#neil fak x reader

[blackynsupremacy]

BEING NEIL FAK’S

GIRLFRIEND

HEADCANONS

pairing: neil fak x blackfem!reader

fandom: the bear (2022—)

i feel like no one really writes for fak and i love him as a character, so why not?

summary: neil fak has a girlfriend, but the guys think he’s bullshitting until she shows up for the opening night of the bear.

contains: lots of words, fluff, richie being richie, cursing, two people who love each other, hating ass motherfuckers, insecurity, fear of rejection.

• it was 2 weeks before the bear’s grand opening.

• neil, carmen, richie, and marcus were all having a smoke break outside in the back just kicking it.

• the guys were talking about various topics until carmy started asking for relationship advice.

• of course richie and marcus are putting in their two cents until they hear….

• “to be honest my girlfriend and i wouldn’t even have to go through that shit. we’d just talk it out and stuff our face afterwards! you and claire bear should do the same.”

• there was a deafening silence from the other men because that came from…fak. neil fak!

• what the guys didn’t know was that neil fak has been in an relationship with you for almost 2 months now. he’s been keeping it under wraps because he knew the guys would shit on him for it, but he had to come clean eventually. you always raved about him to your friends because you’re proud of the adorable, loyal, hilarious neil fak, so why shouldn’t he show the same energy?

• he was still a bit in denial that a woman is actually…attracted to him.

• marcus is like “whoa whoa whoa. hold the fuck up. fak…you got a girl?” he genuinely questioned. now, he was curious!

• carmen was confused as well, but he shrugged it off tbh. as long as fak was happy with someone he genuinely connected with.

• richie doesn’t hesitate to think it’s straight up bullshit. fak can’t talk to a woman without crashing out or making a bumbling fool out of himself. let alone being in a relationship!

• ouch! harsh, richie. fak inwardly cringed because he genuinely thought the same thing. he never really felt like he was good enough for that type of thing, but that sinking feeling disappeared at the thought of you when marcus asked how’d you guys met and got together.

• neil could recount that day a million times if he had to.

• you were living it up in your new apartment until your damn refrigerator broke. you didn’t want to go through the hassle of ordering a whole new one, so before doing that you decided to have someone to fix it.

• the only person you ever make an interaction with is your best friend, sydney adamu. you’ve been hyping her up as she goes through the trials and tribulations of rebranding the former restaurant known as “the original beef” to a new type of place.

• you called her up and explained your dilemma.

• “hey, syd. i got a stupid question.”

• “there are no stupid questions, (n/n).”

• you both chuckle at your inside joke, before informing her about the broken refrigerator and asking if she knew anyone who could fix it without charging an arm and a leg.

• “i might know a guy…he’s a bit of a character, but he’s got a heart of fucking gold and he mainly gets the job done. his name is neil fak, but we just call him fak at the restaurant. i’ll see if i can get him to come by tomorrow to look at it. if not, i’ll beat the shit out of him by denying my best friend’s broken fridge.”

• syd’s dry and chaotic humor never fails to make light of the shittiest situation. you quickly agreed because there’s no way you’re gonna let your food rot.

• the next morning, syd sent you a text that fak has accepted the job. you silently cheered and replied by sending her a time and your address to pass on the message.

• fak had been approached by sydney for a side job in the city. he accepted without any question because he could use the extra cash! he told sydney he could go over to your place asap once he knows the time and place. sydney did just that before he gathered all of the necessary equipment before making his way towards your home.

• he went up the stoop and pressed on the doorbell and waited about 10 seconds before he was beheld a vision. a vision with the most alluring, brown eyes and deep bronze toned skin. your natural hair was in the style you desired to be and it looked amazing! not to mention your inviting smile and melodious voice when you introduced yourself.

• “hey! you must be neil fak, right? i’m f/n l/n, i’m a friend of sydney’s.”

• you held out your hand for him to shake. to say that neil was nervous was an understatement. he stammered a bit before getting himself together, giving you an introduction of himself and shaking your hand. something occurred as you two touched hands. fuck, fuck, fuck! he thought as that touch alone made him feel— warm, tingly, safe? but what had him stressed was that his hands tend to get sweaty as shit when he’s nervous.

• “a-ah, y-yeah! i’m neil fak. just call me fak! um, so, uh, you have a broken fridge. let me say this if my fridge ever broke down like that, i personally think that i would fucking explode.”

• you stood there in silence for a millisecond before you burst out in laughter. fak took the words out of her mouth. you couldn’t deny that it was such a huge inconvenience especially to your love of snacks. “i know that’s right! you’re real for that. sydney has told me some good things about you, neil-er, fak. my bad! but seriously— i believe her when she said you’re a trip, but good people. you’re hilarious! ah, damn, i’m rambling. please come inside.” you stepped back to let him in and lead him to the issue in the kitchen.

• you couldn’t help, but catch a pleasant vibe from the mustached man that was rumbling through the inside and back of your refrigerator. as he was working, you guys just conversed as if you two weren’t strangers. you just clicked instantly!

• to some, fak may have looked like a sleaze with his loud voice, numerous tattoos, interesting fashion choices, short stature, and his bushy stache, but his qualities as a person overshadowed all of those things. deep down he’s caring, sensitive, outgoing, and sometimes he has his moments, but who doesn’t? he also wasn’t making any type of insensitive remarks or jokes (ifykwim).

• once he successfully fixed the fridge, you were so hyped that you gave that man a hug and an enthusiastic handshake thanking him for his help. you asked how much he charged and what payment method worked for him.

• he didn’t want to charge you that much or at all because your constant laughter at his stand up material was filling his heart more than his pocket. he really wanted your number, but he didn’t just want to ask for that without looking stupid, so he suggested apple pay and gave you a discount! smooth move, fak.

•you put your number in his phone, sent him the payment, and let him know that you were saving it because you would like to see him again more often whether it’d be for his services or not, so in a way you urged him to keep yours saved in his phone also.

• fak was crashing out on the inside. did you just say that you want to see him? more often? whether he’s fixing something or not?

•he kept his cool, gathered his equipment, and went on home. from that moment fak felt he found someone and someone found him. not just fixing things or cracking jokes, but for genuine company.

• from that day on, you and fak have been texting each other non-stop. checking in, sending memes, having deep conversations about the most insane topics, and laughing out loud late at night on the phone. sometimes he would come over to play a card game, watch a movie, or just kick it with some good food. you’ve never realized how much in common you and fak share. it was just the chemistry that drawn you too closer.

• ya’ll have been talking for about 3 weeks now and you can’t help but to admit that you care for neil…so much! you two are totally different people and to some, you’re built like you’re out of fak’s league. well, fuck whoever says that! looks doesn’t define who you want to spend your time with. everyone’s got their beauty. you could give 2 fucks if people talked about your connection with neil. you were just wondering if he felt the same.

• you invited him to your place to watch a jim carrey double feature of the mask and ace ventura: pet detective. you and fak have always agreed that jim carrey is a comedic genius.

• as you both sit on your couch and watch the credits roll, fak announces that he’ll leave, so that you can get some rest. you can’t sleep knowing you got these feelings and there’s this opportunity right in front of you. you hold on to his hand before he could take another step out of the door. your eyes not pulling from his. he raises his eyebrows as his pupils glint with expectancy, yet worry. he asks you if everything is okay and you swallow before you make your declaration.

• “fak…i need to ask you something. what do you think of me? do you think of me as just a friend? someone to kick it with? or someone to listen to your jokes, fears, hopes, and insecurities? am i someone that you would be proud of the way i’m proud of you? do you see more than just what’s on the outside?” you squeezed his hand.

• you paused to take a breath before you finish.

• “i don’t care what people say about our connection. i need to know because i can’t fucking take it anymore. neil fak, do you care about me the way i care about you?”

• neil was frozen. he absorbed every single syllable that came out of mouth. he has always had those same exact thoughts whether he’s helping to fix an appliance or you two are out trying a new restaurant that one of you recommended. fak thought he was too much of a chickenshit to even cross that line with you. he wanted so badly to express that you mean everything to him. you’re a fucking goddess to him and he’s just…fak. he can’t help, but get a little envious when richie, nat, and carmen had their respective partners while he was although happy for his friends, he was the 7th wheel.

•he’s calmer. he tries to see things with more of an open mind. hell, because of you he’s got a skincare routine! he feels ♾️ % with you if that makes sense. you don’t try to change him because you don’t need nor want to. you just want neil. that loveable person who doesn’t judge you. not just fak the comedian or the handyman.

• f/n…you’re so, so much more than that and i’m so fucking sorry that i didn’t say any of this sooner because i’ve been feeling like this ever since i’ve fixed that refrigerator. i want you to be happy and i want you to laugh a lot. i’ve never really been into this kind of thing before, so i don’t know what exactly i’ll be able to do for you, but i’ll always be by your side…if-if you want me to—mmph!”

•that was all you needed to hear before you pulled him for a kiss. it took him a moment to melt into it, so you started it off gentle and sweet as you wanted to take this relationship one step at a time, so you and neil would always ride the same wave together.

• after fak finishes retelling his friends how you guys came to be. they started bombarding him with all sorts of questions.

• “is she hot?” “what’s her name again?” “what does she do for a living?” “ have you guys fucked?” “do you have a pic of her?”

• fak was overwhelmed trying to answer each question except that fourth one which earned richie a whack to the head by carmen for asking some personal shit like that. “have some fucking class, will you?”

• fak refused to show any pictures you two share together. it was definitely not because he thought you were unattractive. fuck, no! you’re the most gorgeous woman he’s ever had the pleasure of breathing the same air with. like he thought before, the guys (especially richie) would think he’s got the pictures of the internet or some shit. he had a way better idea than that: he was going to invite you to opening night to watch him work and make these fuckers eat their words. he told them to watch for the girl in the red dress and the name for the table is f/n.

• 2 weeks til open has passed and the bear is now ready to welcome the community with open arms.

•everyone was shitting bricks, but they’ve worked their asses off for this vision and they can’t pussy out now.

• fak had tingles from head to toe.

• you and him usually had casual outings, so it would be the first time you saw him in his brown suit and you in that red dress you ordered from fashion nova for this event. it looked good on the model of the pic you sent, but fak’s round face flushed with red envisioning the clothing on you.

• the doors flipped open and the patrons for the first night of many are greeted by fak or richie then escorted to their tables as their meals are being meticulously prepared.

• richie’s eyes are perusing around the place before they stop on a feminine silhouette and— holy fucking shit. who is she?

• the red satin accentuated her body. highlighting every bump and curve. the dress had spaghetti straps and was low-cut, exposing the shimmering, melanated skin of her arms and chest. her hair was curled and styled to perfection as the amber hue in her pupils are made noticeable by the violet eyeshadow that was applied on the lid as well as her full lips were painted like a red candied apple.

• goddamn, she was like a fucking…real life jessica rabbit, but hotter. if it wasn’t for whoever the lucky bastard is with her, eva would’ve had a new stepmom a-fucking-sap!

• his trance is broken from a female voice. “excuse me, i have a reservation under the name, f/n. my boyfriend works here actually. i think i see him right over there!”

• cue the record scratching. richie may forget alot of things, but he never forgot when fak told him and the guys about this mysterious girlfriend of his named…holy fuck!

• the girl in the red dress. f/n. it’s you! you’re the one who stole neil fak’s heart. richie was feeling like the biggest idiot in the universe as he saw fak catch your glimpse from across the room before excusing himself from a table and power walking in your direction to take you into a loving embrace before you plant your ruby lips on his mustached ones.

• you just couldn’t help yourself! you know he’s at work, but he looks so cute and professional in his brown suit and slicked back low ponytail. he’s also wearing that new cologne you randomly gifted him and now you really don’t want to leave his side. your man, your man, your man.

• neil took it upon himself to escort and seat you at your table. he enthusiastically explains tonight’s menu with such confidence and passion as you peer lovingly at him through your lashes with a palm under your chin. if it were physically possible, you would have literal hearts in your eyes.

• don’t you just love it when your partner is in their element? he was made for this and you were so proud.

• fak excuses himself back to the kitchen to find richie already crashing out to carmy and marcus.

• “guys! it’s fak’s girlfriend. she’s fucking real…and hot as fuck! look out there at table 9, the broad in the red dress. that’s all fucking fak!”

• fak lets out an exclamation for richie to cool that shit down, but deep down he was eating it up as carmy and marcus peered out to see the hype at table 9 and what they saw had them gagged.

• marcus’ jaw dropped and his heart thumped at the sight of you. “oh…”

• carmy’s eyes looked upon you, his eyebrows raised as his cheeks fluttered with red, finishing marcus’ sentence, “shit.”

• he already felt bad considering the fact that he has a girlfriend. (not for long after tonight)

• neil grinned as the guys gave their envious, but sincere congratulations to him before they got too distracted to get back to work.

• neil fak was indeed blessed as he waved at the woman in red at table 9. his abdomen rumbled with butterflies when you waved back and blew a good luck kiss in his direction.

• yes, you were all fak, but fak was all you too.

[drabbles-mc]

Latest & Greatest

Neil Fak & F!Reader

For @the-slumberparty's Bingo Challenge! Bingo square: family friend

Warnings: 18+, language, weed, pining if you squint

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I finished yet another rewatch yesterday and I just love Neil Fak so much. So here we are.

The Bear Taglist: @withmyteeth @garbinge @narcolini @hausofmamadas @ashlingnarcos @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

It was impossible to hear much of anything with all of the chaos going on. There were at least ten different conversations going on, most of them being conducted by screaming instead of talking. On top of that there was the clattering of pots and pans, items being thrown and dropped, not to mention Donna’s slew of timers. The ringing was all so staggered that no one could keep them all straight, least of all Donna. It was bedlam, but they all knew it was coming, and year after year they all kept deciding to come back.

Because of all of that, Fak hadn’t heard his phone the first time it chimed when a text message came in. When the reminder chime rang, he was too deep in a yelling match with Richie to pay it any mind. It wasn’t until all of the people who were usually occupying his time were being occupied by someone or something else, that he took the time to check his phone.

“Still doing Christmas at the Berzatto’s?”

He smiled, completely tuning out the rest of it for a moment as he replied, “Fence in 5?”

The response was almost immediate. “Clock’s ticking”

You were already outside by the time he managed to escape the house. You were leaning against the fence that divided the back of your yard from the back of the Berzatto’s, arms rested on top of it. You couldn’t remember the exact year this became the meet-up spot for the two of you during the holidays, but it had stuck ever since. It gave you a breather from your own family, and it gave Neil a break from the Berzatto’s, not that he ever really seemed like he needed one.

Every year he was in a different flannel and sweater combo. You wondered if he and Theodore flipped for it each year to see who got to choose. Not that it really mattered much since they both ended up wearing the same thing regardless. One year you were going to have to weasel your way into going on that shopping trip with them.

“Can’t stay away, huh?” you said as he walked over to the fence.

He raised his eyebrows, laughing as he came to a stop in front of you. “You are the one who—”

“I meant from Donna’s,” you cut him off, chuckling as you nodded towards the house behind him.

“Oh.” He laughed and gave something of a shrug, not giving more of a response. There wasn’t really much more to say about it. He made himself busy, fumbling with the button on the pocket of his shirt. You didn’t say anything, just pulling your sweater tighter around you as you watched him pull a joint out of the small pocket. It was enough to send both of you into a fit of laughter.

“Saw Francie earlier when I went to the store,” you said with a chuckle. “Still on the no-fly list with Nat.”

Neil shook his head as he sparked his lighter, mumbling emphatically around the joint in his mouth. “Because of the fucking thing!”

You laughed. “Doesn’t help that she never said sorry.”

“Maybe she took your spot,” he said once he lit his joint.

“My spot?”

“On the no-fly list.” He took a drag before handing it to you.

You were laughing as you placed the joint between your lips. You inhaled deep before responding. “I’m on DeeDee's not Nat's.” You shook your head. “Pretty sure I’m fuckin'…permanently barred from entry.”

There was a beat of silence between you, like the conversation was about to take a heavy, serious turn. But instead you both broke down into fits of laughter. There was so much that could be said about Donna being the one that banned you from the holiday festivities, but you didn’t know if it said more about her as a person, or about you.

“You hated Christmas here anyway,” he finally said when the laughter had died down. Even as he said the words he still had that same goading smile on his face.

“Most sane people would.”

“You’re not sane.”

You handed the joint back to him with a roll of your eyes, “Sane-adjacent.” You paused, watching him pull another hit. “My mom asked about you, by the way.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Bullshit. She did not.”

“She did!” You were laughing as he passed it back to you. “She asked how her favorite Fak was doing.”

“That does not mean—”

“And you’re my favorite Fak,” you kept going, talking over him the way you all always did with each other, “so by extension you’re also her favorite Fak.”

“What makes you so sure?”

You chuckled and shrugged. “’Cause I’m her favorite daughter.” A beat passed as you brought the joint back to your lips again. Your voice was slightly strained as you tried to talk without letting out your entire inhale at once. “So? What’s the latest and greatest?” You finally let go of the breath you’d been holding. “Catch me up on the last few months. What've I missed in the life of Neil Fak?”

He watched you for a second, staring at you as you stared down at the joint in your hand and tried to figure out how much more the two of you could even really get out of it. It was almost done, the rendezvous almost over.

“Got a new high score on Ball Breaker.”

You nodded, expression serious but the glint in your eyes giving away the humor of it all regardless. “Of course, of course.”

“The toilet at The Beef is still exploding every couple of weeks.”

“I think Richie breaks it purposely just so he can see you again.”

Another beat. Another second of you two staring at each other. Another shared fit of laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of that notion.

“How’s Ralph Squared?” you asked, trying to hold back just a little bit of your laughter over the fact that he named both his cats Ralph.

“Ralph are good! No escapes lately.” He tapped his knuckles against his head. “Knock on wood.”

Your smile was enough to nearly make your cheeks hurt. “Good.” You paused. “How are you?”

Fak shrugged and nodded. “I’m good.”

There was a look in his eyes that had you thinking maybe he wanted to say something more, but he didn’t do it. He wouldn’t. That’s not what these little meet-ups were for.  These were for both of you to get some fresh air and something similar to silence after spending hours in your respective war zones. Granted, Christmas at the Berzatto’s made your family Christmas seem like a walk in the goddamn park. But you still enjoyed the breather. Still enjoyed leaning on the opposite side of the fence from Neil and smoking together like you were still in high school.

“Please,” you joked, “spare me the details. Don’t get too carried away on me now—I only have so long out here.”

He rolled his eyes at you, face turning pink in a way that you both simultaneously and silently agreed to chalk up to the cold. He snatched what little was left of the smoke from your fingertips and finished it off, both of you chuckling quietly at the petulant child-like nature of it.

“You know how I am,” he finally said with a laugh. “You?”

You sighed, dropping your head so that your chin was resting on your forearms, forcing you to look slightly upwards at him. “Still waiting for you to get out of Chicago for a week and come visit me!”

“It’s so far.”

“It’s not that far.”

“It’s pretty far.”

You rolled your eyes but you were still smiling. It was the same debate every time you came home. You weren’t actually that upset about it—you knew who you were dealing with after all. The Fak's and the Berzatto's weren’t the types to just up and leave Chicago. Even if it was just for a week.

“I’m just saying,” you stood upright, adjusting the sleeves of your sweater, “I’ve got a pull-out couch with your name on it.”

“I don’t even get a real bed?”

“I hardly even get a real bed!” you shot back with a laugh.

“That does not make me want to come and visit you more. Just saying.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “I’ll work on that.”

Before either of you could try and say something else to keep the conversation going, the screaming in the Berzatto house reached a crescendo, followed by the sound of shattering glass. Neil tucked his chin down for a moment, gathering himself up before heading back in to see what the damage was this time.

“I’ll let you go take care of that,” you said with a small laugh as you crossed your arms over your chest, the cold finally starting to get to you.

“I’m sure Mikey's got it all under control,” he replied, getting both of you to laugh.

“Mm, I don’t know, sounds like it might be A Fak.”

He laughed. “It’s always A Fak that’s why they invite us.’

You shook your head, unable to stop the smile on your face. “Merry Christmas, Neil. Tell Theodore I said the same.”

“And Francie?”

You laughed. “Sure. You can tell her, too.” You took a step back towards your parents' house.

He gestured to the fence. “Same time next year?”

You had to laugh. “I’m here for the rest of the week—I better see you again before I go. Preferably not in, you know,” you gestured to the fence again, “fuckin' no-man's land.”

“Pfft,” he mocked deep confusion and offense, “Do I not come when you call? Do I not respond when you beckon? It’s what I do—I show up.”

You laughed. “I’m just saying.”

“I’m hearing, I’m hearing,” he said, smiling as he started to make his way back towards the house. “Merry Christmas!” he called back to you once you turned around and started to head back to your own house.

You laughed as you turned just long enough to shout back, “And Happy Fuckin' New Year!”

[thebearer]

nothing in the world belongs to me |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: still new in your relationship, you show up to the bear for dinner unexpectedly, surprising carmen and the others.

based off this prompt from the other day :)

contains: fluff lol. really, it's just fluff. established-ish relationship (the others don't know). carmen being a little nervous and possessive but mainly cute <3 language.

“Alright, listen up,” Richie stood next to Sydney, flicking through the piles of tickets that were ringing through by the second. It was normal now, an expected task in their routine. “We need to walk the focaccia to table seven, please.” 

“Yes, Chef!” A chorus of nearly robotic voices rose from the sizzling hiss of the lamb searing in Carmen’s pan, lifting the spatula to tip the meat over, before giving it back to the chef on the line. 

“And for table nine, we’ve got a shellfish allergy, alright? So let’s triple check the cross contamination on that. T, can you handle that one?” Richie moved from his leather bound book of notes back to the ticket. 

“Yes, Chef!” Tina chimed, pulling a freshly washed pan, filling it with the veal stock. 

“Table nine, is that- that’s the senator?” Carmen turned to Richie, tasting the roux bubbling on Victoria’s station, giving her a curt nod of approval. 

“No, that’s table eleven.” Richie hummed, looking back at his notebook. “Nine, is… a birthday. Booked online.” Carmen had already begun to drone him out, mind racing with a million other things as Richie listed the guests name. Until he got to one. 

The name Carmen was sure he was hallucinating. The name no one knew- How would they know? How could they possibly know your name? 

You and Carmen had been seeing each other for a little while. A few weeks that were slowly turning into months. A casual thing that was slowly turning more serious. Dates and meetups are becoming more frequent. You’d even invited him over to your place a few times, he’d spent the night last week. 

Still, Carmen hadn’t managed to tell anyone. Selfishly, he liked that you were all his for now. Privacy was not guaranteed in the Berzatto house, in Carmen’s life still. He knew they meant well, they always did- he knew it wasn’t purposeful, the intrusion that almost always led to a demise. Carmen wasn’t ready for it, not yet, he still wanted you all to himself. 

“Carmen?” Sydney’s voice pulled him out of his panicked trance. “Chef, are you- are you good?” Her voice lilted with that familiar suspicious quip, the one always accompanied with her lifted brows. 

“What?” Carmen blinked, hands buzzing, heart thumping. He could see the window, Richie’s frame blocking most of it. “Sorry, yeah- yeah, I’m good, Chef.” 

Sydney watched him carefully, a slow nod before she continued calling out orders. Carmen could feel Richie’s eyes on him, narrowed with curiosity. Carmen tried to be nonchalant, crossing the kitchen back towards Tina, his eyes cutting carefully, looking out the window. 

There you were. 

Sitting pretty at the middle table, surrounded by friends, some Carmen recognized from your Instagram. He’d actually logged in to the app, looked you up after the first date, consumed every photo of yours in the dark of his room. Cheeks burning with excited heat, stomach fluttering in a way he hadn’t felt since junior high. 

“Alright, walk five salads to nine.” Sydney called out. “Where’s our runners? God, Richie, can you run-” 

“-I got it.” Carmen called, the urgency in his tone making Tina jump behind him. Carmen took the tray before Gary could, his hands shaking as he lifted it. 

“Cousin, I can get it.” Richie frowned. 

“No, I-I got it.” Carmen nodded, swallowing down his fluttering nerves. His eyes cut to your table through the window, heart skipping when he saw you. “I got it. I’ll be- I’ll just be a second.” 

“I don’t- I can’t even handle that one right now.” Sydney sighed in exasperation. “Alright, Chefs. Let’s get back on track.” She announced, shaking her head. Richie frowned, pulling out his phone. 

Sugar’s cell buzzed against the hostess stand, excusing herself to check it. 

From: Richie 

‘Look at table nine.’ 

Sugar huffed. 

To: Richie 

‘Why? Is there something wrong?’ 

She stepped back, casually turning to scan the room, eyes landing on the table. A small group of girls, younger, and amongst them- Carmen? 

To: Richie 

‘Is something wrong with the food? Do I need to comp it?’ 

From: Richie 

‘No. Cousin wanted to go out there.’ 

Sugar frowned, angling her body behind the large plant near the front as casually as she could. She watched through the leaves as Carmen passed out the salads, each girl grinning widely, but their eyes always cut to one on the end. 

Carmen saved your salad for last, hoping the lowlights of the restaurant would hide his boyish blush, setting the bowl in front of you carefully. “Hey,” 

“Hi,” You smiled sheepishly, looking to meet his gaze. “Everything looks so good.” 

“Yeah? Thanks.” Carmen nodded. “I-I didn’t know you were comin’ tonight.” 

“I’m sorry.” You cringed softly, embarrassed heat flooding through your veins. You knew better, knew you shouldn’t have done this- showed up at his restaurant unannounced. 

“I, uh, it’s my friend’s birthday.” You nodded towards Alicia at the end of the table. “And I was telling them about that pasta you made me, and they really wanted to come try it.” Your nerves bubbled, rambling in nervous peals that seemed to pour out before you could stop them.  

“Yeah, no, that’s really nice. Thank you.” Carmen nodded, giving a half smile to your friends, hoping they didn’t see the way he wiped his clammy hands on his apron. “Why didn’t- Why didn’t you just call me? Tell me you were comin’ in.” 

“I didn’t want to bother you.” You muttered softly. “I honestly didn’t think you’d even see us here, I swear. I didn’t mean to bother you or anything-” 

“-You’re not bothering me.” Carmen’s voice dropped to a coo, accompanied with a soft smile that had your head spinning. “Never a bother, but, uh, next time? Bother me, ok? Wanna make sure you get the best seat in the house.” 

Your cheeks flushed with heat, your friends excited giggles only intensifying the rushing heat blanketing over your body. Carmen’s own cheeks heated, tongue rolling on the inside of his cheek to hide his grin. 

“Alright?” Carmen added, and in a complete act of shocking boldness, his hand squeezed your shoulder affectionately. A small gesture on the outside, but for Carmen, it was huge. 

“Alright.” You grinned, leaning into his touch, your hands sliding over his. 

“How’s everything so far?” Carmen turned to the table, nodding at the excited gushes of compliments, not missing the way your friends cut their eyes to you with animated glee. 

“Just let me know if you need anything, ok?” Carmen turned to you.

“I will.” You nodded, starry eyed with love sick affection. 

“Good. I’ll see you before you leave, alright?” Carmen muttered, ducking down towards you. His lips brushed over your cheek, your perfume clouding his senses. “You’re not botherin’ me. ‘M glad you’re here.” 

Your cheek pressed to his, a gentle, affectionate rub before Carmen parted. Both of your features painted with shy delight. 

Carmen could feel everyone’s eyes, through flickering gazes and lifted brows. Sydney’s gaze lingering over him skeptically, still counting tickets. Fak’s wide grin from the corner, loading trays to take out. 

“Hey, uh, Marcus.” Carmen ignored Richie’s raised brows, a teasing, questioning remark on the tip of his tongue. 

“Yes, Chef?” Marcus muttered, looking up from the cannolis he was garnishing. 

“Table nine has a birthday. I was thinkin’ maybe the chocolate ganache, punch it with the little circle to make it look like a cake. Add a candle?” Carmen muttered, hand rubbing across his face. 

“Yeah, Chef, I can do that.” Marcus nodded. 

“Thank you.” Carmen nodded. “And Chef? Let me know when it’s ready before you walk it.” 

Marcus frowned. “No, it’s not- I just wanna walk it, ok?” Carmen shook his head. 

“Alright.” Marcus nodded slowly. “Heard, Chef.” 

Richie smirked, leaning against the stainless steel table. “So,” Richie hummed. “There a complaint or somethin’? Need me to go talk to ‘em-” 

“-No,” Carmen snapped, the possessiveness in his tone startling the both of them. “Sorry, it’s- No, I-I don’t need you to do that, Chef. Everything’s good.” 

Richie nodded slowly, passing the dishes to Gary with a nod. “You gonna tell me what that was about?” 

“No, Chef.” Carmen clipped, an edge to his tone that was teetering on annoyed. “But, uh, there’s not gonna be a check on table nine.” 

“What?” Richie frowned. “Did you mess somethin’ up? Seriously, Cousin, if something's wrong it’s my job to know-” 

“-No, it’s not-.” Carmen huffed, eyes pinching closed, running a hand over his face in frustration. “Look, that’s… The girl on the end? I-I’ve been kinda seein’ her, ya know?” He muttered. 

Richie gawked, blinking in disbelief. “No shit.” He grinned. “No shit? You-You’re serious?” He turned to look out the window. 

“Don’t fuckin’ look.” Carmen hissed. “Look, it-it’s not a big deal, alright? Just don’t-don’t say anything o-or do anything.” 

Richie swallowed back a teasing remark, a reactive reaction from years of being with Mikey. How the two of them used to tease Carmen endlessly, until they were fighting on the front lawn, Mikey howling with laughter while Carmen was red faced with mortified anger. 

This time, Richie held back. He wasn’t sure why, call it divine intervention, a gut feeling maybe, but it felt different this time. 

“Alright.” Richie nodded slowly. “No ticket for nine. Heard.” 

Carmen’s foot tapped anxiously. “I mean, right? Th-That’s what I should do right?” Carmen looked over his shoulder out the window. “That would be shitty to give her a check? Be a complete jagoff move to charge her?” 

“Yeah,” Richie scoffed lightly. “Jagoff of the fuckin’ year. Makin’ your girl pay to come to your place.” 

Carmen’s heart swelled at the term- your girl. His girl. You were his girl. 

“Walk four Pappardelle to nine. Walk one Pappardelle vegetarian style to nine.” Sydney called. 

Carmen dipped the spoon in the glaze, garnishing the plate before sliding it towards Sydney. “So, you gonna take these out?” He muttered. 

“No,” Carmen huffed. “Gonna wait until the cake.” 

“Yeah, good idea, Cousin.” Richie nodded with a proud smile. “That when you’re gonna tell them no check tonight?” 

“No,” Carmen shook his head. “I don’t- It would feel weird comin’ from me.” He looked up at Richie. “I was gonna let you do it.” 

“Yeah, I can handle that.” Richie smirked. “And I won’t say anything, Cousin.” He stopped Carmen before he could say it. “I got you, Cousin. I won’t fuck it up, alright?” 

Carmen nodded slowly, a strangled thank you on the tip of his tongue. The door swung open behind Richie, and for a second, Carmen caught a glimpse of you. Smiling and laughing, leaned in over the table, no doubt giggling with your friends about him. Carmen’s heart squeezed, but this time, without fear. No, there was no dooming fear that you were mocking him, making fun of him. This time, he felt the content rush of adrenaline filled love. A change in his routine, yes. Unexpected, sure, but he was glad for it. Glad that you were there- here, with him.

[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.

[thefanficmonster]

Reader being jealous of Carmen and Sydney

Oooh I love that idea, dear! Hope you enjoy ��

Pairing: Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Smoking, Swearing, Minor SPOILERS for The Bear (S2)

Genre: Fluff, Humor, Romance

The regular hustle and bustle of people making their way home from work has taken over Chicago now that the clock has passed 3 PM. Although sounds of chaos have been rattling the establishment since the hollow ungodly hours of the morning. Shouting bouncing off the walls, shit breaking, Fak and Richie being Fak and Richie. And all you've been trying to do is difuse the situation.

Sugar needs a break, as she very clearly told you with a single glance from across the room. You gave her a nod and let her close herself off in her office to take a breather while you took over keeping the circus in a somewhat straight line.

Currently, you're on your hands and knees, scraping all the debris and dirt that's gotten on the new tiles while the rest of the repairs were still taking place. You warned Carmy the tiles would look far from new if they were the first thing he chose to replace but he still stubbornly put his foot down on the matter. And now he realizes he shot himself in that same foot, giving you an apologetic look from where he's standing.

"Quit staring, Berzatto. Do your job." You scoff, continuing your task with a newfound aggression that threatens to take out the whole tile not just the stain.

You've been blowing him off and avoiding him all day - quite the abnormality since arguing with him is to you what a cup of coffee is to other people. A day for you ain't right unless it starts with a disagreement with him. To be fair, it still is a fight, just a silent one. It all but guarantees you a win when he can't even defend himself, oblivious to how he could've pissed you off in the first place.

"Why are you being mean?" It irritates you, that tone of amusement to his voice. He's entertained, he's fucking enjoying himself.

"I'm always mean." You reply without even sparing him a glance. Your point is accentuated when you hit Richie's knee with your free hand just as he starts getting rowdy with Fak. He yelps, scowling down at you before lifting his arms up in surrender. "See?"

Looking up, you see Carmy is no longer in his previous spot. Instead, he's knelt down a couple feet away from you, a scraping tool of his own in hand. "Oh I see just fine, Chef."

Your skin flushes with heat as you try to curb your annoyance - how is the fucker winning an argument he doesn't even know he's entered. "Not well enough as it would seem." You tap the stain he'd scraped at once or twice before moving on to the next, "This doesn't look clean to me, Chef." The amount of bitterness and sass compacted into that single word is almost palpable in the air between you two.

"Alright, that's it." He says, exasperated, dropping the tool and getting to his feet. He dusts his knees before offering you a hand, "Cigarette, now."

You don't budge, still at the stain you've been struggling with for the past five minutes, "I'm busy. Ask Syd."

At that, Carmen has the audacity to straight up laugh. That's' what pushes you to reach your boiling point. You look up to tell him the fuck off just to have the tool swiftly stolen from your grasp, "Hey!"

"Cigarette, Chef. Now." His eyebrows are raised, giving you an earnest look that is meant to pull at the strings of your apperhension. He's not dumb, he can see you're particularly ticked off today. He can also take an accurate guess as to why. But he sure as hell isn't about to have that talk in front of Dumb and Dumber. Not that they'd pay you two much mind considering they've entered another screaming match but still - they have a tendency of paying attention when one would least want them to.

You feel like a child being scolded for throwing a tantrum. The only reason you oblige and stand up is to preserve your own pride. You make a point of not taking the offered hand, getting to your feet yourself and dusting off the pants of your overalls that have now been decorated with a lot of dust.

Contant is still established when Carmy grabs your hand, leading you to the back door and out in the alleyway. To be frank, here, it's not like you tried to wiggle free from his grasp but that's semantics at this point.

He plucks a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, taking two out. He traps one between his lips before extending the other to you.

You're not a regular smoker but you also don't turn it down when you're offered one. Especially not when you're stressed. With that taken into consideration, despite Carmen being the root of your stress at the moment, you still accept the offer and reach up for the cigarette.

Much to your annoyance, however, he snatches it away before you can take it.

Your hand balls up in a fist as you glare daggers and any other sharp objects at his smug expression. With a shake of his head and a fucking chuckle he offers it again, hoping you got the memo this time around.

The only reason you cave is just so you can put an end to this back-and-forth. So, despite your better judgement you bite the bullet and lean in, taking the cigarette between your lips.

It brings a smile to his face that you happily smack off had you not been at work at the moment. Instead, you focus your gaze on the flame he flicks on and inches closer to the cherry of your cigarette.

You take a long drag, inhaling the smoke with relief. It doesn't last long though since Carmen just has to open his mouth again.

"I'll ask you again - why are you being mean?" He lets out a cloud of smoke in the air, once more exhibiting exasperation you believe he has no right to feel.

Your jaw is set and so are your narrowed eyes as you follow suit - releasing the nicotine from your lungs, "And I'll tell you again - I'm always mean. I'll do you one better - why are you wasting time? We've got a lot of shit to do and we gotta do it in a very short fucking time and you're here taking smoke breaks! Sugar is losing her mind, Fak and Richie are gonna kill each other, Cicero is breathing down our necks, Syd is counting on you..."

"And you're not?" He cuts you off, the smugness now long gone from his features.

One hand rests on your hip while the other brings the cigarette back to your lips, "That doesn't matter."

You're almost satisfied to see the irritation you've been feeling all day now take hold of him, "Like hell it fucking doesn't."

Rolling your eyes, you flick your wrist to check your watch, "You should get going. Don't you have a menu consultation with Syd?" You mumble around the tobacco stick in your mouth, avoiding his gaze entirely now that you've lost all sense of subtlety to your anger.

If he were to ask you point blank if you are jealous of his close partnership with Syd, you'd laugh. And it is indeed laughable when you factor in the knoledge of how disinterested she is in terms of Carmy outside of a work setting. But still there's that nagging little piece of shit voice in your head...

Before you know it, Carmy has discarded his cigarette and has closed the space between the two of you. One set of fingers tilt up your chin while the other plucks the cigarette from your mouth. You're given no time to argue before his lips crash into yours.

You kiss him back instinctively, your brain momentarily short-circuting and conveniently wiping all the anger from your system. It returns only briefly when Carmy pulls awat from you. "It can wait."

You reestablish your sass a second later, grounding yourself into the annoyed act once more, "Nope, none of that." You shake your head, taking a step back, "I can handle you being corny but not inefficient and irresponsible." You steal back your cigarette before waving him off, "Go on, shoo."

His bright blue eyes twinkle with amusement, crinkles appearing at their corners as his face is lit up by a smile, "Alright, alright." He mutters in defeat. Still, he manages to sneak a kiss at the corner of your lips before reentering the restaurant-to-be. He stops in the dorrway, turning around to face you, "We're doing a movie night tonight. For real, this time."

A small chuckle escapes you as you attempt to feign nonchalance with a shrug, "You said the same fucking thing last time."

He points a finger at you, giving you his word, in a way, "You'll see." With that, he disappears inside, leaving you to finish your cigarette alone and with the dorkiest smile adorning your face.

It turns into a full blown laugh at the thought of how offended Syd would be if she knew of that little spark of jealousy within you. Truthfully, you owe her an apology.

[smoshyourheadin]

Sunny

carmen berzatto x gn!reader

a/n: hi guuuuys thanks for all the love on teeth! heres a lil carmy fic bc i love him. reader is gender neutral, but is referred to as sunny and richie calls them sweetheart :-) love y’all!! requests r open <3

you stepped into the chaos of the bear's kitchen, the delicious aroma of sizzling meats and spices enveloping you like a warm embrace. the kitchen restaurant was alive with the metallic clatter of pans, the sharp bark of ‘chef’, and the constant tick of that clock.

as the newest addition to the team, you were seeping with excitement and nervous anticipation. today marked the beginning of your career as a sous chef at the beef, a role you'd long aspired to fill.

you’d known mikey from coming in every day at 5:32pm, just after leaving the subway from your internship. he was always so lovely to you, always calling you ‘sunny’ because of how bright you were, giggling at everything he said. and the day he died you really didn’t know what to do. you’d walked in like normal but there was only the quiet buzz coming from the old fluorescent lights. you shouted out to richie to see what was up, and he told you.

because you’d recently turned 21, you and him went for drinks and talked about stuff, and be invited you to the funeral. a while after, he’d told carm about you, and the fact you were a ‘fucking legend’, and how you'd be perfect for the team. you got the job less than a week later.

walking through the kitchen that helped you through so many nights, you met all the other people working there: marcus, tina, ebra, sweeps, fak, manny and angel, richie, and obviously the man of the hour.

Carmen Berzatto.

you smiled at him, and he just nodded back at you.

“ignore him sweetheart, he’s a fuckin’ jagoff. he’ll come around, don’t you worry” richie shouted over the counter at you, your disappointment clearly visible.

“thanks rich” you say halfheartedly.

as the lunch rush reached its peak, you found yourself navigating the labyrinthine of counters and corners of the bear, wandering into the walk-in freezer, searching for some pre-made batches of dough that marcus had asked you to grab. you crouched down, looking at the lower shelves where he said they were.

but fate had other plans in store for you.

with a sudden click, the door swung shut behind you, plunging you into the cold. panic stirred in your chest as you fumbled for the handle, only to realise it was stuck. trapped in the confines of the walk-in, your heart raced with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

“oh yeah this is,” you pinched your brows together “just fucking great! just what i needed." you muttered under your breath, cursing your luck on what was supposed to be a perfect first day.

“yo fak! sunny’s stuck in the walk in!” you heard richie shout.

there was a clatter of movement, and a bunch of muttering behind the door.

“you doin’ okay chef?” carmen said through the door

“yeah,” you say back, arms crossed over your chest tightly ”it’s cold but, i guess thats to be expected, we’d be even more fucked if it was warm i guess”

you heard a low chuckle, and a scuffle of feet. you made him laugh.

it had been about three hours, fak still trying to get the door open, and carmen talking to you through the door. after what felt like forever, the door finally budged. you practically fell out, your teeth chattering together. fak and carmen looked at you with wide eyes, both amazed at how cold you looked.

you were so overwhelmed, already feeling like a complete fuck up on your first day, and you couldn't take it. you began to cry and ran out the back of the restaurant, shortly followed by carmen

“hey, hey you’re okay” he said, taking your body into his arms. his hug was tight, but the right amount. he was warm, and smelt of vegetable stock, cigarettes, and cumin.

“th- thanks, carmen” you sniffle through your sobs

“call me carmy”

you looked up at him, and he was smiling down at you. he looked into your eyes, and grabbed your shoulders.

“hey, look, it’s your first day. it’s okay. it wasn't your fault. if anything, it was marcus’ because he made you go get the dough from the freezer in the first place. don't worry”

you nodded, and wiped your eyes

“yeah, yeah, ‘m sorry for being sensitive”

“no, it’s difficult i get it. but i need you in there. so go in there and do what richie told me you could - a fuckin’ brilliant chef. if you can do that f’me, thats all i want”

you smile at him, and sniff one more time. you walk back into the kitchen with a new sense of purpose: do it for carm.

he watched you strut back in, and realised he was fucked. he liked you already.

[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.

[yeschefchallenge]

Carmen can't believe that the first "The Bear" writing challenge is happening!

It is happening, and that sounds legendary, pals.

[freshbakedbreadstick]

No. 1 Party Anthem - Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader - Chapter One

Past!Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Carmy Berzatto x F!Platonic!Reader

Richie Herimovich x F!Platonic!Reader

Summary: You finally grab the bear by its ears and face it head on, despite all the unanswered questions. 

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of the content. Heavy spoilers. Mentions of self harm, grief, death, mental health issues, strained relationships, smoking.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: OMG thank you all for all the kind words and love ! ! ! I'm gonna b honest with you all, after i posted the prologue I completely logged out of my account for the week LOL I was SO nervous abt it and so I just left it alone 😭 but I'm back with the first official chapter ! Also, I am opening the taglist for this series, so please let me know if you want to be tagged ! Thank you to one of you lovely readers for asking about that ❤️ your comment was very appreciate bc tbh I completely forgot abt even considering making one 💀 thank u babes ily and I hope you all enjoy !!!

Taglist: @marysucks-blog

PROLOGUE / MASTERLIST

The rumble and honk of a car driving quickly down the street took you out of your thoughts. 

Here you were, once again, on the sidewalk and across the street from The Beef. This time, it was not some odd hour of the night but rather 4 o'clock in the evening. 

After tossing and turning all night long, you rose early that morning much to the insistence of your mom and dad, who were very much eager to get you to reunite with Natalie, with bags under your eyes and stiff joints. You trudged around the house, jumping at every small noise that somewhat resembled the notification sound of your phone, before finally giving up and plopping down on the sofa to send Sugar a text. 

'Hi Sugar, it's me. Nice to talk to you again. I'll swing by The Beef at around 4 if that's okay with you.' 

About 5 minutes later, a loud buzz made you drop a glass of water to the floor.

'Of course! I'm so happy to hear from you! I can't wait (:' 

You could feel a pit forming in your stomach as you read the message. You can practically hear the way her voice lifts in excitement as you read it. To make matters worse, the smiley face felt like it had a mind of its own and it was taunting you. It practically said 'Remember the good days? Remember how close you and Sugar were? Before everything happened?' 

With a shallow breath, you threw your phone onto the nearest soft surface and scooped the broken glass up with your bare hands.  

Your parents fussed around you all afternoon before you left. At first, they said it was to make sure you were okay with going over there but it became pretty clear that they were pretty much just making sure you weren't going to back out. While you understood why they were chasing you around like a chick chased their mother hen, you got tired of it really quickly.

"Mom, I'm serious, I'm okay!" You insisted, pulling your shoe on and pausing at the threshold of the front door. 

"Are you sure? Do you want us to come with you? How about you let us drive you-" 

"I'm fine!! I'm going now!" 

With a sigh, your mother glances at your father before nodding, "Alright honey, be safe." 

With a weak smile, you headed off. 

And now here you were, finding yourself halfway down the street and being honked at by someone in their car. 

Snapping back to the present after replaying your hectic morning, you jump at the realization that you were unconsciously halfway across the street and heading towards The Beef.

"GET OUT THE WAY!" The person in the car yelled, sticking their head out the window. 

You ran to the sidewalk and half slammed your body against the wall, chest heaving. You had no idea what took over you and made you move without thinking but here you are now, in front of the same place you vowed to never be at again after Mikey's death: The Beef.

"Fuck…" you murmured to yourself, trying desperately to catch your breath as you closed your eyes. 

Focusing on the sounds of tires on pavement and rustling leaves on trees, you took a breath. You counted from 1 to 100 and then back to 1 again. You then opened your eyes and counted 5 things you could see, 4 things you could touch…

With a hard swallow, you turned around, ready to walk to the front door now. It was past 4 now but from the messages you got earlier from Sugar, you knew that there was 'no rush' and to just 'come in the front door'. 

"I can do this, I can do this…" you whispered to yourself and lightly jumped in place, hyping yourself up. 

You pushed forward, rounding the corner of the wall and to the front door, when BAM! Some guy just slams into you. 

You fly backward, stumbling as you try your hardest to avoid falling onto the pavement. 

"Watch it, idiot!" Some guy in a high vis vest barks at you before marching away with a wrapped sandwich in his hand. 

You stare, mouth open in silent shock and confusion, unable to respond. If this guy had bumped into you about a year ago, you would have practically beat him up yourself. Mikey would've had to come out of the restaurant and drag you off the guy, laughing and cheering all the way. His strong arms would wrap around you and somehow lift you up and off, voice husky in your ear as he alternates between voicing good humored apologies to the guy who had the misfortune of being an asshole to you and murmuring about how hot you looked while you defended yourself.

But in this moment, all you could do was regain the little confidence you had and go back to the task at hand: walking in. 

You swallow before standing up straight, plastering on a faux confident but cool grin onto your face. With your head held high in a way that you used to do but doesn't feel like you anymore, you jam a fist into your pocket and use your other free hand to push the front door open and waltz in. 

Cooly, you scan the empty restaurant. It seems like the lunch rush was very much over by now and the last customer for a while before the dinner rush had crashed into you and left moments before. So now, it was just you and The Beef. 

"Give me one sec!" A loud and charmingly obnoxious voice yelled from the kitchen. 

Your facade slipped as you heard this voice. Instantly, your shoulders sagged as you let out a quiet but pained laugh under your breath. 

The booming voice of Richie got louder and louder as he came out of the kitchen and to the counter, "How can I help you-" 

He paused. You immediately stood up straight again, a wide and sly but fake grin spreading over your face. 

Richie blinked, frozen. His eyes were wide and mouth had dropped slightly open.

After a couple seconds, the awkwardness started to set in for you, prompting you to speak up, "Jesus, Richie, you look like you've seen a ghost." 

In an instant, Richie snapped back to reality with a grin on his face, "COUSIN!" 

You winced at the volume, apparently not being the only one as you heard a couple muffled groans and protests from the kitchen as well as someone saying "what?!"

Richie threw his arms out, wide, before dropping them and racing around the counter to you. With a laugh, Richie's arms enveloped you, squeezing tight. 

You stiffened up immediately, feeling bad for not reciprocating instantly like you used to do. But whether or not that bothered Richie, you would never know because as fast as he enveloped you in a hug, he pulled away. 

"Cousin, what the hell are you doing this side of the country, huh?!" He grinned and placed his hands on his hips. 

"Oh my gosh!" Another voice said. 

Your head whipped to see Sugar at the doorway to the kitchen. She clutched a clipboard in her arms but as both of your eyes connected, she let it fall to the floor with a clatter. 

You can see her eyes well with tears as she raced around the counter to join you and Richie and as she got closer, she blinked them away. A wary smile appeared on her lips as she stood next to you, making her look a cross between nervous and relieved. 

"Richie, give her some space. Oh my gosh, hi!!" Natalie gasped. 

You winced a bit and smiled, "Hey…" 

You wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and stay there forever. 

"Shit cousin, I had no idea you were coming here! If you let us know beforehand, we could've made you a welcome party or, or, or something!" Richie said, ignoring Natalie. 

"How the hell have you been? How was it out west? I heard you got back in town but had no clue you were coming over here to visit!" Richie continued, going on and on and on. 

You stared at him, eyeing the way he looked rugged and much more tired than usual. But Richie was the same old Richie, loud and brash but caring when he wanted to be. 

Your eyes wandered from Richie's frame over to Natalie, who seemed to be analyzing your body silently. Her eyes were filled with worry and her fingers rapidly intertwined with themselves as she gave you a look that meant to say, 'Is this okay? Are you okay?'

You glance back at Richie before your eyes fell behind the two and to the entrance of the kitchen where a crowd had formed. 

And in front of that crowd was Carmy. 

Your shoulders tensed up, visibly enough to make Natalie perk up and whip her head around to see what you were staring at and make Richie go silent. The two glanced at Carmy and, unbeknownst to you, gave him a look of warning. 

Carmy wiped his hands on the towel he had and stared back, silent. His body language was unreadable and you couldn't tell whether or not he was upset at seeing you. Either way, you could feel the hair on the back of your neck stand. 

"Carmy…" you said, voice hoarse. 

You cleared your throat and awkwardly nodded, acknowledging those around him. You recognized a couple faces and others seemed unfamiliar but either way, they all looked at you with curious and cautious eyes. 

After stewing in silence for a bit, Sugar spoke up, "Carmy… say hello". 

Carmy blinked, eyes still set on you making you feel pinned to the spot. You could feel your breakfast swirl in your stomach as his eyes glared into you, analyzing your every move. Finally, he nodded and turned around, making the crowd behind him part like the red sea as he moved back into the kitchen. 

Suddenly, another face appeared in the doorway of the kitchen before yelling out your name excitedly. Fak came racing out of the kitchen, following the same path that Richie and Natalie took, before stopping in front of you.

"Holy shit!," he exclaimed happily, "Your home!" 

Your shoulder sagged. 

Home. 

You were home. 

He giggled to himself, not at all noticing your reaction "I haven't seen you in forever, how are you?" 

"Jesus man, give her some space she just arrived," Richie began, already launching into an argument. 

"What do you mean? I'm perfectly fine!" Fak said, head snapping over to Richie before the two began to bicker. 

Natalie rolled her eyes at them and turned to you, still concerned, "Just ignore them. Are you okay, sweetie?" 

You stood up straight again, wiping the wide eyed expression you didn't even know you had on your face for one with a lazy smile, "Yea, I'm okay." 

She reached her arm out, hesitating for a second to see if you would reject her, before resting her hand on your forearm when you seemed okay with it. She gently ushered you around the bickering men and behind the counter, to the kitchen. The crowd watching dispersed with curious eyes and kind smiles from those you recognized, letting you two pass through. 

As you walked through the kitchen, gulping as your eyes retraced each corner and crevice you had tried to forget about, your eyes stopped briefly to look at Carmy. With his back towards you, he silently chopped some vegetables, seemingly ignoring what was happening around him. 

"Here we are," Sugar said, quietly announcing to you to get your attention. 

You turned and dug your heels into the ground, soles squeaking as you did so. Sugar jumped back and glanced at you. 

"Can we… I'd rather we talk outside." You announce, voice wavering in a way that made your previous confident persona waver. 

Right in front of you stood the door to the office; an office you were very much familiar with as you too had spent many times there. All those memories, all bittersweet at this point, came rushing back; the nights you spent arguing over bills and paperwork with Mikey, the days you came with a bag of donuts from your favorite shop nearby, the intimate moments where your and his lips connected behind the closed door, the moments in which you hid in the office and cried your heart out. 

Sugar noticed the way your eyes had become misty and promptly led you to the back door of the kitchen and to the alleyway.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, that's okay. We can talk here.” she said soothingly.

Her voice was so comforting, making you feel nauseous. You hated the way that Sugar would always act very motherly, even when you were all kids. 

With a shaky breath, you nodded and smiled anxiously, “I'm okay Sugar, you don’t need to worry.”

Glancing at you, Sugar smiled softly. But her smile quickly dropped when she scanned your features, taking in your face again. 

“You look,” she began quietly, “You look good.”

You chuckled to yourself, knowing damn well that she was wrong, “Thanks, you too.”

Richie bursts out the back door, with Fak in town, still bickering.

“My God you two, just stop!” Sugar yells, getting the two to finally snap their mouths shut. 

Fak playfully salutes Sugar, a knowing look on his face while Richie rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. 

“Yea whatever. I’m just happy to see you again, cousin.” Richie says, directing his body to you, with a tone of softness in his voice that felt so foreign that it made you shiver. 

“It’s nice to see you too,” you said softly, rubbing your hands on your thighs.

It was silent for a bit as the four of you all glanced at one another, unsure where to start and what to say. Each party had so much they wanted to say to each other at that moment, but you knew that the three people standing before you had the most to say to you. 

Carmy came out the back door, silent and unsurprised to see the four of you glance in his direction. He closed the door behind him and stood off to the side, away from all of you. He then proceeded to take out a pack and light a cigarette, quietly puffing. 

“Cousin, did you even say hello? It’s rude as hell to just ignore her,” Richie said, a bit agitated at his dismissive behavior.

Yet Carmy ignored him, staring out to the side and away from you all, his blue eyes flickering, but refusing to even glance in your direction.

You could feel your eyes prickle and your throat tighten, regretting even showing up. Carmy was the one person you haven't seen the longest and here he was, ignoring you as if you didn’t even exist.

“Hey,” Richie barked, taking you out of your thoughts, “At least look at her!”

Richie began to stomp forward to Carmy, making you and Sugar flinch as you watched. Fak moved forward, reaching out to Richie and mumbling quietly to get him to stop. Right before Richie could grab Carmy by the shoulder, Carmy spoke up.

“I’m glad you're okay.”

Your mouth dried up.

His eyes turned to you and all you could see in them was pained understanding. He knew you weren’t okay; an okay person wouldn’t just pack up and leave the night after her boyfriend’s funeral. But, he saw that you were alive and the fact that you showed up here after so long meant something. 

It meant that now you were okay.

“Thanks Carmy” you said, making everyone’s head turn to you. 

Richie rocked his jaw and nodded silently, stepping back from Carmy. 

The three of them watched as Carmy lifted his box of cigarettes and offered one to you. They then watched as you walked forward, arms that had wrapped around your body falling, to grab one. He fished his worn lighter from his pocket, carefully lighting the cig you held around your lips for you, before pocketing it and leaning back against the wall.

You take a deep drag, letting the nicotine smoke fill your lungs before exhaling. It soothed your nerves, reminding you of the moments that you spent outside with Carmy, avoiding the yells from inside the house during a Berzatto family event. 

Suddenly, a deep funny feeling began to strew about in your belly. It felt odd and you tried to suppress it, but you just couldn’t help it. You barked out a laugh. 

It surprised you and everyone, not at all expecting it. You felt your cheeks heat up, horrified as to why you just laughed. 

You breathed in, only for it to come out as another laugh. Your horror was then replaced with amusement, making you laugh even harder. 

Sugar, Fak, and Richie all averted their gazes, a mixture of remorse and shame written all over their faces. 

You laughed even harder, slamming your back against the wall before sliding into a crouch. Your body shook so hard as you laughed, barely able to keep the cigarette between your fingers. 

Carmy looked away, an empty look on his face as he too chuckled to himself. 

After laughing so much that your belly began to hurt, you finally spoke up between dissolving giggles, “What the fuck am i even doing here!?”

Natalie turned her back to everyone, clutching her body in her arms. Fak walked forward and gently placed a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t even look at him as he hooked one of his arms under your arm and helped you up from the floor to stand against the wall again. Your knees buckled slightly as you continued giggling and wheezing in an attempt to catch your breath.

Fak stepped back and sighed softly, watching your chest heave as your breathing began to stabilize. 

An uncomfortable silence fell as you caught your breath, leaving the four of you in limbo to listen to a couple cars pass by and the wind blow softly by.

Carmy straightened up, making everyone except Sugar turn to him. He dropped the cigarette he was smoking and crushed it under his shoe. He then reached behind him to untie the knot of his apron and then moved to his neck where he took it off completely. He thrusted it forward, pushing it to you.

“Okay Chef, break is over.” He said. 

You looked over at him, finding no fear or sadness on his face, before nodding and grabbing the apron. He stepped back and turned, moving to open the back door and step inside. 

Sugar, Fak, and Richie all turned to you.

“Break is over,” you repeated and began to tie the apron around yourself before opening the backdoor and walking back inside. 

[cloveroctobers]

Richie Jerimovich — summer prompts 🍋

A/N: Love that most of y’all are coming around when it comes to Richie but what’s understood doesn’t need to be explained! Anyways after watching this eye-opening season, it was easy to be inspired for this piece so I hope you enjoy this.

SYNOPSIS: Richie’s found his purpose and doesn’t want to reflect on the past (much) but is looking towards a better future…which may include baby steps to outsiders but it means everything to him.

WARNINGS: language ofc it’s the bear & me we’re talking about, mentions of drugs & anxiety, mentions of slight sexual themes, and a little heaviness but mostly two goof balls expressing their love for each together.

Decided to throw a prompt into the mix as well so I’m using: “can we make cookies?” “it is 92 degrees outside, no!” 

*GIF BELONGS TO: @p3iyin9 *

꒰ ° ꒱** ༉‧₊˚✧ ↝ ꒰ ° ꒱** ༉‧₊˚✧ ↝ ꒰ ° ꒱** ༉‧₊˚✧ ↝ ꒰ ° ꒱**

[July 10th]

[4 months, 14 days later…]

It’s her birthday and she’s here.

She’s not alone and Richie’s half expecting her to be here with some new guy, some guy that’s more around her age and has their shit together. It’s a bitter thought to have but he can’t lie and say that it didn’t occur, the constant insecurity of not being good enough.

He knows it’s his own fault, he’s the one who pushed her away not long after she welcomed him between her thighs during a brutal winter. The details were vivid even with his eyes wide open, burning into space. He wanted to be angry being so intimate with someone else when there was always the thought of his first love on his mind.

Tiffany.

His ex-wife.

He was still hurting from being officially divorced for about a year now (separated for three) and she was moving on he learned. It was bound to happen, a woman with a heart like her’s? Richie wasn’t sure why he was still holding on to hope for them to rekindle their relationship. He wanted it to work but he was the constant screw up and Tiffany deserved better…he just didn’t expect it to be with some construction owning guy named Frank.

Richie already didn’t trust him.

It was the common tale of curing a broken heart, trying to get underneath someone else to get over someone, to feel anything else but the continuing ache that sat on the left side of his chest.

Freya Mazari was someone Richie met not long after “the thing with Tiff,” happened, outside of a bar that was famous for bourbon and risqué wall art. He spotted her outside at the start of summer on a surprisingly quiet sidewalk cracking her knuckles—out of a possible bad habit, blue bruise the side of an apple on her cheek, and a unlit spliff tapping against her thigh afterwards as she seemed to be mumbling some lyrics to a Busta Rhymes song.

That was the first thing that had him sold on their soon growing friendship.

Freya’s surrounded by a group of diverse women who are laughing it up over drinks while Freya is standing; embracing Sugar and falling into smile-filled chatter with the blonde. Richie instantly feels a pull to head over there himself but be figures he can just get entail from Sugar later. Carmy’s been over to Freya’s table already, handing out a, “it’s on the house,” birthday special but they still weren’t on the best terms really. It was strictly business now and that was something Richie never wanted to be part of.

A strict relationship with a family member—except for uncle Jimmy of course, he really had no choice with that one. That night back on opening day in May, seemed to be something they couldn’t get pass just yet and that was another hard pill for Richie to swallow.

Carmy messing up something good on the surface level and taking it out on everybody else with his mouth, changed the trajectory of their relationship.

Would it be forever? Richie couldn’t tell you.

Nonetheless he wasn’t here at the bear to talk about need-a-diaper carmy. Right now? He needed to figure out how to handle this…this distance with the woman he considered his close friend.

He’ll deal with that family shit in due time, don’t worry.

“Who are we hiding from?” A familiar voice causes Richie to clench his eyes shut.

He doesn’t have to peer down at the shorter tatted man who’s behind him as he says, “I’m not hiding from nobody.”

“Really? Because it looks like you’re creeping on…Freya! Yeah Freya over there. Do you know it’s her birthday today? We had the best birthday hug, she may even be a better hugger than me.” Fak informs the taller blue eyed tux wearing man.

Richie pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, “of course I know its her—what did I tell you about touching things that don’t belong to you?”

He battled with himself countless of times this entire morning to call her up but ultimately fought against himself to just do it.

Fak hummed, “hey, she’s my friend too! And doesn’t belong to either of us but we’re included in her life and it’s her birthday! I’m sure she’ll be happy to receive a birthday wish from you too.”

“I can’t say I agree with you on that.”

“Why not? Oh…it’s because you guys did the dance with no pants—

Richie’s hands immediately slaps over the animated man’s mouth and starts talking to him calmly, “what did I say? To not ever mention that shit here at the original bear.”

That’s Richie’s new spin on the restaurant name, yes there are shirts on the way!

Patience is key.

Fak hummed as Richie scolded him. It wasn’t that big of a deal in the first place on Fak’s side of things. He was just thrilled that Richie was involved in being intimate with someone he cared about for once…compared to the others that shall not be named. Fak thought Freya and Richie could be something great but he wasn’t aware what Richie was so scared of.

“Yuck! Did you just lick my hand you—

Richie shook his hand about, halting himself from saying something insulting. Sometimes it just slipped out but he was doing much better and it was usually a place out of love when it came to Fak. He was like a puppy in training, always excited and doing whatever came to mind but most of the time you had to lure him to take a fucking nap.

“Yeah I did! Just go talk to her! Make her dreams come true.”

“Fuck are you talking about? Do I look like Hall & Oates to you? Like I’m her dream guy or somethin’?”

“Hey, I thought we weren’t doing this. I don’t like you talking down on yourself buddy! You need to go into the restroom and give yourself a quick pep talk in the mirror.” Fak ordered, pointing in the direction of the restrooms.

Richie blew out a raspberry at Fak’s encouragement. He didn’t take him serious but once the man started shoving him about, Richie was all elbows flying and slap-fight inflicting between the two.

Sydney calls from the kitchen, “Hey! What’re you two doing? Aren’t you supposed to be up front?”

“Sugar’s up front.” Richie informs with a slight turn to face the braided woman.

Fak immediately straightens up, not providing much answers, “Yes ma’am! I mean chef.”

Sydney blinks at the two, wondering why they’re not moving, leaving Fak to take a few deep breaths before slapping Richie on the chest as he mutters, “Taking one for the team again! You’re welcome and get it together!”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Fak.”

Fak shrugs his shoulders and spins to leave the entry way of the kitchen, while the pace of the kitchen has started to slow down the movements are still precise. It’s late, after ten pm and there’s about three to five parties left, which means closing time should be wrapping up within the next thirty to forty-five minutes.

Business was booming still almost two months later but the rush always seemed to slow down once the late nights arrived. The Bear was formerly known as mainly a lunch or late lunch spot but after this new reno, dinner became much more important.

“Richie,” Sydney steps away from her spot behind the stand, “Everything good?”

Richie exhales as he mutters, “Freya’s out there.”

“I heard.”

He fidgets then.

“Have you talked to her? It’s her birthday.”

“I’m aware, I put in the word for Marcus to give her a little piece of home since I also hear she’s a little homesick. Mkhabez.” Sydney tells Richie, as she eyes the jittery man.

Richie chews on his fingernail in thought, “right that’s some type of cookie. Almond cookie? She told me about how her uh, Jidda used to make them for her as a little girl with her siblings back in Algeria.”

Sydney nodded her head, “yeah…are you okay?”

“Huh?”

“Not to be an asshole but you look like you’re gonna pass out or hurl and if you are, please give me a fair warning so you don’t ruin my coat.” Sydney cautiously took a step back as Richie used the back of his hand to wipe at the beads of sweat on his forehead and not because of the heat in the kitchen.

Richie scoffs, “No need to worry, Chef. I’m not gonna empty my belly or pop a smooth criminal lean. I don’t know why I’m feeling this way. I probably need to pop another xan.”

“Uh, that’s probably something you shouldn’t mention to me.”

“Why? You’re not gonna snitch on me, are you?”

“No…but I might snoop through your stuff and fry them all in a pan.” Sydney honestly says while she folds her arms as Richie peers at her.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I could,” Sydney challenged, “if you need a minute take it but you can’t run forever.”

“Who says I’m runnin’?”

“It’s pretty obvious,” Sydney states, “and you just need to rip whatever this is off like a band aid, you’ll feel better afterwards.”

“And what if I don’t?”

Sydney pauses with her arms still folded before she peeks around at the remaining chefs in the kitchen, Carmy not in sight before she whispers back up at him, “then fuck it, at least you tried.”

Richie can’t help but to snort out some laughter before he claps two hands down on Sydney’s shoulders, giving them a squeeze, “Well thanks for that, Syd.”

“Sure, whatever. Now get out of my kitchen.”

“Our!” Richie points.

Sydney nods her head from side to side with a playful roll of her eyes as Richie clicks his tongue at her. Down the hall he goes in search of the bathroom to in fact, give himself a pep talk but most importantly to calm down.

Richie’s disappeared for over half an hour. He didn’t realize it until Carmy barged in to see him sitting on the bathroom sink.

“I said I’m in here!”

“Yeah, with your ass in the sink.” Carmy’s tone is monotone but quick to point out, “which is unsanitary by the way.”

Richie can’t help but to roll his eyes as he hops off then, fixing his tux before he slaps his face, bringing himself out his daze. He spins back around, getting another good look at his reflection for what felt like the thousandth time but he exhales and quietly excuses himself from around Carmy who appears as if he wants to say more.

But he doesn’t.

Richie’s steps echo in his ears as he circles around to the dining area. He hasn’t realized how long he locked himself away until he’s in the room, half of the chairs flipped up onto the tables with lofi music playing through the speakers.

He can only guess who picked this shit.

A blonde pregnant lady probably.

“Damn.” Richie rubs at his mouth in frustration, briefly noticing the booth Freya previously sat in was now empty.

That didn’t lift the weight to now know that she was gone for the night. In fact it made him feel worse, that he didn’t have the nerve to just walk up to her and talk.

You know? like friends were supposed to be able to do.

His skin is red as he pinches at it in aggravation, until he picks up on the sound of heels slowly clacking against the floor. His breathing hitches as he lifts his head to meet Freya’s dark sharp eyes.

“Hey,” Richie chest feels tight but he breathes, “I thought you scrammed outta here with your girls.”

She shakes her head as she keeps some distance between the two, “some of them have early mornings tomorrow and the rest I told to just go home. I was hoping to run into you actually.”

Richie swallows as she steps forward, “why? To smash some cake in my face?”

“Now there’s an idea.” She lightly laughs and it sounds like Christmas bells, “but no, I wanted to see you.”

Richie quirked up a brow as he carefully moved out of the way so Freya could grab her things, “…really?”

“Yeah, we have some things to talk about.” Freya slips her bag over her shoulder, “Like you ghosting me for one.”

Richie rolls his head up to the ceiling, “yeah, about that—

“Let’s go for a late night walk.”

“How about a late night drive since I know your feet are hurting or about to be soon,” Richie looks at Freya’s fit, knowing she wasn’t much of a heels wearing woman (although she wears them very well) preferring sneakers more than anything on her feet.

Freya laughs as she sways a bit, probably a little tipsy, “you’re not wrong about that…so get your keys and take me to yours.”

“Mine,” Richie questions while pointing to himself, “I dunno what kinda guy you take me for—

“Oh Shut up, I’m not giving you any of this birthday cake.” She poses in her fitted dress, “I’m only propositioning a conversation between Richard and the birthday girl.”

“Yeah you giving this a whole title isn’t helping the innuendo, baby.”

“And neither are you in that tux,” Freya smoothes down the arm of it before placing her hands back on the strap of her bag, “Didn’t get the chance to tell you last time face to face but you clean up very nice, Richard.”

Richie gives a grin as he says, “Give me two minutes.”

Which leads to the pair pulling up to Richie’s condo/apartment. It’s normally too quiet at night for his liking, especially when he’s not jamming out with Eva here. After unlocking the front door, he holds his arm out for Freya to lead the way, which she has no issue doing, a natural sway in her steps as she walks down the foyer bare footed now.

“I’ll put the AC on.” Richie rushes out as Freya makes herself at home, placing her shoes against the couch and plopping down on the couch with a sigh.

He messes around with the finicky thermostat until it chokes out some cool air from the vents in the ceiling above, battling against the humidity in his two bedroom home.

“What can I get you? I’ve got beer, Gatorade, tap and—

“Orange juice?” Freya asks as she lays down on the couch, one arm is held up and over her head, eyes closed for a moment.

“Yeah I’ve got that too,” Richie responds from around the corner in his kitchen.

It’s about ten minutes until eleven and Freya is all yawns as Richie arrives back into the living room, holding two red cups, one filled with ice and OJ just how Freya likes it and one just filled with the orange liquid. He sits down beside her as she sits up and moves over to give the man some room in his own house.

She’s gulping the cold juice down and licks at the top of her lip before placing it down on the side table, “you need coasters.”

“Ah, just use some toilet paper.”

Freya crinkles her nose, pressing her fist into the side of her head as she rests back against the couch, just eyeing Richie who is looking forward at everything else but her. The cold air is wheezing but there’s relief filling the room, in contrast to what Richie maybe feeling.

“This silence is killing me, Richard!” Freya pokes his thigh with her seashell painted toe, “just talk to me already, will you?”

“Okay…how’s the birthday going?”

Freya honestly says, “I’m a little sad my mum didn’t call.”

That gets Richie to look at Freya then. Although their friendship was still fairly new, he knew that seemed unlikely for Freya’s mother out in North London to forget her eldest’ birthday. Of course it was possible, Richie didn’t have the best relationship with his own neglectful mother, hasn’t spoken to her in years or knows where she even fucked off to but it seemed like Freya at least communicated with her mother across the ocean on a daily basis.

“Has your brother or sister been in contact with her?”

“Oh yeah, she was in the background on FaceTime with my sister. Not even a hello but it’s probably because I told her I couldn’t send her any money a few weeks ago. Whatever.” Freya shrugs her shoulders.

She was a dental hygienist assistant and didn’t care for her job much but the pay and benefits were decent enough in this economy.

Freya was originally born in Algiers to a father that worked in labor and manufacturing while her mother was a stay at home mom, mostly due to a disability she faced as a child. Money wasn’t the best growing up so it wasn’t until Freya was about twelve when her father moved her, her mother, and her baby sister to London where they stayed with Freya’s maternal aunt for a few months until they got into their own flat. Her brother stayed with her father for awhile until they soon started making their visits.

Eventually her father decided to let the brother stay there while he continued making money and hoping for better work in London. However there were a few opportunities but it seemed like Freya’s father kept turning it down, just to find out he was participating in extramarital affairs behind her mother’s back. Not long after that, her mother stepped up to work with aching joints at a sporting goods store to provide for her three kids.

Freya as the eldest was also used to working underneath the table so it was no different in the UK. She learned quickly how to provide for her family too.

After that they learned her father had fallen ill due to his diabetes and needed his leg amputated. When Freya was twenty-one and living in Toronto with a boyfriend, he was living in London with his sister-in-law and died from congestive heart failure. Freya’s upbringing wasn’t always so cloudy, there were sweet moments with her parents that she liked to hold dear to her heart but the reality is, you’ll always bring something from your childhood into your adulthood good or bad.

“I’m sorry. That sucks ass forreal.” Richie comments and Freya just deeply inhales.

“You know what else sucks?” She exhales, “Not having you around to talk to.”

Richie presses his elbows into his knees in thought, “I uh—I’m sorry about that too. I didn’t mean to, what did you say back at the spot? Ghost you? Yeah. I didn’t mean to do that, I was just dealing with some shit inside that didn’t really have anything to do with you.”

“So the sex wasn’t trash and I didn’t scare you off?”

“What? Are you kidding?!” Richie’s wide-eyed as he quickly looks back at Freya, who’s face is full of a smirk, that it makes the dent on the center of her chin more prominent.

He soon laughs, “you’re fucken annoying you know that?”

“I’m supposed to be. You’ve met your match,” Freya winks.

“It—I’m gonna be real with you. I panicked because it was you on top of—it was you—and not just some random one night stand. With those I never really felt anything unfortunately for me but with you—

“It was like the Fourth of July-ly-ly.”

Richie scoffs and rolls his eyes, “I’m all here for your confidence in my skills truly but shut up.”

Who was being annoying now? She was clearly talking about herself but whatever floats this man’s boat—which she already knew—BUT she’ll save you guys the details.

“I’ve been quiet for months and I’m just trying to help fill in the gaps, sheesh!” Freya flicks her black parted hair back over her shoulders.

Richie shakes his head at the thirty something year old woman who didn’t mind rambling even when she wasn’t tipsy.

“It’s just you know, I didn’t think I would ever feel something again after the d—the thing with tiff.”

Richie still couldn’t say it, although Tiffany was officially steering her life in the direction of a another man. He still couldn’t say “divorce” because then that would mean he would have to start his own healing of a end of a special era with a woman he deeply loved and created a precious life with.

It just fizzled out and damn it hurt.

“And you did with me,” Freya voiced and was understanding, “glad to know that wasn’t only one sided.”

Richie finds himself asking, “Did you tell that no good locked up son of a bitch about it?”

Freya’s ex was some abusive guy that landed himself in jail right after New Years and it wasn’t for him stalking, harassing, or hitting Freya. It was from attempted armed robbery and now he was serving time for it and Freya finally felt like she could breathe for once.

Richie knew the feeling of being held back.

Counting your breaths are actually helpful, shout-out to anger management!

“No. Did you?”

“That jagoff can choke!”

“I mean, did you tell Tiffany?”

“Fuck no! I needed to see how we were feeling about it first and it’s not like she tells me her every move—besides her getting engaged to some other guy.” Richie’s almost glaring now at the fact of the matter before fixing his tone some, “Which I guess she gets points for letting me know and if the bastard is gonna be around my kid full-time.”

Freya spoke, “You just never thought there would be someone else. I get it.”

“Never! For either of us, then you came along and then came Frank and it’s a constant loop of emotions but I’m happy to be in Eva’s life and to feel something other than dread when I step into the original bear.” Richie’s plucking his nail against the plastic cup, slightly anxious at being this vulnerable.

However Freya wasn’t one to judge much, sure she had her opinions and can get loud from time to time when she’s pissed off or passionate but she was usually open to hearing all perspectives before she said her peace. Richie’s view was not one she spoke much on, she listened, really listened like he needed someone to and offered words when it was time for him to hear them.

“That’s something to look forward to.”

“Yeah but I still miss you.” Richie rubbed at his face before saying, “I miss our friendship and I don’t know what to do about us after what we did…yet somethin’ inside is telling me that nows not really the time to be jumping into anything. I’m just figuring things out and I know that’s gotta count for something.”

“Which is fine, richie!” Freya says with a light shove to his shoulder, “I wasn’t chasing you down to force you to be with me or anything! I gave you the space you clearly needed. I know we both got our own shit to deal with but being with you helps put that on pause for awhile …even if it’s as friends. I’m here whenever you need me, you wanna vent and scream about shit, have at it. You don’t wanna talk? Let’s have a dance party instead. If you need a shoulder to cry on, I’ve got two, take your pick!”

Richie snorts at this but he honestly appreciates it. He almost forgot what it felt like to have a friend.

“Just don’t cancel me out for months at a time, and expect things to be normal without a conversation, you hear me you prick? I’m your friend, you can talk to me ya know? I want you to feel safe with me, confide in me.” Freya holds Richie’s navy eyes against her ink colored ones and Richie has to slap a hand over his mouth to hold back a sob.

Richie chokes out, “ugh! Why are you making me feel things?!”

“Because it’s cancer season and I love and respect our friendship. You held me down in my lowest and I’m gonna keep uplifting you during yours and your growth.” Freya places a hand over the one that’s resting on Richie’s own knee.

Freya goes on, “It’s not our time to be romantically involved and I’m quite okay with that but that doesn’t mean I suddenly stop caring for you.”

Richie pressed his chin into his shoulder, staring at her underneath his lashes, “Wow…you sure you don’t wanna make-out just to confirm that?”

“I knew you liked how I look in this dress.” Freya playfully runs her nails through his buzzed hair, “say it back though, tell me you care just as much.”

There’s that “words of affirmation” shit people talk about right? Garrett would probably find this amusing.

He gently rests a rough hand against her cheek, “You know I do but I’m gonna say it anyways since you wanna be mushy as fuck right now. Thanks for everything and coming into my life, I care a lot about you and us. Your heart is beautiful and you’re my friend who also happens to be a total smoke show! I know you must feel amazing in that dress, you wear it well.”

“Thanks, good looking!” She winks.

“Act like you know,” Richie smirks.

“Oh, please!”

Richie hyped himself up with a roll of his shoulders, “Look good, feel good.”

They share a laugh staring at each other with Freya balled up beside him and Richie just enjoying her company. He wasn’t sure what to make of this but he didn’t have to have all the answers tonight. This Freya also confirmed.

He was just happy to be around her again and to have her be part of his journey.

She pops up then, “Can we make cookies?”

“Didn’t you just have some back at the restaurant?” Richie asks before saying, “It’s 92 degrees outside, no!”

“That was much earlier, though.” Freya argues, eyes darting to the side as she thinks about it.

It really was a lovely day to spend her birthday, although she wasn’t on a boat somewhere in Monaco or Miami…it was a somewhat chill day.

“Didn’t you already have some cookies at the restaurant?”

He knew she was a hungry drunk but she was nowhere near drunk, shockingly on her day.

“So? If you don’t know how to make some basic chocolate chip cookies just say that.”

Richie scoffed, “What?! Who said that? I make the best got damn cookies ever, just ask Eva.”

“She’s probably sleeping?”

“…fuck, you’re right.”

He definitely would have called her up if it wasn’t passed her bedtime.

“Well? What’re you waiting for?” She kicks his thigh again.

Richie pressed his forehead against Freya’s as he hollered, “Game on, Queen Elizabeth!”

“Don’t you ever!” She tapped his jaw and pointed at him.

Richie moved his jaw along blinking, “I’m sorry! I forgot.”

Thats how the late night evening included making homemade cookies, with Richie hovering over his phone trying to read off ingredients to Freya as they made a mess of his kitchen.

“Where’s the dark chocolate?” Freya searched Richie’s cabinets and drawers while Richie tried to keep his eyes away from the kitchen door, where he had Freya propped up against with him down on his knees.

“What? I said salt?” Richie’s eyes followed the woman as she moved around the kitchen as if she were being timed, “I dunno where the hell you got dark chocolate from.”

“We can do dark chocolate since it’s superior and a pinch of sea salt?”

Lines appeared against the skin of Richie’s forehead as he raised his brows, “How about hell no, Betty Crocker?”

“Who made you the number one cookie critic?” Freya gibed as she gently closed the drawers shut with her hips.

Richie taunts, “your mother!”

Middle fingers and a sarcastic smile later were handed right over to the 6’1 man, “Piss off, Richard!”

“Well…whadda want to do? Eva and I ate up all the last of the candy I had here. She might be coming to see you soon actually but don’t tell tiff that if you happen to see her, alright?” Richie slaps the palms of his hands against his kitchen counter.

Freya let’s out a dramatic sigh as she begins pacing on her side of the counter. She stops to lean her elbows against the counter and looks at the plastic large bowl in front of richie. Still sighing Freya reaches over to use the smaller spoon that was off to the side to dip into the batter.

Hey, Freya was no baker or chef but she liked looking at the consistency and details of things. Turning it to show to Richie, she takes one finger and flicks the spoon back so the batter can fling forward and stick right on Richie’s nose.

She’s cackling at the image of Richie closing his eyes shut in disbelief. His tongue goes out then to lick some of it off before swiping it away with his fingertips. He stares hard at a laughing Freya, who has her head thrown back, hugging herself while Richie is focused on his next move.

He’s carefully taking his jacket off now, smoothing it down before using his long limbs to toss it over at the dining table top on his right. Freya doesn’t notice this as she’s wiping the corners of her wing-lined eyes, still closed as she’s almost snorting now, skin of her nostrils sinking in a bit, like she’s squidward or some shit as she carries on laughing.

“You think you’re so funny don’t you?” Richie asks with a palm full of flour now.

She’s still laughing as she nods her head, too full of giggles to get any words out.

Instead of Richie sprinkling some salt, he throws flour across the counter right to the side of Freya’s face, “Well I’m funnier, asshole!”

That gets Freya to stop laughing then. She stands up straight and it’s Richie’s turn to fail to cover his own laughter with his fist.

It was on then.

A flour fight began between the two friends, coating most of the kitchen with white powder.

“I think you threw salt in my eye you turd?!” Freya’s holding her eye now, after this has gone on for at least ten minutes.

“Shit, I’m sorry! Everything is starting to look the same.” Richie’s coming to her aide now, fanning the air as he steps to her, hands reaching for her forearms, “let me see.”

Freya fools him, “Gotcha!” Before whacking him in the neck with a whisk.

“Ow! Hey you’re fighting dirty, Frey!” Richie scolds before snatching a wooden spoon making Freya eye him wildly, “uh huh let me see you try to win this battle now.”

“I’m definitely gonna win, whether you like it not, Richy Rich.” Freya got low, ready to aim at Richie’s torso since she had that to her advantage being shorter than him.

Richie blows a raspberry, tapping the wooden spoon against the palm of his hand, “you must not know the strength of a wooden spoon and my wrestling skills, sweetheart. I got the team to championships!”

“When? In 1948?”

Richie tightens his eyes at this before they’re in a fencing match now. Which doesn’t last long as one of the two lost their footing due to the flour covered floor.

“I think I broke my ass.” Richie groans holding his back.

Freya’s laughing again as she’s resting right on top of Richie, “I’m glad I don’t have that problem, flat ass.”

“I don’t appreciate you slandering what I lack, some of us weren’t blessed okay?” Richie sasses as he wraps a hand around Freya’s waist to sit them both up.

Freya cooed at him, pinching his cheeks while Richie rolls his eyes. They sit in silence with freya on his lap as they take in the sight of his kitchen now. Flour on the upper cabinets, flour even on Eva’s personal drawing table, flour of course covering the counter, flour all over the floor, hair, face and their clothes.

“Great…now I gotta clean this up!”

“Eh, maybe later yeah?”

“Later? Well what else do you have in mind since we didn’t actually make those cookies you wanted so bad?” Richie waved his hands about.

Freya makes an explosion in front of Richie’s face, his round eyes following her fingertips for a moment before she says close to his face, “I have a better idea, it’s actually a good one.”

Richie was half expecting Freya to get him to break out into a dance routine like last time to Madonna’s, “Material girl,” but he was sure the man above was probably tired of their shenanigans tonight.

So that’s how he ended up here, covered in flour with him watching as Freya made herself comfortable on his couch again, head pressed against her folded up hands.

One eye pops open almost like a jumpscare, “are you gonna stand there the entire night like a creeper and just watch me sleep or are you going to join me, Richie Lawrence?”

Richie scratches at his head in confusion, “stop with the whole middle-name name drop, you’re making me think of my bastard dad. And I’m not sure what you want me to do here?”

“Make yourself comfortable, it’s your house.”

“There’s a bed on the other side and a shower…”

“So you’re gonna make more suggestions on my birthday but then say respectfully a romantic relationship isn’t what you want out of this on my birthday? It sounds like you want to give me a certain gift on my birthday to end this birthday party.” Freya rambles, now sitting up on her elbow.

Richie squints, “how many times did you just say birthday?”

“Get over here!”

“God, you’re getting bossy in your old age.” Richie jokes as he sits down by Freya’s legs, who swings them to the floor so Richie can scoot in behind her.

He keeps his hands and feet where he can see them, staring at the back of Freya’s head and he can smell her sweet but floral scent. Richie takes the time to digest how this feels, with Freya in front of him radiating off a comforting warmth even when she snatches his arm to rest against her waist.

Richie is just waiting then for the anxiety to kick in but it doesn’t arrive for the rest of the night. Which makes him sink further into the couch, tightening his hold of Freya. His nose then presses down into her bare soft shoulder blade, right where her round mole sits and exhales.

“I’m proud of you.” Freya croaks out, ready for sleep, “and you should be too.”

And that makes Richie’s heart swell. He always wanted to be good at something but wasn’t sure how to make a career out of it. He had to find his footing in this world constantly and slowly he felt like he was beginning to locate it. They say it’s in your daily routine if you’re unsure and engaging with all sorts of people was something richie didn’t mind being part of.

It felt natural to him.

Holding Freya felt just the same but she didn’t need to know that just yet. He loved physical touch whether you were his family or not, it was the best form of love Richie wanted to give and receive.

He didn’t realize he squeezed her tighter against him at her words before he presses a kiss to the back of her head, “Happy birthday.”

A smile graces her lips.

In the early hours of July 11th, the sky a faded dim blue begins to peak through Richie’s living room curtains, revealing that a new day was among them.

Richie’s always been a early riser since sleep hardly existed according to the bags underneath his eyes. It had to be around 5 in the morning and he knew he would be ready for some coffee soon but this time he enjoys the silence. He feels Freya roll back against him, arm looping around his neck as she stretches in her sleep.

“Morning to you too,” Richie greets, “Question for ya, how’s bell-pep the iguana doin’?”

You heard that right, Freya was a “Guana-momma,” who she named after a vegetable specifically and Richie was ready to baby sit the guy at any time—as long as it didn’t freak Eva out too much but he doubted that. She had his blood in her veins.

Freya shushed him straight away, removing her arm from around his neck to curl that same arm to press the back of her fingers against his lips, “When I step up in the place, ayo, I step correct.” She starts before moving those fingers to create a wave up in the air.

It only made sense to Richie for her to be rounding off lyrics early in the morning, especially when he was asking questions and she wasn’t sure if she even knew her name just yet.

“Woo-hah, got them all in check.” Richie proceeds, head lifting a little to see if Freya’s eyes were even open as she rounded off lyrics.

Freya concludes, “Go to sleep.”

Enough said.

“I’ll try.”

The sight of flour sticky limbs entangled between two reconnected friends on another summer’s day went like this: cheek pressed against her’s, his facial hair pricking her skin which she didn’t seem to mind as snores actually escaped Richie’s lips, with his hand gripping Freya’s that was clutched to her own chest as their bodies gently rose in deep slumber.

The cares of the outside world were put on hold once more and Richie envisioned that this must be what heaven felt like. Nothing but a bit of light right in front of his eyes or in his arms to lead the way.

Cheers to some fucking clarity!

Sorry for the foul language dude or person or divine power up there…but Richie was thankful for it all.

꒰ ° ꒱** ༉‧₊˚✧ ↝ ꒰ ° ꒱** ༉‧₊˚✧ ↝ ꒰ ° ꒱** ༉‧₊˚✧ ↝ ꒰ ° ꒱**

Continue along with my summer anthology prompts here.

-> Part two!

[garbinge]

Carmy and Richie were chest-to-chest

See the issue is that every time anyone puts anyone in a tense moment like this im like ok so kiss. Sskskskksks

Fak was on standby, as he should be!! Ready for anything my Neil fak!!!

Almost soft. As soft as he would allow himself to be in the middle of the warzone. Sjkdahfjkkds THATS MY RICHIE!!!!!!!!! BEND AT THE KNEES MELT MY BOYYYYYY

he was not as talkative about you as he was about all of them. I love this line

“It’s was nice to…you know…” I love this callout that’s like sort of like Richie’s vague gesture just moments before. They are same brains <3

“Fuckin’ Fak.” FUCKIN FAK IS MY FAVORITE LINE EVERY IT NEEDS TO BE IN EVERY FUCKING FAK FIC

when you turned around and saw him standing there still looking at you, you laughed and shook your head at him. He smiled, but rather than saying anything else, he just gave you the finger

You sent me this but it’s so good, I love that he’s just watching but then gets caught and gives such a typical Richie response.

GOD ITS THE WAY I LOVE FAK SO FUCKING MUCH GOD!!!!!!! I literally would copy and paste every line of his in this fic just to scream into the void about it.

And apparently thats what im gonna do

“Do you sleep over?” Sdljfagkjhgkjdhfs !!!!!

“I met her on, fuckin’, you know,” he patted at his pants pocket where his phone was. “And she’s cool.” I need to know what his dating profile says. I need to.

“She gives you benefits?” Sdkhjfkgsjafhkjdhg

“Gross,” Carmy responded with a laugh khasdkjhjkgsdahkjghjkfhdjkashgk I can’t contain myself im giggling like a kid. HAHAHAHHA gross, im dying.

“So gross,” Fak agreed. IM DYING EVEN MORE HAHAHAHAHA

I love that carmy still checks on Richie despite the fight and then they get right back into fighting its so canon bear coded <3 loved every fucking word of this!

You Have Friends?

Richie Jerimovich x F!Reader Richie Jerimovich & Carmy Berzatto & Neil Fak

For @the-slumberparty's Bingo Challenge! Bingo Square: friends with benefits

Warnings: 18+, language, canon-typical chaos

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: I love them. I love them all so much. I can and would kill a man for Neil Fak.

The Bear Taglist: @garbinge @withmyteeth @justreblogginfics @narcolini (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

You had your phone out, ready to call or text him to come and meet you outside. You weren’t expecting the door to be unlocked, but it pulled open with no resistance. Your eyebrows lifted, and for a moment you still contemplated just calling him anyway. But then you heard the crashing sounds, the subsequent yelling after the fact, and you knew that even if you called him repeatedly he wasn’t going to pick up the phone. Especially not when he was one of the people doing the yelling.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped inside and let the door fall shut behind you. The metallic clanging of the door hitting the frame was a sound you were certain no one else heard other than you. You took careful steps through the restaurant, or what used to be a restaurant, what was going to be a restaurant again in a couple months, apparently. There was debris everywhere, and the deeper you walked, the more the yelling made sense. Although, knowing Richie, yelling would happen even when it didn’t make sense. Italian aesthetic for the least Italian man you know.

Passing by a tarp, the one spray painted by someone who was clearly angry when they got the can of paint in their hand, you finally landed yourself where everyone was gathered. Carmy and Richie were chest-to-chest, or their approximation of that as Richie towered over him. Fak was on standby, and based off of what Richie had told you, you were certain that Fak was ready to jump in on Carmy’s behalf and not Richie’s.

There were a few other people there too. You recognized Natalie, worry and frustration all over her face as she watched Carmy and Richie yell and duke it out with each other. Your eyes widened as you took in the entire scene playing out in front of you. It clicked for you why Richie never told you to stop by.

Finally, she snapped. “Will you two shut the fuck up, please?! This isn’t solving anything!”

Richie shook his head, stepping back from Carmy only to aggressively gesture at him instead. “Nothing this dickhead is doing is solving anything! That’s the whole fuckin’—”

“I’m sorry,” Carmy interrupted Richie’s tirade, no longer looking at the man who had just been about to throw him through the crumbling sheetrock walls around them, “um who, who are you?”

Your eyes widened further not just at the fact that he was looking at you, talking to you, but at the drastic shift in his voice. He was quiet now, tone almost gentle, but clearly very confused. You cleared your throat, the nerves you’d felt standing in front of the restaurant were back in full-swing now that the yelling had stopped.

“Hi, sorry. I just—” you stopped short and held up the leather jacket in your hand as your only explanation.

Richie’s originally surprised expression had shifted to confusion. But once he saw the jacket in your hand, it changed into something else entirely. Almost soft. As soft as he would allow himself to be in the middle of the warzone.

“Shit,” his shoulders dropped and he stepped away from Carmy. “Thank you. Completely fuckin’,” he didn’t finish the sentence throwing out a vague hand gesture instead.

You chuckled quietly, still feeling awkward in the midst of it all but not quite as much now. Richie was, strangely enough, your tether in the midst of whatever storm you’d stumbled into. “I know.”

You handed it over to him, looking around at everyone who was looking at you. Maybe you should introduce yourself to the room. You knew most of them, or knew of them at least. Richie talked about them enough to make you feel like you knew them—you saw the pictures in his apartment, on his phone. Judging by the various looks of shock and confusion on everyone else’s faces, he was not as talkative about you as he was about all of them. That was about what you expected. You waited to see if Richie was gonna introduce you instead of making you do it, but he looked just about as lost as anyone else.

Clearing his throat, he nodded back the way you’d come in. “I’ll walk you out.”

You nodded, looking around at everyone. “It’s was nice to…you know…” you waved awkwardly. “Bye.”

The variety of goodbye’s that you got from everyone in the room was humorous. Or it was to you, at least. Judging by the look on Richie’s face you had the feeling that he was never going to be hearing the end of everything that just transpired over the last sixty seconds. You knew that whatever that was wasn’t their best behavior, but it was the best they could conjure up given your unexpected arrival and the fact that they had no idea who the fuck you were. It was a little impressive, honestly, especially if any of them were anything like Richie.

“I was gonna call,” you said as you and Richie made your way back through the minefield, trying to take all the same steps you had on the way in but in reverse lest you cause something else to collapse, “but then the door was open so I sorta just let myself in.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. You’re fine.” He paused as he reached to open the door for you. “How much of that did you catch?”

You laughed. “Um, caught just about everything after you told one of them that you are ‘perfectly fucking capable’ of tearing the wall down safely.”

Richie shook his head. “Fuckin’ Fak.”

 You continued, not acknowledging his statement with anything but a smile. “Which, no offense,” you looked over at him, “I heard the crashing when I walked in. Not sure how true that is.”

“Not you too,” he shook his head as you both stood in the doorway. You were standing just out on the sidewalk, Richie just barely inside the hollowed-out restaurant.

“Just keepin’ it real,” you said, holding your hands up in surrender.

Richie was still shaking his head as he looked up at the sky for a moment, like he was visibly trying to talk himself out of saying something shitty. Finally looking back at you, he said, “Thanks for the jacket.” He shook it in his hand to emphasize his point.

“I know you guys are,” you made a general circling motion with your hand in the direction of the restaurant, “but call me when you’re done if you want.”

“Alright, yea.” He ran his hand across his brow-line. “I’ll let you know.”

You nodded. “Sounds good.” You leaned in, stealing a chaste kiss before stepping back away again. “Oh, and Richie?”

He looked at you, eyebrows raised. “Yea?”

“Take it easy on Carmy.” You laughed. “It’s fucked up to bully children.”

Richie laughed, tension dropping from his shoulders a little bit. “He makes it too easy, though. Candy from a fuckin’ baby, I swear.”

You laughed a little harder at that, shaking your head. “That’s exactly my point.” You watched him roll his eyes at you and all you could do was smile. “Talk to you later.”

“Yea, yea, I’ll see you.”

Richie stood there in the doorway and watched as you walked back down the sidewalk. You got a few strides away and realized that you hadn’t heard the clattering of the door shutting. When you turned around and saw him standing there still looking at you, you laughed and shook your head at him. He smiled, but rather than saying anything else, he just gave you the finger before pulling out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his track pants.

When he walked back into the construction area, everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him. By that point, everyone only consisted of Fak and Carmy. Natalie must’ve handed out tasks to just about everyone else, things they could do that didn’t involve trying to work through the mess that Richie had just inadvertently created with the disintegrating wall.

“Who was that?” Carmy immediately asked when Richie stepped back in the room.

“Don’t fuckin’ worry about it.”

Fak piped up. “Is she your girlfriend? Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Shut the fuck up, Neil,” Richie snapped with a shake of his head.

“Is she, though?” Fak didn’t let up.

“No—what—what are we, fuckin’ twelve? She’s not my girlfriend.”

“She’s stopping by!” Fak countered. “With your jacket!” He gasped dramatically. “Do you sleep over?”

“I’m gonna put you through that fuckin’ wall, I swear to god.”

Carmy was half-covering his mouth with his hand watching the two of them going back and forth. He tried not to smile. “She’s not your girlfriend, then. So, so what is she?”

Richie threw his hands up, jacket flapping as he did. “Why are we even talkin’ about this right now? Don’t you have a restaurant to open?”

“Can’t open shit when you’re knocking all the walls down,” Carmy shot back with a small smirk pulling at his lips. He paused. “What’s, what’s the deal?”

Richie shook his head, knowing that he wasn’t going to get out of the conversation without giving some kind of answer. For as annoyed as he was, he also had a sliver of awareness in the back of his mind that when the shoe is on the other foot he was just as relentless, if not more.

“I met her on, fuckin’, you know,” he patted at his pants pocket where his phone was. “And she’s cool.”

“But not your girlfriend,” Carmy clarified.

“No. We’re like, friends with benefits or whatever you fuckin’ lizards call it.”

“You have friends?” Carmy asked with a laugh.

“She gives you benefits?” Fak piped up, his voice that same shocked almost-whisper he used so often.

Richie was shaking his head at both of them. He pointed at Carmy, using the hand that was still clutching his jacket. “Fuck you—yes, I have friends.” He turned to Fak and pointed at him next. “And fuck you, yes I get benefits!” He punctuated the sentence by giving him a good shove.

“Think she’s still gonna give you benefits after seeing you act like a fucking maniac in here today?” Carmy asked, eyebrows slightly raised as he tried and failed miserably at not looking amused.

“Pfft,” Richie shrugged like he was so unbothered by it, like he was far cooler than he really is, “bet I’ll get even more benefits now.”

“Gross,” Carmy responded with a laugh.

“So gross,” Fak agreed.

“You fuckin’ asked,” Richie argued, pointing back and forth between the two of them.

Before they could descend further into the madness, Natalie’s voice came ringing in front the office. “Neil! Sweetheart! Come here for a second, please.”

“Coming!” he called back, charming as ever. He looked at Richie, pointing at him accusingly. “You’re gross.”

“And you don’t fuck, Neil Fak,” Richie replied without missing a beat.

Once he walked out of the room, Richie and Carmy both instantly broke down laughing. They were both shaking their heads, at each other, at Fak, at all of it. The entire morning had been a mess, just like most of the other mornings preceding it. It was so easy to get lost in it sometimes that giving each other shit over things like that was a breath of fresh air in the strangest way. Bullying each other just for the sake of it not because it felt like the restaurant was imploding and they were each trying to cope with it the only way that they really knew how.

“Hey, cousin,” Carmy spoke up after things had quieted between them again. It looked at Richie who was looking down at the jacket in his hand.

“Yea?” Richie pulled his eyes back up.

He nodded in the direction of the door. “That all good?”

Richie shrugged, nodded. “It’s all good.”

The ends of Carmy’s mouth lifted into a tiny grin. It was genuine, still just a touch of humor to it because they were still the exact men that they were. “Alright.” He clapped Richie on the back. “C’mon, let’s clean up this fuckin’ wall you knocked down.”

“I didn’t knock—”

“You fuckin’ did!” Carmy said with a laugh.

“You know what? Whatever,” Richie shook his head. Turning on his heel, he went to put his jacket away, somewhere out of the danger zone. “Grab a fuckin’ broom, then.”

Carmy was shaking his head, already making his way to get supplies to start containing the mess. He grabbed a garbage can and a broom, chuckling to himself when he heard Fak and Richie pick up their arguing all over again just a few yards away.

[thebearer]

in your eyes, the man that i could be |carmen berzatto x reader| part two

prompt: after carmen finds out you're staying at pete and sugar's house, he goes to try and talk to you. he's faced with his furious sister and harsh truths instead.

or part two of the devastation fic lol that is based off this ask from the other day <3

contains: angst! angst! this one is very much so more carmen focused bc let's be real... he's the problem in this one lol. still hurt with no comfort but more this one than last one?? mentions to past trauma, family trauma. sugar clears carmen in this one. slight mean carmen still, slight angry carmen still. language. dad!carmen x mom!reader. no resolution but the make up is in the next and final part! still heavy so read at your own discretion! word count- 4.8k+

Fak twisted his hands, nervously watching Carmen pace back and forth furiously. One hand running through his hair, tangled and matted from the continued motion; the other lifting and pulling the cigarette to and from his lips. Fak wasn’t sure how Carmen wasn’t sick yet. He’d never seen him smoke so much, seen anyone smoke so much. 

“Neil, I’m not fuckin’ playin’ anymore, ok? You’re startin’ to really, really fuckin’ piss me off.” Carmen’s jaw ground tight, voice starting to growl with that gravelly warning shake that had Fak flinching. “You better tell me where you put my fuckin’ car keys, alright? I-I’m not sitting here, ok? I’m not gonna sit around wi-with my fuckin’ thumb up my ass like a jagoff while my wife and kid are a-at fuckin’ Sugar and Pete’s!” 

“Carmy,” Fak tried to keep his voice calm and firm, like Sugar and Richie had coached him to, hyping him up before he entered the house. “I can’t give you your keys right now, becaus-” 

“-Oh, fuck you! Fuck you! Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?” Carmen roared, teeth bared and eyes narrowed. 

Fak didn’t think he’d ever say it, but he missed the sad Carmen from before. When he’d been sent to check on Carmen and Richie, to find out where the hell they were before Sydney had a meltdown in the kitchen, only to find a nearly hyperventilating Carmen and an unsure and frantic Richie trying to calm him. Fak had known Carmen a long time, his whole life, really, and never once had he seen him so… so sad. 

That sadness was long gone now. In its wake, an anger, worse than before, than he’d ever seen or could have imagined. Fak had just tried to comfort Carmen, offer up some encouragement that you and Teddy and Anchovy were all ok, taken care of- at Pete and Sugar’s. He didn’t realize how that would flip the switch, how it would infuriate Carmen. 

“I-I’m Fak.” Fak blinked, nervously. “You know me. I’m your friend, Carm, and I-I’m just trying to help you-” 

“-You’re trying to help me? You’re trying to fuckin’ help me by keepin’ me away from my wife?” Carmen’s voice boomed, shaking the walls of the house. 

Even in his loud rage, the house seemed too quiet, too still. There was no baby TV show on, no hum of the diffusers, or Anchovy’s small purrs and chirps. Carmen missed him, missed him jumping on the counters just to piss him off. He missed you defending him, missed how Anchovy would startle and run anytime Teddy would gurgle or whine. 

God, he missed Teddy. He spent the first night in the nursery, sitting in the rocking chair, staring blankly ahead, wishing he had the small screaming bundle to rock to sleep. 

Carmen couldn’t bring himself to go into the bedroom. Not again. Not after he found your ring laying there. He’d scared Richie so badly with his cries that Richie had enforced the ‘Mikey Prevention Plan’, his twisted humor of a way at keeping Carmen from being alone, from hurting himself in his misery. 

“Carm, I-I can’t.” Fak stuttered, looking at the door, begging Richie or anyone, really, to walk through the door. “You know I can’t.” 

“This is fucked up, Neil. You know that? You know how fucked up this is? Keepin’ me from-from Teddy? From my kid?” Carmen took a long drag of the cigarette, smoke blowing out of his nose with his panicked breathing. His hands still shook, everything was still shaky and rattling with uneasiness inside him. 

“Carm, I- Don’t say that.” Fak shook his head, he could feel himself caving. Carmen could too. 

“You’re keepin’ me from her, Fak. You know that? You know you-you’re keepin’ me from my daughter? My baby? Don’t you-you know how fucked up that is?” Carmen shook his head, lips pursing in disgust. “You’re lettin’ Richie boss you around like he always does, an-and you know, you know deep down that this is wrong. Keepin’ me from them is wrong.” 

Fak hesitated, a nervous sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. “Richie said-” 

“-Richie can get fucked. Ric-Richie doesn’t know shit! He doesn’t know shit, you know he doesn’t know shit, a-and you’re lettin’ him tell you what to do? Richie?” Carmen scoffed, throwing his hands out. “The fuck does Richie know, huh? H-He’s divorced, an-an-and barely sees his kid-” 

“-Hey!-” Fak’s eyes widened in shock. “Carmen, you don’t-” 

“-Is that what you want? You want me to end up alone?” Carmen’s eyes are wild, crazed, but he goes still. “Y-You want me to end up like-like Richie? Li-Li-Like that?” 

Fak swallows, both standing in the thick, tension filled silence. “Carmen, I-I can’t.” Fak shook his head slowly. “I don’t… I think you need to, I don’t know, I think you need to calm down before you go see them.” 

“Calm down, you’re tellin’ me to calm down.” Carmen snarled, bitterly scoffing at Fak. “Fuck you. Alright? Fuck you. I will never forgive you for this shit. You hear me? You-You doin’ this to me, keepin’ me from my family. I’ll never fuckin’ forgive you.” 

Fak flinched, Carmen’s words cutting brutally through him with a bitter sting. Carmen stormed off, the front door slamming with a force that sent vibrations through the house. Fak was surprised it didn’t split the wood in two. Walking towards the front window, he saw Carmen storming off, furiously lighting another cigarette, running a hand through his hair, again. Fak assumed he was out of Spirits, that he’d smoked through another pack, walking to the corner store to get more. After thirty minutes, he called Richie, frantic that he’d let Carmen loose. 

“What part of Mikey Prevention Plan don’t you fuckin’ understand?” Richie sneered over the phone, trying to keep his voice low so the new hires didn’t hear. As far as they were concerned, Carmen was on a vacation, only the OGs knew the truth. 

“I-I didn’t mean to! I swear!” Fak’s voice lilted high, a shrill of nerves that had Richie’s eyes pinching in annoyance. “I thought he was going to the corner store to get more cigarettes, an-and then he didn’t come back for a while-” 

“-What’s a while?” Richie muttered, catching Tina’s eye through the glass. She set her rag down quickly, walking towards him. 

“I dunno… Fifteen, thirty minutes?” Fak mumbled. “Maybe closer to an hour now. B-But then I went to look for him, and he wasn’t there, so I asked the guy working and he said he hadn’t seen him, and-and now I’m driving around trying to find him. I-I’m shouting his name out the window and everything!” 

“He’s not a dog, Neil, he won’t-” Richie huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know where he’s at.” 

“You do?” Fak perked up. 

“Yeah, I mean, no, but I-I’m pretty sure I know where he’s at since you fuckin’ told him where they were stayin’.” Richie rolled his eyes bitterly. “Just- Come over here and get me, alright? Let me call Pete- God, you and this fuckin’ kid, got me callin’ Pete. You’re killin’ me Neil Jeff.” 

Richie hung up the phone with a huff, looking up at Tina. “What’s goin’ on? Jeff alright? What’s he doin’?” She pressed. 

“Yeah, Fak-Fak fuckin’ lost him.” Richie rubbed his forehead in exasperation. “But, I think I know where he’s at. Have a pretty good idea, anyways.” 

Tina eyed Richie carefully. “Richie, you know I love that kid, you know I do. But if he’s fuckin’ with Mama,” Tina shook her head, lips pursing in fury. It was no secret how taken she was to you, even before the affectionate nickname that came with the pregnancy. 

“He’s not,” Richie shook his head. “He’s stupid, hot headed, a fuckin’ baby- all that. But… C’mon, T, you and I both know he loves her. He wouldn’t do anything to them. Do somethin’ to himself before that.” 

Tina paused but nodded, face softening. “So, you know where he’s at then? You don’t… You don’t think he’s gonna…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it, looking at the picture of Mikey with Richie, Tina, Ebra, and Marcus only a few months before he passed. Carmen had placed it at the front, a reminder of the legacy that was there before him, of The Beef and his brother. 

“No, I hope not.” Richie muttered, looking at his phone’s screen with dread, Pete’s contact on the screen gleaming back at him nearly mockingly. “I think I know where he is.” He sighed, pressing the button. 

Pete could feel his phone buzzing in his pants, ignoring it as he held the front door in a white knuckled grip. He hadn’t expected to see Carmen there, on his Ring camera, knocking on the door softly, softer than he expected given his manic looking state. 

“H-Hey, Carm,” Pete closed the door as casually as he could, only leaving a sliver open. “What, uh, what’s up, man?” 

“Hey, Pete,” Carmen could barely meet his gaze, suddenly overly aware of how disheveled he must have looked. 

“Uh, what-what brings you by?” Pete stuttered, heart picking up when he heard the soft thump behind him, Anchovy lurking behind his legs curiously. He gripped the door, shuffling his legs together, trying to close it on his frame so Anchovy wouldn’t slip by. 

“C’mon,” Carmen sighed, a tired look in his eye, too exhausted to even be pleading. “You know why I’m here, alright. I-I know they’re here.” 

“W-Who is? Sugar? Yeah, she-she’s off today.” Pete stiffened at the claim, swallowing nervously, trying to play it cool. Anchovy meowed loudly behind him, cringing when he was  given away by the cat. 

“Pete, don’t-” Carmen pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing in slowly, trying to calm the tears that threatened to fall. He could hear Anchovy, hear the sounds of the house- the home. Soft child shows, the hum of the dryer, all the things that made the house feel alive. Carmen would give anything to have his home sound like that again, the silence was beginning to drive him crazy. 

“Where is she?” Carmen looks up, his gaze much harder than before, a frantic look beginning to take over his sadness. 

“I, uh, I-I don’t-” Pete stutters, fingers tapping on the wood of the door anxiously. 

“-Pete, I really don’t want you to fuck with me right now, alright?” Carmen takes a deep breath, trying to swallow back his emotions that were already beginning to climb in his throat again. “I need to- I-I need to see her, Pete.” Carmen couldn’t bring himself to say your name, sure even the first syllable would have him in tears, breaking down on the front porch. 

Another meow, louder than before, came before Pete could answer. The soft scratching of Anchovy’s paws on the door, a demanding meow that Carmen knew all too well. He’d learned to drown it out, or try to. It became nearly a soundtrack to your sex life when you’d first gotten the cat, locking him out of the room so you two could fuck, only for him to yowl and scratch and demand to be let in. Carmen could remember how you’d giggle, pouting at him exaggeratedly to let him in. His heart fell with an ache that was warm yet still made him feel sick. 

Pete looked down at the cat, then back at Carmen, a hesitant grimace on his face. “Carm… You-You know I would,” He started. Carmen’s heart soared with hope, eyes wide, a near adrenaline rush of excitement shooting through his system. “But…You know I can’t.” 

Carmen’s heart crashed, shattered with the hope he’d finally begun to find, to feel again. “What the fuc- Pete, that’s… Pete, c’mon. C’mon. Yo-You gotta let me in. Let me in.” Anger surged through Carmen’s chest. He closed his eyes tight and tried to swallow it down. All he’d been is angry. For weeks now, it had been a never ending cycle of anger and sickness and distraught, all amplified to new heights the second you left. 

Carmen could feel himself spiraling, ears starting to ring again, rushing and roaring flashbacks flooding into his mind. Your face when you left, Teddy’s cries, the critic’s pursed lips, Sydney’s disappointed face when he forgot something again, Tina’s eyes cutting. Carmen turned, shaking his hand lightly, trying to do a breathing exercise he saw on YouTube, years ago when he’d moved to New York. 

His breaths were deep, shaky, but deep enough that it cleared his head, dulled the ringing. His mind wandered back, Richie’s voice ringing in his head. “You wanna get her back? Quit actin’ like a goddam baby. Quit actin’ like this isn’t your own fuckin’ fault. Like you didn’t do this shit to yourself, Cousin. Take some fuckin’ accountability, grow the fuck up, and get your motherfuckin’ shit together, alright? And maybe-maybe you’ll get your family back.” Richie’s voice rang clear through his mind from a few nights ago, when Carmen was especially mean and awful. 

“Hey, uh, you alright?” Pete hesitated, leaning towards Carmen, his grip on the door loosening. 

Carmen took a deep breath, running a hand over his face before he turned back towards Pete, eyes shining with tears that threatened to fall. “Pete, please? Please?” Carmen begged, voice soft, cracking at the end. “Please, jus-just let me see her? L-Let me talk to her? Just- Let me tell her tha-that I’m sorry. Please… I need to tell her I-I’m sorry. Don’t-” 

“-Carmen?” Sugar gaped, her voice coming from behind Pete. She pulled the door open, shocked gaze dropping into furious, jaw setting in a near snarl. “What the fuck are you doing here?” She hissed. 

“Why do you think I’m here, Natalie? Huh?” Carmen snapped in anger, rolling his eyes in annoyance. 

“Oh, you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve showing up here.” Natalie snapped back, pulling the door open and stepping out on the porch. She stood in front of her younger brother, arms crossed in a standoff. 

“Pete, go inside.” Sugar sneered, her gaze not moving from Carmen’s. She felt like they were children again, having a staring contest to see who got the last piece of gum from Donna’s purse, only this time, it was for worse. 

“Nat, I-” 

“-I got it.” Natalie said firmly. Pete didn’t argue with her, simply nodding, shutting the door softly behind them. Her eyes held Carmen’s gaze, both of them intense, furious at the other for other reasons. 

“You should be ashamed of yourself-” 

“-I am-” 

“-Mortified.” Sugar sneered, giving him a disgusted shake of her head. Carmen shifted, biting his own tongue to keep it from lashing out at her. “Do you know what I came home to the other night? You want me to tell you?-” 

“-No, I know-” 

“-No, I’m going to tell you.” Natalie snapped. “I came home after a very long shift because our head chef decided to, oh, I don’t know- disappear and go on a psychotic rampage apparently.” Natalie scoffed sarcastically. 

“And I walk through the door, ready for bed. Maybe a glass of wine, maybe a bath, maybe to finally catch up on my shows with my husband; and you know what I found instead?” Sugar took a step towards Carmen, intimidating him with her harsh glare. “I find my husband taking care of your baby because your wife is sobbing-” 

“-Don’t-” 

“-No, no. I mean, sobbing. A total broken mess on my kitchen table, because she said you,” Sugar jabbed a finger at Carmen. “Decided to come home and scream at her. Not only scream, but say some of the most volatile, disgusting things I’ve ever fucking heard in my life to your wife, the mother of your very much so still a newborn baby.” 

Carmen felt the familiar wave of nausea wash over him, swallowing back spit that pooled in his mouth with a cry that threatened to fall from his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, to look at her gaze anymore. It felt too judgemental, left him feeling too vulnerable and sick of himself under it. 

“So let me ask first; What the fuck is the matter with you?” Natalie sneered. 

“I don’t know.” Carmen’s voice was tight, jaw tighter, fighting a tremble that was threatening to break. “I-I don’t… I don’t fuckin’ know. I-I didn’t- I didn’t mean it-” A single tear fell, slipping out of the corner of his eyes, sliding down his cheek- the final crack in his demeanor. 

Carmen tried to fight it, deep breaths that burned his lungs and nose to control the tears, keep him from breaking here on his sister’s porch, but they wouldn’t stop. Carmen wasn’t sure how he had any tears left, after crying for days on end, how he hadn’t shriveled up his tear ducts. Yet here he was, broken sobs slipping out again. 

Sugar didn’t move. Arms still crossed over her chest, lips still fixed in a hard line, watching Carmen with intensity as he broke down, tears flowing in front of her. She didn’t comfort him, not that he expected her to. She didn’t try to give him words of encouragement, advice on how to right the wrongs like the others did. Instead, she kept a furious gaze on him, unmoved by the tears. 

“Please,” Carmen sniffed hard, running the back of his hand over his nose. “Please, Sugar, please. Ju-Just let me see Teddy. Let me se-ee her. Don’t-Don’t do this to me. Don’t ke-ep my kid away from me-” 

“-Me?” Sugar scoffed, pushing her hand into her chest. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no. Don’t you even start that shit, Carm. I’m not keeping your kid away from you, let’s make that clear.” 

Carmen’s breath hitched when she stepped towards him, toe to toe with him, teeth bared in a grit of anger. “I didn’t take your kid away. You know who did? Hm? You.” Natalie snapped, Carmen flinched at the cruelty of her words. “You did this, Carmen. You did every last bit of this. This is on you. No one else but you.” 

Carmen held in a cry that threatened to break out, face crumbling with tears. He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to soothe the burn and hide his distraught. “And you know something else? I know you don’t remember dad very well, but I do, ok? And lately, you’ve been acting just like him.” Sugar’s tone clipped, leaving a burning sting in Carmen’s chest at her words. 

“Yelling just because shit didn’t go your way? Do you know part of the reason mom’s so fucked up? Why everyone takes her side all the time and babies her? Uncle Jimmy and Uncle Lee? It’s because dad used to berate her, scream at her so badly- say some of the worst shit in the world because he was stressed out, that those guys would feel bad for her.” Sugar ranted. “And I promise you- promise you if I told Uncle Jimmy right now what you said, how I found your wife, he’d agree with me. Maybe even worse.” 

Carmen shifted, his heart squeezing in fear now. Jimmy loved you, always had. He held a special soft spot in his heart for you. Worse was probably right, and truthfully, Carmen would accept it- he deserved it. It wouldn’t be as bad as how he felt right now. 

Natalie held Carmen’s gaze, letting her words sink in. She lifted his hand when he started to talk. “I don’t-I really don’t want to hear it, ok?” Natalie shook her head. “And before you start trying to come up with some excuse-” 

“-I-I’m not-” 

“- I want you to know something. To hear it and really listen to it.” Natalie paused, waiting until his eyes met hers to continue. “I know you’ve been through a lot- We’ve been through a lot. But that doesn’t mean you get to just treat people like shit. That you can act like this and it’s ok.” 

“I know that.” Carmen’s jaw was tight, strangled words croaking out. 

“Then act like it.” Natalie snapped. “It’s not easy, none of this is easy, Carm. I mean… Do you know that every day- every single day, I wake up and something happens that’s shitty or rough, and I think about how easy it would be just to grab a bottle of wine or two. Drink myself unconscious like mom does. Just how easy that would be, how nice it would be just to drown myself out instead of face the issues.” 

“There’s days when MJ or Maggie or-or Pete just drive me fuckin’ nuts, and I want to pull my hair out, or scream, or Pete will do something that just pushes me right over the edge and I just want to rage.” Natalie continued, arms waving dramatically. “I want to throw in the towel, take the easy way out, rage, drink myself silly, scream at all of them until I feel better, but you know what? You know what I don’t do? I don’t do that.” 

Natalie crossed her arms, taking a breath to steady herself. “I don’t do that to them because I know how that feels.” Her voice cracked, just barely, enough to show the emotion that was hiding underneath. “I know how that felt. I know how that made me feel.” 

Carmen could feel his eyes brimming with tears again, too emotional to be embarrassed. Donna’s many red faced, slurred screaming tyrades came back to his mind. How he’d hide, try and stay quiet and invisible to avoid them. Even as he got older. 

“I know how that fucked me up. How it fucked them up. How it fucked you up, an-and Mikey up. I mean- how it…it fucked our whole life up!” Sugar laughed humorlessly, throwing her hands up in mock defeat. “I just… When I think about that, and about how it just ruined all of us. That’s the last thing, the very last thing, I’d ever want to do to my kids, to Pete, t-to anyone, really.” 

Carmen nodded, too overwhelmed with emotions to speak. His throat burned, scratchy and sore from screaming and crying. His chest was tight, constricting his lungs, stealing his breath. He was on the verge of an anxiety attack, maybe something worse, yet, he felt eerily calm in the moment. Still even under the shame and hurt her words brought. He sat on the porch, sure his knees would give out soon, head spinning and dizzy with this damning realization. 

 “You need to make up your mind. Make a decision, right here, right now.” Sugar continued behind him. Though he couldn’t see her, he knew her face was stoic to hide the hurt, hide the emotions. A classic Berzatto deflection trait. “You need to decide what you’re going to do to be better for your family. If you’re going to continue to be a selfish, piece of shit, or if you’re going to change; be better.” 

Carmen’s shoulders shuddered with his next breath, deep but not intentional; like he didn’t even know he did it. Too dazed and deep in thought, staring blankly ahead. “I can tell you,” Sugar stepped towards the door. “It’s not comfortable. It’s not easy. It is so hard some days. You have to fight for it every day, fight to break shit that was drilled into you, fight to recognize that some things you do, you don’t even mean to. It takes a lot of work, but… I’d rather fight every single day to be better, to be kinder and softer and more understanding for my family, than to not have them at all.” 

Carmen couldn’t stop thinking of you. How you were so naturally nurturing and sweet. You’d always been like that. You were loving and gentle freely. You’d always been so patient with him. It almost made him feel insecure, inferior, when he thought of it before, but now, he just wanted to return the favor. 

“You decide what you want to do, and then maybe- maybe you’ll get to see them again.” Sugar turned the door knob, pushing it open. “But today? Not a chance. Go get yourself together before you try and do this again.” Carmen flinched at the door slamming behind her, harder than he thought it would. Still, he didn’t move from his spot on the porch, head in his hands, deep in thought about his future, his past, everything. 

“There he is!” Fak’s voice was muffled through the car window, slowly pulling to a stop in Sugar and Pete’s driveway. 

Carmen looked up slowly, taking a slow, grounding exhale in, just as Richie and Fak climbed out of the car. “Cousin, thank fuckin’- You better be glad he’s here.” Richie glared at Fak. 

“I am!” Fak chirped defensively. 

Carmen stood slowly, turning one last time to look at the front door. He couldn’t see through the small privacy glass on the door, but he swore he could hear you- hear your voice. Soft and hushed, a little cautious mixing with Sugar’s reassuring one. It took everything in him not to turn and bust the door down, run inside and throw himself at your feet, begging for forgiveness. 

He knew that time would come. 

Instead, he walked to the car, sliding in the backseat, ignoring the confused looks Richie and Fak gave each other. “So, uh, did you-” 

“-Don’t ask that.” Richie cut off Fak with a bark of annoyance. “What’s the matter with you?” 

“Nothing! I just- I thought we all wanted to know-” 

“-Hey, Cousin,” Carmen muttered, staring blankly at the house. Richie hummed, turning to Carmen carefully. “What’s, uh… You-You said you had someone for me to talk to?” 

“Yeah,” Richie nodded slowly. “The therapist?” 

Carmen paused, swallowing slowly. “You…You think she’d see me now?” 

“Right now?” Richie lifted a brow. Carmen nodded slowly, still looking past him, eyes glued on the house. He swore he could see a figure move- your figure, peeking through the blinds before ducking back into the shadows. “Yeah, I’m sure she will. I can… I can call her. See what I can do.” 

“Thanks.” Carmen twisted his wedding band gently, the car jolting gently as Fak started to back out. 

Fak turned around, looking from the back window to Carmen with a hesitant grimace. “You ok?” He asked, his voice dropped to a low hush with Richie on the phone beside him. 

“No,” Carmen admitted, shoulders slumping in defeat. “No, I-I’m not, but… I wanna be.” Carmen looked at Fak, eyes glassy with emotion. “I gotta get my shit together. Gotta do better f-for my family.” 

Fak nodded slowly, pulling out onto the road, slowly shifting the gears back into place. The car began to roll, Carmen watching Sugar and Pete’s house disappear in the rearview. His heart tore, ripped right down the middle and split at the seams knowing he was leaving you, Teddy- his family behind. It took everything, every ounce of strength not to turn around, not to run back. It hurt, but he realized, this is what Sugar was talking about. 

So, Carmen went to the other side of town, to the small building where Richie’s therapist was. His counselor he’d started seeing a while back, when he was on his purpose journey. 

It was weird, weirder than Al-Anon. Carmen felt entirely too vulnerable sitting in that chair, having her stare at him and only him, nodding as he told his ‘story’- it felt weird to call it that. He didn’t want it to be his story, his defining qualities. No, Carmen wanted a new story, a better one with you and Teddy and his family. He’d told Dr. Mullins that. 

“I think that’s a great start, Carmen.” She nodded, giving him a soft smile. “So, tell me how you’d do that.” 

Carmen scoffed lightly, looking down at his hands. “I, uh, I don’t really know.” He admitted. “Kinda thought that’s what you were for.” 

“You’re right. I’m here to help you reach that goal, maintain it.” She nodded. “But in order to do that, I need to know a little more.” 

“Like what?” Carmen muttered. “I don’t really remember my dad and all the bad shi-stuff he’d do.” 

“You said you didn’t want that to define you, so let’s not talk about that.” She shook her head softly. “Let’s focus on what you want. What kind of life you’d want to live with your family.” 

Carmen’s knee bounced, taking a shaky breath. “I… I don’t want to lose control.” He admitted. “I don’t want t-to scream, and say shit I don’t mean, and-and to take it out on people who don’t deserve it.” He looked up at her. “I don’t want to do that again.” 

“Good.” Dr. Mullins nodded slowly. “Let’s start there.” 

[garlicisgodsbestinvention]

perfect dimensions

(Carmy x Designer!Reader)

Summary: The Bear is weeks from opening, and Sugar hires an interior designer to bring the vision to life. Part 1/3.

Warnings: cursing, WILL contain smut later 👀NO use of Y/N because this is the 21st century. Carmy x female!reader, reader is described as having longer hair but that’s it for physical descriptions. NOT EDITED because I’m lazy girl tehe

—————————MINORS DNI——————————

“I hired a designer,” Natalie tells them in passing on Thursday, waving a vague hand when both Syd and Carmy open their mouthes to ask, “She’ll be here in like, twenty minutes.”

“Okay, heard, but we already have a design,” Carmy says, gesturing to the wall covered in layouts.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you had a degree in architecture and engineering. Those are fake dimensions, Bear; we don’t know shit about anything, so someone is going to come in and make sure that we’ve got the right fucking shade of white!” Natalie shouts before the office door slams shut, leaving Syd and Camry to stare after her with equal confusion.

“Pregnancy is making her…” Syd starts to say.

“Mean?”

“Yeah, mean. Definitely a little mean,” Sydney sighs, “She’s right though. Vibe doesn’t get us to opening night.”

And that’s how Carmen finds himself stuttering through an introduction from a now much-more-pleasant Natalie when she shows a woman through the front doors.

Carmen extends his hand to you, clearing his throat, nodding like a fucking idiot when you tell him your name.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’m uh, I’m Carmen.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say, mouth spreading into a smile that makes his heart beat a little faster. “Walk me through?”

Natalie takes the lead while Carmy and Syd hang back. One glance at the look on his partner’s face should have sent Carmy scrambling for something else to do, but he’s not fast enough to remove himself from her presence before a laugh is bubbling from between her closed lips and he’s desperately hoping his face isn’t turning red.

“Im, uh, Carmen,” Syd lowers her voice in a mocking tone.

“Fuck right off,” Carmy shakes his head at her.

“You literally forgot your name!”

“I didn’t forget my fuckin’ name—“

“Like oh my god, a pretty girl with pretty eyes appears and you forget how to talk!”

“Are you done?”

“Absolutely not. I can’t wait for Richie to meet her.”

Carmen wishes the day would never come.

Ten minutes later you appear back in the dining room, Fak following close behind with a shit-eating grin that makes Carmy wish he had never gotten out of bed this morning.

“Carmy! Did you know she likes to bake?”

“No, Fak, we’ve only just met. Would you let her do her job?” Carmen sighs, rubbing his fingers into his eyes to stop an oncoming headache. Syd snorts.

“We’ll chat more later, Neil, I promise,” you say.

“You might have just made yourself a new best friend,” Syd laughs.

Carmy looks away the moment your eyes swivel over to his, trying to disguise that he’s staring as best he can.

“So,” you say, “Natalie said you had drawings. May I see?”

Camry’s fingers itch in a weird way, but he manages a nod before striding over to his backpack to pull out the notebook while you scan the wall of swatches and inspiration photos. You nods your head a little, like you’re concocting an idea.

Carmy wants to twirl a finger through the strand of hair hanging loose out of your updo.

“So, uh, this is what I’ve come up with so far.”

He then spends the next ten minutes walking you through each of the drawings, explaining himself a little too thoroughly, and making random comments about lighting and booth fabric. You look intent the whole time, brow furrowed at the page, occasionally pointing and you don’t even have to say anything—Carmy just starts to over explain immediately following the point of your painted fingernail.

When he’s done, you nod your head slowly, the corner of your mouth twitching up. You’re wearing some sort of lipstick that reminds Carmy of the stain of touching a cherry pit.

“These are amazing,” you say finally, and Carmy feels his face heat. “I like the vibe. I love the vibe, actually. Are you a sensitive person?”

You look up at him and Carmy short-circuits.

Syd says yes, at the exact time he says no.

“Conflicting signals,” you say, “Anyone else to weigh in?”

It takes a second for him to realize that you’re making a joke, and he has to shake himself out of a stupor caused completely by the sight of your smile.

“Uh, no, no I’m good. Gimme feedback,” he says, and you reach out to flip the pages back, landing on the entry.

“Great. I’m going to tell you what we need to fix,” you say, straight to the point. “This entry is too small. Either we need to extend out into the sidewalk, or we need to push the kitchen back by at least five or six feet. The bar is going to create a bottleneck right here, and we need to inset these shelves to give you a little more working room. The lighting here needs to be sconces, and the bathroom doors need to slide to maximize space—this is too small for a swinging door.”

Carmen is fully intent on taking in every word you’re saying, but out of the corner of his eye he can’t help but see Syd’s face transform into something mildly resembling devious.

“Heard,” Carmy says, nodding his head as you looks back up. “Let’s rock.”

——————————————————————————

You become a fixture in Carmy’s life in the same way that Sydney or Richie or Nat are, appearing every time he turns the corner and whispering a hello in passing before you start barking orders to the contractors who listen to your every word. Strangely, he can relate. A week ago you told him, Carmen, please decide which side of the bar you want the ice machine on, and do it quickly so I can tell the water guy when he gets here. He’s never made a decision so fast in his life.

Even Nat had popped an eyebrow when he replied, on it, before you’d even really finished your sentence.

Usually, he’s on autopilot—walking in and straight back to the office or the kitchen and hardly ever stopping to notice what’s going on. He’s the first one in and the last one out by design, so he doesn’t even see everyone else arrive until they’re already there.

This morning, though, Carmy walks into the kitchen to see you already there, writing something out in a notebook as Natalie talks, waving her hands wildly.

“Okay, I got you,” you’re saying only glancing up when Carmy’s shoes shuffle too loudly on the floor. “Oh! Good, you’re here. I need you.“

Carmy raises his eyebrows. “Need me?”

“To look at paint swatches,” you say, ushering him into the main dining area. The words ring in his head like bells as he follows you, the scent of your perfume surrounding him as he walks through the crowd of it. You smells so good, and it reminds him of New York City somehow, the faint scent of rain.

He figures that you must have come in even earlier than he and Natalie both, because you’re dressed more casually than usual, and there’s a charm necklace dangling over your tee shirt that he tries to identify when you turn without you realizing he’s staring. He makes out a paintbrush and nothing else.

“Right, so,” you start, gesturing to the wall. There’s a beat of silence with them both staring at the three swatches on the wall, and then Carmy turns towards you.

Your words overlap.

Carmy says, “I hate them.”

At the same moment, you say, “They’re horrible, right?”

Carmy laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, not it.”

“Okay, so hear me out.” You say, leaving his side to pull something from your folder. “Pink.”

“Pink?”

“Like, oyster shell pink. Neutral enough that in the low light it’ll look pale, almost indiscernible from white. And this wall—“ you point to the back where the booths will be and shake your head. “Has to be a mural. It’ll look unfinished if it’s bare.”

Carmy nods along with everything that you say, trying to envision it. “What kind of mural?”

You tilt your head, chewing at your lip. Carmy completely short-circuits for an embarrassingly long second.

“I might have some ideas,” you say in a soft voice, crossing over to the table where you’ve set your things and pulling out a black sketchbook.

“Two artists in residence, huh?” Carmy jokes, his stomach fluttering when you smile.

“Do you draw anything other than food and restaurant interiors?” You ask.

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” you repeat, looking up at him. He knows that you want him to elaborate—he would never admit out loud that he spends the hours he’s not cooking trying to replicate the way your necklace hangs off of your neck and the curve of your wrist.

Occasionally he doesn’t do weird, obsessive, borderline creepy things—sometimes he sketches the buildings outside his window as the sun goes down, or tries to remember what the boat in Copenhagen looked like, or that one place he used to drink coffee at in New York.

Your eyes narrow at him just a little, like you’re trying to read all the things he’s not saying.

He dips his head, half to look at the page you’ve opened the notebook to and half to get out from under the scrutiny of your pretty eyes.

“That’s insane,” Carmy finds himself saying, looking down at the waves of color on the page. “It looks like, almost like wood? Or marble. That’s—fuck, that’s so cool.”

The page is covered in shades of brown and deep green and black, melding together into something that reminds him of tree rings or stained wood panels, muted like an old chinoiserie river painting.

“You could hire someone to change it out seasonally maybe, it’d be cool, but I think something like this would look nice with the color of the wood we picked for the tables—“

“Will you do it?” Carmy asks, fingertips tracing over the edge of the paper and coming away brushed with color—oil pastels. “Could you, I mean, I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do it like this.” He tells you, rubbing the tips of his fingers together and watching the color meld together before meeting your eye.

Your mouth is parted, eyes wide as you look at him, and he gets the urge to flick your bottom lip to see if it’s as soft as it looks.

“I,” you start to say, “Yeah. I can do it. If you want me to.”

“I do,” he says, too quickly. “Want you to. Paint it.”

Because what else would he be asking you to do? He wants to throw his entire brain into the blender on high.

“Okay,” you say, “I’ll start tomorrow.”

He makes a mental note to make sure he’s there all day to peer through the windows and watch you work.

[shrenvents]

Competition

Warnings: Smut, M!receiving, penetration (w protection), language, enemies (ish) to lovers

Pairing: Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x reader

Summary: After "Beef's" rebranding as "The Bear," business at your cafe has declined, which left you furious, and that anger only worsened after meeting the restaurant's owner.

Word count: 3.4k

...

Ever since I was young, I've always had this unnecessary, aggressive competitiveness, which has only grown since its opening; The Bear, formerly known as "Beef," has become Chicago's newest hit. Its success has been so impactful, that it's driven away numerous customers, including regulars from my spot, just across the street.

My cafe has been open for years. Its income has been steady from the get-go, and the presence of a certain sandwich shop has never deterred that. Not until said sandwich place suddenly turned into a high-end restaurant. It crossed my mind that it simply shut down due to its infamous unpopularity, but Richie was still waltzing into my cafe to order coffee, as per usual.

So, being curious enough about what had happened to "The Beef," I go visit, expecting to be greeted by the "ever-so-pleasant" owner, Michael. But instead—

"Uh, he died," Neil mutters rather awkwardly, fidgeting with his fingers. My eyes expand in complete shock.

"Oh my god, sorry, I had no idea." I grimace at my lack of sensitivity. "It's alright." He shakes his head.

Silence envelops us both before I speak again. "So, um, how come you're still here? If you don't mind me asking?" I grimace again at my poor choice of words, saying, "I swear I'm not trying to be rude." Neil tilts his head in confusion. "Whatta mean?"

"I just assumed you wouldn't be, here, since...?"

"Ah, yeah, Mike left the place to his little bro, Carmy." He waves his arms around, gesturing to the restaurant's interior. "And he did all this, sick right?"

"Yeah... Sick." I mumble with a pout, failing to hide my contempt, but my sour mood goes right over his head.

"Fak!" A man's loud, demanding voice, quiets my rearing thoughts. "Fak! What the fuck are you doing? I need you in here." The voice grows stronger as the chef it belongs to pushes through the kitchen doors. I just about hold my breath at the sight of him. In his all-white get-up, his deep blue eyes have yet to notice me, as he addresses Neil angrily. "The fucking toilet's still broken." He throws his arm up in frustration, "So would you please, get off your ass and fix it!" He commands Neil, and I jump at his dangerous tone. My brows furrow. There was no need for him to shout so rudely, not to mention that it was really bothering me, how he had yet to acknowledge my presence even once. Not only was he stealing my business, but he didn't give a rats-ass about it.

"Shit! Yeah, on it! I was just talking to—"

"Y/n." I announce my name roughly, and his eyes bounce from Neil to me instantly. Appearing startled, he hesitates to extend his palm for a handshake. "Carmy, sorry about him—" Just as he begins waving off Fak, apologizing for his behaviour, I snap.

"No, he was the perfect gentleman, as always," I protest, "I just came to check on the competition." Carmy's brows knit together, and I can feel the vein in my forehead pop out. "I own the cafe across the street," I state plainly, and he slowly nods in recognition. "It was nice to see you, have a great day," I commend with a smile, directed only to Neil. With that, I spin out the door, stomping vigorously towards my shop.

...

The next time I saw Carmy was nearly a month later, on garbage day. He happened to be taking the trash out that evening, exactly when I was. I sigh at how little he struggles to lift several trash bags. Looking away, I huff as I throw the plastic sacks into the massive tin container. After finishing, I stretch out my back, rubbing my hands together. Shortly rolling my head back, I observe the evening sky. I exhale, releasing a breath of cool air from my lips.

My skin pricks as I feel someone watching me and shift my gaze towards "The Bear." I instantly identify the sapphire eyes latched onto me. When I catch Carmy, his eyes fly in every which direction, clearly embarrassed. 'The hell? Okay dickhead, hello to you too.' I think, shaking my head as I go inside, once again, feeling the heat of his stare as I do.

An hour later, I complete the last of my chores before locking up the cafe. Removing the key from the door, I pivot towards my car. However, I stumble when a figure standing not far behind me approaches, causing me to unleash a horrid scream from the depths of my throat. Carmy's eyes widen, evidently apologetic and equally terrified. "Uh sorry! I didn't mean—"

"What the actual fuck, is your problem?" I practically hiss.

"Sorry, I was thinking about saying something before you turned around. But then I second-guessed myself and just did nothing," Carmy blabbers, "I'm really really sorry."

"Okay okay." I put up my hands in surrender to stop his rambling. It's rather disarming, after our first meeting, hearing how he sounds so... Timid. "Sorry." He mumbles once more, head hung low.

"You're good," I reassure him with a sigh, to cover up an unexpected giggle. "Um, so what're you doing, here?"

"Oh!" He jolts upright and his eyes shoot from the ground to mine. "I just wanted to uh, talk."

"You 'wanted to talk'?" I question, a brow arching in disbelief.

"Uh, yeah," Carmy replies with uncertainty.

Folding my arms, I sigh, "About?"

"Oh, um, just about, how I acted when we met," Carmy scowls at the memory. "I should've introduced myself way sooner, and not in such a—"

"Rude way," I interject, which seems to be a common occurrence between us.

"Heard." He huffs out what sounds like a laugh, "Exactly that." I then shift uncomfortably under his intense watch. "It's alright, I didn't exactly intend to be gracious myself," I utter, returning a similar, shy smile.

"No, no." His smile widens, "You were..." He and his gaze trail off, lowering to the concrete. "'Were'?" I repeat, imploring him to continue.

"Great." Carmy finishes, peering up again. His eyes appear somewhat different, and I feel an unfamiliar chill slide down my spine. "Wow." My eyebrows rise. "'Great,' that's a, really, kind of you," I splutter with a chuckle. Carmy joins in, laughing at himself.

After a beat of silence and a few stolen glances at one another, Carmy speaks up. "I know I should've said it a while ago, but I'd like to be on good terms, rather than 'competition'." My sight hones in on his active hands as they switch between fiddling with his back pockets and shaking. "I'd like that too," I murmur, scratching the back of my head. "If only you'd stop stealing my customers," I smirk.

"Oh?" He smiles playfully and tilts his head, "So that's how it's gonna be," he jests, laughing again.

"Hmmm," I hum in confirmation, slightly troubled by how flirtatious I'm being. But damn, the way he's always looking at me —it's throwing me off...

Flushed, I conclude our conversation, "I'll see you around," then walk to my car. He almost, absentmindedly, wanders alongside me. "Yeah, see you."

While I unlock my car, Carmy's already one step ahead of me, hauling the car door open. I thank him in a whisper as I bend into the front seat, brushing past him, and he tenses. He then mumbles my name with a "Goodnight," and I sit in silence, long after he leaves, breathless.

...

The next day, I feel giddy at the prospect of seeing Carmy. It's ridiculous, considering he was my neighbour, and I was bound to see him. Though I've actually had to refrain from seeking him out.

However, that afternoon, through the glass of both our eateries, we see one another, pause, smile slowly, and head back to work.

From that point on, that sort of thing became a routine. Every day that week, I saw him for at least 50 seconds. It was even better knowing he was a chef, so the likelihood of him seeing him out front was low, but still, each time he'd be there.

Come Sunday, I couldn't delay things any longer. It was a little disheartening that he hadn't come over himself or even thought to come and ask for my number.

Thus, I knew I had to be the one to make a move. So, after closing earlier than usual, I saunter across the street. Inside, Neil greets me with an ample smile. "Hey Neil," I wave. He virtually shouts my name in return. "Hey! What you in for?" He asks cheerfully.

"I was hoping for some dinner," I chuckle. My heart hammers against my ribcage, and the anticipation is killing me. While Neil leads me to a table, my eyes don't leave the kitchen's entrance.

Neil takes my order, and my ears attentively listen for those few moments, when the restaurant's crowd temporarily quiets down, and I hear his assertive voice filter through the walls.

...

As delicious as my meal is, I can't stop my anxiety from getting the best of me. It's plausible Neil didn't bother letting Carmy know that I was here. But I'm nearly vibrating with dread, waiting for him to materialize.

Eventually, it's closing time and the herd of patrons leave. I take the opportunity to call Neil over. "Hey, I was just wondering if Carmy was in? Just wanna say hello, be neighbourly and all," I beam innocently.

"Course!" He winks but doesn't move to get Carmy. So, after a long beat staring into Fak's clueless eyes (bless him), I come up with something dicey. "Could you let him know that my food's uncooked, and I'm very, very upset," I express sharply, biting back a grin.

"O-okay?" Neil stutters, confusion and distress written across his features. I suppress my laugh with my palm.

Five minutes later, I hear a loud and hostile "what" seep through the walls. My attempts to muffle my laughter are stumped when Carmy abruptly bursts through the doors. He freezes when he sees me, and I watch the doors rapidly swing behind him. I awkwardly raise my hand in hello, and I swear he gulps.

"I was joking, Carmy." Now growing nervous, I tear my eyes away from him, onto my clear plate and see him move towards me from my peripheral. "It was, pretty good actually," I remark, downplaying the truth.

As I open my mouth to fill the silence, I peek up to see Carmy sitting right in front of me, and I lose my train of thought. It's as though we're on a date, and that's the most normal thing in the world, something we've done countless times before.

"I was planning on coming to see you after work." His sheepish, yet deep timbre makes me shudder.

"Beat you to it then?" I smirk smugly.

"Didn't we say this wasn't a rivalry?" He smirks back, and my stomach forms knots. "Nothing wrong with some friendly competition," I retort, and his reply is a simple, pleasant smile.

"Well Chef, I'm sorry to hear you're closing soon," I sigh. Still smiling, he raises his brows, "Because?"

"Because the food was decent, but I'm still quite hungry." I proclaim teasingly, shrugging. He chuckles lowly, "We can't have that."

...

Now sitting on Carmy's kitchen stool while he cooks me an omelet on his stove, I inspect his backside. The muscles tense and shift as he moves expertly through the room.

"I hope this suits your refined palette," Carmy remarks with a certain ease that he didn't have before. He pushes a plate towards me, and I reel at how domestic this all feels. I lick my lips in excitement as the delicious, potent smell of the dish consumes my senses.

Taking a bite, I withhold a moan, and close my eyes so he doesn't catch them rolling to the back of my head. Swallowing, I open my lids to see Carmy's eyes studying me, expectingly awaiting a reaction. "It's alright," I state monotonously.

Eyes and mouth expanding, he smacks his hands on his chest, overlapping them over top of his heart, like he's been shot, and a laugh escapes me. "I make it better," I contest.

"I don't doubt that," he responds without a hint of condescension, and I gape at him before giggling nervously, eyeing my omelette.

"So, what would satisfy your elite tastes?" His words may be rather suggestive, but his tone is short and reserved. Glancing up at his expression, I note the way he sluggishly runs his tongue over his bottom lip. His view then trains over my features, lingering on my lips...

Not giving him a chance to refocus on anything but my mouth, I lunge at his. Capturing his lips with mine, I hear a fumble of noises leave him pitifully. The sounds morph into a mixture of bewilderment and a cavernous groan. His hesitancy is brief as one of his hands curves behind my head, into my hair, while the other gropes my waist, bunching up my shirt in a tight fist. His groaning becomes more brazen, and I devour every single one.

Our tongues fight each other, and our hips wrestle with the kitchen island that separates us. Determined to feel more of him, I pull away from his wretched kiss. He instinctively chases after me, but my hands firmly press against his chest, which seems to bring his attention to my eyes. He more or less whines to himself.

I lick my swollen lips, holding eye contact in hopes it would help him understand what I wanted.

His grasp moves from my torso, to hold my hand, tugging me towards what I assume is his bedroom. As he maneuvers around the counter, I decide that I just can't wait. So, when we pass his living room area, I drag him back, and to his surprise, shove him onto his couch.

His back hits the cushions and he releases a grunt. Immediately, I straddle his hips and he makes haste to grip my hips, pressing me further onto his crotch. I whimper nosily, and it's his turn to hum back. "You're so..."

"Great?" I quip.

"Beautiful, is what I was gonna say— should've said." His baby blues melt me to my core. The intimacy of his look and words, somehow mean so much more, than everything we've just done.

After a short break of just breathing in each other, I press my lips to his gently, pecking them. This seems to snap him out of whatever trance he's under, as a peck is clearly not enough.

His hefty grip on my hips increases and encourages me to lean closer. His mouth dictates my every move and sound, and I wriggle above him. "Carmy," I whine desperately, begging for more.

He lets go of me to strip, sitting upright to remove his white-collar shirt. I moan at the sight, before copying him, working my shirt off. When I struggle, he rips the cotton over my head, throwing it to the floor in one swift motion. His mouth quickly draws me back in, nibbling my bottom lip.

Breaking away, I whisper, "As good as you taste, this isn't enough to satisfy me, Chef." Peering up at me through hooded eyes, he looks dazed but nods nonetheless.

My breath hitches as Carmy rears me onto my back, moving us so that his larger frame hovers over my smaller one. He unbuckles his belt clumsily and glides his jeans down his stocky thighs. I chew my lip as I gawk at the impressive bulge tucked into his black briefs. When he reaches for my bra clip, he freezes. "Shit," he exclaims airily, shoving a hand into his curly locks. I flinch, stammering, "W-what?"

"Condom," he states flatly.

"You ran out?" I joke, brows lifting.

"No, I don't do this often," he discloses, ears reddening. Silence eats up the space, and allows us to register what Carmy so bluntly, admitted. Not that I minded at all.

"I have had sex before—"

"I know," I squeal, guffawing at his prompt confession. "I think I have some in my purse." I soothe, encircling his bicep with my index finger. He lets out a sigh of relief, and I giggle like a schoolgirl when he springs to his feet, racing towards my bag.

Carmy's footsteps thud against the floorboards as he races away, half-naked. I fasten my lips together to prevent an extensive grin. When he reenters the room, I lift my body weight onto my forearms for support, cruising my eyes over his body, spying the condom between his dense fingers.

When he straddles my legs, meaning to resume where he left off, an impulse consumes my thoughts. Wordlessly, I place my palms on his thighs, spreading my digits atop his sturdy legs, to push him back. Then, kneeling on the floor in front of Carmy, I smile devilishly. I feel him trembling and the whole scene feels so erotic.

Looking up, I catch his gaze, as it adorns me, in a sort of awe. "There's something I have been craving, Chef," I murmur whilst running my tongue over my teeth. Carmy shudders as my fingers weave into his waistband, tugging them down.

While he's undressing, his briefs hanging on his chaves, I admire how his eyes flutter shut, and he mumbles nonsense to himself.

His cock engulfs my sight and brushes my cheek a bit. Carmy sucks in a sharp breath, tilting his head to watch me. Despite being taken aback by his size, I begin to stoke him. He gasps and his stomach constricts immediately.

Picking up my pace after a few pumps, I kiss his tip and his thighs shake. "Christ," he mewls. I take his noisy reaction as an encouragement to surge forward, wrapping my tongue and lips over him, and driving his cock to the back of my throat. "Fuck!" Carmy shouts.

As he gets closer to the edge, his words of appraisal jumble together in fits of, "yes, like that," "faster," and some "perfect" comments, among many other things I can't comprehend anymore. I'm lost in his touch, which tangles my hair, clasping it tightly. Before Carmy finishes, he cups my face and yanks himself out of my mouth.

Eyes shut and face twisted in both euphoria and frustration, he grumbles, "Fuck, I said I didn't wanna cum yet."

I simply smack my lips together, savouring his taste. Carmy appears stunned as holds my face. I smirk wickedly and a short puff of air abandons him.

"Can I fuck you?" He asks, and his jagged voice makes his question sound like an order, and I love it. "Please," I pant and he kisses my forehead before dragging me back on the sofa, underneath him again.

Positioning himself, Carmy rips open the condom with his teeth and rolls it over himself. He sucks in a coarse breath as he pushes into my entrance, and I do the same. He moans my name and I choke on a sob as he bottoms out, in one, mind-numbing jolt. His hands tighten on my hips, pressing me into the couch as I arch upwards. We both moan nonsensically, adoring the friction and how seamlessly we fit together.

Moving synchronously, we fight for our highs, grinding into a rhythm that makes us gasp in pleasure. With my name on his lips, they seize mine, and his tongue laps every corner of my mouth, as he slowly takes control. I writhe under him and he thrusts harder, hitting all the right places. Shortly, my body grows almost limp, unable to keep up with the tide of desire above, bucking into me.

As I reach my end, he keeps going, simultaneously kissing and nipping my neck, surely leaving numerous marks, but I don't care. He just feels too good, deep inside, strong and brutal.

I cry out as core contracts, clamping down on him, and making his untamed movements stutter. I cum hard, gasping as tremors rack through me. Soon after, Carmy whimpers, craning his neck back as cums inside. With a lengthy sigh that eases into a loud moan, he holds us still. He dips his sweat-covered forehead into the crook of my neck and hums in satisfaction.

After a few minutes of catching our breath, and enjoying the weight of his body over top of mine, he heaves himself up to kiss my mouth once more.

"Go out with me, please," he urges politely as if he isn't still inside of me. I laugh lightly, then tense in surprise when my core clenches over his cock, and he winces as well.

Exhaling steadily, I breathe, "I would love to."

[moonstruckme]

Omg yay I love that slightly dirty man!! I was wondering if you’d be willing to do something along the lines of a flower shop au situation, where Carmy is obv still a chef but reader works/owns a place nearby and they end up seeing each other a lot and so on and so forth but also I will devour literally anything about that man so wherever your heart takes you I’m 100% on board <3

He is perfectly dirty! Thanks for requesting babe <3

Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 831 words

It’s peak hours, and your shop is completely empty. You’re leaning against the counter by the register, mashing your fingers into your temples and praying to whoever will listen for the noise next door to stop. 

It’s some sort of fire alarm, blaring from the shitshow construction zone you’re lucky enough to neighbor. It’s been going since nine this morning. It’s after noon now. No customers will stay long enough to buy anything, not even your regulars who come in looking for a specific book. At this point, you need to either get out of here or get a lobotomy. You head for the side door. 

It’s a bad idea. The noise is worse outside, but you’re committed now. You walk paces up and down the alley, blowing puffs of air that cloud in the cold and rubbing your arms because you left your coat inside. You’ve already walked the alley twice when you see him, bare-armed as you but smoking a cigarette like this temperature is just right. 

“Hey,” you say, too irritated to be embarrassed, “what the hell is going on in there?”

Carmy shrugs, taking the cig from the corner of his mouth. “The fire alarm won’t stop going off.” Smoke rises into the air as he talks. 

“I know. Are you going to do anything about it?” 

“We’ve got people on it.” 

That’ll mean the Faks, you suppose. You wish this was something you could rage about, but Neil’s a nice guy. He came over to help you board up your window when it broke during a hailstorm last year, and when you brought him a coffee he acted like the beans came from the Garden of Eden. 

You take a breath, trying to chill out. “So, are you guys all losing your shit in there?” 

Carmy shrugs again. He never really looks at you, you’ve noticed, just sort of near you as if that’s as close as his eyes can get. “Some more than others,” he says. “I don’t mind it.” 

“You don’t mind?” you laugh, incredulous. “You must be insane.” 

He turns his head to the side, something unidentifiable passing over his expression as he takes a drag. “I know.” 

You get the feeling you’ve taken a misstep. You need to say something nice, remind him you’re on the same team. You kick the overflowing dumpster next to you lamely. “Can you believe this shit? They’ve skipped us for two weeks straight now.” 

Carmy nods, relaxing somewhat. “It’s bullshit.”

“If they miss us again, I’m gonna have to start bringing our trash to other dumpsters or something. I don’t even know.” 

“They won’t miss us again. I’ve got someone making a call.” 

You grin. “What are you, part of the mob or something?” 

Carmy looks almost like he might be thinking about smiling. You have the urge to take a picture. “My family is Italian,” he says. 

“Oh, I know. Richie’s definitely brought it up.” 

Carmy blows smoke out, shaking his head in a way you suspect might be fond. “Richie’s not even Italian.” 

“Seriously?” A laugh stutters out of you. The wailing siren has faded into the background. You feel lighter than you have all day. “He’s the most Italian guy I’ve ever met.” 

“Yeah, he definitely thinks he is.” 

You look at Carmy for a moment. There’s always this tautness about him, like he’s perpetually ready to run or punch someone. Right now he’s as close to casual as he ever gets, hunched against the alley wall, but however he’s acting you can see the raised hairs of goosebumps on his biceps. His tattooed, very large biceps. You look away before you can get swept away by that line of thinking. 

“Well, even though the noise doesn’t bother you, do you wanna get away from it for a sec?” you ask casually. “It’s not so loud in here. You can barely hear it in the back room.” 

“Seriously?” Carmy’s looking at you as though this may be some sort of trap. He’s looking at you, and without explanation the world seems to sharpen into startling clarity. You’re suddenly conscious of your heartbeat. “Uh, yeah.” He glances behind him, seemingly wary of one of his coworkers coming out to stop him. “That’d be cool.” 

“Okay.” You open the door, nodding to his cigarette. “You can’t bring that in here, though. I don’t need it smelling up my books.” 

“Right, yeah.” He snuffs it half-smoked on the alley wall. There’s a slightly awkward moment where it seems like he’s trying to grab the door for you even though you’re already holding it open, but after a second he ducks inside, something that might be embarrassment stiffening his shoulders. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” You let the door swing shut behind you, leading him towards one of the plush couches in the back room. “We’ve got to do what we can to keep each other sane around here, right? A crazy neighbor would be bad for business.”

[kdogreads]

Love Story

Richie Jerimovich x f!reader fun flirty blurb where your friends are visiting you in Chicago 🤪🫶

Just fluffy funsies here but still 18+ as always bc why not. Love yous all💕

———————

The restaurant is mostly void of customers as the busy Saturday dinner service winds down. You look up from your glass as the last sweet drops of whatever wine Richie picked for you tonight dance onto your tongue. That sweet smile you love so much comes into view.

You are wrapping up an evening out with some close friends visiting Chicago. As perfectly timed as always, Richie approaches your party.

“Ladies,” Richie practically sings as he nears the table occupied by you and two of your closest friends, “It’s been my sincere pleasure serving you tonight, and watching you get my lady wine drunk.”

Giggles erupt as your (also slightly wine drunk) friends make heart eyes at you and Richie.

“Richie!” You screeched in mock-anger, “I am not that drunk, thank you very much. Even if I were… That’s on our host for over-serving meeee.”

More giggles dance from your table as your friends enjoy the show you and Richie are putting on.

“You’re right, sweetheart,” He winks your way, loving this game you play, “My apologies to our distinguished guests.”

Wine-fueled cackling erupts as you and your friends eat up every minute Richie spends with you. He really does make you swoon even when he isn’t trying to.

“One last thing before I turn you lovely ladies loose on the town,” The lilt in his voice has you all exchanging looks of excitement, “Dinner is on us tonight. Thank you for being here tonight and showing my girl such a good time.”

Richie’s hands cross over his chest, his gratitude on full display for the world to see. A series of happy sounds and light cheers fill your ears but all you can focus on is how damn blue Richie’s eyes are. How sincere his expression is.

You and your friends clink your wine glasses in a celebration and shrill “cheers!”

None other than the Neil Fak passes behind Richie and slips him a note during your toast. He glances down at it, smirks slightly, and flips it so you can see:

A scrawled out “last guests :)” in black ink. They are professionals to the minute.

Richie’s demeanor changes immediately. He loosens his tie and unbuttons the top button of his crisp white dress shirt. The way his strong shoulders relax slightly let you know that now he can be just be Richie, not maître d’ Richie.

Servers begin cleaning up around you but Richie shows no sense of urgency to leave. He pulls up a chair next to you and takes a sip of your wine, silently nodding to himself at his excellent choice. You shake your head at him teasingly but lean in to kiss his plush lips anyway.

Someone turns up the chill house music and your group settles into comfortable, lively conversation. Carmy and Syd come out to say hi while Fak brings yet another bottle of wine out for you to enjoy. It’s only then that it hits you: Richie is turning the restaurant into a private little nightclub for you and your girls to enjoy. Swoon.

“You look real pretty, baby,” He whispers in your ear and leaves a tender kiss on your temple, “Beautiful.”

Heat rises in your chest as you smile over at him, “So do you, Richie.”

You slide a finger over his exposed neck and find yourself practically drooling at the warm, smooth skin you find.

Richie sees the fire in your eyes and smirks back at you, one eyebrow cocked. He wraps his strong arms around you and pulls you close, his warm body sending goosebumps dancing across your skin.

“Patience, baby,” he whispers deeply in your ear. You pout jokingly for a beat before nodding your head slightly with a giggle. You know he’ll be worth the wait.

You begin to settle into his embrace when you realize the beginning to Love Story (Taylor’s Version, of course) is playing from the hidden speakers. Richie literally gasps in excitement, jolting you slightly before pulling you onto your feet.

“Hell yeah! We love T Swizzle! Right, baby?” The way he lets the joy radiate off of him sends butterflies to your stomach. It’s infectious you think as your closest friends join you in dancing along to this classic love song.

God, you love this man.

You feel the wine and the excitement and the love as you float around the room with Richie. By now, most everyone from the kitchen has joined your group. All you can see around you is a collection of your favorite people having so much fun and living in this very moment.

Your eyes feel watery as Richie tilts your head towards his and smiles warmly. The look of love his face filling your heart up to the very brim.

He gives you small, inquisitive look — silently checking in and making sure you’re okay. You nod and lift your lips in a smile to let him know that you’re perfect. This is perfect.

Richie twirls you around gently as your friends belt out the chorus: Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone.

You swear someone replaced Romeo with Richie and you’re 95% it was the goofy man himself.

“Thank you for this, Romeo,” You whisper to your man, adoration oozing from your lips. You’re lost in his kind eyes as he leans in for a quick kiss.

“Anything for you, my Juliet.”

———

The night slips away slowly, sweetly.

You spend hours just dancing, talking, enjoying the company around you, snacking on whatever Carmy or Sydney or Marcus want you to try next. All around you are your favorite people just having fun and being together.

While The Bear won’t be debuting its new nightclub hours anytime soon, this one-night-only event sneaks its way into your core memories. It’s fun, and comfortable, and happy.

You realize at some point, lost in the music and the emotions just how lucky you are to get to do all of this with Richie.

It hits you suddenly and wholly that you are so, so in love with Richie Jerimovich.

It’s a love story, baby just say ‘yes.’

Tagging some friends just for fun! 🫶 @foreveraimingtowardsthesky @ankhmutes @thebearer @potato-with-hair