence, she wouldn’t be able to smell the fear on you.

Donna swivels her head to look at you, cigarette dangling from her lipstick smeared lips. Eyes lined in thick mascara, her disapproving expression ripples through you. You smile wider.

“I brought over a little casserole. I figured it would compliment the fish nicely.”

Shifting to face you fully, Donna crosses her arms. “Casserole? What casserole?”

You point to the tin foiled dish. “That one. Mikey brought in, did he not tell you?”

She scoffs. “Yeah, just like he told me about him breaking things off with what’s her name.”

“Anna.” you mutter, swallowing the lump that quietly made its way up your throat.

“Yeah, Anna.” Donna turns back to the task at hand, haphazardly swinging a knife about. “I liked her better.”

Forgoing your much desired glass of wine, you stalk out of the kitchen. On the outside looking in, the Berzatto’s appeared to be your average family. The warm glow of the lights shining out into the frost covered sidewalks invited you in all those years ago and once inside, you then realized why people were so hesitant to accept invites or why Mikey refused to bring up his past.

You didn’t have this growing up. Your family life was much quieter, mom and dad both kept to themselves. Distant cousins never visited for the holidays and you were an only child so there weren’t any siblings to fall back on.

It was boring.

Drove you crazy.

So when the Berzatto’s welcomed you in with open arms (well, some of them) you threw yourselves to the wolves willingly. It helped you grow a thick skin, talk over people and man handle the biggest guys in the room. For that, you were thankful.

A hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, dragging you away from everyone and up the stairs. Mikey is headstrong in his quest to get you alone, not caring to see if you were keeping up the pace. You both stagger inside his room, the door shut soundly behind you, followed by the lock turning.

Mikey doesn’t give you a second to react, mouth leaving open tongued kisses along your jaw and collarbone, hands working at tugging up your skirt.

“Mikey, baby, baby, wait-” you plead, backing up to create space between the two of you.

He flops onto the bed, hands on his knees, fingers raking through his hair again and again.

You’re careful as you sit next to him, scratching your own fingers along the center of his back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” is all he utters.

“Bullshit. Talk to me.”

He doesn’t have to say anything else, you get it. The party continues below you both, profanities and insults flying like it's nobody's business. It was too much. For Mikey, Camry, anyone. The more time you spent with his family, the more you realized why Carmen never came back to visit. Why Michelle skipped out of town and up to New York. Anything to keep the family an arms distance away. 

Why Mikey feels trapped.

“I know.” you whisper against his shoulder, mouth pressing in tiny kisses. You lift his head up with both of your hands, cradling his face gingerly. The tiredness exudes for nearly every crevice, eye bags worn and solidified. You use your thumb to smooth out his forehead, laughing softly when he wrinkles it more.

“You’ll always have me, Berzatto.”

“I don’t deserve you. Never did.”

You tut. “That’s not true. You’ve always had me. From the moment you sold me that greasy, sloppy sandwich down at The Beef. I was a goner.”

Mikey chuckles, leaning into your hands more. “I got you something.”

Your eyes go wide, brows forming a skeptical look. “Is that so?”

Mikey flickers his eyes down to his pants and you scoff.

“Wow, Michael. Are you gifting me your penis? Again? I must’ve been too nice this year.” you gently slap his face in mock anger.

“Haha,” he deadpans. “Try my pockets, detective wiseass.”

You let go of his face and rummage through his pants pocket, producing a ball of torn tissue paper, kept together by a single piece of tape. Confused but curious, you unwrap the gift, facing dropping as your eyes find his.

The tissue tumbles to the ground, revealing a necklace. At the bottom of it dangled a charm of…cheese?

“I remember the first day you came into the shop. Like a goddamn bat outta hell. Never seen anything like it. You ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and asked for, um, what was it?”

“Havarti-”

That’s right! Fuckin’ havarti cheese! What the hell even is that?”

“How do you own a sandwich shop and not provide a variety of cheeses, I don’t understand it.”

Mikey gawks at you. “Babe, we’re called The Beef. Not the cheese. But you wanna know what I did?”

You encourage him to finish, as if you didn’t know the rest of the story.

“I told you to wait and-and I was gonna go check in the back. I booked it out of the back door, all the way down to Malik’s corner store and bought the most expensive cheese he had. I rush back to the shop and guess what?”

“You made the sandwich.”

Mikey’s face cracks into the biggest grin you’d ever seen, eyes crinkled at the corners. “I made the goddamn sandwich. Brought it out to you myself. Told you that we didn’t serve grilled cheese but for you, I’d make an exception.”

Your eyes well over in tears and you blink rapidly to keep them from falling. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has done for me, ya know.”

“You’re telling me all I had to do was buy you some cheese to get in your pants? Hot damn.”

You playfully shove Mikey back against the bed, crawling over to straddle him. “Well, it worked after a while, didn’t it?”

Mikey thrusts upwards, growing erection sliding against your damp underwear.

“It sure did.”

He grabs the back of your neck, surging up to slot his mouth against yours. You aren’t delicate in the way you claw at him, nails digging into his tanned flesh. Pushing up your skirt, Mikey palms your ass, stroking it before landing a hard smack against it. You moan into his neck, biting down.

“Perkiest ass I’ve ever seen, baby, shit.” Mikey groans, voice an octave deeper.

“And it’s yours. All yours.”

Mikey secures the back of your head as he flips the two of you over, pushing you down on your stomach. You do the rest of the work for him, sticking your ass up, and curving your back into an arch.

Mikey readily pulls down the zipper of his pants, hands readjusting his briefs until he is able to free himself. Spitting obscenely in his palm, Mikey shoves your panties to the side and rubs his saliva across your slickness. You buck back into him, whimpering when he graces you with a lone finger to loosen you up. You whine and wiggle your ass some more, ready to receive all that he was going to give you.

“Gonna give my baby what she wants, don’t you worry.” Mikey purrs, aligning himself to enter you. He slides in easily, the strained sigh as he fully situates him inside you never ceasing to make you wetter.

You pull yourself up so that you were resting on your hands, peeking over your shoulder to catch a gaze at Mikey as you begin to fuck him. He was enthralled at the sight of his cock pumping in and out of you, the way you were able to handle him without saying a single word.

He would love to take his time and thoroughly explore your cunt but time is of the essence. Wrapping his right hand around your neck once again, he yanks you up into a deeper arch, left hand on your hip in a deathgrip. He meets your thrusts with his own, dropping his left leg down on the floor to gain some balance.

Between the familial bickering creeping up the stairs, all that could be heard was the squelching of your pussy and the labored breathing of Mikey, muffled praises spurring you on further.

He slaps your ass again and you tighten around him, eyes rolling to the top of your head as you attempt to hold onto his arms for dear life.

“Mikey, oh fucking god, baby you’re gonna make me come so hard. Please, please, please!”

He answers you by sticking his fingers in your mouth and you automatically clamp down on them, sucking and gagging until spit dribbles down the side of your mouth.

Mikey picks up speed and the coil inside you breaks as you reach your peak, legs stiffening as you rear back against Mikey. He continues to fuck you, albeit at a slower tempo, humming as you spasm against him.

“That’s my girl, my favorite fucking girl. Where do you want mine, huh? Tell me where you want it.”

He removes his fingers and lets them trail down to tease and pick at your hardened nipples that now poke through your shirt.

“I wanna taste. Want it in my mouth.”

“Fuck.” Mikey lets you go and you catch yourself before you fall completely face first into the bed.

“Get on your knees, now.”

You do as you're told, scurrying to position yourself on your knees in front of Mikey. Mouth open and head tilted back, you let a hand caress your breast as the other slithers up his thigh.

Mikey is affectionate as he goes to grab the back of your head, other hand tirelessly stroking his cock. A vein pops out of forehead as he grunts, a few milky droplets coating your face, before steady ropes accompany it. A few of them land in your mouth and you swallow it all eagerly.

Mikey tries to calm his breathing, watching you with hooded eyes as you lick at the tip of his cock, cleaning up the remnants of yourself off of him. You take him down all the way to the shaft for shits and giggles, pulling off of him with a low pop.

“Goddamn devil.”

You wink, swiping at the mess you could feel dripping on your face. Mikey helps to clean you up, both fixing each other’s clothes to appear less wrinkled. Seemingly ok with your appearance, you start to head downstairs but Mikey stops you.

He steps behind you, lifting up the necklace he got you. He fastens it, walking to your front to admire it.

You grab his hand and bring it to your mouth for a kiss.

“It’s you and me, Berzatto.”

“You and me.”

Exhaling heavily, you open the door to reenter the Berzatto family chaos, a new found confidence lighting your path.

[nolita-fairytale]

what it would be like meeting mikey berzatto as the most important person in carmy's life:

a/n: ok so it is in fact canon in my 'make my heart surrender' series that the main character never got to meet mikey. however, i've been thinking a lot about what it would be like if she had met him when she and carmy were working together in new york so i wrote a lil somethin' about it. it can absolutely be read as a standalone piece with a pastry!chef reader.

takes place october 2021; reader x carmy are best friends and colleagues but it has not gone further than that.

trigger warnings: drug usage, high mikey b, swearing, family drama, depression

how you end up meeting mikey:

halloween weekend of 2021. mikey ends up in new york city for the weekend because he followed a weekend fling for a party. they got into a huge fight over who knows what, and he finds himself in new york city, figuring he might as well go see his brother.

it's a busy night at the new-york-city-fine-dining-establishment-that-shall-not-be-named, carmy is knee deep in expediting while the pastry side just happens to be overstaffed.

your general manager, kate, comes in, letting them know that there's a man outside who's asking for carmy. "he says he's your brother." "my brother?" while carmy doesn't think he can step away, in one shared look, you decide to go since you're his best friend -- the only one he trusts to handle it anyways.

you head out to the front of the restaurant to address the situation finding michael standing outside of the restaurant, pacing on the sidewalk. you recognize him from photos, but he looks different, and it's not hard to figure out that he's kind of strung out -- high on something, though you're uncertain of what.

"you're not carm." "no, i'm not. sorry, but carmy couldn't come out. so he sent me." "shit... the guy can't even make time to see his big brother?" "i don't think he was expecting you." you watch as michael's eyebrows rise in reaction to your comment. "he would if he could. it's just... we're doing 400 covers tonight and uh... well, he runs the kitchen so." disappointedly, as if he's accepted that he's not going to see carmy after all, he says, "yeah yeah okay... i didn't know i'd be here either. i just, i -- i gotta catch a flight anyways. will you let him know that mikey stopped by?" "of course."

by the time you get back in the kitchen, you want to protect carmy from the state michael was in so you don't mention the fact that he was high. "what did he want?" "just wanted to stop by. i think he uh... found himself in the city. surprise trip or something." but carmy doesn't completely buy it, instead, focuses, head down on finishing dinner service.

at the end of the night, carmy offers to walk you home, so the two of you head out of the restaurant, eager to unwind from a long night. as you're leaving, michael's still waiting outside of the restaurant and he doesn't look great -- looks like he's coming down from whatever you assume he took.

"michael, what're you doing here?" carmy asks, in shock that he's even here in the first place. "thought i'd come surprise you." "i mean, what're you doing here? in new york?" mikey sighs, a smirk on his face as he answers with: "never trust chicks on motorcycles, carm. they'll leave you high and dry in a brooklyn loft for a few good lines of coke. he chuckles. and while he doesn't exactly find it funny, carmy makes his best effort to try and laugh too, it coming out more like a dry exhale. mikey pivots, as if he's putting on a well-practiced happy face, though there's a sadness in your eyes that you think may haunt you for the rest of your life.

"i'm sorry. where the fuck are my manners? i'm mikey. mikey berzatto. i'm this jagoff's brother." you introduce yourself, and mikey's enthusiastically corralling you to grab a drink with him. carmy keeps looking over at you as if he's checking in, trying to get a read on you as he hesitates to answer. cautiously, you agree, wanting carmy to spend time with his brother. "one drink," he warns mikey.

the three of you make your way to a bar across the street that's open late, and as soon as michael has his first drink, it's like he's a completely different person. he's charming, larger than life, quite the storyteller and you see a side of carmy that you've never seen before. as you watch him listen to his brother, you can see just how much he admires his older brother. while you know carmy is hurt that michael barely calls or makes an effort to keep in touch, sitting here with him now, you can see the way that carmy looks at him -- like he put the stars, the moon, and the sun in the sky. there's a deep admiration and he's almost childlike in the way that he looks up to him.

after the first round, you head to bathroom, wanting to give him and mikey the time. carmy had promised one drink, but you're open to staying if he wants more time with his brother.

"this your girl, carm" "mikey, stop it." "then please tell me you're hittin' that." "michael!" carmy hushes his brother, a warning and protectiveness in his voice as he does. "are you fuckin' serious right now? what, you're teling me you're not?" "she's.... my friend." "shit. wish i had a friend like that. ya friends or are ya... you know... friends?" carmy just shakes his head, jaw clenched, glaring at michael, wishing he'd stop. "shit, i thought i taught you better than that, bear." "just friends. i'm serious, mike. cut it out." "oh come on! the chick's smokin' fuckin' hot. and i can tell that you like her. i'm not blind, bear. i see the way you-."

it's that sentence that pushes carmy in a way that he doesn't like at all. "don't talk to me like you know what's going on in my life." "carm-." "can't even pick up the damn phone and then you just... waltz into town acting like everything is okay?" "well, if you ever bothered to come home. you know mom's been askin' about you. never fuckin' call her-." "oh don't bring mom into this!"

when you return from the bathroom, there is a palpable tension between the two of them that you're not sure how to navigate the thick silence stewing with things left unsaid.

"everything okay?" you ask.

"i think we should go," carmy grits out, clearly upset over the conversation that just transpired between them. "uh... yeah, okay." "it was nice meetin' you sweetheart," mikey grunts, an empty shot glass that wasn't there previously on the bar top. carmy noticeably rolls his eyes at mikey's comment as you grab your things and close out your tab.

on the walk home, you ask: "you wanna talk about it?" "not really," carmy answers. he's quiet on the way home and you can tell whatever was said between the two of them really hurt him. as you finally get to your place, carmy sighs, as if he's ready to get something off his chest. "thank you. for doing that." "for what?" "for comin' along. even though it like... colossally blew up." "you ever gonna tell me what happened?" he shrugs, "i don't know." "okay... well, while i wait for you to burst like a pressure cooker, then inevitably spill the beans," you begin, and he smiles, because you know him too well. "wanna come up for a movie or something? get your mind off of it? it's halloween. maybe i'll even let you talk me into a scary movie this time." you finish asking him. and it's the moment that carmy realizes that you're such a breath of fresh air, especially in contrast with his earlier encounter with mikey. "uh.. yeah. think i'd like that."

the two of you go up to your place, put on a movie, and end up falling asleep on the couch together, only to pretend the next morning that it's not that big of a deal (it is, in fact, a HUGE deal).

[allbark-no-bite]

kiss me and apologize || Carmen Berzatto x reader

summary: from private chef to working in a rundown restaurant in Chicago, your life does a 180 as you try to fit into the world that is the Beef. Richie isn’t helping and Carmen just can’t figure you out

word count: 3.7k

warnings: swearing, mentions of michael’s death/suicide

author’s note: so um i guess i write for the Bear now?? official obsessed with the show and was inspired by all of the great writers that write for Carmy on here :)

"Carmen? The door?"

"What—? Oh yeah, yeah. Sorry."

He turns towards the door, fumbling for the key with numb fingers, his face burning hot.

He wasn't used to anyone else besides himself showing up to the restaurant so early in the morning, and he definitely wasn't used to you and your pink cheeks and and warm smile greeting him at the door. You were a new hire to the Beef, a godforsaken miracle dressed in oversized overalls who had shown up two weeks ago and been hired by Sydney on the spot.

She had been smitten with you from the start, dead set on hiring you without so much as a second interview.

"—studied in Copenhagen, worked at multiple Michelins in New York. I mean look at this, Carmen. She's a private chef in the Hamptons. We would be stupid not to hired her."

And you were great. You are great. Except for the fact that you're really fucking distracting.

"You sure you got it, chef?"

Carmen can't even blame the heat rising from his cheeks from the cold at this point because his hands are sweating as he jiggles the door knob that somehow always seems to get jammed at the worst possible moments. This is one of those moments.

Finally, he hefts his weight against the door while twisting the knob and it busts open. A muffled snort escapes you from behind him. Carmen steps inside, holding the door open for you with a small wave of his hand. "Sorry. I'm sure this crap isn't what you were expecting when you applied here—"

He's rambling, stomach twisting in knots. His nerves always screw up his stomach—maybe he'll pop a few Tums before—

"It's fine, Camren," you assure him, stepping in from the cold, body pressing against his in the small entry way. "I like it here."

I like you.

"Yo, am I interrupting something, cousin? You and the princess wanna take that shit somewhere else?" Richie's shout can be heard from all the way across the parking lot, and it makes Carmen visibly cringe.

"Fuck off, cousin," Carmen mutters, reluctantly breaking away from you.

Still standing in the doorway, you huff, whatever moment you and Carmen had shared broken by Richie's arrival. The taller man stomps up the front steps, shaking snow from his boots.

So far, he had been the only staff member you found unbearable. Even Tina had warmed to you after a few weeks and now took great pleasure in listening to your elaborate stories as a private chef. Richie, on the other hand, hated your guts.

"You just gonna stand there and let all the fuckin' cold air in? I'll let Sugar know to take the heating outta your paycheck."

"Fuck off, Richie."

The morning is only the beginning of his wrath.

——

"Richie, you fucking imbecile—"

"Every single time you open your mouth, all I hear is this fuckin' bullshit. Jesus, you're so fuckin' high and mighty with your fancy ass college degree," he sneers, looming over you. If he stepped any closer you would have lacked the self control not to hit him. "You wanna come in here, act like you know everything because daddy sent you to school—"

"You don't have to fucking like me, Richie, but what you're not going to do is push me around and be an egotistical misogynist just because you have a set of balls. So give me my fucking knife."

Richie's hand is in the air beside your head, waving about in wild gesticulation that he does not have your knife, or any fucking knife for that matter. "I don't have your shit!"

With your jaw clenched together, you breathe in deeply through your nose and take in the taller man through narrowed, disbelieving eyes. "Fine." You turn on your heals and storm off. "CARMEN."

Richie throws his hands up and scoffs at your retreating back, yelling after you. "Ohh go ahead, fuckin' call mommy. Like I'm scared of him," he snorts.

"CARMEN!" Your fury only fueled by Richie's taunts, your stride quickens as you shove your way through the chaos of the kitchen, dodging both Sydney and Marcus.

"Woah, chef. What's the matter?" Sydney asks as you whip past her, her hands busy with mashing potatoes, but you don't stop to answer, instead rounding the corner like a woman on a mission.

"CARMEN—"

"—What?!" At the third sound of his name, Carmen finally jerks his head up from his prep station, only to be met with you head on. "What's going on, chef?" he repeats, looking back down to his station after taking in your vexed disposition and gathering that no one's dying. He puts on these sort of metaphorical blinders once he's in the kitchen and nothing, not even you, is going to distract him from what he does best. He becomes an entirely different animal in the kitchen.

"That fucking dickwad has my knife and he won't give it back. How am I supposed to—"

Still urgently chopping carrots, Carmen cuts you off. "Chef, just get another knife," he instructs, stepping around you to dump a pile of sliced carrots into the bin.

His dismissal throws you for a loop and leaves you open mouthed, protest caught in your throat. Just this morning he had been stuttering nervously, cheeks flushed as you stood waiting for him to unlock the staff door. Now he's biting and abrasive, domineering in the way he takes control of the kitchen. You know he's just doing his job, doing whatever it takes to keep his head above the water—keep everyone's head above the water, but right now you want to scream at him. "Just tell him to—"

"Yes, Chef," he provides, indicating that he's done refereeing yours and Richie's squabble. He moves across the station so that you have to step sideways to avoid being in his way.

"But I—"

"Yes, Chef?" Carmen effectively cuts you off with a hard stare, momentarily stopping his urgent chopping. His blue eyes are fixating despite their look of wild urgency.

When it becomes obvious that arguing your point further is going to get you nowhere, you nod, growling a reluctant, 'Yes, Chef.'

If Carmen notices your attitude, he either pointedly ignores it or is too busy shouting at Tina about onions to care. You grab a knife laid out at one of the empty stations, purposefully shoving Richie as you round the corner.

"What's the matter, sweetheart? Mommy didn't take your side?" he calls from the expo station "Didn't fuckin' see that coming."

You ignore him, deciding that he's not worth anymore of your energy for the time being. There's an entire rack of ribs that needs to be sliced and it's going to take you twice as long with this poor excuse of a knife.

"Chef, how are those ribs coming?" Sydney calls amidst the kitchen chaos. "Doors open in fifteen minutes."

Glancing at the digital kitchen clock, panic sets into you as you realize just how much time you've lost. "Fuck," you mutter, more to yourself than anyone. "Ahh—I'm going to need at least twenty," you shout back.

"What? What's taking so long?" Sydney asks. You can hear her moving behind you, finishing up with her own prep.

"Yeah, what's takin' so fuckin' long?" Richie chimes in.

Your grip on the knife's handle tightens, but you don't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his words. "I'm working on it, Syd," you promise her, praying you can somehow speak that confidence into existence.

Richie is still running his mouth behind you. "Y'know, maybe you just aren't cut out for this. It's not too late to go back to makin' your fancy little hors d'oeuvres up in New York."

"Screw you, Richie," you mutter, your brow furrowed as you concentrate on cutting through the ribs. The knife is hardly cutting and it's taking everything in you not to just start hacking away and be done with it.

"This ain't a cocktail party. This is a real fuckin' business, and we don't need you over here messin' us up and screwin' around—"

"Screw. You. Richie."

"What was that? Can't hear you, princess," he taunts.

Just as you turn to open your mouth, ready to snap at him, the knife hits a dull spot and slips against your grip, catching your fingers along the way. Immediately you jerk your hand back, biting back a cry. The knife clatters to the ground at your feet.

"Fucking dammit!" you exclaim, clutching your bleeding fingers with your other hand.

"Oh now you've really fuckin' done it," Richie laughs, shaking his head.

You only glare at him before muttering, "Move," as you shove past him. To his credit, he doesn't say anymore as you shoulder him out of the way.

By the time you get to the back sink, there's blood seeping from between your gloved fingers and onto the floor. You have to fight back a whimper as you peal away the latex from your skin.

"Woah, woah— what the hell??"

Hands appear beside you, grabbing your own bloody hand and wrapping it tightly in a clean kitchen rag. You close your eyes, willing yourself not to faint. The pressure stings but serves to staunch the blood flow and relieve some of your dizziness.

When you open your eyes, Carmen's blue ones are staring at you worriedly. "You good, chef?"

You close your eyes again, this time not because you're dizzy, but rather to avoid the intensity of his stare. "Yeah," you manage hoarsely, finding your voice. "Yeah. Just bandage me up okay? I've still got prep to do."

Even with your eyes closed you can still feel his eyes on you. He's so close that you can feel the brush of his body against yours.

"Yeah, okay," he finally says, but you can hear the hesitation in his voice. Immediate loss fills your body as he pulls away, but then he's pressed up against you again, holding your fingers steady as he wraps them up.

It hurts and you want so badly to just let go of the cry of pain and frustration that you're holding back. But instead you bite the inside of your cheek and watch Carmen bandage your fingers like he's done it a hundred times before. When he's done, he draws your hand up to his mouth and tears the tape with his teeth. You force back a swallow when his lips brush your skin.

"This okay, Chef?" he asks, looking up at you with those ridiculously anxious blue eyes—anxious like he's always got somewhere to be, something to do, something on his mind. Now they're focused entirely on you.

Somehow you find your voice. "Y-yeah—yeah, thank you." You pause, still staring at him, not moving. "I, um—I should go finish prep..."

"Okay," he answers softly.

"Okay."

"—Hey." Before you turn to slip out of his office, Carmen calls after you. He raises a fist to his chest, tracing it clockwise over his heart.

I'm sorry.

Your brows furrow at his apology. "Carmen, it wasn't your—"

"Yes. It was," he clarifies, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back against the desk. "I blew you off earlier and you got hurt because of it... So I'm sorry."

From the doorframe, you offer him a half smile.

"Apology accepted, Chef." And then you leave him before he can say anymore, slipping back out into the chaos of rush hour.

——

You do end up finishing you prep before opening. Your fingers hurt like a bitch, and you may need to visit a 24 hour clinic on your way home for a few stitches, but you make it though. Rush hour was hell, your head hurts from both screaming and being screamed at, but now the Beef is closed, the kitchen is quiet, and you can just breathe.

Slowly but surely, everyone files out of the kitchen once they finish their end of the day tasks, bidding you goodbyes and see you tomorrows as they leave—except for Richie, who you flip off once his back is turned.

The bell above the front door chimes, announcing Tina's departure, and then it's just you left tending to your station. Sydney had offered to take care of it for you, seeing as you were down a hand, but cleaning your space at the end of the day gives you peace of mind and time to cool down after all the chaos.

At some point, the lights in the back office click off and heavy foot steps make their way towards the kitchen. Carmen appears beside you, arms crossed as he watches you clean. He's quiet, observing the way you scrub the already pristine table top over and over and over. You don't learn that kind of precision from working in a place like this.

You're an anomaly to him and he doesn't know what to do with you

You certainly don't fit in here with your perfectly refined private school vocabulary and your Michelin star palette and your fucking expensive gold chain necklace that's probably worth more than the rent for his apartment.

"What're you doing here?" he finally asks.

"Wiping my station?" Your voice is leaning on the defensive side and he figures that probably has to do with Richie.

"Exactly," he concedes. "So what are you doing here? Because six months ago you were making fuckin' soufflés in the Hamptons."

This time you actually kind of laugh because that statement is not too far off from the truth. "I don't know, Carmen. I was bored?"

"You don't give up the Hamptons because you're bored."

You look up at him for the first time since he's walked up. There's no bristling anger in your eyes like there was earlier when Richie took your knife—he did and you both know it. You just look at him, really look at him, and then you set down the rag and you nod. "Just like you don't give up Noma?"

Carmen holds your heavy gaze for a while. It's as if some sort of unspoken understanding passes between the two of you and eventually he sighs, nodding. "Right."

You look around at the restaurant surrounding you, the stained floors, the rundown kitchen appliances, the framed 'let it rip' note. "Natalie, uh she told me about him—Micheal... I'm really sorry. He seemed like a good guy."

His eyes follow yours to the note, and he doesn't say anything for a minute, which isn't unusual, Carmen has always been decently shy since you met him, but it makes you wonder if it was a mistake bringing it up.

Strangely enough, this is the first time that someone's brought up Michael and he hasn't wanted to slam a door in their face. Normally, he would just nod and say something like, 'yeah, he was a good guy' and that would be his way of wiggling out of another unwelcome conversation, but he doesn't. Instead, he stares at the note and wonders for the first time since Micheal died if he should have gone to the funeral.

It made him feel like a fucking asshole for not going, but he couldn't listen to all those people saying how good it was to have him back—how happy Micheal would have been to have him back—because if Micheal hadn't gone and killed himself, he wouldn't be here anyhow. He'd still be in New York. He'd still be angry at Micheal like he is now.

Carmen sighs. "I—I wish that I had talked to him more instead of just fucking off to New York. Because after that I just hated coming back too all of this... y'know? And then it was like even when I was here, he kinda just knew that I didn't want to be here, and so we spent that time just fuckin'... at each other's throats.." He trails off, sniffing to clear the choked up feeling from his throat. "Just—who the fuck does that?"

He's asking you. Who shoots themself and doesn't even leave a note? Who shoots themself and leaves their little brother to pick up the remains of their shithole restaurant?

"Well," you begin, laughing a little at the absurdity of it all. "You're talking to a girl who decided to quit her job after three years as a private chef and is now slicing spare ribs in Chicago for just over minimum wage."

The unseriousness of the confession makes him crack a smile and now he's fighting a grin off of his face. "Yeah, that was uh..." He's still chuckling, shaking his head. "That was really stupid of you. Why would you do that?"

You're fighting a smile too now, heart pumping in your chest because he's really fucking pretty when he laughs. His cheeks are flushed and his curly hair is a disheveled mess and you just want to reach over and smooth a hand through it.

Your tongue wets your bottom lip and his blue eyes don't miss the nervous habit. "Well, there's this guy..."

"Yeah?" Carmen's smiling, the tired expression on his face softened by the twinkle in his eyes.

"Yeah, there's this guy. And I've looked up to him my entire life. He's brilliant—like really fucking brilliant. And I promised myself that if I ever got the opportunity to work for him, I would do it."

Carmen snorts softly, glancing down at the white tile floor a bit bashfully before looking back to you again. "And now you know what a freaking psycho I am, huh?"

You can see it, him retreating back into the mellow, unsure person he becomes when he's not manning an overflowing expo station, a broken freezer, and an entire staff of chefs. It's endearing how timid he is, like he almost doesn't really know himself or how he fits in anywhere outside the kitchen. "I don't think you're a psycho, Carm. I mean, I would be a little crazy too if I had what you have on my plate."

He just nods, still a little sheepish at your praise. Just like this morning, when you had caught him at the back door before opening, he doesn't know what to do with himself when you're around.

You break the silence by turning back towards your station. "I'm going to finish up here. I don't mind locking up if you don't want to stay."

Carmen watches as you lean forward onto the toes of your beat up sneakers to grab the paper towels off the overhead shelf and the hem of your hand cropped t-shirt rides up. His first instinct is to look away because the exposed flesh of your rib cage feels like something he shouldn't be seeing, much less staring at, but it's like he freezes out of panic and now he's looking at the tattoo just under your breast.

He stands there, mouth partially open to reply back to you, but it's like his tongue is numb in his mouth and he doesn't even remember what he was going to say anymore. And then it's gone, concealed again by the hem of your white t-shirt.

When you walked into the Beef two weeks ago, your tattoos had been strangely surprising to him at first. He hadn't pictured you like that in his mind—bronzed skin and tatted forearms and cherry glossed lips—just grunge enough to make anyone who passes you look twice. Now you're all he thinks about.

"Carmy. Carmy?"

You're staring at him, head cocked to the side, brows furrowed in confusion and—God, he wants to kiss you.

"Are you oka—"

"Can I kiss you?" He blurts out the question as if he won't be able to finish it if he doesn't get it all out in one breath. Like he knows that if he doesn't ask now he's never going to have the courage to do it again, and he'll be stuck shoving down these feelings for you for the rest of his life.

When you stare at him, eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights, he knows he screwed up. His stomach drops and—fuck, he really needs a Tums right now. He looks away, hand reaching to his hair, eyes darting to the ceiling because he can't take the embarrassment of looking at you.

"I—fuck, I'm sorry. That was totally—um. I shouldn't have—"

"Shut up, Carmen."

"No, that was stupid of me. I—"

"Shut up so I can kiss you, you moron."

Stepping forward, your hand curls around the back of his neck, drawing him down to close the gap between the two of you. Even then you have to stand on your toes to reach him. Although the tense, anticipatory stiffness of his body against yours is screaming wait, you press your lips to his before he has the chance to back down.

It's everything that a first kiss should be—hot and sweet and a bit awkwardly reserved. You can tell he’s nervous. Nevertheless, you can't help the hum that escapes you at the feeling of his plush bottom lip pressed between your own. If given the choice, you’d never pull away from the warm taste of his mouth.

Carmen's breathing heavy, heart pounding in his chest, hand pressing into your back, pulling you closer as he kisses you impossibly harder. He's never kissed a girl before and he decides then and there that he never wants to kiss any girl that's not you.

It’s not clear which of you pulls away first—coming up for air more than anything—but it leaves you both nose to nose, mouths still inches from each other, still sharing the same air that you would had your mouths been connected.

“Carmen?” you ask softly, nose brushing his as you speak. You can feel his heart beating against his chest.

“Yeah?” he replies in same breathy tone.

“Did I mention I really like it here?”

[iluvcarmzatto]

Intuition

Mikey Berzatto x female!Reader fic

Mikey Berzatto x female!reader

Warnings: fluff, a lot of angst, lots of cursing

Authors note: I’m on season 3 of the bear and absolutely love it! But I’m basing this fic off of ep 6 of season 2 (the Christmas party) so I hope you enjoy! Some of the dialogue is from this specific scene and some I made up! I’m mixing the two!!FYI this scene happened I’m just mixing up my own dialogue and some of the real dialogue. Lmk what else yall wanna see! I’m open to literally anything! 🤗

It was Christmas Day, usually when you think of Christmas you think of happy times and good memories with the people you love. In the crazy Berzatto household you were not getting any of that.

“I need to go get a drink” said Donna as she got up to go the kitchen. The Berzatto’s mother was obviously drunk and had been smoking more cigarettes than anyone could count.

You were anxiously sitting next to Mikey holding his hand at the table while all of his family was yelling at him and Lee to calm down.

“Lee, no one wants you here! Just leave man!” said Mikey mad at how Lee was acting in his childhood home.

“No I’m not leaving! I’m going to sit here in enjoy this meal that your mother made.” Lee said smugly.

Cicero (unc) sighed and said, “Both of you have some respect, D cooked up a big meal for all of us and I wish for once that we chill the fuck out and eat.”

Lee looked at Mikey at said, “Yeah Mike! Do what your Unc says!”

Mikey picked up a fork. Lee looked at him and said, “Throw the fuckin fork! Throw it!” I dare you to!”

Carmy said, “Lee you’re not helping thanks!” In an assertive voice trying to get things to calm down.

Mikey pretended to throw the fork at Lee and laughed, “You fuckin pussy you flinched! Look at you!”

Cicero was yelling, “Michael!” “Michael!” “Can we not pretend to fuckin throw forks at people ?” He was of course on Michael’s side but he didn’t want the dinner to get already crazier than it had gotten. In fact, everyone at that table hated Lee but wanted to calm Mike down before he got out of control.

Mikey infuriated said, “It’s my father’s house I can throw as many fuckin forks as I want to Unc!

Lee turned his head and said, “Throw the fuckin fork! You’re nothing. You’re nothing, You’re nothing!” He kept saying it over and over and you could just feel his body tense up.

You gave Lee the dirtiest look ever and turned your head to Mikey. “Baby, it’s ok look at me.” He didn’t look at you once, all he did was just squeeze your hand tighter. You could tell something extremely bad was about to happen.

You looked at Carmy and Sugar and tried to get them to help, they both nodded and tried their hardest. “Hey Mikey! Mike. I love you.” said Sugar.

His siblings more than anybody understood that Mikey can go from 0-100 super quickly so when they see that he’s irritated they try to calm him down in situations like this.

Carm was trying to get him to calm down as well, “Hey Mike. Chill out man.” He said in a more calm voice because he could tell yelling wouldn’t help.

Mikey ignoring all of them, looked like he was going to punch Lee in his face. He put one of his hands on his mouth. Almost like an expression where he was trying to hold it together but it was obvious that he wasn’t doing a very good job at it.

All night after not thinking you were going to say anything you said, “Lee, I think we can all tell that things could get much worse so how about someone say the grace and we can all chill out?

Multiple murmurs at the table agreed. “Thank you y/n!” Richie said, happy that someone said something positive for once.

Lee looked at you and said, “Shut up you bitch this isn’t about you.” Everyone looked at you in disbelief but most importantly looked at Mikey to see his reaction. You were the love of his life and if anyone fucked with you they were dead basically. You were so shocked you couldn’t even say anything. Richie looked at Lee and said “What the fuck man?” “Why would you say that to her?”

You felt like it all happened in the blink of an eye. As Mikey let go of your hand he stood up, grabbed the fork, and threw it at Lee. “You fuckin asshole!” “Don’t call her that!” “Ima fuckin kill you!” He yelled at the top of his lungs. Lee also got up and started yelling too. “Get out of this house you lunatic!” “Fuckin addict!” “You don’t do shit with your life!”

Richie, Carmy, and one of the Faks got up and held Mikey back from basically killing Lee and 3 other people were holding back Lee from hitting Mikey.

It was utter chaos, you were so overwhelmed by the whole thing you just sat there in shock. “Y/n, you okay?” Sugar asked and Tiff followed behind her. You just nodded and said thanked her for wondering about you. “Tiff, you should go lay down, you pointed to her pregnant belly. You shouldnt be around all of this noise, girl you should be relaxing!” You said. Tiff laughed, “Yeah well this is what I get for marrying Richie. She smiled, “but I wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s my soulmate.” “Yeah he’s a good guy.” You said and smiled at her. You looked outside to go see if things calmed down out there and apparently it did.

You saw Lee drive away in his car. Good fucking riddance. “Excuse me ladies.” You said as you let yourself out of the room. You opened the door to the front porch and stood near all the guys. They all stopped talking and turned to look at you. “Hey y/n” they said. You looked at Carm and patted him on the back. “Come on guys let’s go in.” Richie said giving you and Mikey some privacy. You mouthed “thank you” to Richie before he closed the door. He mouthed back, “any time”. You smiled before he closed the door.

You stepped closer to the front step where Mikey was sitting. “Mikey?” “You okay baby?” You sat down next to him.

“Im sorry you had to see me like that y/n, you should never feel unsafe when you’re with me and I was yelling and not making the situation better for myself or anyone that was around me.” He looks up, “which I guess was everyone” You smiled back and realized why you fell in love with him. He was always honest and would communicate with you.

And of course he was very handsome.

You loved how unnecessarily apologetic towards you he was. He was so cute when he was around you. He wasn’t being “tough” Mikey, or “loud and obnoxious” Mikey, he was just being who he is around you.

His best self.

“Love” you said as you brought him closer, “Your feelings are incredibly valid. I understand you and I love that you stood up for me.” “I love you.” You said. “I love you as long as I live baby” He said.

You try to keep on a strong face but then you slowly but surely broke down and start crying. Mikey looks over at you, “hey, hey darling. What’s wrong?” You sniffed and crying through words tried to get a coherent sentence out. “I just hate to see you get talked to like that and he called me a bitch.” You cried.

Mikey held you close and rubbed your back. “Please darling none of that affects me as much as you crying does. “Also fuck Lee he can fuckin suck me” “Calling my girl a bitch who the fuck does he think he is.”

Him saying that made you laugh. You laughed and he wiped your tears off your cheek. A true gentleman.

He smiled at you and you laid your head on his shoulder. You put your fingers through his hair and started playing with it.

You looked into his eyes for a long time. He stared into yours. Finally, he pulled your face in close and kissed you. Fak and Carmy stared at the window, “The only person that can get him to calm down and listen.” Carmy said while shaking his head.

Richie looked and saw you guys kissing, “Great and now they’re kissing again.”

“Better than Mike being mad.” Fak said. “True” They all said in unison.

A/n: YALLL OMG I LOWKEY LOVE THE COUPLE LIKE WHAT??? LMK IF YALL WANT A WHOLE SERIES FULL OF THEIR ADVENTURES TOGETHER🙈 pls leave any ideas for my next Mikey fic in the ask questions box💟

[toxicanonymity]

the ghost

michael berzatto x reader x carmy berzatto

800 words / smutty imagine

Summary: Mike, supposedly dead, shows up when Carmy is in Italy. One thing leads to another, and when Carmy gets back he's fine with it.

Warnings: I8+, P in V, cheating but come on

Imagine you're in a relationship with Carmy and you live together in a studio apartment.  He leaves you home while he and Richie take a trip to Italy.  While they're gone, there’s a knock on the door and your face goes cold when you open it and see Michael, Carmy's supposedly dead brother.  You never met Michael when he was "alive" and it's terrifying to have a ghost on your doorstep.  He looks a lot different from the pictures.  He’s filthy and has scars.  But he’s so polite and soft spoken, very disarming.  You let him in and he convinces you not to call Carmy. He tells you how he had to fake his death to save his family, including Carmy, from the mob. He's been living really rough off the grid and his story tugs at your heart.  He says he’ll get out of your way and return when Carmy is expected back. 

You don’t want to see him go.  

You offer him a shower and a hot meal before he leaves.  He doesn’t want to put you out but you insist.  As soon as he goes into the bathroom you remember there’s a trick to the hot water you need to show him. 

You knock and he opens the door wearing just a towel, wrapped very, very low on his torso, exposing his v muscles. More scars on his broad pecs.  You pull your eyes back up and he smirks.   You’re salivating.  He lets you into the small bathroom to show him and before you leave, he holds the towel around himself with one hand and touches your hip with the other and whispers softly, “Hey.”  You lock eyes  “Thanks,” he smiles.  “Really appreciate it.” You leave him in the bathroom for his shower.  Oh boy, this is bad.

You start making spaghetti while he’s showering.  That’s a mistake - this guy makes better spaghetti than anyone.  He insists on showing you a thing or two in the kitchen.  He erotically handles the food. Your hands brush. You share several moments. You drink wine while you cook.  He holds a spoon of sauce up to your mouth for you to taste it and your eyes are desperately fucking each other as you slurp the sauce off.  He drops some on your chest and then brushes it off.  He gets really close to you like you're about to kiss, then awkwardly diverts himself at the last second apologetically.  After dinner, he thanks you for your hospitality and says he’s going to go.  You ask him where he’s going to stay, and he says he’ll figure it out, he always does. You insist he stay there.  

He’s a gentleman and says he’ll sleep on the couch even though he barely fits.  But you get up in the middle of the night and come out to the living room. He sits up, big biceps bulging out of the shirt you let him borrow from Carmy.  “What’s wrong, you okay?”  he asks. You tell him you’re overwhelmed, worried about Carmy, worried about him, moved by his story.  You ask Michael if he’ll hold you while you fall back to sleep. He says he doesn’t think he should.  But a few minutes after you get back in bed, he hears you crying.  He slides in behind you and spoons you.  “Hey, it’s okay, baby.”  His strong arms wrap around you.  “Shhh, it’s okay.” 

He presses gentle kisses into the nape of your neck, then his kisses become wet and his cock hardens against you.  You press your ass back into him and he thrusts against you.  “We can’t,” he mutters as he kisses below your ear and you’ve never been so wet.  “I know,” you say as you move his hand to cup your breast.  But the next thing you know, your shorts are pulled down and so are his, and he’s shoving himself into you and you’re moaning his name.  He fucks you like a man who hasn’t fucked in a very long time.  It feels so right, your bodies connected.  He’s like Carmy, but different.  And his cock is just made for you.  

Michael stays for breakfast, and then stays for the rest of the time until Carmy gets back.  You can’t keep your hands off each other.  When Carmy gets back, he’s shocked and overwhelmed.  The first time you’re eating dinner together, He senses something between you but that’s the least of his concern.  He’s so overjoyed that Michael is alive that he’s more than happy to share you.  Your first night back in bed with Carmy, he's so tender and loving and passionate. After he comes, he looks you in the eyes with those beautiful blue eyes. Then he presses his mouth to your neck and whispers, "thanks, baby"

"For what"

"For taking care of my brother."

[tomshelbystitsfics]

Untitled Fic.

Eventual!Carmen x Reader

(this is just the beginning for the fic. its storyline/plot building. also the reader is midsize. not skinny but not plus. in the middle)

(im posting this its the beginning to a fic im writing & i just wanted to post this lil excerpt. hoping to get some feedback & see what people think! please, let it rip:)

Home. Home? What did that word mean to you? It was a noisy, dirty, yet charming city. An old house, at least sixty years old. Paint now peeling, gutters full of old leaves and shit. Home, a minute's walk across the road. Inside a warm dish of delicious food awaits. Michael hands you that first plate. There it was, the moment of truth. Determining if you were friend or foe. Not really though, just testing to see if you were a narc. (Later you would argue with Mikey that his logic made no sense whatsoever.)

You found a home in the dysfunctional, crazy ass Berzatto family. They quickly accepted you as one of their own. Having been Carmy’s best (and only) friend. Always so polite and sweet. Until Mikey or Richie pissed you off. They were always picking on you and Carmy. And sometimes they pushed hard enough to set you off. That is exactly why you’re all in this situation now.

“Fucking A. You ain’t gotta hit me that hard asshole! Seriously, it was just a fucking joke man! Lighten the FUCK UP!” Richie yelled. You sat across the island from him. Mikey was digging through the freezer. He was trying to find something to ice Richie’s face. You had given the bastard a black eye and a bloody fucking nose. Mikey was more than impressed. So was Richie, but he wouldn’t be telling you that any fucking time soon.

“I’m sorry Rick,” he scowled as you called him that. “I tried to warn ya that you went too far, but no, you just had to go there.” He just stared at you, deadpan. You sucked in a breath, cheeks puffed out. Head in your hands you let out the breath. Standing up and making your way in front of the man. A hand extended out, an olive branch.

Scoffing he smacked the hand away. Your chest tightened, Richie was basically your older brother. His rejection hurt, a fucking lot in fact. Not wanting him to see the tears starting to well up, you start to turn away. That is when you feel it. Two long, solid arms wrap around you. Twisting around, you rest your chin on his shoulder and grasp the back of his old ass hoodie tight. Fingers clenching the fabric.

“It’s all good Doll. I still love ya. Even if you broke my goddamn nose.” Richie held you, then after a beat, “I mean shit. My cheekbone feels like a grown man split it, kid.” The tender moment was over for now. Richie is trying to make a joke out of it. You smirk, shoving him by the shoulders into his previous seat.

“ ‘S what ya get asswipe! Quit fucking with her when she says. It’s called ‘boundaries’ cousin? Ever heard of the concept?” Mikey slapped a steak on his eye. The other man groaned.

“FUCK SAKES MIKEY! Please, could ya be a little more considerate or some shit? I already got rocked. Don’t need a worse fucking bruise.” Mumbling as he pushed Mikey’s hand away, holding the slab of meat.

“I am not eating that shit later Mikey, no fucking shot.” Giggling, you give the man a kiss on the cheek. “What’s for dinner anyways?” The dark haired man seemed to think for a moment, then said something similar to what landed Richie his shiner and fucked nose.

“Ask Carmy, I’m sure he has a few ideas for what he wants.” Wagging his eyebrows at you. The smirk was audible. Mikey seemed to be proud of himself for the quip.

“Y-You…motherfucker.. I swear I’ll end you, Berzatto. YOU BITCH, C’MERE.” You took off around the island to where he stood in front of the kitchen sink. Richie was screaming and crawling up onto the counter, “ You two fucks better watch out for me. My shit’s busted enough. Get the fuck outta here!”

The memories of Mikey and the family keep swirling through your head as you stand in front of the funeral home. It had been a year since you physically saw any of the Berzatto clan. Too many years since seeing your best friend. Carmen Anthony Berzatto. A name you desperately wanted to forget. The name felt hollow to say, a distant memory. A smoke show that never existed except only in the dark recesses of your mind. Brought up when you wish to torture yourself even more than usual.

Drinking in the cold Chicago air, you begin the trek up the stairs. One measly step at a time. Hoping to calm your racing heart. It felt like the organ was lodged in your throat, bound to come up in a grisly mess at any second. The walk into the foreboding building felt like it took light years and seconds all at once. Standing before the doors, hand hovering over the knob. Psyching yourself up you finally grasp the knob and starting to pull and-

“Fucking Christ! This is fucking insane.” A familiar voice barks out. The door was quickly and haphazardly thrown open. PANG! Jumping back it only caught your arm a bit. The pain was nice and a needed distraction.

“Oh shit, I am so sorry, I-I didn’t realize anyone…” a small gasp of surprise and a tearful chuckle. Then a slow shaky intake of air, “Doll, is-is that you? Or am I just fucking nuts?” Desperation paints his tone. His words crack and waver with emotion, no, sadness and grief. And a bit of hope.

“Hey cousin, I guess it's only fair, I did bust ya up good when we were younger. An eye for a, uh- arm, I guess.” Your voice was thick with the tears ready to be shed. Before you know you’re shoved into his warm chest. All you smell is stale cigarettes, and his woodsy, Ed Hardy cologne. The aroma of smoke, along with bergamot and amber soothes you. There was a time you despised this fucking scent. It was always too strong and pungent. Telling Richie he smelt like a hooker, wanting to piss him off.

“At least one of us is shaking ass and making some cash Doll.” SMACK! Richie shook his hips at you.

“You made it inside yet? ‘Course not, fuck. I-I’m sorry Doll, my brain is fucking lost. I-I don’t have a goddamn clue about what’s going on.” Apologizing and rubbing his nose roughly.

“Can’t lose something you never had Rick.” You smirk, jabbing him in his ribs.

“Hardy har. You got fucking jokes, eh? Nice, real nice…Shit.” Richie let out a loud sigh and looked at his feet, “Don’t call me fucking Rick man. Shit wasn’t cool when you were a kid, sure as shit ain’t cool now pip squeak.” He smacked you lightly on the back of your head. Reaching into his coat he grabs a cigarette, and swings the pack towards you. You quit smoking, (mainly vaping) a year ago. But, fuck it.

It is a funeral after all. Might as well take the edge off somehow. Being sober was fucking awful at times. You both finished the cigarettes in silence. After stubbing the cherry out, you gestured to the door.

“Think we should, uh, ya know?”

Richie swallowed his nerves and gave a single nod. The man had a hold of the handle before you could even think about it. Walking into one of the absolute worst possible moments of your entire fucking life.

[darlingshane]

Salt of the Earth ~ Part 2

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, HJ, Fingering, P in V, Family Drama, Dysfunctional relationships, Addiction, Alcohol, Hangover, Pets, Pet names, Dialogue heavy, Undisclosed age gap.

Word Count: 7.5k // Chapters 5-7 // AO3 Link.

— Part 1 (Chapters 1-4)

Chapter 5: Eat Humble Pie

One more mistake turns into a lesson learned for Maya.

She climbs into her car before breaking in front of him and drives back home after the party to dwell in her misery.

It was silly of her to make herself available for someone who doesn't take her seriously half of the time. She should have seen it earlier that he's just an asshole, but being blindsided by guys like him is one of her many flaws.

Against her better judgment, she put herself out there for the first time in a long time. He knew that was a huge step for her, and he just had the nerve to dismiss her feelings.

She's not the one to play games with. If Michael can admit that there's something between them, then she's not going to invest more time on this or push for something he doesn't want. Maybe she’s being a little arrogant, it wouldn't be the first time someone told her that, but this wasn’t a one-sided thing. He’s been definitely reeling her in just as much. She felt that every morning she went into the beef before work, every time they went out for drinks, every time he came over, every call, every text… He initiated a lot of those. Who does he think he is to make her feel like she's crazy? Like she made that up in her head? It could be possible, she tries to internalize. Perhaps she latched onto Michael so desperately because he was the only person that made her feel welcomed. It was strange for a long time being back in Chicago and being with him felt like being home.

Her mind jumps back and forth, trying to find a logical explanation. She doesn't find any, but she's sure he has his reasons.

Trying to forget all that and more, it’s not easy.

A week after his birthday, there’s still a part of her that keeps holding onto all those moments and memories they’ve made together. From painting her room, to the day she took care of him when he got his wisdom teeth removed. To all the many nicknames he gave her. And that time, he dog-sat for Coco when Maya went out of town for a couple of days. He’d just sent pics and videos of them playing, so she wouldn’t worry. It’s still fresh in her memory the day he invited her to his Sunday Braciole tradition. They weren’t as frequent as they used to be since Carmy left, but at least two Sundays a month they got together to cook and eat, and just have a good time with friends and family. For the past two months, she never missed one of those Sundays, but it was a hard pass this week. She got a text from Natalie asking if she was okay, that they missed her and Coco, but she was far from okay. Maya just replied with some bullshit about coming down with something.

Many times she’s found herself wanting to pick up the phone and call him as she used to. She willingly had to fight that need every day until it disappeared.

One evening, when she comes home after work, pulling up on the driveway, she spots Michael sitting on her front stoop, having a smoke under the light of the porch. It’s dark and cold and the last thing she wants to do right now is face him, but there’s no way around it.

“Hey,” She mutters, walking up to the door as he puts out his cigarette and stands up.

“Hey, can we talk?” His breath manifests in the air, as he exhales that last puff he took.

“Depends on what you have to say,” Maya crosses her arms against her chest.

“Just wanted to say I’m sorry for being an asshole the other night. I never got to say thank you for the party. That was really nice of you.”

“That's fine, Michael. I'm over it. I got the message,” she says dryly.

“This isn't as easy as you think it is.”

“I think it is. Either you want me or you don't. But you can't string someone along for months, and then make them feel like shit for wanting something more. It's fucked up.”

“Yeah, I agree it's fucked up. I'm… fucked up.”

“I'd say.”

“Hey, you're no picnic either, sweetheart.”

“You're right, I'm not. But at least I'm honest about it. I admit that I can be a little intense and inconsiderate, but I don't try to hide it. You on the other hand hide behind layers and layers of fake smiles and charms and bullshit stories, cause if people were to look closer, they'd see the real Michael. The one that I see.”

“You're also unbelievably obnoxious, did you know that? You don't know shit about me.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Have you even considered my part in all this, huh? You're Carmy's best friend. I knew you as a kid. How am I supposed to look him in the eye when he comes back in a few weeks and say – hey, by the way, I've been seeing Maya… Your Maya. What do you think he’s going to say? He's gonna hate the both of us.”

It's good to know he's considered all those things that didn't cross her mind. Yes, it'd hurt her to know that Carmy could potentially be affected by this. She wouldn't want that either, but no matter what, someone is getting hurt here.

“Well, I haven't thought about it that way, but I was never his to begin with. I’m my own person. I get to decide who I want. Not you, not him, not anyone. And even if something happened between you and me, it’s not like I’d rub it on his face.”

“Maya… You don't understand. You were everything to him.”

“Were. You’ve just said it. It's been a long time since high school, do you really believe that he's still hung up on me?”

“What if he is? What if you two were meant to be together?”

“Saying that out loud over and over won't make it come true. This isn't a fairy tale. And you should know that I haven't really talked to him, not one real conversation, since last year. Last time I heard from him was a text telling me he got the job at Noma. I said hey, congratulations, I'm proud of you… And he never spoke to me again. Told him I was moving back here, and crickets. And you know what? I still love him cause he's Carmy, but I'm not in love with him. I wish it was that easy. It'd be great if people could fall in love with the person they were supposed to be with. But it doesn't work that way, Michael.”

“Look, I know it's hard to understand, but I'm not the right guy for you. I'll never be. I thought we could be friends, but I can tell that's not enough for you, is it?”

“No, it isn't. If you feel that way, you should just go. It’s cold. I’m tired. And I should…” Defeated, she vaguely gestures at the front door before climbing the porch's steps.

“It hurts for me too, you know?” He mumbles as she unlocks the door.

“How’s that my problem?” She scoffs, incredulous at the gall he has of driving up there just to cause her more grief, and guilt-trip her. At least that is how it seems right now to her. “You’re the one that is too scared to feel anything real. I told you how I feel. I kissed you, for Christ’s sake! Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

“Maybe if you had stayed away from me, this would have never happened.”

“Are fucking serious right now?” she glances over her shoulder, letting her blood instantly come to a boiling point. “You gonna put this on me? This is just as much of your fault as it is mine. You knew that I was having a hard time adjusting, that I missed my friends, that I couldn't even turn to my family, and you took advantage of that. Go fuck yourself, Michael! Take your damn pills and go get high like you do every night to forget you're a fucking loser!”

Maya doesn't give him a chance to respond. She slams the door shut, turns on the light, and closes her eyes for a second as Coco comes out of her room to welcome her. The dog whines, happily wagging her tail, circling around Maya's boots.

Leaning down to pet her dog, she places her bag down on the floor. Coco lowers her ears as Maya holds her head and scratches her head.

“I'm so sorry I yelled, baby. C’mere,” she hugs her neck tight, taking some extra comfort from her pup cuddles and kisses for a moment until they both hear a shy knock on the door.

Hoping he’d just leave, she closes her eyes again and ignores it.

It’s worthless.

He knocks twice again.

And again.

“Maya? Open the door… Please. I’m… I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m a fucking loser. Let me try again… Please, I didn’t mean…”

“What do you say, should we open?” She asks Coco as she tilts her head to the door.

“Maybird. Mayhem. Can you hear me? Maya Papaya?”

It’s crazy to even consider going for round two, but she’s like a moth to a flame, unable to escape the appeal of that alluring heat.

Drawing a fortifying breath, she stands up and hesitantly unlocks the door.

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

“I'm a lost cause. Can I come in?”

“Are you going to behave?”

“I promise.”

She lets him set foot inside to be warmly welcomed by Coco hoisting her front paws up to his chest, wagging her tail, sticking her head out to lick his face.

“Hey, Coco girl. Have you missed me?” He pets her fondly.

“Coco, get down. He doesn't deserve kisses right now,” Maya sighs, gesturing at the dog, and she begrudgingly obeys, getting down and finding her bed in the corner of the living room. “Okay, say what you gotta say? You have one minute.”

“That's not a lot.”

“You're wasting time.”

“Straight up. Alright… I came here to apologize, and I blew it cause you're right I'm a loser. I uh… I thought that by pushing you away was doing you a favor, but I can see now that's not how it works.”

“No, it doesn't,” Maya says firmly.

“Truth is that I don't know what I’m doing… I thought that if I came here and gave you some closure, we could just move on. But I'm looking at you right now, and I don't think I'll be able to do that. It'll be pretty hard to forget about you after everything…”

“Stop trying to sabotage yourself. Live a little. Isn't that what you told me that day when you helped me unpack? Why don't you take that advice for yourself?”

“Because I'm a piece of shit and I don't deserve you.”

“That's not true.”

“It is. You said outside… For the longest time I've been pretending to be something I'm not, that I'm not sure who I am anymore. I thought you fell for that version of me that isn't real. But you didn't, you saw through all my bullshit, and you fell for me anyway… Why?”

“Why? Because I'm probably out of my mind.” She can't help but scoff a little. “I keep falling for all the wrong guys. But believe it or not, you're not the worst I’ve dealt with, Michael. You're not perfect. Nobody is. You say you’re pretending you’re something you’re not… that must be exhausting. I can see it's catching up with you already…”

“It is exhausting.”

“So stop doing that.”

“It's not that simple. I'm not you.”

“The best things in life are hardly simple, hon. It'll hurt like a motherfucker to undo all the damage, but once you make it to the other side, it'll be worth it. I've been there. I’m not perfect, either.”

“I think you're pretty perfect to be honest.”

“I've done plenty of shit that says otherwise.”

“Yeah, but you admit it. You're not afraid of putting it out there, even if people don't like it. That takes guts.”

“Well, I've realized that you can't please everyone all the time.”

“You should have been a shrink, you know that?”

“No, I'm not very patient with people. That's why I work with animals, remember?”

“You've been with me. It's been over a minute, and you haven't thrown me out yet.”

“Cause I'm a sucker. And beyond all reason, I believe everything you've just said.”

“So, what do we do now?”

“You're asking me?”

“Yeah, you're the one with all the insight.”

“Whatever happens now it's up to you, Michael. I’ve already forgiven you. You say you don’t wanna be with me but refuse to leave, and come in here for an encore. What did you expect from me?”

“I guess I keep hoping you’d change your mind about me. It’d be easier to leave if you hated me.”

“Do you want me to lie to you and say that I despise you?”

“No, unless you do.”

“Well, prepare to stay here all night, cause as much as I want to, I'd never hate you. So, it's just a matter of, do you wanna stay or go?”

He takes a deep breath and surrenders, “I… I think I wanna stay. If that’s okay.”

“That’s okay,” she exhales softly, echoing his words.

Neither of them are sure how to go on from there.

They’ve said so much, and yet there is still so much left unsaid. But the fact that he’s stopped letting that inner turmoil of shame and guilt keep him from her is a big step in the right direction. It grounds him, and gives him some peace of mind knowing that she’s looked him in the eye, and said — yes, I know everything about you, and I still want you.

Maya accepts who he is with an open heart, mind, and arms. She doesn’t seem fazed by it because she’s the most powerful force he’s ever encountered. He’s finally willing to give into what was meant to happen all along. He's tired of fighting himself. And if someone like her can find something redeeming about him, maybe he can try to be better for her.

“Can I…” hesitant, he takes a step closer. “Can I kiss you?”

“Only if you want to.”

“I wanna,” he barely mumbles below the sound of a breath. “I shouldn't have pulled away the other night. I understand if you-”

“Shh, just kiss me,” Maya's cuts him out. “Don't overthink it, Berzatto.”

“Okay.”

Drawing a shy smile, his head leans forward, as one of his hands cup her jaw.

“God, forgive me. You're so beautiful, Maybird,” he utters an inch away from her lips before sealing them shut.

This time, he closes his eyes, quiets the voices in his head, the ones that tell him he doesn't deserve her. In between the cracks of the walls he's put up, something else emerges. The relentless desire that comes with the same force of a waterfall. He lets it take the wheel as he savors the thrill that are her plump lips. Tenderly she kisses him back. Links her hands to his neck, begging him to keep kissing her, to consume her, to take her last breath. And he does. He delves deeper. Sends his tongue to soothe that aching that made a home in his chest. He's never felt his heart beat louder than now. It's like he's been dead for years, and she's bringing him alive kiss after kiss after kiss after kiss…

Chapter 6: Life is a bowl of cherries

Like most things in his life, Michael has a tendency to sabotage his relationships right before things start to get serious. He never follows through, a lot of people would agree. Perhaps, it isn't as much of a tendency but a result from his dependency to something else entirely.

The commitment to his work, the pressure to provide for his family has driven him to a very dangerous path. It’s never been more clear as it is now. His eyes are wide open. Forcefully. And for the first time ever, he’s willing to admit he has a problem that he can’t solve on his own.

It’s way past time to face the music, and he’s scared shitless to put that into words. Once the truth comes out, everyone will know how much of a failure he is.

He and Maya still haven't tackled that issue. She's not oblivious to it. She's the first one who saw that something wasn't right. She called him out on it and felt like a dagger laced in shame poked into his heart. Like most addicts, he never thought anyone would notice, he believed he was going so careful. But Maya Silva is not just anyone. She's insightful as she is sharp. She could spot his bullshit from miles away if she wanted to.

Having someone putting that into words was probably one of the hardest truths he had to hear about himself. He didn't realize it was getting out of hand until she verbalized that. They didn't touch it beyond that. While she's not a stranger to challenges, this is out of her depth. As much as it is for him.

While he got rid of a handful of demons, there are still hundreds that haunt him. They make all his fears come true the day after their kiss…

In an attempt to make a better man out of himself for her by breaking the habit, he tries to go just one day without the comfort of reaching to his hidden stash. He manages to go a few hours in the morning without it, but eventually, it becomes harder to go through the day to stay sober. He takes a lower dose, which is an achievement on its own, but it only shows how much he was relying on that.

Michael desperately wants to follow through for once, and makes the executive decision of not using while he’s with her. He’s aware that trading one addiction for another is not the best way to deal with it, but when they're together, it's easy to forget and ignore all those demons making noise in his head. It's when he's alone that he feels that devious hand trying to pull him into the dark well of desperation that his name carved on the walls.

At this moment, there's another different hand, a cold one, holding his own as they walk between rows of Christmas trees while Maya surveys each of them to choose one to bring home.

It’s the first week of December. They’ve easily slipped back to hanging out as much as they used to. And officially, they’ve been out a handful of times since that night he showed up at her door. They've been talking a lot and taking it slow, which feels nice for a change. Sometimes he wishes he could rush through all this part to see what the future holds for them. Thinking about the future in general has always been scary. However, thinking about a future with her gives him just a sliver of hope that things will get better.

Lacing his fingers with hers, he captures the glimpse of a smile as she keeps hauling his ass deeper into the tree farm. They had driven here, an hour out of the city, so she could cut her own tree, cause she read it was better for the environment. There’s no more fight left in him to chase away this overwhelming warmth, and new kind of love that envelops him. If she’d ask him to fly up to Mars, he’d do it.

His other hand is occupied by the end of Coco's leash that walks by his other side. The dog stops as Maya comes to halt to point at the chosen tree.

“This one.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. This one will fit perfectly in the living room without taking too much space.”

“Alright. Let’s haul it out.”

With the help of a saw they carefully cut the trunk at the base and then, aided by one of the farmers, then sleeve it in a net and load it into the truck.

It's a nice drive with his two favorite girls. Coco sits between Maya's feet and props her head on her thigh while she's pampered with lots of caresses and ear scratches. The dog quickly falls asleep like a baby and doesn't open her eyes until the truck has pulled up on the driveway.

They bring Coco inside, unload the tree, and put it on the stand. As Michael busies himself whipping out something for dinner, Maya brings the decorations she bought earlier and starts hanging them on the tree.

It's a pretty damn picture of the two of them, sitting on the couch, sharing food in front of the fire. He wishes he could frame that moment when she glances at him with that vivid glint in her eye that makes his heart melt.

Maya climbs onto his lap after putting the dishes away. Sitting sideways, her head pillows his shoulder, while his arm curls around her waist. One of her hands holds his bearded jaw, having her fingers softly petting his hairs.

“Thanks for helping me today,” she utters, enjoying his embrace and the cozy decorated room.

“Anytime, Maybird,” his palm slides over her legging-covered thigh.

Maya lifts her head and presses her curved lips sweetly on his cheek.

“We should go on a drive sometime again. It was nice.”

“Yeah, it was. Maybe for New Year's.”

“It's a date,” Michael squeezes her knee as her head leans to the side to capture his eyes.

Maya throws one of those disarming smiles that drives completely out of his mind. He holds the back of her head and seizes the temptation of her lips he’s come to know so well in a matter of days. He revels in the way their mouths fit together like two puzzle pieces.

They lose track of time while their tongues swirl slowly to the same cadence, savoring every second of it as if it was the last. Their arms are loosely locked around the other when Maya swifts her position to straddle his thighs instead. Her body dangerously rezones, sitting over his crotch. His adventurous hands travel to her ass, while the lock of their lips remains strong. He can’t help but pull her hips flush against his as the kiss heats up.

They've never gone further than second base until this point. Though they agreed not to rush into anything, tonight might be the day. He wants to. And so does she. But there's still that part of him that's holding him back from crossing that line with her. Maya's special. He's known her for so long, he wouldn't forgive himself from ever hurting her.

“I thought we were taking it slow.” At the most inconvenient moment, he breaks the kiss and takes his hands away from her when his body demands more of her.

“We’re making out… slowly.”

“Not anymore.”

“Do you have a problem with that?” A sly grin flashes across her face as one of her eyebrows arch.

“Don't look at me like that, Maybird.” He throws his head back on the edge of the couch.

“Like what? I’m not doing anything,” she laughs and leans her face closer to his. “Is it that bad to want you? Don’t you want me?”

“Of course I want you, sweetheart.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that doing this with you feels pretty fucking weird.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew you as a kid. You were practically a baby when we met.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said, Bear. First, stop thinking about me as a kid. That's creepy. Second, you aren't much older than me, Mister. And third, do I look like a fucking baby to you now? Or… Do I look like a babe?”

“A babe. Definitely a babe,” he emphasizes, lifting his head and running his tongue across his lips, letting his eyes roam the beautiful curves of her body hugged in a tight t-shirt and a pair of leggings.

“So treat me like a babe. Fuck going slow. Kiss me like you mean it, goddammit! Stake your claim. Grab me. Touch me like the world is about to end and the last thing you wanna do is spend your last dying moments with me.” She demands so passionately, it sends a chill through his body.

He swallows, as his eyes become glossy in lust. Michael grabs her chin to keep her face still. Chasing that desire, he ravages her mouth like he’s never done before. Drinking her in, letting his tongue run wild as his hands go down to grip at the curve of her hips. He unabashedly handles her body to press harder on him, over his growing bulge, that makes her moan into his mouth every time it hits the right spot.

Maya is beyond pleased to have him finally give in to that shared crave that only grows bigger by the second. He grows bigger even quicker once he’s jumped over that line.

Without breaking from his eager kiss, Maya stops moving on his lap and sends her hands to undo the fly of his jeans. Beneath the denim fabric, she can tell how his erection strains, begging to be released by the kindness of her hand. He groans a couple of curses into her mouth when she peels back his underwear.

Maya doesn’t have to look down to know how big he is. Her palm curves around his swollen cock. It fills up both her fists as she stacks one on top of the other. There’s some wetness already that she spreads down to the underside that helps her jerk him off nicely.

Michael loses momentarily his ability to breath and parts from her lips to draw some air. He captures her eyes that hold a darker shade as both of her fists tighten around him. After a moment, he glances at her diligent, handy work that might have him come earlier than he’d want to. Michael hasn’t been touched like this in a long time. At least not with someone he had a connection as deep as this.

“Does it feel good?” Asks Maya with a grin splitting her face, as she shifts on his thighs to straddle just one and rub herself against the toned muscles of his leg.

“So fucking good,” he says under his breath as his head falls back, clutching his fingers to her moving waist. “I… fuck… fuck me… Are you riding my leg?”

“Uh-huh. Do you want me to stop?”

“Hell no. That’s…” his breathing keeps faltering as she picks up the pace. “You getting all wet for me?”

“You have no idea, Bear,” she purrs over his lips.

All his blood flows down to fire consuming his center, letting him dangle from one lousy thread.

“Don't have to hold it. It's okay if you wanna come.”

“It's just… I don't want you to think…”

“Shh. There's nothing to prove. Just close your eyes, and relax. Let me give this to you.”

Following her guidance, his mind clears completely as he closes his eyes and stops clenching every muscle of his body to let her bring him to ecstasy. His hips buck up a few times. And in just a few more pumps, his cock twitches in her hold before covering her hands in the warm spill of his orgasm.

Maya’s hips come to a halt. She tenderly kisses his exposed Adam's apple without letting go of his hardness that still throbs for a moment as the orgasm ebbs. Then she wipes her hands on her leggings while his mouth finds hers. He presses a couple of soft kisses at the corner of her mouth as his breathing recovers.

Michael cradles the back of her head and pulls it down to his shoulder. He plays with her hair, while she listens to his heartbeat as it evens.

“I’m gonna make it up to you,” he says under a breath.

“You don’t gotta.”

“I wanna. Just need a sec.”

“Okay.” She smiles to herself, hugging his chest as he descends from his high.

Once his strength returns, he’s seizing her lips again at a gentle pace. His tongue swims in that endless well of affection she offers freely.

When he's ready, he picks Maya up and carries her to the bedroom to finish what she's started. Clothes are quickly discarded in the dim lit room they both painted together. When he frees her from her leggings and underwear, she's still wet.

He's dumbstruck by the beauty of all her, all bare just for him, laying as the most precious offering.

Smiling bashfully, he props one elbow on the bed, and lies by her side. His fingers gently slide across the surface of her inner thigh. Her skin forms goosebumps beneath his palm as they ascend closer to her groin.

Aiming for that sweet spot between her legs, he locks eyes with her and watches her expression as they land on her folds. Drawing a breath, her chest swells as he tenderly craws circles around her clit. The arousal wrapping around his fingers and the sighted moans he coaxes out of her mouth makes his cock harden again.

“A little harder,” she demands between pants, placing her hand on top of his to show him exactly how hard he can go.

“Like that?”

Maya nods and then holds his bearded jaw with both hands, pulling his face closer to capture his mouth, while his fingers move quicker. She jolts at the sensation of two of them suddenly slipping into her opening. He keeps his thumb steady massaging her clit at the same time. The delicious mixture of movement makes her core thread in a tight knot of pleasure that begs to be untied.

“Michael, baby… I'm almost…” His name has never sounded as good as the way she cries to it the closer she gets to the edge.

“I know, sweetheart. Come for me, beautiful.”

His fingers slip in and out gradually faster until her body is left shuddering by the final impact of that sweet orgasm. The soft fabric of her skin buzzes beneath his palm as she rides that wave of pleasure that takes her to a higher plane. All her muscles seize up for a split second, and then her body becomes jelly.

Inhaling a long breath, Maya turns to the side and curls against him, hugging his torso.

They stay in comfortable silence for a long moment, enjoying the calmness of being wrapped around the other.

Maya kisses his neck softly while his fingers run up and down her spine.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you are like this?” He whispers.

“Yeah, I think you did,” her head tilts up to look at him.

One of his fingers draws her jaw, “I mean, you’ve always been stunning, but I’ve never seen you glow like this. It's like staring into the sun.”

“You're so fucking corny.” She smiles shyly before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “You look different, too. More relaxed.”

“The power of orgasm.”

“That must be it. When was the last time you had sex?” She blurts out, and regrets immediately after seeing his eyes slightly widen. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Sweetheart, you can ask me anything now. I mean, we’re both fucking naked. It can’t get more intimate than this.”

“That’s true.”

“To answer your question… the last time I had sex was a few months ago. It wasn’t anything serious. There was this girl in my building, we used to hang out sometimes. And then… then there was you, and I couldn’t…” he doesn’t have to finish for her to grasp the concept that he couldn’t be with anyone else but her.

“Well… If you’re up for it, we could go all the way.”

“I suppose we could. We’ve come this far… Why stop now, right? It’s the end of the world, after all.”

“Right,” she laughs, pressing her lips to his shoulder.

Feeling more energized, she guides him to lay on his back, stretches his arms above his head while she mounts his hips. Leaning over, she nibbles his bottom lip as her ass rotates over his dick, getting it to become hard-rock again with such little friction.

“Are you clean, you know, STI wise?” she mumbles over his mouth.

“That is the sexiest thing anyone has ever asked me.”

“So, are you?”

“I am. You?”

“Clean and safe, if you’re wondering. That’s sexy to me.”

“Bet it is,” he chuckles, grabbing her ass and pressing her harder against his building erection.

She moves like an enchantress, cursing every inch of his body with her charms to use for her pleasure. He welcomes it. He’s never felt this excited in years, and that’s all she is. Her impulsivity, her passion, her vitality… It's the perfect cocktail. She adds all of her to it, doesn’t leave behind an ounce of anything. It’s all or nothing. That’s why he easily falls in love with her more every day. He wants to drink her all in, absorb every drop until she becomes part of him.

When she sinks onto his cock for the first time, he’s mesmerized by the way she looks at him with nothing but radiant warmth and lust. Her hands brace his chest, as she slowly takes him all the way down. It feels like his world spins on its axis as she experiments with her hips. First, waving gently, then when she’s used to being filled with him, she starts bouncing on top of him.

Nothing ever felt more right than having her like this. Her skin melts beneath his palms, and all he wants to do is explore every corner of her body. She throws her head back and moans at the air as her hips go back to rocking back and forth when they get tired.

Michael slings an arm around her waist, pulls her down against his chest, and gingerly swifts her body around to be on top. His thrusts suddenly come sharp and measured, hitting all the right spots within her tender walls, earning a few good cries mixed with his name. He holds one of her breasts in his palm, as he madly makes love to her. He feels her nails scratching roughly along his back as they both swim closer to the edge. There’s a force taking over his hips that pushes him to his limit as if it was a matter of life or death. It is. At this moment, nothing matters more than chasing that ultimate reward. He makes it his life mission. It consumes everything in the room, makes his whole body tremble in ecstasy as he ascends with her closer to that pinnacle.

He doesn’t stop until she’s left breathless with her body shaking underneath him. And this time, he can hold on for just one more second till she comes apart to let go and have all his seed spilled inside her.

This becomes their most memorable night to date. That room becomes their safe haven to explore and love each other in ways they haven’t done before. They disappear into a daze of sleeping, fucking, and repeat. It becomes primordial and sacred. He finds new ways to worship her body. She finds new ways to reach into his soul, carve herself deeper.

Chapter 7: That's the way the cookie crumbles

Michael is sitting on the couch, absentmindedly surfing between channels on Maya's TV when Coco sprints down the staircase, anxiously whining after hearing a string of loud popping sounds outside. The dog hops onto his lap with her tail between her legs. She lowers her head, tucking it beneath his arm, trying to make herself as small as possible. He glances out the window to see a few kids playing with novelty fireworks across the street.

“Are you scared of fireworks, Coco girl?” He pets her head softly. “Shh, It's okay, baby.”

Maya's out tonight with some of her coworkers she's made friends with, and he's decided to stay with Coco. She doesn't need babysitting, but he likes staying here. To be honest, he's been sleeping at Maya's most nights since they started having sex.

He soothes the dog with lots of cuddles and a couple of treats until the kids go back home and the big scaredy-cat pit bull finally stops trembling.

They both doze off for a while, and he's awakened by the ringtone of his phone when Maya calls him to ask to be picked up. She said she had a few drinks and didn't want to drive. So, he takes Coco with him and drives to a bar that is only a few blocks away from his own apartment.

Maya is more wasted than she sounded on the phone. Her friends are only halfway there. He makes sure that all her friends have someone to give them a ride before taking Maya home. Instead of driving back to Oak Park, he decides to take her to his apartment.

It concerns him to see her in this state. She barely mumbles a word, but he can clearly see that there's something going on that she can't bring herself to say. Michael shouldn't judge. God knows how many times he's drowned his sorrows in a bottle, but this doesn't seem like her at all. She was so excited earlier to go out and now there's nothing but sadness plastered all over her face.

Upon their arrival, she vomits everything she had drank earlier and some more. Michael holds her hair and soothes her back while she leans over the toilet until there's nothing more left in her. He dutifully takes care of Maya and brings her some juice to settle her stomach after getting her to lay down on his bed.

In the morning, he quietly slips out of bed, takes Coco out on a walk and feeds her before Maya even wakes up. By the time they return, Maya is already up. She's taken a shower, and now she's just sitting on the couch, wearing one of his shirts, sulking and eating some crackers she found in the kitchen cabinets.

“Morning, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of her head while Coco goes around the couch, wagging her tail, demanding some attention.

“Hey,” Maya greets back, glancing at him while holding the dog's face and kissing her nose. “Was she good last night?”

“Yeah, she's the best.” Michael sits down on the coffee table and pats the dog's spine as she lays down on the floor. “Did you know she's scared of fireworks?”

“Yeah, she's not a fan.”

Maya tucks a knee to her chest, catching Michael's vexed look that creases his brow as he props his elbows on his knees and tensely links his fingers together.

“What?” She asks dryly.

“I didn't say anything.”

“There's clearly something in your mind. I can tell.”

“Of course you do.”

“C'mon. Out with it, Berzatto. What is it?”

“Nothing. I just… I'm worried about you. You didn't seem like yourself last night.”

“Bear, you don’t have to worry about me. I just took a few more shots than I should have.” She shrugs it off with little importance. “But I'm fine… Well, you know, besides the killing headache and the hangover. I shouldn’t have drank that much.”

“Then, why did you?”

“I don't know… Why does anyone drink at all?” She annoyingly deflects.

“You seemed okay when you called. But when I picked you up… You could barely stand.”

“Look, I'm sorry that I called you. I'll think twice next time.”

“It's not that, sweetheart. I loved that you called… I'm just trying to understand what happened.”

“People drink. Big deal. I went out with some friends and had fun. That's it. Why are you grilling me about this? It's a little hypocritical coming from you, don't you think?”

“I'm not grilling you. I'm trying to figure out what happened. It’s obvious you're trying to hide something.”

“Yeah? Tell that to your stash drawer. You wanna lecture me about drinking? Start explaining why you need that many pills.”

“You went through my drawers?”

“I was looking for a shirt.”

“You know what? It doesn't matter, cause we're not talking about me right now.”

“How convenient. You're the one that has a real problem. I was upset last night and I got wasted. The end. I'm not going to drink tonight or tomorrow or the day after that, and probably it won't happen again, cause I know my limits. Do you know yours?” She jabs sharply, meaner than he's ever heard her.

Michael hangs his head down, shame washing all over him, stares at the floor for a long moment before answering.

“I wasn't trying to start a fight or lecture you. I just wanted to know if there was something bothering you– I guess it was just a matter of time before you found… You're right… I'm… I have a problem. But I don't use when I'm with you… I…”

Maya stands up and faces the window. Looking outside, she comes to realize how tactless that was on her part. Tears slip out of the corner of her eye. She never wanted to confront Michael like this. Let alone let her own insecurities get the best of her.

“I'm sorry. I didn’t mean…” She wipes her tears, and picks up the phone from the table.

She unlocks it and presses play and speaker for him to listen to a voice message she received yesterday. In it, the voice of her sister suggests that Maya should consider not attending Christmas dinner to avoid upsetting their mother like the year before. The message goes on about their-sister-in-law being pregnant, about to give birth around the holidays, and that she doesn’t need that added stress to that night, since they’re the ones hosting this year somewhere in bumfuck, Utah. She babbles for a while about how Maya has made her situation even worse for herself when she decided to move back to Chicago and hide it for months; along with a string of excuses that she's heard many times before.

They've always been subtle with their dismissal, saying it was fine if she had other plans. But that call is the first time they've openly asked her to refrain from attending a family function.

“I got it during dinner and I just… I don’t know, it’s like a switch flipped in my head, and I started throwing back shots to forget… I wasn’t trying to hide it. I just didn’t want to talk about it or think about it right now.” She explains, placing the phone, and then paces the length of the living room a couple of times.

“I get it,” Michael sighs and stands up, running his palm over his beard, putting a stop to her feet.

“I’m sorry that I went through your stuff and that I used that against you… I shouldn’t have. That was a low blow.”

“Guess we're both kinda messed up. I wasn't trying to hide it, either. You already know that I'm fucked up. It's just… We've been in this bubble and I wanted to enjoy that for a little longer before having to deal with all that, y'know?”

“I know,” her hand gently cups his bearded jaw. “When you're ready to talk about it… I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Bubble or not. I… I've never been happier with anyone, Michael. It might be incredibly naive and idealistic of me to say this, but I feel like if we're honest with each other, there's nothing we can't face.”

“I feel that too, Maybird.”

Michael holds that same hand that's placed over his beard and prints a soft kiss on her palm, tickling her skin.

Then, he releases it and perches his hands on her waist as Maya links her arms around his neck.

“What are you going to do with the whole don't come home for Christmas thing?”

“I don't know. Part of me just wanna show up and ruin their night. But I know if I stay, they'll see that they're just as miserable with or without me. They just need someone to blame for their misfortunes, and I’m it.”

“Hey, maybe you could come have dinner with us like you used to.”

“Christmas at the Berzattos? I'm not sure which one is worse.”

“C'mon, they both suck. It's our first Holiday since we started this, it'd be nice to spend it together, don't you think?”

“I guess… I could think about it.”