#mikey berzatto fanfic

[thefanficmonster]

Not sure if ur accepting requests for the bear.. but could we maybe get a Mikey x reader where she finds out she's pregnant after he died (big angst tbh) and she comes to the restaurant a mess and tells everyone and it's sad but everyone's shocked or something idk if that makes sense lol, thanks

Ahhh the angst! My favorite genre to write 🙈 Thank you so much for the request, darling! I hope you enjoy the fic 💌

Too Much, Too Late

Michael 'Mikey' Berzatto x Reader (Female) [The Bear]

Warnings: Mentioned Suicide, Mentioned Past Drug Abuse (dealing and consuming), Pregnancy, Swearing, SPOILERS for The Bear

Genre: ANGST, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Angst with a happy ending

Summary: see request above

It was a job like any other. It was supposed to be one of those briskly-in-swiftly-out deals. All you had to do was keep it on the down low, distribute your products, get your pay and leave.

However, that didn't happen exactly as planned.

"Why are you in such a rush, sweetheart?" You found yourself accosted by a man who was very clearly three sheets to the wind already. The redness of his eyes, the dilated pupils and the alcohol on his breath suggested he was under several influences. Still, none of that was any justification for his borderline sleazy behavior. "Why don't you accompany me in blowing through this, huh?" He held up the baggie he'd just bought off you, causing you to roll your eyes.

In another setting, preferably under vastly different circumstances you would've probably found him attractive and would even like to uphold a conversation with him. Then again, in those ideal circumstances you imagine he wouldn't have been nearly as obnoxious as he was being in that moment.

Besides, you had a strict rule against participating in drugs with your clients. Or just drugs, period. Anything stronger than weed, that is.

You wanted to get him off your back as soon as possible so, instead of shutting him down in your typical cut-throat manner, you decided to let him down slowly and vanish before his object permanence kicked in. "Another time, pal. I have a busy night ahead."

It worked like a charm anytime someone tried to sweep you off your feet.

However, none of those other occasions had any follow-up. This one, on the other hand....

"Hey."

You had been caught up in your thoughts, making a mental itinerary for the next few days worth of deliveries when a voice startled you out of your tranquility.

It was the following morning and you were headed to the dumpster that was your plug's house - if you could even call it that.

Looking up, you couldn't help but frown at the sight of the 'flirt' from last night standing on the porch of your plug's house, leanings against the fence, smoking a cigarette.

"Hi?" The word came out automatically, a notation of confusion to it which made him smile.

"I don't know if you not remembering me is for better or for worse. I understand I came off a bit....gross last night." His unoccupied hand clasped around the back of his neck, an apologetic half-smile on his lips.

Despite being puzzled by the predicament, you found yourself chuckling, "No, no, I remember you. And don't worry about it, you were pretty tame compared to other shitbags I've had to deal with."

Your wording made him let out a laugh, "Yeah, 'shitbag' sums me up nicely."

Realizing how your words were poorly transmitted, you hurried to correct yourself, "No! That's not what I..."

He laughed yet again, amused by the blush that had crept onto your cheeks, "I know, I'm just fucking with you." He flashed you a charming smile as he tossed his cigarette and offered you his hand, "I'm Michael, by the way, but everyone calls me Mikey."

You were surprised by your own lack of hesitation as you took it, "Y/N, nice to meet you, Mikey."

What did surprise you was his smooth gesture - bringing the back of your hand to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles. You could see relief flood his features when you only scoffed in amusement. "Hope you don't mind, I asked around about you at the party last night. You're quite the phantom, you know. Nobody knew anything except your plug and it was a whole other hassle having to track him down."

You would've been lying if you said you didn't find his effort flattering. "Why go through all that trouble?"

There was that charming smile once more, now accompanied by a wink, "Cause that ain't a face you simply forget, darling."

That's how it all started, three years ago. But you can hardly remember any of it now. Everything has quickly been overshadowed by the tragedy that rocked your world.

Losing the love of your life. No one and nothing can ever prepare you for such a thing. No one can take away or aid the pain it brings on. No one can tell you how to move on, if you ever will. No two grieving processes are the same and yours has been very quiet. Too quiet. You can't even remember if you've cried since you found out a week ago. You can't remember having spoken to anyone since that dreadful phone call.

It's all been building up, piling on - the calm before the storm.

And the storm has just crashed down on you, tears finally spilling over past the barrier you're able to hold them at. Sobs scratch up your throat, racking your ribcage, echoing back at you off the bathroom walls. All the agony, all the pain, the regret, the guilt the grief - it all spills out in those harrowing sobs as tears stream down your face, falling onto the sink counter and pregnancy test on it.

The positive pregnancy test.

"No, no, no...." You mumble to yourself in despair, unsure of what exactly you're saying no to.

You don't even have time to process how you feel about it, if you want it, whether you're happy about it or not. All that's plaguing your mind is the gnawing thought of what if?

What if you'd found out two weeks earlier? What if you told him? What if that changed his mind? Would you still have him by your side if he knew he'd be a dad? Would this be a reason for joy and excitement for the two of you? Having your own little family, fucked up in its own way but miles better than your individual families.

You never met his, he never met your. Unlike him, though, you haven't seen your folks in years, five to be exact. He put up with his, you had cut off yours.

You're well versed into his family and their dynamics though, thanks to all the stories Mikey told you throughout the years. You specifically remember him talking about his siblings with such adoration. Natalie and Carmen. The only supposedly sane ones of the bunch.

Wiping the tears off your burning red cheeks, you regain control of your breathing, effectively calming yourself down as you take a long look at yourself in the mirror. You will yourself to put a hand over your belly, taking a moment to let the realization of there being a living thing inside you sink in.

Your and Mikey's baby.

A baby that'll never know the wonderful man that is their dad.

"Don't worry, baby. If they don't want us, we'll always have each other."

* * * * *

After a sleepless night, you find yourself struggling not to nod off on the train.

You thought you'd feel a lot more....well, something more as you approach the inevitable meeting with Mikey's brother. Instead, you're quite numb, immune to whatever you might be faced with once you arrive at the restaurant. Nothing he might say or do can faze you, not after the week you've had. Though you're pretty sure his hasn't been any better. He lost his brother after all. It could be a point of mutual understanding for the two of you or a point of collision and apperhension.

Only one way to find out.

You're surprised by the sheer boldness with which you enter the sandwich shop. Again, you thought you might exhibit at least mild hesitation but you have never been prone to such reservations. You still do things like you used to back in your dealer days - briskly-in-swiftly-out.

This is no different.

Upon entry, the interior feels familiar. You've been here only twice before, always after closing, snuck in by Mikey as a date night. He'd cook for you while you DJed with the restaurant sound system in the office. It was the peak of romance in your relationship.

Never once did you think one day you'd be coming in alone, during work hours, the memories bringing tears to your eyes.

You push the pain to the backburner when a waiter approaches you. "Welcome, what can I get ya?"

You force the closest thing to a smile you can manage, "Carmen Berzatto, if possible."

Just then, as if on cue, sounds of chaos flood out from the kitchen into the seating area. It doesn't really seem to bother any of the three tables enjoying their meal, but you are certainly a little shocked. You remember Mikey mentioning shit would get chaotic in back of house, but you'd never imagined it'd be this bad.

The waiter casually peers over his shoulder, pressing his lips in a thin line, "I can't promise you anything but I'll go ask. Who's asking for him?" He inquires, already uneasy at the thought of what he'll be met with in the kitchen.

"Mikey's girlfriend." You watch, in real time, as the poor guy's eyes hollow out in shock, his eyebrows raising impossibly high.

Despite being rattled by your response, he manages to clear his throat and murmur a quick, "Please wait here" before disappearing out of view.

Less than a minute later, the door to the kitchen swung open again, the man emerging from the kitchen shocking you with his lack of resemblance to Michael. Fair hair, bright blue eyes, overall soft features whereas Mikey was all sharp edges, dark brown hair and chocolate eyes.

He too, quite like his brother, is doing a poor job masking his confusion as he offers you a tattooed hand as a greeting, "Hi."

You take it, "Hi."

The rowdiness picks up yet again, causing Carmy to motion for you to follow him, "It's a little too loud in here." You nod and follow suit as he leads you out through a back exit to a fenced of area. He shuts the door, drowning out most of the noise before he turns back to face you, "Alright, tell me everything."

It takes all the will you have coupled with all the pride within you not to let yourself shed any tears as you sum up five of the best years of your life in front of this stranger. It gets especially hard when you see his eyes gloss over but you manage to keep it together. Your chest feels somewhat lighter once you bare one of the biggest secrets in your life, knowing there cannot be any repercussions now.

Because...well...he's gone.

"Fuck..." Is all Carmy can say to break the silence after you've concluded your story. His gaze is trained on the ground, his hand cupped around his mouth. He suddenly lifts his head to look at you, making you feel a little too exposed. Those eyes stare right through you. "Why didn't he ever tell us about you?"

You shrug, you have no real answer. You don't know why he would tell them but you're none the wiser as to why he didn't tell them either. So, you just stay quiet.

He nods, pausing for a second to collect his thoughts before speaking up again, "I-I gotta ask...did you suspect anything? Like, did you see any signs?"

You were expecting this. That doesn't mean it hurts any less to actually hear him ask it. You force yourself to inhale a shaky breath before replying, speaking around the knot in your throat, "No. I saw him that morning, he seemed fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. We were talking about the game. He was excited the Sox had won. He made us breakfast. I ironed his shirt for work and I sent him off. And...." You take a moment to maintain your composure, "...that was the last time I saw him."

"Fucking hell..." He sighs out, the curse pouring out from the depths of his soul. He takes a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket, taking one and offering the pack to you, "You smoke?"

You shake your head, "Yeah, but I can't right now." You let out a bitter chuckle as you add on: "Last night...I found out I'm pregnant."

Carmy chokes on the puff he'd just inhaled, coughing out the smoke. He gives you a deer-in-headlights look, trying to gouge your reaction so he can mimic his accordingly. You help him out by giving him a slight smile, allowing him to reflect it back at you ten fold.

"No fucking way." He laughs, prompting you to nod, your eyes filling with tears for the millionth time today. He tosses his cigarette, motioning for you to approach him, "Come here." His arms wrap around you and you damn near break down, finally allowing yourself to shed those tears you've been holding back as you hug him back, squeezing him tightly.

You didn't realize how much you'd needed that hug, that comfort. You had no one to offer it to you. It's funny how quickly people can become important in our lives - in this case, only minutes after entering yours.

You're both startled when the door is thrown open revealing a man you don't recognize initially. His demeanor allows you to connect him to a name soon though.

"Cousin, what the fuck?! We're fighting a war in there...- oh, my bad." He straightens his attitude when he notices you, "Hi there."

Sniffling, Carmy wipes a stray tear before offering Richie a wide smile, "Cousin, we're gonna be uncles."

The confusion on his face provokes a laugh out of you, a genuine one at that. It's refreshing, nostalgic almost. And although you're well aware you'll have to retell your and Mikey's story several more times to catch people up to speed, you know that it'll be a little less dreadful each time.

* * * * *

It's over. The five minutes of utter hell and chaos are over.

You share a look of disbelief with Syd before bursting out in hysterical laughter, enveloping each other in a hug.

"We did it."

"We fucking did it."

Wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, you beam up at Richie who is equally as high on the feel of accomplishment. His arms wrap around you so tightly, he momentarily lifts you off the ground.

It's finally the calm after the storm. You can finally relax without waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You rush out to the dining are, going straight to Sugar and Pete's table where your one year old son is being entertained by the couple, cackling as Pete tickles his feet.

"Hope he wasn't too much trouble." You say as you approach their side, your voice prompting Sugar to get up and practically tackle you with upmost joy.

"Great job back there, Y/N." She beams at you, holding your hands tightly when she pulls away.

"You too, mama." You smile back, resting a hand over her swollen belly just in time to feel a kick.

Turning back to Calvin, you see him making grabby hands at you, giggling when you pick him up, peppering kisses all over his face, "Hi, baby!" You coo to him, adjusting his surprisingly still clean shirt. A fancy one, curtesy of Richie. Him, Fak and Calvin are in matching suits tonight and it's the most adorable thing. "Wanna go see uncle Carmy?"

It's ridiculous you even asked. The little boy cheers happily, kicking his feet as you carry him back to the kitchen, stopping in front of the freezer door to knock on it.

"What?!" You hear Carmy's rough voice boom from inside.

"Carmy!" Calvin calls out to his uncle, his tiny hands tapping on the freezer door, "Hiiii!"

"Hi Baby Bear." His tone has softened now, raising to an octave higher, "Your mommy is a badass, you know that."

"Oh he knows." You reply, resting your forehead on the cool metal, "We did it, Carm. We took care of it. Everything's handled, don't worry." You take this moment of calmness on his end to reassure him that no matter what anxieties are plaguing him, everything is and will be fine.

"I know you did, Y/N. You're an awesome team. Just wish I was in the fire with you, you know?" He says through a shaky breath, causing your heart to ache.

"Oh this was just the frying pan, dude. You'll be there for the many fires to come." Your words are successful in making him laugh, bringing you relief.

"I cook too!" Calvin proudly proclaims, making you both chuckle.

"You'll cook too, Teddy Bear. You'll be the best fucking chef ever." You gave up a while ago trying to shield Calvin from the sailor mouths of the Berzatto family and the restaurant as a whole. If he has a potty mouth from a very early age, you'll just blame it on his dad and uncles.

You never dreamed you'd find yourself in the cahoots of such a batshit crazy and immensely loving family. It really makes you feel a sense of fulfillment looking back at how far you've come and look forward knowing that you'll never come to a point where you'll be alone.

You'll always have your son, the Berzattos and The Bear by your side.

#the bear #the bear fic #fx the bear #michael berzatto #mikey berzatto #michael berzatto x reader #mikey berzatto x reader #michael berzatto fanfic #mikey berzatto fanfic #michael berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fanfic #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto x reader #sydney adamu #richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader #x reader

[aesthetic-bbyg]

The absolute devastation of looking for fics of your fav character from a show you js watched only to find NONE😭

#Juan Ruiz x reader #the imperfects #Juan Ruiz #Moe Doodle #the doodlebops #moe doodle x reader #shanks x reader #shanks #one piece #one piece live action #Usopp x reader #Usopp #mikey berzatto #Mikey berzatto x reader #the bear #Pope Heyward x reader #pope heyward #outerbanks #fanfic

[donatellawritings]

candy necklace - r. jerimovich

pairing(s): richie jerimovich x f!reader

content warning(s): language, smoking, age-gap, pining

song: candy necklace by lana del rey

The crisp Chicago winter air hit your tender scalp as you exited the taxi cab and ran your fingers through your freshly blown out hair. It probably wasn't the smartest decision for you to wear nothing but a mere hoodie that belonged to him, a skintight t-shirt that barely reached for belly button, and yoga pants that clung to your skin, but hey, it was your day off and the only outfit appropriate and comfortable enough to get your hair done in and pick up your paycheck in. Plus, you were well aware that he would be at the restaurant today, and thankfully The Bear wasn't busy enough, to where he'd have no choice but to drink in your appearance.

Approaching the tall and older man, you shove your hands into the pockets of the sweater, before stopping short in front of him. You watch with your bottom lip between your teeth as he wordlessly takes a pull from his cigarette, and loosens his tie to hang comfortably around his neck.

The two of you stand in silence as Richie taps the bottom of his cigarette, allowing the ashes to fall at his shoes, before raising his eyes to meet yours, "You here for your check?" He asks, his raspy voice like silk in your ears.

You nod, "and to see you," you take a step closer to Richie, catching how his shoulders and jaw begin to relax as the distance between your bodies begins to decrease.

Richie allows his shoulders to fall for a brief moment, before shaking his head and straightening his posture, "You're somethin' else, you know that?" His voice raises.

"Richie-" you begin.

"No, you don't get to fuckin' come here and stand there, when you aren't mine - do you not see how fucked up that is?" He rants, keeping his eyes locked solely on yours as you bring your gaze to your feet.

The brim of your eyes burn with welled tears as Richie's hand grabs ahold of your chin, a gentle yet firm touch. He opens his mouth to speak, but decides against it once you pull away from his touch, with a sniffle, "this isn't fair, you don't get to be upset with me," you hastily wipe your eyes with the back of your hand.

Richie allows his hand to drop this his side as you point your finger at him, "Y-you let me slip away, that was you, not me," you suck in a breath, "I fucking wanted you, Richie, I didn't want to be with h-" you sigh.

Richie's baby blue eyes glaze over as he watches your emotions overtake every inch of you. He wants nothing more than to wrap you in his arms, kiss your hair, and tell you that everything will be okay, even if it won't be. And seeing you in his sweater, oh, that is what gets him. Even though your hateful tears are staining your cheeks, he can't help but feel envy of the way that the fabric of his sweater gets to envelope you, while he remains at a dangerously close, yet existent distance from you.

"Your check is in the office." Richie's voice cuts into you with no warning, his face stoic as you blink away any remanence of threatening tears away. You make your way towards the back door, Richie's hand grabbing onto your wrist, before you are able to open the door. Your eyes meet his as he pulls you into his chest and cradles the back of your head. His lips press a warm kiss to the skin of your forehead as you relax in the confines of his warm and slender arms. You inhale a shaky breath as you take in the smell of his cologne, mixed with the lingering air of his cigarette. Richie presses another kiss to your nose, and to your cheek, stopping right before your lips.

"I want you, I-I fuckin' need you, so fuckin' bad and that shit scares me," he rants as he moves his hand to cradle your face, "I hate seeing you with him, I hate that he gets to come home to you, gets every part of you, I wanted that since the moment I fuckin' met you."

"Richie-"

"No- no, just listen to me baby, I'm sorry, I'm fuckin' sorry." Richie pleads, leaning his forehead against yours as you raise your hands to cradle his face.

"Richie, listen to me." You cry, your lips ghosting against his, "I want you to kiss me, okay?"

And so he does. The moment you ask, Richie's lips are on yours and the two of you are feverishly grabbing at each other's limbs, as Richie pushes you against the brick wall, holding one of your hands above your head, interlocking your fingers. A moan leaves Richie's lips as you softly bite down into the skin of his bottom lip, before sucking on it.

"Come home with me," You mutter, breathlessly, licking over your lips, watching as Richie tightens his hold on your waist, "please, come with me and I'm all yours."

"Fuck." A moment passes, before Richie nods his head, moreso to himself than to you, "Yeah, yeah, anything you want, baby." He rasps, his forehead leaned against yours as his baby blue eyes drink in yours.

Richie's head lowers to your neck, his hand that once held onto your waist, now resting on your neck as his lips find the sweet spot right on your pulse, before softly suckling on the skin. Your head rolls back against the brick wall as Richie continues to work on the flesh of your neck. A soft moan leaves your lips as he softly licks the freshly bruised and broken skin. Richie continues this process for a few more minutes, until he is satisfied, pulling his lips away from your neck.

"I want you to leave him." Richie speaks, wiping the corners of his mouth while he adjusts the cuffs of his black button-down shirt, "you leave him and I'm all yours, I fuckin' promise you that."

A smile tugs on your lips as you slide your arms around the tall man's waist and push yourself to meet his lips, "Anything you want, Richie."

You pull away from Richie, your hands now reaching for the tie that messily hung around his neck, before grabbing ahold of the end of it and beckoning him to follow you inside of the building.

-

and that's all for now! I hope you all enjoyed my first writing, I promise that I have longer writings in the works, but I just wanted to post this, just to get a gist of what it's like to post <;3

feel free to send me any requests!

#the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear fic #richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich imagine #richie jerimovich fanfic #the bear imagine #carmen berzatto #sydney adamu #mikey berzatto #richie jerimovich smut #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto imagine

[garbinge]

You, Me, and Italy

Michael Berzatto x F!Reader From these August Prompts:  Italy Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: All my fics are 18+, angsty, mentions of suicide, death, grief, loss, broken heart, drug use, addiction, being high, someone close to ODing, uncomfortable, sad, mentions of sexual situations, it's based on canon mentions of suicide and death and grieving, but a little more in depth. So just be weary of any triggers one might have in reference to these things.

A/N: This is not apart of my Richie Jerimovich multichap. This is heavy. I try and steer clear of fics like this because of my own triggers and trauma around drug abuse and addiction but this just was an idea sitting in my head probably because of all that trauma. The Bear Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @quixscentsposts @dadbodfanatic-x @adorable-punk-superheroes @lodeddiperrodrick @isalver @captainweasleybarnes @musicwithteeth @fancyvoidtragedy @shinebright2000 @knight4xmas

The kitchen was always your favorite place to be when you couldn’t sleep. Something about the ability to hear every single noise in a space where usually you’d be lucky to hear the person next to you speak at a normal tone. 

You had come in through the back, placed your stuff down in the locker that had your name written on a green piece of tape, your insanely patterned bandana was snug around your head just above your forehead, something you always wore when cooking. Now, the sounds of the water running as you washed her hands filled your ears and was followed by the clunks of pulling the knives out, the blade tinging as you set it free from its case. Now slicing, the quick quippy sounds of the thin slices of all the items you needed to prep. Basil, onions, garlic, fig, and parmesan cheese. All the ingredients you picked up from the grocery story that was still open this late. The chopping and the sizzling filled your ears in a similar way that music would fill someone else’s. It kept you grounded, kept you calm, kept you in the moment. 

“Late night snack?” A voice interrupted that tranquility but surprisingly, there was no reaction from your side. You kept steady as your hand tossed the garlic and basil in the olive oil, other hand equipped with a spoon ready to add in the parmesan ricotta mixture. 

“You’re lucky I don’t scare easily.” Your voice was steady as you focused on the pan in front of you. 

Mikey looked down and laughed before he made his way from the office over to his best chef and best friend. He leaned against the prep area, hands crossed as you had your back to him. 

“You should toast the breadcrumbs.” Mikey said as he took in what you were doing. 

Immediately, your head turned to look over your shoulder and shot the man a look. “I’m a one-woman show here, Mikey. I’m getting to it.” 

“You know, I can help you out.” He had crossed his leg over the other now as he waited for a response. “Only if you want to.” His arms were now uncrossed as he raised them in a surrender.

Your head tilted, the only invitation he needed to start helping out. 

“I’m making arancini, fig and garlic arancini.” You specified. 

“Rice balls. You’re making rice balls.” Mikey teased. “What inspired the fig?” He asked as he toasted the bread crumbs at the stove next to you. 

“Remember when we went to that bar the other night?” You looked up at him, despite being a few feet down from you, he still towered over you in height. “While you and Richie were off doing God knows what, I ordered shit from the bar. They had this fig, arugula, and goat cheese pizza.”

“Jesus Christ, what fuckin’ bar were we at?” Mikey laughed at the fanciness of how it all sounded. 

“That place, Porta. I’d say it was more hipster than fancy.” 

“God, I don’t even remember.” Mikey laughed before placing his attention back on you and continuing the conversation. “So the pizza was good?” 

“It was, and I just kept thinking what would go well with fig and landed at a rice ball.” 

“Arancini.” Mikey corrected you with the biggest grin growing on his face. 

A laugh left your mouth as you took the sauce off the heat, wanting it to cool down slightly before pouring it into the egg mixture that was already placed in the fridge. 

The silence fell over the both of you and you both continued to move around the kitchen. Mikey stood with the bowl of rice in his hands, resting it on the prep counter as you stood over and poured in the egg mixture. Mikey was whisking it around rapidly, that way the eggs didn’t scramble. The smell coming from the bowl was filled with savory scents of garlic and sweet touches of fig reduction. 

“You good, buddy?” Mikey was looking at you as he stirred everything around. It wasn’t so much in reference to your current state, which was focused as you concentrated on pouring the egg mixture in, but more in reference to why you were here late. 

Buddy. Such a Mikey term. The two of you knew each other for years, meeting when you were smoking in the back of the restaurant you used to work out. To put it in simple terms, he poached you. He had just grabbed a bite at said restaurant, with his brother Carmy, a detail you found out later since Mikey came alone to the alley in the back where you had been taking a break. He asked if you had made the slow braised beef and proceeded to tell you about his restaurant. You never walked back into that restaurant again and started at The Beef the next day. 

As time passed, things got close with Mikey. The two of you just fed off each other, you vibed effortlessly and one day that led to more. You spent a majority of the night locked in the office making a bed out of the table, the floor, the bookshelf, anything that had an inch of a flat surface, Mikey took you. That however, never amounted to more. It was always just sex. There was no label on what the two of you had, no real dates, no holding hands, just stolen moments around the restaurant, late nights in the kitchen, nights out at bars, and overnights spent at each others places. But that never made anything awkward because despite their being no label, everyone knew there was something between you two. It was impossible to miss. The way you two got along, the way you spent every waking moment together, whether you were at the restaurant or not. But what the real dead giveaway was, you two moved in the kitchen like you had perfected a choreographed dance, every, single, time. There was never any missteps, any arguing, no bumping into each other, you just glided by each other, calling out kitchen terms and directions. It was a sight to be seen, everyone thought so. Including the family. Sugar and Carmy were impressed when you came by for the first time maybe a month into starting at The Beef. Richie had already seen how the two of you worked together but both Berzatto siblings were shocked by it. 

“Hey, you good?” Mikey repeated himself and bent down a little to look into your eyes. 

“Yea, sorry.” You shook your head from your thoughts. 

“I don’t buy it.” Mikey pressed you again for more information. “What’s with late night rice balls?” 

“You ever feel stuck?” There was no point in trying to hide what you were feeling from Mikey. 

“Uh, just every day of my life.” You let out a breath through your nose in a sort of chuckle. “I just, wish I could get out of here.” The frustration was littered in your voice. 

“Where would you go?” He set the bowl down now that everything was stirred, and he turned to face you. 

“Anywhere.” You turned too so you were facing him. 

“So let’s go.” His voice raised, like what he said and meant didn’t need planning, didn’t need money, he spoke it outloud like it was the easiest thing to achieve. 

“Yea, where?” You were about to start naming off places around here in Chicago as a joke but he was quick to answer you. 

“Italy.” 

You frowned but a smile was growing on your face. “Italy?” You questioned. 

“Yea, let’s go to Italy, we’ll eat all the rice balls in the fuckin’ country, we’ll learn how to make ‘em like a true Italian. We’ll eat our way around Rome, Sicily, Naples, it’ll be great, just me and you and Italy.” He was so energetic in how he spoke, his hands were in the air, his voice was echoing off the kitchen walls. 

“You, me, and Italy?” You questioned him as your head nodded in agreement. 

“You, me, and Italy.” Mikey nodded with the biggest smile on his face. 

____

Time might’ve passed and a lot of things might’ve changed, but sometimes stayed exactly the same. You were pushing through the back door of The Beef, bag and kitchen tools in hand as the clock ticked past 1AM. 

“Mikey?” You called out, expecting to see him appear in the kitchen. You called out again and heard nothing. It was odd, but also maybe not. He had been distant lately, you picked up on that when most nights he didn’t come back to your place. You knew things had been tough for him, he was having money issues and as a result moved back in with his mother, he was stressed. Every time you did get the chance to see him, he wasn’t fully there, sometimes you’d taste alcohol on his breath, others you could tell his mind was caught in a thought or 20. 

Moving to the lockers, you saw the door open just slightly and the lamp on illuminating a ton of paperwork. You saw his hand resting on the table and slowly peaked in. 

Now, you had your suspicions, they were probably more than suspicions, you knew. You knew Mikey was hooked on something. But you didn’t want to accept it. But there it was, slapping you right in the face. It had been functional, he had been functional, which is what made it easy for you to question, for you to say nothing. After tonight, you’d regret it, you’d regret staying silent, not giving in to your suspicions, voicing them out loud. 

You took in the sight of him, he was so out of it, you could see his glazed over eyes even from the distance you were at. The giveaway as if everything else wasn’t so obvious was the pills scattered all over the paperwork in front of him. 

“Mikey.” The urgency hit you just as much as the the scene of him. You were next to him in seconds, shaking him awake. 

The smile that filled his face as he stared at you, the smile that warmed your heart, the smile that melted you, the smile of your best fucking friend was breaking you. 

“What–what’re you doin’ here?” 

“How much did you take, Mikey?” You moved forward to the table to search for a bottle, a pill count, see how many were on the table, but Mikey’s hands began to grab your arms. 

“No, no, no, no, no. Stop, you’re ruining the fun.” Mikey complained, his voice was slurred. 

You pulled back immediately, uncomfortable and unsure what to do. Your heart was beating fast and before your tears could even start falling, Mikey started yelling. “You’re ruining the fun!!” It was a repetition of what he had said before and all it did was secure your feet frozen to the ground. “That’s all anyone ever does anymore. Ruin the fucking fun.” He spun in the swivel chair like a child and when it stopped spinning he looked at the bookshelf and began speaking again, but this time more at a whisper. 

“Even my own fuckin girl. I can’t have anything.”  

You snuck out the door, searching for your phone in your pocket. The irony that in your hastiness, you spent more time looking for it than if you searched for it with purpose and patience. 

As you picked your phone up to your ear, your hand was shaking. “C’mon, pick up, pick up.” You mumbled, taking your other hand to pick at your lip. 

“It’s 1 in the fuckin’ morning, I’m neck deep in shit diapers, if this is you and Mikey asking me to go out, I’m blocking your number for eternity.” Richie seemed stressed in a completely different way. 

“Richie, it’s Mikey, he uh, I don’t know, there’s pills, he’s awake–sort of?, he’s angry, I don’t know how much he took but he, he uh, I just need help, I need you down here, can you get down here, please?” The shakiness in your voice was the dam holding back your tears. 

“I’ll be there in 10 minutes. Keep him up.” 

With that Richie hung up and you were moving back into the office, you squatted down and turned the chair so he was facing you. “Mikey, babe?” You tried to keep your voice soft. His red, glossy eyes met yours as he plopped his head down to look at you. 

“My girl.” A little bit of hope filled his face, he reached his hand up to cup your face. The impulse to pull away was strong but you stayed there, you stayed there with him and let him speak to you. 

“You’re so pretty, you know that? So pretty. And you’re so talented, you can throw down, you know that? Best fuckin slow braised beef I’ve ever fuckin’ had.” 

The amount of compliments he was giving you, it should’ve had you elated, floating, with butterflies but instead it was making you sick–uneasy. And you just had to sit there and let him say it, over and over again. You were counting in your head, hoping that once you got to the 10th 60th second count, that Richie would be here. 

“Hey hey hey, you listening to me?” Mikey moved slightly to look at you, even in his fogged state he could tell your mind was elsewhere. 

“Mhm.” You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes as you stared into his eyes. 

“You, me, and Italy, baby. You, me, and Italy.” The second time he said it, it was in a whisper like he was desperate for it to be true. Like if he said it low enough the world would grant him the wish. That’s when you really saw him, saw what was happening in his brain. Alongside that hopeful look was one of peace and happiness. The absolute gut wrenching emotion you felt in your heart when you realized it. How being high set Mikey free, set him free from his demons, in some weird twisted way this was the closest you’ve seen Mikey to his usual self. 

Before your heart could break anymore, you heard Richie’s voice behind you and he was slipping into your spot and picking Mikey up.

______

“You know I remember this one time, we went over to Mikey’s place, the one on Courtyard, me, Carm, and Richie, and it was Sunday, Braciole night. We walk in, Mikey’s got the game playing so loud in the background, we start prepping, cooking. I remember he told me not to put raisins in the braciole even though that’s how mom did it. And he just, he had this smile on for those first 30 minutes, like he had something planned, like he was in on the joke. But the thing is none of us knew what the joke was. And then, the door opened, we were all confused at who it was and then, this woman appeared. Mikey introduced her to us, he was so happy, and we were like shocked, cause Mikey, our big brother, the player, brought this girl over to our fucked up family Sunday night dinner. She didn’t care that the TV was loud, that we were even louder, that Mikey and Richie would tell the most insane stories, over and over again, and in fact, she moved around the kitchen like, well, like she’d known us all our whole lives. I don’t know if I ever saw Mikey so happy.” Sugar was sitting in bed, her phone on speaker while you sat silent on the other line. 

“You at the restaurant?” Sugar cleared her throat. 

“Standing right outside it.” You spoke up, trying to hide your tears from the story Sugar just told. 

“I’ll be there soon.” There was rustling on the other side of the phone, like she had started to get up and get ready. 

“Sugar?” You questioned, worried she was about to hang up. 

“Hm?” She hummed. 

“Thank you.” It was two words but sometimes you needed to hear it. How much Mikey loved you, he didn’t tell you often, but you felt it, you saw it. But now, that he was gone, that all that was left of Mikey for you was the things he left at your place, the memories you shared, you took the antidotes Sugar occasionally told you and kept them someplace special. 

“I’ll see you in the chaos.” Sugar replied back to you in which you did the same. 

For a few seconds after the phone call, you stood there, staring at the gutted restaurant, staring at the mayhem happening behind the glass, which was normal for the restaurant, whether it was in business or not. But right now, standing outside, in the peace of the quiet reminded you of those late nights in the kitchen, and you were destined to hold onto that peace for just a few more minutes. 

Eventually, you joined the chaos. Greeting everyone as you made your way through the renovation. Finding yourself getting swept up into something in the immediate first seconds you entered the front door. After an hour or so, when you wrapped up your job in the front, you made your way to the kitchen.  

“What’re you doing?” You placed your stuff down in the office as you walked past Richie, Fak, and Marcus who were gathered around someone’s phone watching a video, arguing back and forth. Natalie stood up from the chair in the office and placed a hand on your shoulder in a half greeting and walked over to the arguing men. Your eyes lingered on the office table and chair a little longer than normal, letting the memories flood into your brain for a short few seconds before you turned to put your attention back on everyone. 

“Scraping and painting and fighting over moving the lockers.” Marcus spoke up. 

You turned around and stepped out of the office, staring at them trying to attempt to move the lockers. Carmy had appeared now, yelling at them to keep it down and when the mention of Mikey’s locker still being locked was announced, that’s when everyone silences. 

“Just fuckin’ open it.” Carmy spoke up. 

A hat. June 5th, 2010. Taste of Chicago. The booth. 

You smiled at that. You weren’t there for the booth, but you heard all about it. From the family, but from Mikey, it was one of the many stories he’d tell you over and over and honestly, you’d do anything to hear him tell it 200 more times. 

Carmy handed the hat to Richie, and as he turned around his eyes fell on your. 

“Yo, uh, I got something for you.” He said and walked right past you into the office, searching for something. As everyone went back to working, you turned and took a few steps towards Carmy as he moved the papers around looking for something. 

“So, uh, we’re sending Ebra and Tina to culinary school, for them to stay sharp, learn some new shit, and uh, I–we, Syd and I figured you didn’t want or honestly really need that, so uh–here!” He proclaimed the last word louder than the rest as he found the envelope with your name written on it and handed it to you. 

You looked down at it for a second and then back at Carmy, you two didn’t talk much in general, but you definitely didn’t talk much about him. 

“You and Syd…” You started to say as you mindlessly tapped the envelope against your skin. “You uh,” You wanted to say that the two of them reminded you a lot of you and Mikey, the effortlessness in the kitchen, the way their ideas just bounced off each others and how they brought this new sense of life to each other. But it was that last thought that weighed heavy on you. There was a point that Mikey brought a new sense of life to you and you did the same to him but unfortunately that emotion, that feeling, had changed at some point, at no ones fault but it didn’t stop you from not cherishing it more. “Just, don’t take it for granted.” 

“Yea, yea.” Carmy nodded, getting where you were coming from but also not really wanting to get into it and you were okay with that because you didn’t want to get into it either. 

Carmy’s eyes moved down to the envelope and back to you. Taking the hint you nodded. “Right.” You said quickly and began to rip the envelope open. As your hand reached in and pulled out the papers in the envelope, you saw the word United and then followed by a seat and time and that’s when you saw the airports. 

ORD – NAP

Naples International Airport. 

“Carmy.” You looked up, eyes shocked. 

“It’s what Mikey would’ve wanted.” Carmy nodded and walked by you, taking his hand to rest on your shoulder and then tap it as he exited the office. 

You stared down at the tickets, trying to take in everything. 

“You, me, and Italy, Mikey.”  

#The Bear #The Bear FX #The Bear fanfic #Mikey Berzatto #Michael Berzatto #Michael Berzatto x Reader #Mikey Berzatto x Reader

[early-twentysomething]

Simmer; Melt

The Bear (2022) - Carmy x Sydney, slow burn, two-shot. Rated E.

Summary:

Claire left me a voicemail last night b-...before shit went down. Told me that she loved me.”

His voice is barely above a whisper, like he’s telling her a secret that nobody else can hear.

“And do you? You… you know…love her?”

His eyes, blue as lake Michigan, look straight into her’s.

“I don’t think I do.”

She drops his hand at that moment, she needs to get out of this room.

What does he mean by that, and why does he keep staring at her? What the fuck is that about?

Read Here on Ao3!

(P.S. - I also made Sydney a SZA enjoyer in this because it makes sense)

#the bear fx #the bear tv #carmen berzatto #sydney adamu #marcus the bear #tina the bear #natalie berzatto #mikey berzatto #the bear #sza #fanfic #smut #angst #slow burn #two shot #controversial opinion: these two should kiss #read on ao3 #carmy x sydney #sydcarmy #syd x carmy #carmy and sydney

[preciouslandmermaid]

break me (then help me find the pieces) -- Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

I wrote this on my phone last year (in August) and I finally decided to finish it and post it.

Tags/Warnings: Smut (18+ only! Fingering, dirty talk, protected p in v/the reader is on birth control, Mikey uses the pet name(s) “angel/baby/sweetheart”, blowjobs, light choking/spanking, rough/after care). Brief mentions of alcoholism/addiction (it’s implied the reader struggles with addiction). Explicit language. Light angst if you squint. No use of Y/N.

wc: 2k

🍝🍝🍝  (Read on Ao3) 🍝🍝🍝

The clock ticks well past midnight. You’re not expecting anyone at this hour and you didn’t receive a suggestive text beforehand. But when he knocks on your door, you let him in, because it’s Mikey. You never could refuse him.

You taste bourbon on his tongue – smoky and dark – something of a metaphor for your not-quite relationship. You and Michael were too fucked up in your own ways to seriously date. For starters, you were never sober at the same time. And you carry enough secrets between one another to put Area 51 to shame.

He cradles your face between his warm, rough hands and shoves you backward into the entryway wall. You trip over your discarded piles of shoes. But, his arm on your waist is firm, and he stops you from falling.

Another metaphor—Mikey never let you get close enough to fall for him. In a different life, you could see yourself with him—waking up early to help out at the restaurant, being an emotional buffer against his unstable mother, dealing with all the bullshit of two messy lives instead of one. For him, you’d do it.

(It was a pipe dream and you knew it. A comforting lie you told yourself whenever you got drunk and lonely. You and Mikey were matches and matches can’t build a house. Matches only exist to burn).

You push your hands up his shirt and explore the rippled, raw strength of his chest. Your fingernails graze against his nipples. Mikey releases a low, quiet hiss and nips your lower lip.

He shoves his hand between your legs, cupping the front of your pussy, and you shudder against him.

“What’re you doing, huh?” He asks, the question rhetorical, “you’re making me crazy, you know that? You drive me fuckin’ crazy.” He rubs the clothed front of your cunt, using the heel of his palm to grind into your clit, and the friction makes you whine. In the other room, the TV switches to commercial and it drones through your sparse apartment.

“I haven’t even started yet.” You tease with a pointed tug of his belt.

“It’s enough.” His grin is quick and it momentarily disarms you. Sometimes, you think all you need is Mikey’s smile and you’ll be sober forever. As long as you can be on the receiving end of that damn charming smile. You shake your head, rolling your eyes, and pushing your thoughts to the side. Mikey nuzzles his face into your neck and leaves a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck.

“How fast you gonna come for me tonight, angel?” He whispers to the shell of your ear, his breath hot as if fans over your delicate skin. Your skin prickles with goosebumps and you shiver involuntarily.

His belt clatters to the floor, “Depends on you, Mikey. You gonna take care of me?”

“’course.” He scoffs. He reclaims your mouth with his own, his tongue coaxing and warm, prying your lips open and lapping the sweet sounds you give him. His large hand yanks your sleep shorts to the side and his seeking fingers find your wet, aching cunt. Your hips buckle with the first touch of his index and middle finger against your folds.

“Mhmph.” He hums with pleasure, “soaked already, huh? Were you waiting for me, angel? Touching yourself on the couch and hopin’ I’d come over?” You groan in tandem as Mikey sinks two fingers into your warmth and you babble nonsense against his scratchy, bearded chin.

“Tell me what you imagined, sweetheart.” He goads, curling his fingers into you, and his other hand comes to encircle your throat. He doesn’t squeeze or restrain your airflow (he has in the past, but apparently that’s not what he’s in the mood for tonight). Rather, Mikey keeps his hand on your throat with a soft, gentle pressure as if to remind you that he’s here—he’s got you pinned against the wall and he’s not going anywhere and neither are you.

You gasp, “Kitchen.” Your fingers twist into his dark, silky hair. “Bent over—mph! Ah! Hard. Fast.” You’re surprised you can manage a sentence while Mikey’s fingers thrust in and out of you. You feel him smile against your cheek.

“Come for me, angel, and I’ll give you that.”

Your head thumps into the wall. Your hips grind into Mikey’s hand. The wet, squelching noises coming from below your waist are almost embarrassing—but you know Mikey gets off on making you moan and squirm for him. You kiss him and moan wantonly into his mouth. Your fingers fumble around the zipper of his jeans and Mikey squeezes your throat.

He tsks, “this ain’t about me.”

“I want--” You palm the front of his boxes, his cock twitches in response to your touch, “to touch you.”

He nibbles your lower lip, “be patient, baby.”

You let your hand fall away. There have been other nights when you’ve ignored him just for the sake of riling him up. Tonight, however, you’re willing to play nice. Mikey rhythmically squeezes your throat in tandem with your bucking, wild hips. He kisses you. He whispers in your ear “that’s right, angel” and “you’re so good for me,” and “I know you can come like this, I want you to come for me, nice and loud so the neighbors hear us.”

Mikey curls his fingers, deep and angled, moving in concentric motions against your G-spot.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, your teeth clacking together. “Fuck!  F-fuck!”

His mouth explores the tops of your breasts, kissing the exposed skin and pulling away your t-shirt with his teeth. You dig your fingers into his scalp when your orgasm hits you. You shatter, your body twitches, as the heat and tension explodes across your limbs.

He grunts and slowly withdraws his hand. It takes several long seconds for you to return to planet earth.

Mikey pulls his shirt over his head, “You said kitchen, right?”

“Y-yeah.”

You both leave your clothes in the entryway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before Mikey can bend you over the counter, you stop him with a gentle hand to his chest.

“You said my patience would pay off.” You tease, biting your lower lip and looking down.

“Did I say that?”

You drop to your knees and hold the base of his thick, hard cock in your hand.

“You did.”

“Fuck.” Mikey braces his hands behind him on the counter. He stares down at you with dark, lust-filled eyes, his hair falling in front of his forehead. You’ve always thought Michael was beautiful. But he is especially beautiful when he’s naked and framed by the golden, warm-yellow light of your kitchen.

“Mhm.” You slowly kiss your way along his cock from the base to the tip. Mikey groans, his knuckles whitening at the edge of the counter. He deserves a little teasing after what he put you through in the entryway. You flatten your tongue along him, tasting his salt-sweat and skin, before you envelope the engorged tip of his cock with your lips.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Mikey repeats as if in prayer. “I swear to God, your mouth was made for me.”

You hum in agreement, feeling the vibration traveling thorough your throat and buzzing your lips. You work your mouth over his cock, pushing as deep as you can go, your saliva collecting at the corners of your lips. Mikey moans, loud, unabashed, unashamed. You follow the movement of your mouth with your hand, squeezing him, your fingers and palm drenched in spit. His hips jerk, his muscled thighs quivering, and you wish you could smile. You peer up at him, admiring the beauty and tragedy of this man before you. His large hand comes to cup the nape of your neck.

“Can I fuck your mouth, angel?” He asks. He’s always been good about asking that. He never assumes.

You press your thighs together, feeling a fresh tingle of arousal at his question.

You pull away, saliva trailing after your mouth, and dripping onto your neck and breasts.

“Yes, Mikey.”

You open your mouth and Mikey holds his cock at the base and guides it into you. You brace your hands on his muscled thighs and Mikey holds your head steady. Your eyes flutter shut as Mikey uses you—his thrusts shallow, but quick. You’d never admit it out loud (to him or anyone) but there is a deep, primal satisfaction brewing inside you. You might be the one on your knees, but Mikey is the one who’s weak for you. He growls, the sound deep within his chest, punctuating each thrust with praise.

“So good, so good for me. That’s right. You love it when I use you like this, huh? Use that pretty little mouth of yours. Fuck! Fuckin’ Christ. Feels so good.”

Mikey withdraws and you half expect his cum to spurt onto your tits. But, he doesn’t.

“Get up on the counter, angel.” He says firmly. You rub your jaw, your smile slow and sweet and tempting. The tile counter is cold against your bare, flushed skin. You bend over and have to arch on your tiptoes for the angle to work—but you know it works. This isn’t your first time in this position.

“Please, I need your cock, Mikey.” You say, wiggling your ass in an attempt to get his attention.

Mikey grins, giving your ass a playful swat, as he lines up the tip of his cock at your entrance.

“Yeah, sweetheart? You gonna beg for me?” He rubs his tip against your folds, “you know I’m the only one who can make you feel this good, hm?”

“Yes, Mikey, yes.” You arch your back, “please fuck me, Mikey. Please.”

He presses one hand into the middle of your back, pinning you into the counter, before his cock slides into your cunt in one swift, hard thrust. You gasp.

A surprised “Yes!” escapes your parted lips. Mikey feels incredible. He always does. His thick cock fills you, stretches you, erases all coherent thought from your mind. He holds your hips with one hand while the other remains pressed into your back. Your fingers scramble for purchase on the slick counter as Mikey drives into you, his pace pounding and relentless, the slick sound of your skin slapping together with every hard thrust.

“Fuck!” He moans, “Made for me. Fuck. So good. Yes, yes, like that.”

He adjusts his grip, holding you by the hips, and dragging your cunt back over his cock when he pulls back. Your calves tremble with the effort to remain in this position, but it feels too good to stop. Mikey’s hand comes down against the swell of your ass—sharp and biting. You yelp and your inner walls clench at the painful yet pleasurable sensation. He soothes the slap with his hand before delivering another. Nothing matters but the delightful sensation of his cock pounding into you and the space between every strike of his hand. Your eyes prickle with tears. Something tight inside of you starts to unwind.

With Mikey, you are allowed to unravel. You’re allowed to be A Mess. A fuck-up. You can empty yourself out and he’ll be there. He can’t put you back together again, but he can help you find the right pieces.

You sob, your body tightening with anticipation, and Mikey’s calloused fingers find your sensitive and swollen clit. You want to beg him to stop. You want to beg him to never leave you.

Mikey says “Can feel you getting close, angel.”

“Don’t stop, Mikey. Don’t ever stop.”

Your orgasm hits you—a brilliant, echoing release. You wail, pleasure rocketing through you, firing off neurons in your brain and skittering down your spine. Your ears start to ring and you vaguely hear Mikey follow you, grunting, his thrusts erratic before they slow to a stop. He pulls out and you feel his cum dripping down your inner thighs. Your forehead flops down onto your arms and you try to regulate your breathing. The faucet turns on behind you.

You jump in surprise as a warm washcloth wipes between your legs. Your brow furrows. This is new. Mikey isn’t a callous sexual partner—but he isn’t the ‘cuddle afterwards’ type either. You both used sex as a release. You fucked each other’s brains out. You experimented. You came so hard you thought you stopped breathing. Sometimes he stayed over to watch a movie. But, he rarely slept over (or if he did—then he slept on the couch).

His large hands splay across your shoulder blades before his fingertips start digging gently into your muscles.

A back massage? You crane your neck to look over your shoulder. Mikey’s face is fraught with concentration.

He notices you looking, “You want me to stop?” His eyes dart away from yours.

“N-no, it feels nice...it would just feel better...on the bed?”

“Right,” he laughs dryly, “good idea.” Without prompting, Michael scoops you into his arms as if you weight little more than a stuffed teddy bear. He deposits you onto the bed, on your stomach, and resumes his careful and clumsy massaging. His large, strong hands work their way down your lower back and to your sore, strained calves.

You yawn, “This is...mhm...thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The lull of sleep is too strong. It’s dragging you under its waves with every passing motion of Mikey’s capable hands.

“You can stay over.” You mumble, although you’re uncertain if any of the words come out coherently. The world fades, hazy and warm, your bones are liquid and heavy. You think Mikey’s lips press into your temple. But...that might’ve been a dream.

#mikey berzatto x reader #the bear fanfic #mikey berzatto x you #mikey berzatto x f!reader #my fics

[queer-whatchamacallit]

So I decided I was going to rewatch The Bear and take notes, partly bc autism and partly bc I want more interesting details for fics and just to get to know the characters even better

(Also, I’ve been curious about what makes Carmy blow up vs what makes him dissociate)

So here’s some things I noticed that you could also pick apart like I have here

Carmy has his apron on in the dream, maybe it’s just because that’s what he’s been wearing pretty much all the time for the past couple weeks or because his work is so tied with his family (w/ bears as symbolism for that) but idk

Him waking up on a random counter in The Beef confirms my headcanon that he falls asleep in weird places OR he fell asleep in the office and sleepwalked there

In this ep, any imagery or mention of Michael is pretty much always tied to religious imagery

Carmy calls her Sugar and him Mike, I’m always inclined to have him say Mikey instead but I don’t think he ever does. Also, Fak calls Carm Bear :]

“What’s UPS?” Is the first in a long string of times where someone tries to talk about something other than the kitchen, and it just doesn’t click with Carm

Syd’s “I know who you are” and Carmy’s “Yeah?” and he just listens to her completely riveted is so funny to me. Tell this man you know he was the CDC at one of the best restaurants in the United States of America and it’s like saying “walk” to a dog

Carm’s “I’m saying something >:[,” starts the classic Berzatto dilemma of no one listening to each other but wanting to be listened to

Reminder that Syd can speak Spanish :D

Richie talks about their “Italian heritage” and later says abt the labels “this is the most Polish shit ever,” which show how close he fits in with the Berzattos and his dislike of his bio family (Jerimovich is Polish right.?)

Richie talks about putting his family back together and him not coming home, and Carmy instantly dissociates

Him asking “Why didn’t he leave it to you then?” Not like a comeback, but a genuine question gets me every time

Carmy’s not good with words, so while this is something that just makes fun dialogue, in universe, it’s interesting to see how often his responses are parroted (ex: Marcus’ “that shit was straight up fire” and Carm’s “Straight up done now Chef”)

When it’s work time, it’s work time. When Fak stops looking at Ballbreaker to mention that he wasn’t able to go to the funeral but he sent flowers, Carm just says he wasn’t there either and swiftly changes the subject back to work

The three siblings and Richie all have gold necklaces. When Sugar shows up, I don’t know if hers was one of the matching ones, and I couldn’t figure out what the charm was on it

Tina says “Why doesn’t your sister come around here anymore?” Implying that she used to. I also feel like T wouldn’t have asked if Sugar stopped coming when she moved out and didn’t have to do what her mom told her to. Maybe Mikey kicked Sugar out of the restaurant too, but she wasn’t too bothered by it

Unlike with Richie, when Nat calls him out on not saying hello, just trying to get work done, he listens, and he slows down. Richie feels like his space in the family is shaky, so he’ll take a lot more shit from them while Nat won’t. She inherited a temper, just like her brothers, I feel like she’s in therapy and likely tackled how to stand up for herself when her family was treating her like shit, and she’s the “normal” middle child between a loud older brother and a worrying little brother, so she probably had to fight for her family’s attention at every turn

Nat mentions their mom and Carm’s eye contact instantly breaks, and it seems like he has to remind himself to breathe

His stutter shows up when arguing that he doesn’t want Jimmy to buy it

Carm’s “I’m gonna fix this place” vs Sug’s “No one’s asking you to” just hits so hard for some reason

When Carm tries to flee back inside, she uses “I love you,” like it’s an argument to keep him from throwing himself back into the restaurant or as a reminder that there’s people out there who want him to be doing well when she thinks the restaurant is hurting him

Sweeps is more of a background character but omg he just quietly looks out for everyone :] (he made sure Syd got to try Carm’s beef recipe :]]]])

Fak was also close with Mikey. I don’t know why I imagine Fak as being not quite as close with everyone as Richie, but they came to Christmas too, edit: Fak’s “but it got fuckin dark at the end” showed that he too knew something was up when Carm didn’t

Carm very much gives off the vibe of being allergic to cats, but I’m going to ignore that and squeeze in my headcanon that he loves Fak’s cats, Ralph and they love him

Richie’s dialogue is such a fun juxtaposition of him trying to feel superior to whoever he’s arguing with with large vocabulary and overconfidence but often falling back into vulgar insults because that’s what he knows best. Also, later in the ep he talks about “up in Napa” with the foie gras and shit to mock Carmy, but Napa isn’t up from them, it’s in California

Richie says “You have no fuckin idea what you’re doing here” and it’s like a switch, Carmy’s comebacks and annoyance with Richie stop, and he’s completely dissociated again. Richie shoves cans of spaghetti sauce into his arms and slaps at his face to steady him because he can probably tell something’s not right with him, but he just ends up leaving him to it

One of the Berzattos main love languages is physical touch via back and shoulder pats

And finally, Carm tosses the can of spaghetti sauce which I’m saying is because he just needs them to fucking listen and trust him when he’s saying no more spaghetti but there’s probably also some kind of Michael significance there too

Edit: I think I just had the realization that family stuff is what makes him dissociate while work stuff tends to make him panic and snap at people. It makes sense, snapping at his family would only escalate things and dissociating separates him from something he’s expected to fix. And Claire is kinda off in her category but falls under the panic response

So yeah!!

That’s pretty much what I got from 1x01 - System

I don’t know when or if I’ll do more of these, but this was so much fun, literally love dissecting these sad little goobers

#my bear rewatch #the bear #the bear fx #the bear meta #headcanon #fanfic prompt #character writing #infodump #theories #dissociation #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #sydney adamu #richie jerimovich #sugar berzatto #natalie berzatto #the bear tina #michael berzatto #mikey berzatto #the bear marcus #marcus brooks #neil fak #the bear sweeps

[randomchaotichuman]

just watched the first season of the bear (the second one is not available in my country yet) and I need more fanfics for this show

give me everyone else in the restaurant realizing Syd and Carmy are basically dating without realizing

give me a look at Richie's life pre divorce and Mikey's death (I have the headcanon that Michael was his kids godfather)

give me a social media au where the general public gets to react to the absolute mess that somehow works that is that kitchen

or maybe some network offers them a shit ton of money in return for allowing them to make a documentary on the start of the restaurant, which means the in universe audience is just reacting to that

give me the crew finding out Syd and Carmy are together through security cam footage of a day where they stayed last to finish cleaning up and maybe made out a bit

I have so many ideas, but don't really want to write them because I am shit at writing romance and haven't really seen the second season. If anyone writes these let me know, please, if not, wait a couple of months and I might write them myself.

#the bear fx #the bear #the bear season 2 #the bear season 1 #carmy berzatto #sydney adamu #richie jerimovich #carmy x sydney #ao3 writer #ao3 #fanfic #fandom #holy shit the brainrot be brainroting #this is all i have thought about since i watched it yesterday #there is so much potential #i have not watched season 2 but i know mostly what happens #would love an episode in season 3 from Mikey's perspective #the last month of his life from his pov or the monent where things went even more wrong than usual #let me know if anyone writes these

[freshbakedbreadstick]

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

Past!Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Carmy Berzatto x F!Platonic!Reader

Richie Herimovich x F!Platonic!Reader

Summary: After running for so long, it was time to come home

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of the content. Heavy spoilers and angst. Mentions of death, mental health issues, and toxic relationships. It’s not graphic or detailed in this one but I just want to warn you now that this series will deal with extremely heavy topics as it goes on (similar to the show).

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Hey bestiesssssssssss!!! This is my first ever series and actually first ever written work that I'm posting lol and I'm so excited for it!!! I'm starting off with a series because i had this really good and angsty idea while reading ANOTHER fantastic piece of work and was like “fine…….. I'll do it myself” so i'm here now writing it lmao anyways i'm starting off posting my fanfics with Mikey and Carmy because i've been a little too focused on The Bear lately n love them so much. Chapter one of this series should be coming up this time next week so dw abt waiting so long for an update!! Anyways i hope you all enjoyyyy <3

MASTERLIST

The cool Chicago night air nips at you as it blows by, rolling along the exposed skin of your arms. It was 3 in the morning and the street where The Original Beef of Chicagoland stood was empty and silent.

The building stood before you, quiet and lifeless. It was odd seeing it so silent and it almost seemed… peaceful. But one glance at the rusting sign that seemed to be barely hanging onto the building made the façade of tranquility fall.

The knot in your stomach grew as your eyes traced over the rusted sign and then onto the walls that showed cracks and age. The sidewalk wasn’t any better with uneven cement and haphazard patching. Just then, a piece of trash rolled by the curb, coming from the alley right next to The Beef. 

It was just like how you remembered it. 

The wear and tear was what originally made you appreciate it. It showed use and love, the same way that laugh lines around a person’s mouth showed you that they lived a life full of smiles and laughter. The walls were in use as hundreds filed in and out of the building for their favorites, every week. The floor was worn away underneath the soles of families, drunk friends, older couples, working folk, and more. The ungentrified building made the whole thing feel nostalgic, despite not being a building you were around as a child. It had felt… familiar in a both comforting and melancholic way. 

But now, seeing the building, especially with its marks of age, made your blood run like ice through your veins. It made you shiver, despite it being September in Chicago. 

What once was a warm and inviting place felt cold and even scary. 

It had been months since you spoke to the Berzattos. Actually, it had been months since you were in Chicago at all. About 8 months, that is. You left in February after… everything and never looked back. The east felt too familiar at that point, so you traveled west.

You chased the highs and avoided the lows, moving from one place to another until you settled in a quiet town where you felt loved. But that love didn’t come without its challenges and when it got hard, you did what you knew best and that was leaving. 

So you left with no clue as to where you were going, too proud but mainly too afraid to reach out to the family you had in Chicago. You drove with a car full of junk you couldn't even stand looking at anymore for all the memories of the past couple of months attached to them made your stomach churn. With no place to go, you found yourself, 5 days after leaving and living in your car, sitting on the hood of your 2002 Chevy Impala, stopped and watched the sunset of the west for the last time at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere with your head hurting and eyes puffy. It was then when your phone buzzed. 

The cracked screen blinked brightly as you glanced over at it.

‘Please come home, we miss you - Nat’

Your mouth dried as you read the message. Your heart pounded in your ears as your eyes raced over the words over and over and over.

‘Please come home, we miss you’

‘Please come home, we miss you’

‘Please come home, we miss you’

‘Please come home, we miss you’

‘Please come home, we miss you’

‘Please come home, we miss-

Another message popped up then, interrupting your reading and making you jump. 

‘I promise it’s okay’

Your hands trembled. How Sugar got your number after you changed it twice to avoid your ex from the west was a mystery but it almost felt like divine intervention as you read it under the glow of the cotton candy clouds in the sky. 

‘Come home’

So you made the decision to go back. 

To go home. 

But this decision didn’t mean that you were leaving right away; for two months you practically lived in motel rooms and in your car, pacing back and forth for hours in parking lots, empty hallways, and tiny motel rooms at the thought of facing everyone again. Would they be upset? Angry? Sad? Would they hate you? Welcome you with open arms? Especially after abandoning them the way you did? 

Some nights were spent breathing deeply and slowly, desperately trying to get your heart to beat at a reasonable pace and other nights were spent with tears streaming down your cheeks. You almost even decided to just not come home at all; it felt like moving out of the country and assuming a new identity would be easier to deal with than going home.

But you got yourself together and after pawning everything you didn’t mind parting with for cash, you drove with a lighter trunk and a lighter heart across the country and eastward toward Illinois. 

Before you knew it, the giant ‘WELCOME TO ILLINOIS, THE LAND OF LINCOLN’ sign had appeared in your vision. It greeted you like an old friend, making your eyes sting and your chest tighten as your car zoomed by it. 

Two hours away from Chicago, your stomach would not stop growling so you decided to stop and grab a bite to eat. After settling your car at a nearby park next to an empty bench, you got off and focused a bit too much on grabbing your belongings to notice what your surroundings looked like. 

It wasn’t until you had sat down and ripped the bag of food open, when the smell of a salami and mozzarella sub wafted in the air, perking you up and prompting you to smile softly, that you glanced up. Over the dark green shrubs and still water of Peoria Lake were cotton candy clouds, nearly identical to the ones that you had seen while sitting on the hood of your car, terrified and hoping for a sign, any sign, that what you were doing was the right thing. 

Five minutes later, your car was back on the highway and speeding towards Chicago.

You stayed over at your parents’ house that night. They were overjoyed to see their child. Your mother cried, holding onto you as your father rubbed your back, comfortingly. Part of you wanted to, so badly, melt into their arms, but another part of you reminded you of the last time you were here. Despite the furniture being different and the decorations being rearranged, your body twitched as it remembered the exact emotions and position you were in when you got the news. 

The news that your boyfriend, Michael Berzatto, was found dead.

You couldn’t sleep that night, nor the next, or even the one after that. You got a combined total of about 15 hours of sleep in the past 72 hours, making you look and feel exhausted. But your mind was the only thing that wasn’t exhausted from replaying the memory over and over and over. 

About 5 days after you arrived, you got another message from Sugar. This time, a pit formed in your stomach as you read it.

‘Hey, it’s me again! Can you swing by The Beef tomorrow? I'm working there now and would love to see you. I’m sorry this is on such short notice but I've been crazy busy and I heard you were in town. I really want to see you and if you can’t do tomorrow, let me know so we can plan another day.

We really do miss you.’

You rock your jaw and put your phone down on the edge of the twin mattress you sat on, in your childhood bedroom. Right then, your mom gently knocks on your bedroom door before pushing it open.

“Have you talked to Natalie at all yet?” she said softly, clasping her hands together and leaning against the door frame.

You huffed and smiled weakly, of course your mom would mention something to her, that’s how she knew you were here. While your mom respected you doing things on your own time, she also knew that you needed a little push to make that connection. 

“Uhm… yea she just texted me. I uh, i might see her tomorrow at The Beef,” you murmured with a shaky breath. 

Thank god Sugar ended up being the one to text you instead of you texting her. 

Your mom smiled sweetly, “I think you should go, sweetheart. I know it seems scary but… I think it’s time you saw them…” 

Nodding, you turn and crawl up to the pillows of your bed. With a sigh, you lay down and close your eyes, exhausted. 

From your door frame, your mom quietly watched you and sighs softly. She slowly grabs your door and closes it behind her as she leaves. The hallway light goes off, leaving you and your thoughts alone in the pitch black dark.  

And here you were, a couple hours after you read her message, standing across The Beef on a cool Chicago night with the air nipping at your exposed skin as it blows by. You left in such a rush that you forgot to bring a hoodie and didn’t even bother to change from your thin pajama pants and loose old t-shirt. All you did was throw on your shoes and climb out your window, car keys clutched in your sweaty palm, like you used to do in high school to sneak off with Mikey. 

But those days seemed so far away now the same way that The Beef seemed so far away. It felt as if the trek across the street actually spanned thousands of miles and not a minute walk. 

So you sighed and turned around, walking down the sidewalk and back to your car. Who knew what time it was anymore, but you knew that you really needed to get rest tonight… you had a big day tomorrow. 

#the bear #carmern berzatto x reader #michael berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #mikey berzatto #richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #carmy the bear #richie the bear #mikey the bear #carmy berzatto imagine #richie berzatto imagine #mikey berzatto imagine #sugar berzatto #natalie berzatto

[drabbles-mc]

The Bridge

Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto Fanfic

Warnings: 18+, all angst all day, grief/mourning, mentions of death/suicide

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: There are many reasons I've been so MIA lately but the crippling Depression and debilitating Grief are just a few! But I did manically write this at midnight one night and finally got the time to edit it so I can post it. Watching the Dead Sibling Show while being part of the Dead Sibling Club obviously gave me Very Normal Feelings about it all.

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

He could feel the incessant vibrating of his phone inside the pocket of his jeans. He’d stopped checking it about three blocks into his walk. He’d lost count of how many he’d walked since then. He wished that the stroll could’ve felt mindless, like taking off with no real destination in mind. But he knew exactly where he was going.

For such a busy day, people sure were finding plenty of fucking time to call and text him. Sure, he could’ve put his phone on silent. He could’ve turned it off. Hell, the thought crossed his mind to throw it on the street so it got pulverized by oncoming traffic and he wouldn’t have to deal with it any more. But, no, he left it in his pocket. Maddening when it shouldn’t have been in light of everything else.

He wondered if they were still leaving voice-mails. Maybe they just kept calling hoping that maybe he would get annoyed enough to answer, annoyed enough to reroute himself. There was still time. It wasn’t too late, not for him anyway.

More texts came in, but once he’d read a few, he knew he’d read them all.

“where the fuck are you?”

Missed Call

“mom is asking for you"

“So sorry for your loss.”

Missed Call

“bear? You good? Call me back.”

“you should be here"

“Sorry I can’t make it.”

“I love you"

“Everyone but you is showing up to this. What the fuck.”

“we miss you”

“Sorry for your loss.”

Missed Call

“you shouldn’t be alone right now”

“I need you.”

“Mom needs you.”

“get your shit together cousin”

“love you, carmy”

“There’s still time if you can make it.”

“Sorry for your loss.”

“sorry for your loss"

When he reached the bridge, he thought about throwing his phone over the side of it. Then he thought about throwing himself over the side right along with it. That might be too dramatic though, killing himself in the same place Mikey did. Doing it on the day of his funeral. The funeral he refused to go to. It'd be quite the excuse for missing it. No one would be able to deny that.

But he didn’t do any of it.

He stood on the edge of the sidewalk, the poor excuse for a shoulder on the road. His heart pounded in his chest, blood rushing in his ears. The inside of his body was making so much noise it completely drowned out the rest of Chicago, and that wasn’t even counting the racing thoughts in his head.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The breeze was cold against his bare arms. It wasn’t cold enough to break out his winter jacket yet. Truthfully, he wouldn’t have worn it even if it had been that cold. He wasn’t looking to be comfortable.

His fingertips brushed against the back of his phone. He’d barely gotten his hands situated when it vibrated again. He yanked his hands out quickly, like he’d grabbed onto a scalding handle in the kitchen on accident.

Tears stung at his eyes and he blamed them on the wind. He cursed quietly under his breath, muttering to no one but himself, hurriedly wiping them away.

It must’ve been a different bridge in the middle of the night, he thought as he watched all the cars passing him by. None of them knew they were driving over a crime scene, a murder mystery that Carmy was never going to be able to crack. It was sunny and windy and cold. People were driving to get lunch and grab coffee. He could hear music from some of their cars. None of them knew what they were doing to him.

He wondered how quiet it was when Mikey was there. Did he have to wait for traffic to slow down? Did he even care? He probably didn’t care. Why would he? He wondered if Mikey still would’ve pulled the trigger if he’d gone out onto the bridge in the middle of the afternoon like this. Carmy couldn’t picture killing himself in that moment, not with the sun and the pigeons and the traffic. Not because it was all too beautiful to leave behind, but because God there were just so many eyes on him even if they weren’t really looking at him.

He wished Mikey was there. He wished he’d come back so Carmy could push him into traffic himself for all that his brother had put everyone through.

Mikey probably wouldn’t even care that Carmy wasn’t going to the funeral anyway. If he cared about shit like that so much maybe he should’ve said something at some point over the last two years. Maybe he shouldn’t have killed himself if he gave a damn about Carmy showing up to things. But he didn’t. And now he was gone.

He paced up and down the length of the bridge. He studied the sidewalk beneath his feet. The same cracks passed beneath the soles of his shoes. More cars passed by, but Carmy didn’t watch any of them now. The wind blew, his heart was racing just as much with anxiety as with all the exertion. This was the closest thing to exercise Carmy had done in years. He was fucking winded but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Had to keep going.

And then he couldn’t.

His legs locked up for a moment as if to brace him before they stopped working completely. He crumpled to the ground with a surprising amount of grace for someone who hasn’t slept or eaten much at all in the last week. Nicotine could only replace so many meals before it caught up to him.

He sat on the sidewalk, legs bent at the knees. He wrapped his arms around them and leaned against his legs. It was the closest thing he had to support in the moment. His phone buzzed again in his pocket.

He blinked a couple times. His vision was blurry and rather than admit it was from the tears, he blamed it on the exhaustion. No one was there to tell him otherwise.

His eyes focused on the street in front of him. Cracked pavement just beyond the curb. He could’ve sworn that he could still see bloodstains between the cars. It was ridiculous, of course. It was untrue. It’d been hosed. It’d rained since then. Nothing about Mikey could be forced to stick around. But he could still swear that he saw it. Rusty smudges against faded paint lines and sun-bleached blacktop.

The wind coming off a car going exceptionally fast nearly knocked him over. He let go of his legs, palms slamming sown onto the sidewalk to keep him upright. Only for him to lift one hand with a curse, looking down to see that he’d sliced his palm open on a shard of broken glass. There was a red smear on the sidewalk where he’d pulled his hand away. More of him was on the streets of Chicago now than Mikey. That didn’t seem quite right.

He wiped his hand on his jeans. The blood would have to stop on its own eventually.

The blood rushing in his ears got quieter. Maybe just enough leaked out of his palm to dull the noise for now. How quiet Mikey's body must’ve been on this bridge, then, if that was how it worked.

His phone buzzed. Another missed call. More tears he’d never admit to.

Mikey wasn’t really at the funeral, why should Carmy be there? There was more of Mikey in the crevices of the bridge than in that closed casket in the funeral home.

Carmy ignored the burning sensation coming from the cut in his hand as he continued to stare at the street. Mikey had never set foot in that stuffy old building where they had his body now. He’d never been there before and in Carmy's opinion he still wasn’t there now.

But the bridge. He’d been to the bridge before. He’d been there and really, he never left. He made damn sure of that.

Carmy almost wished that he didn’t have to leave either.

#carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fanfic #carmy berzatto fanfic #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #the bear fanfiction #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[sydneyadamuhusband]

Was writing my fanfic and then suddenly, a angst one-sided sydrichie popped up in my mind so here's a quick, probably shitty, very angsty sydrichie fit about richie being in love with Sydney

Change | Sydrichie

angst, one-sided, unrequited, mentions of death, also light misogyny kinda? (dw it's not that bad)

Summary: Richie hates change, never has, probably never will. There is one thing he wished he could change though.

words: 2,118

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Richie Jerimovich still wears his ring. He wears it because he doesn’t like change. Never did. Probably never will. Because the times he did, it never ended well. 

He was the shit in his 20s, constant girls left from right. Him and Mikey were just full of adventures with girls that they barely remembered the name of. Bar hopping. Snagging beautiful women’s numbers. Sneaking Carmy into college for brownie points with some sorority chicks.

“Yeah, he’s like my little kid brother. He had nowhere else to go tonight and he hates being alone.” Cue the ‘awe’ and ‘you’re so sweet’.

Cut to him waking up in some chick’s bed and praying that Carmy didn’t drink or take anything cause him and Mikey were already pissing mama bird off.

“Stop taking him to your little parties, fuckhead.” Donna would say, “He’s a baby ok? So no trouble.” She’d make him and Mikey promise all the time that they wouldn’t.

Mikey was the first thing Richie had broken a pattern with. 

Richie used to be a shy little kid in third grade, not talkative, not really social either. He didn’t change it, didn’t want to. Just like last year, he was planning to sit by himself. But then this other kid, a real loud one, sees him points at him and beckons him over. 

And Richie breaks the pattern and goes over to him and changes. It was just them, together since. It was static, unbreakable and just plain perfect. 

Him and Mikey, it was always him and Mikey.

They were always getting into shit cause that’s just what they’d do. Their pattern, their cycle. It followed them into adulthood. Same bars, same shitty restaurant, sometimes same girls. They’d say they won’t get attached to one.

“Mo bitches mo problems.” Richie would say, stumbling into the Berzatto’s house with Mikey drunk.

And Mikey would agree, clinging onto him with the smell of cigarettes and beer. “Mo bitches, mo problems.”

And of course, a little disappointed Natalie who was the one who opened the door for them. “You guys are gross.” 

Richie remembers when did it again, broke a pattern and changed. His brain won’t let it go, especially when he got the evidence tethered to his finger.

Him and Mikey were getting wasted and screaming some random lyrics in this sleazy bar downtown. The lights were low and the air was thick with beer and sweet. Their arms were tight around on another, squeezing each other as they belted. 

As they swung each other, mic in hand, Richie’s eyes landed on her. 

Blonde hair, sweet big eyes and a sweet smile. She was sitting on the bar side, an empty glass with a lemon on the rim in hand and curious eyes on them. She looked amused, a little concerned but definitely entertained.

Then the music stopped, but the rush, the excitement, that pounding in his heart didn’t. He sat by her, almost falling off his chair with Mikey slung around his shoulders, laughing in his ear. But he couldn’t hear the incoherent drunk jokes Mikey was saying, he was too focused on her.

“Hi.” He was pretty sure his voice was slurred, but she didn’t seem to care.

“Hi.” She said back. “You guys sounded amazing up there.”

“Oh really?”

“Mhm, I’m impressed.” She swirls the ice in her glass with her little black straw, “It was horrible but I'm impressed by you guy’s confidence.” Richie laughs, charmed. 

And they talked and talked for what felt like hours until the bar chatter died and Mikey’s laughs quiet down into soft snoring. The bar closed and with Mikey’s sleeping body slobbering on his shoulder, he got her number. 

He remembers so vividly, hauling Mikey into the car and Tiffany giving him a small little smile before getting into her cab. That night he thought about her in a daze. Still though, fear swelled in the back of his mind. This wasn’t what he usually felt when finding some chick to mess around with. This was something new, something different, a change.

They went on a date, then another, then another. Then the rest of history.  

Beautiful history.

Painful history.

The type that keeps Richie up at night. History he wears on his finger.

They got engaged when she was three months pregnant with Eva, all sick and green and tired. Richie looked at her with her eye bags, messy hair, laying on the bed with cramps and a bad temper and said ‘Yeah, I'm gonna marry her. I’m going to commit to this change.”

 He wanted to see this. Wanted to wake up next to her in bed with their baby and not some chick he found the night before.

They got married after Eva’s birth, the wedding was amazing. Felt unreal, looking at her in an all white dress, their baby being rocked gently by Donna, surrounded by who felt like family practically. Richie had that, Richie had them.

All because of change, good change.

Mikey, his first voluntary change, is on the mic.“If you told me that Richie, the mother fuckin’ player was going to be tied down one day? I would told you to fuck off.” 

Younger Richie would’ve probably done the same too. Would’ve probably laughed straight into the face of whoever was telling him that.

“Yo bro listen to me,” He would probably say, grabbing at whoever’s shoulder. “mo bitches, mo problems.”

“But here we are huh? Richard Jerimovich.” Mikey raises a glass. “My best friend, my partner in crime. - “damn right” Donna cuts in - Marrying and settling down, having a beautiful wife and family. I'm proud of you man.”

Mikey passed away five months ago now. 

But Richie still feels his presence. Still texts him mundane things like “Yo cousin we need to get some more beef” or sends him reels.

Richie and Tiff divorced when Eva was 2. Three years ago. 

But Richie still wears the ring. 

He doesn’t know why, maybe it’s just a habits he can’t break. Patterns he doesn’t want to change.

He notices the glances from everyone. Noticed the glances he got from Mikey two months after the divorce. The way his eyebrows would furrow and he’d look at him with pity before going back to work. Richie takes it off anytime he meets up with Eva on the off chance that Tiff is there. He doesn’t want to see her reaction. And he notices Sydney’s curious eyes on it when she passes him sometimes.

“If you are going to say ‘can i ask?’ don’t.”

And Sydney doesn’t say anything but nods like she gets it. But she really doesn't.

If she did, she wouldn’t be doing this brand new shit. She’s fucking up his ecosystem, changing what made this place the was it was. Making new expensive dishes and adding some weird hipster shit, it’s fucking their place up.

She’s so determined to do it too, like actively going against him to ruin this. She’s so determined to make things the way she sees fit. With her stern brown eyes and her smartass mouth. She turns corners so sharply like she owns the place, her braids whip the air like they’re even snapping at people. And that stupid look she gives him everytime he says something like he isn’t making sense. 

She makes his blood boil.

Her presence is always there, he can always see her out of the corner of his eye. He can smell her, the mix of hair products and cocoa butter smothers him each time she passes by with a small “behind” or “corner”. 

She’s just always there making her presence known. Even down to the music suddenly cutting off that’s followed by rhythmic pounding in his heart cause now he knows her presence is there. Pounding out of anger of course, and frustration. 

He could scream at her until he’s blue in the fucking face and she still wouldn’t get it. 

She doesn’t get it, this place shouldn’t be running the way it fucking is.

And Richie hates it cause the restaurant is going great. The kitchen’s clean, everybody’s getting work done a lot faster than they had before. And her new little system with Carmy is working out perfectly. But it always starts of good, then fucking fails, always does. 

He plays with his ring.

Not even Tina will back him up. 

And it’s all because of fucking Sydney and her stupid little notebook and big brown eyes and little bandanas and her scent. Everything about her is just in his mind and blurs everything out in his brain. 

Sometimes he can't hear Tina’s little jokes or Carmy’s commands. Cause his mind is too focused on Sydney and how she shouldn’t be carrying that big ass box of shit or how her apron is a bit slanted, or her bandana is coming loose. And imaging getting the box for her, helping her fix the apron or tying her bandana properly.

And he keeps noticing her small little emotions and body language. From the way her pace gets faster when she's frustrated to the way her eyes almost burst out of her skull when she’s yelling (most likely at him) Richie notices everything.

It was to the point that Tina tells him, “Don’t Richie.”

“Don’t what?”

“You know what.” Tina nods over at Sydney who’s checking things off on her stupid little notebook that has stickers on it.

Oh her and that stupid fucking notepad always writing things down. He realized pretty quickly it was her ripping pages out of that notepad and sticking them to walls and shit reminding them to do things with stupid little smiles and neat handwriting. 

“Hey she’s always the one starting shit.”

“Not what I meant.”

And–

Oh

Richie got it now.

He gives the quickest glance at Sydney, she is still writing down something in her notepad, nibbles on her pen too. And Richie knows that she does that alot when she’s trying to come up with something.

He stutters. “Oh come on Tina, she’s practically a kid!’

“Exactly Richie.” Tina grabs a knife.”Don’t.” And she turns around and passes Sydney. She says behind as she does and Sydney briefly looks up at her and smiles warmly.

And that’s fucking mind boggling. Tina being all up on Sydney’s side like some mother hawk and accusing him of that.

And Richie still wears his ring, Tina should know he wouldn’t– Richie shakes it off and walks away. It didn’t matter. Because he didn’t like Sydney anyway. Not even in a friendly way. Everyone knows that.

He just notices things about her cause she makes herself so obvious to everyone, that’s what Sydney fucking does. She likes to do the small things that make people notice her, she likes to stay in people’s minds and she likes to stay in Richie’s mind.

She does this shit on purpose, she got mind games, Richie swears on it. Changing the restaurant. Changing his brain. Changing everything. 

Richie doesn’t like change, never has. Probably never will. He changed his seat in third grade, left him with a dead friend and a fuckton of debt. He changed his dating pattern. Left him divorced with this fucking ring he just cant take off. Change doesn’t do him any good cause things don’t stay good. 

And now they have a big new change, Sydney. She changed the restaurant, the staff, the kitchen, even him.

She’s in his brain, lingering there at night at rewinding in his head. Her laugh echoes in his brain and her smile is imprinted behind his eyelids like some tattoo. He can't get her off his mind and he's scared that he doesn’t really want to.

He wants to see her smile at him and wants to make her laugh. He wants to help her with those stupid heavy shit and her bandana. He wants to talk to her, genuinely. No arguing, no talk about the fucking resteraunt. He wants to get her number at a bar after belting out his lungs with his best friend. He wants to call her in the middle of the night and talk. 

And it’s just plain bad.

 Sydney Adamu is his co-worker who’s half his age and has a successful career and life ahead of her. She fucking flipped this resteraunt and whipped the workers into shape. And her food is fucking fire. Richie Jerimovich is a divorced father who still clings onto his dead marriage and dead friend. 

Richie still wears his ring though. It’s the one thing she can’t change, this ring tethered to his finger. But yet somehow, something deep inside of Richie wishes she could.

I wrote this instead of finishing my fanfic. TRUST, part two of that one is coming

#sydrichie #sydney adamu #richie jerimovich #the bear fx #sydney x richie #richie x sydney #fx the bear #the bear

[thefanficmonster]

The Bear Masterlist

*- Fluff

⨀ - Angst

Full-length Fics:

Just how fast life changes (Mikey Berzatto x Reader, Carmen Berzatto x Reader) ⨀

Jealousy (Carmen Berzatto x Reader) *

Too Much, Too Late (Michael Berzatto x Reader) ⨀*

Happenstance (Carmen Berzatto x Reader) *

Headcanons:

Carmy x s/o with an ED ⨀*

Relationship dynamic (Carmy x reader) *

Carmy x reader - jealousy headcanons *

Carmen Berzatto relationship headcanons *

#the bear #the bear fx #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #mikey berzatto #mikey berzatto x reader #richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich x you #sydney adamu #sydney adamu x reader #sydrichie #sydney x richie #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader #x reader #request

[yezzyyae]

I don’t know why people don’t watch “The Bear” properly but RICHIE JERIMOVICH IS THE ONLY CHILD! This detail is important to his personality and his history with the Berzatto family.

I hate fanfics when “Richie’s little sister is sneaking around w/ Carmy”. That would never happen Carmy see Richie as his family so anybody connected to him is family also. But literally Richie is the only child & father was in the army. Please watch season 2 episode 7 “Forks” properly because that’s where we gets a glimpse of who Richie is.

That’s why Richie is so attached to Mikey’s family because he didn’t have any. So who is this little sister y’all imagining. Chef Luca has a little sister somewhere but not Richie.

I TAKE “THE BEAR” VERY SERIOUS! STOP MAKING UP FAMILY MEMBERS AND WEIRD SHIT!

#richie jerimovich #the bear #the bear fx #Richie Jerimovich is my spirit animal 😂 #I take The Bear seriously !! #please don’t make up family members 😡

[donatellawritings]

donatellawritings - 100 follower milestone

hi all - donatellawritings here! I just want to start off by saying thank you so much for getting me to one-hundred followers, I literally can’t even begin to believe how fast we’ve reached this milestone, especially considering that I made this account only one week ago.

to celebrate, I am going to be keeping requests OPEN, until April 1st. I will be accepting any and all requests, up until that specific date.

i am also so so so happy to announce the following works that I have begun to draft/write, over the course of the next few weeks/months:

GIA (series): Richie Jerimovich x f!reader (OC) BEAR (series): Carmen Berzatto x f!reader

there are also multiple untitled blurbs & requests that will be posted - and I am excited to also announce that I will also be taking requests for any Carmen Berzatto writings!

You can find prompt requests below (just make sure to specify which list you are referring to when requesting - can be for any character from The Bear (or any character from another fandom that you’d prefer)

TRACY CHAPMAN PROMPTS

NOVELBEAR PROMPTS

SUBTLE LOVE PROMPTS

again, thank you so much for one-hundred followers, I can’t wait to continue writing for you all! And than you, thank you, thanks for the continued support, it means the world to me!

#richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #the bear #the bear fanfiction #richie jerimovich fanfic #richie jerimovich imagine #richie jerimovich smut #the bear fic #the bear imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto #sydney adamu x reader #sydney adamu #mikey berzatto #mikey berzatto x reader

[garbinge]

Shoulder to cry on

Richie Jerimovich x Reader

Day 23 from these April Prompts: “Somethings aren’t replaceable”

Summary: Mikey’s funeral brings an unexpected person into your life more.  Continuation of these fics: Pillow Forts and Soft Spot. 

Word Count: 8.7k (i got carried away, okaaaaaay)

A/N: okay, this is probably one of my FAVORITE fics, this universe as a whole is my favorite but this specific fic just... has a special place in my heart.  Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Heavy angst, shit talking, cursing (lots), mentions of death, drugs, drinking, abuse, alludes to sexual situations.  The Bear Taglist: @drabbles-mc​ @justreblogginfics 

Previous Fic: Soft Spot

Everything was moving so slow. The people, the time, the words coming out of people’s mouths. A lot of sorrys, a lot of introductions, a lot of really old people with that old people scent to them. You felt alone. In a room full of people you considered family, you felt alone. Carmy was nowhere to be found. You booked the flight for him, a cheap spirit flight, you could care less about the money wasted, you just needed to know he was alive. Not okay. Because who the fuck was going to be okay. Just alive. 

You shook the 18th person’s hand, you kept count because it was the only thing keeping you awake and grounded within the moment. There was an empty seat next to Pete in the front row, but something felt off about sitting there. Sure, the Berzatto’s were family to you since you were 7, you spent more time there than your own house, the siblings were your best friends, your bullies, and your protectors. All signs pointed to your right to sit in that receiving line reserved for immediate family, but when it came down to it you weren’t a Bear. Mikey Bear. Sugar Bear. Carmy Bear. You never got that nickname, because you weren’t a Berzatto. It never mattered to you, it never even crossed your mind, that was until this moment. You felt someone’s hand on your back, shaking you lightly out of your thoughts. 

The blond that the world knew as Natalie, but you knew as Sugar, was offering you a soft smile and bending down to be eye level with you as you sat at the end of the aisle in the back. 

“Hey.” Your body turned to look at her, grabbing the hand that was on your shoulder into your own. Your voice was soft, like her smile. 

“You know you can sit in the front row, there’s a seat next to Pete but I’ll kick him down one and you can sit right next to me.” Her hand squeezed yours. You appreciated the offer, but you weren’t sure if you could handle the extended family asking who you were. By the looks of it, that's all that was left. You had said hello to Uncle Jimmy, cousin Nicky, and Carol, and just about everyone who knew you or at least your face. The rest of everyone who showed up were people who only knew the siblings from the one baby picture they had seen from 25 years ago and you weren’t about to deal with that. 

“Thanks, that means more than you know.” You rested your forehead against hers and you both closed your eyes. There was a part of you that wished you could stay in this moment forever, not think about Carmy, not think about Mikey, just be with the one sibling who showed up. 

You pulled your head away when there was some commotion by the front door, some woman had burst into tears and made a scene. Sugar made a face that she quickly disguised immediately, but you had caught it. Probably someone just looking for attention, funerals tended to bring them out. 

“I hate that bitch.” Sugar seethed. “I don’t even know that bitch.” She shook her head like she was shaking the thought to fall out of her mind. 

You let out a little laugh at her statement, unable to hold it in and directly brought your hand to your mouth to cover it. Sugar looked at you shocked, her eyes wide and a small smile creeping onto her face as she let out a snort and followed suit by bringing her hand to her mouth. 

“Fuck that bitch.” You whispered in between chuckles. That statement made her lose it but she was able to hold it in well, only a few people were looking at you two laughing in the middle of Mikey Berzatto’s funeral. He would have loved it. 

The two of you took a deep breath, letting the moment naturally pass. You grabbed her hands again and squeezed. “I think I’m going to stay back here.” 

There was no more explanation needed, she understood and wasn’t going to push or argue with you. Hell, you weren’t going up against the craziest competition, but you had shown up and apparently that was all it took to be on Sugar’s good side. 

“Sug.” Richie’s voice alerted the both of you. She stood up and you thought this was going to go one of two ways. She was either going to slug him or ignore him. To your surprise, she did neither. In a turn of events that left you shocked, you couldn’t pry your eyes away from her embrace with Richie. I guess you were right when you thought that showing up really was the only criteria needed to be on Sugar’s good side right now. 

Before you knew it, the hug was over and Sugar was back in the front of the funeral home. Richie was standing completely still, his eyes were looking at the casket, getting lost in what you were sure were memories and regret. You saw something shift in him as he looked at the casket which is when you extended your hand out to place it on his arm. 

“Rich.” You whispered hoping it would get his attention. He didn’t look at you until your hand touched his arm, and that was out of instinct. “He’s not in there.” Your voice was softer than before. It was a secret that only you and maybe 3 others were in on. He had gotten cremated, but Sugar knew the family was going to have a lot to say, so they rented the casket for the viewing. It was twisted, but it was the Berzatto way. 

“What?” Richie questioned in the same tone as you. 

You moved over a seat and patted where you just were for Richie to sit. Without hesitation he sat down which is when you leaned your right shoulder against him and whispered again. 

“Natalie got him cremated, he’s not in the casket.” For some reason, you knew it’d give him some type of relief, some type of breathing room. Once you said it, he let out a sigh, and you could tell he loosened up a bit. 

“I just felt like–” He started to try and explain himself but couldn’t get the sentence out. He stuttered a couple more times when you brought your hand to rest on his leg that was shaking. Richie stopped moving the second your hand landed on his leg. 

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Richie. Not to me at least.” You shrugged and stared straight ahead, your hand still on his knee. “And you don’t need to stop shaking your leg either. This is all fucked up. You can be fucked up.” 

You removed your hand from his leg, he frowned at the loss of heat and also as he tried to take in every word that you said.

The two of you sat there, next to each other, backs straight, hands picking at skin or nails. 45 minutes must have passed, no one else came up to either of you. Richie didn’t move, he didn’t make an attempt to go up and kneel at the casket, look at the pictures, or try and talk to anyone else. As the time passed, you thought the place would empty out, but it just got busier. I guess what Carmy had said to you was right. Everyone felt like Mikey was their best friend. While it made Carmy jealous, it made you happy. To know Mikey the way you did felt like an honor, it was also nice knowing he knew you too. 

“You want a cigarette?” 

Staring at Richie, you nodded your head and stood up without hesitation, he was up and out of the funeral home within seconds, you were actually trying to figure out if you ever saw Richie move so quickly before. Maybe once before, when he was scaring off your ex at the restaurant with a fuckin 22. 

The two of you moved to the side of the building that had the wheelchair access ramp. It was away from most people who had congregated in the front and were arriving and leaving. There were a few scattered people here, but it was less likely someone was going to bother you. He lifted the parliament box and brought it to his mouth, taking a cigarette out with his mouth before offering the open box to you. It had been a while since you had one, so you stared at the box for half a second before grabbing the white stick in between your fingers. Richie searched his pockets for a lighter, patting down his suit jacket pocket, inside and out. 

“This is why I fuckin’ hate these things, too many pockets.” He mumbled with the cig between his lips. 

“Said no girl ever.” The joke mumbled back at him as he found the lighter and brought it to your cigarette first before his own. 

Leaning against the wall of the parlor you both looked out into the section of woods that was just past the building. It was probably one of the few areas around you that had a large section of trees in Chicago, and large was probably an overstatement. 

You felt yourself getting lightheaded as the smoke burned. You were just about halfway done when you felt yourself wobble a little, the nicotine high hitting you stronger than you expected. 

“You alright?” Richie was leaning forward trying to get a look at your face. 

“Yea, it’s just been like a year or something since I’ve had a smoke. The nicotine high was just getting me a little dizzy.” 

He let out a laugh. “Fuckin’ amateur.” 

You let out a scoff to match his laugh, “Alright, Richie. You got me beat at smoking cigarettes. You win.” Your voice had a mocking tone to it. 

He enjoyed the back and forth, you could tell by the smile on his face. It was probably the only genuine smile on his face today, which you wouldn’t blame him for. 

“Have you talked to Carmy?” All your thoughts came barreling down as you saw someone walk by with a blue denim hat that looked just like Carmy’s. Your heart rate was raised, and that mixed with the lightheadedness was starting to make you breathe a bit heavier. 

“No, I haven’t.” Richie’s answer didn’t make you feel better. He must’ve noticed because he followed it up with a question. “I’m guessing you haven’t either?” 

“No. He isn’t answering my calls or texts.” Your phone was being pulled out of your pocket so you could show him the constant texts. 

You: 2:28PM yesterday Hey, I’m tracking your flight, says it’s landing in 40 minutes, I’ll be at the airport waiting for you. 

You: 3:06PM yesterday Hey, I’m here, text me when you land. 

You: 3:34PM yesterday It says you landed, Carm. Where are you? 

You: 3:56PM yesterday Carmy. If you missed your flight it’s okay, we can get a new one, no worries. 

You: 4:25PM yesterday Forget the fucking flight can you just let me know you’re alive? 

You: 5:05PM yesterday Carmy. 

You: 6:32PM yesterday Pulse check. 

You: 7:13PM yesterday Pulse Check. 

You: 8:55PM yesterday For fucks sake Carmy. PULSE CHECK. 

You: 6:55AM today I’m going to assume you’re okay. But please, when you can just answer my pulse checks please. 

You: 4:25PM today Thinking of you. Love you. 

You were expecting Richie to give you shit for the amount of texts you sent and you were surprised when he didn’t. 

“I guess that means he’s not answering calls either.” He took a big drag of his cigarette and shook his head. “What’s pulse check?” 

“It’s just something we came up with when we moved out of Chicago, things got busy but it was our way of checking in making sure the other person’s okay.” You explained the reasoning behind the words. “He’s never not answered one.” The last fact was added so Richie could understand where your worry came from. 

 “Kid’s a mess.” 

For a second, you went to defend him. Old habits die hard, you know. But then you really took in what he said it was true. Carmy was a mess. Even before this. You were still mad at him, though. 

“I texted. I called. Hell, I thought to send a fucking carrier pigeon but he’d probably just kill it and call it squab de papier.” An awful french accent came out of your mouth and Richie looked at you impressed, his nostrils flaring as he blew air out of them in a half laugh before letting a real laugh out. 

“That was good.” He nodded and tossed the bud to the ground and stepped on it. 

“I know, I’m funny.” A frown wrinkled on your forehead and you squinted your eyes before smiling. 

You both laughed again as you started leaning into one another, shoulders grazing against the other. It was what you both needed, something light to get you through the heaviness of the night and the week to come. In the middle of your laughing fit, there was a loud backfire of a car in the funeral parlor lot. It sounded like a gunshot, which wasn’t unheard of in Chicago, but considering the circumstances, it caused you to freak out for a moment. 

Your fingers straight away went to grab Richie’s arm pretty tightly. Out of impulse, he stepped in front of you. Scanning the parking lot and the others around it was pretty quickly that he realized the noise was a car backfiring and not shots. 

“Fuckin’ afterburn.” He looked over his shoulders to see your terrified face. It was still something new to him, you were never scared. The only other time he remembered seeing you remotely like this was that day at The Beef, with that douchebag. “C’mon, let’s go sit down before you fall over nicotine newbie.” He grabbed your arm and guided you over to the bench that was tucked away in the corner. 

You never were able to shake the feeling, you two just sat there, in silence as you tried to get back to whatever you considered normal at a time like this. 

“You got a ride home?” 

Looking around you saw that it had gotten pretty empty, you looked at your phone for the time or maybe a text from Carmy. 

“Yea I drove myself.”

Richie’s face looked like he was about to question or protest your means of transportation. 

“I’ll be alright, Richie.” 

“Alright well pulse check me when you’re home or whatever.” 

You went to argue on the usage of the term when you looked at Richie, like really looked at him. It was genuine. He actually cared that you made it home. You simply nodded and offered him a quick wave before walking away. 

_________

Time was passing slowly, and when you’re looking towards time to heal all wounds, you had to take the whole passing by leisurely thing as disrespectful as possible. The days felt long and the weeks felt even longer. It was 2 weeks to the day since Mikey’s funeral, and 3 weeks to the day since it happened. Your apartment was lonely, it always was but when your best friend was ignoring you and the guy you looked at like a big brother just killed himself, the loneliness followed you differently. You did whatever you could to pass the time. Visited Sugar and Pete, went down to the beef occasionally to see everyone, called Carmy, had 30 second conversations with him, which to be honest you cherished over the silent treatment. In addition to that, you also took on extra shifts at work, the barista position wasn’t exactly bringing in the cash but it paid the bills and the overtime put money into a rainy day fund. Plus, it was what you loved. Coffee. 

It was another Tuesday night where you fell asleep on the couch. Your mattress was more of a decoration these days than an actual useful piece of furniture. The ringing of your phone turned you over, the sound was different than the normal alarm chime you were used to waking up to. As you came more to it, you realized that your alarm wasn’t going off and it was actually someone calling you.

1:14AM. 

The time flashed above the unknown caller number.

“Hello?” The raspiness of your voice was hard to mask, your hand scratched at your eyes trying hard to wake yourself up. It was then that you realized you answered an unknown number at 1AM without any hesitancy. 

He said your name in a way that you could hear the embarrassment in his voice. You knew who it was right away. Who would have thought that hearing Richie’s voice at 1AM would have been what woke you up entirely. 

“I–uh,” You could imagine his head hanging low as he spoke to you. It was obvious why he was calling. Late night, unknown number. It didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together. “I need your help.” 

He sounded like a little kid, even with his age difference, he felt below you. It wasn’t really a feeling you wanted to dwell in, you didn’t like it one bit.

“I’m locked up and need you to bail me out.” The words flew together so quickly that even though, you knew what he was going to ask, it still took you a minute to process. 

“CPD or Northwestern?” The keys were already being scooped up from your coffee table. 

“CPD.” 

“Fuck.” You mumbled as you held the phone to your ear, slipping one arm into your jacket. Chicago Police Department meant a more serious charge, it wasn’t loitering or vandalism. It was a step up from that, but you weren’t going to ask him on the police line. “I’ll be there in 20.” 

With that, you hung up and quickly slid your other arm through your jacket as you ran out of your apartment. 

The ATM wasn’t exactly your favorite place to be at 1:43 AM  in downtown chicago, but you also didn’t want to be at CPD either. You stuffed the cash in your pocket quickly and walked into the station. 

After you posted bail, Richie was out within minutes. Good thing about Tuesdays were they were generally slow nights. 

The black eye he was sporting was red in irritation and starting to discolor. You assumed it had to do with his little stint in the slammer but you weren’t going to ask questions, yet. 

“Thanks.” He mumbled the appreciation, still clearly embarrassed. 

You nodded and got into the car, immediately turning over the ignition to get the car warm. 

He stood outside the car, like he was waiting for an invite in or debating walking home. 

“You thinking of freezing to death or do you want me to send you a formal invitation to get in the fuckin’ car?” You had leaned over to open the passenger door from the inside.

“I didn’t really wanna ask for a car ride home, too.” 

He was like a dog with his tail between his legs and you truly hated it.

“Alright, 1. It’s not a big deal, Richie. Relax. 2. I’m not taking you home, you woke me up, you owe me a cup of coffee or a drink.”

Richie awkwardly got into the car.

“Liquor store is closed now” Richie pointed to the car clock, his voice starting to level and sound normal. “And all your stupid fuckin’ coffee places cost probably the same amount as my bail. Which– how did you pay for that?” 

“Rainy day fund. I’ve been picking up extra shifts lately.” 

“Thanks, I’ll pay you back.” He answered automatically how one does when they’ve borrowed money. 

“Just show up to court.” You offered a different answer in response. 

He nodded and brought his hands to his head, like wiping them across his face was going to wipe the shame of the night away. 

“I have good coffee at my place. And I have alcohol. You down? There’s no way I’m going back to sleep tonight.” 

“Yea I’m down.” 

———-

You walked back into your apartment, keys hitting the table with a light throw, your jacket being flung on the couch. As you circled back around your kitchen table from the couch you approached the freezer. Grabbing a pack of something vegetable like and frozen to give to Richie. 

“Here,” You tossed him the frozen mixed veggies. “For that gnarly eye.” 

His face twisted in sarcasm as he nodded at you, which instead of being bitchy back you just smiled. You’d take this over embarrassed Richie anyday. 

“I feel like I don’t need to ask but, alcohol or coffee?” 

“Alcohol.” He responded too quickly. “Please.” The added pleasantry was appreciated. 

Grabbing two glasses and filling them with ice, you brought them over to the small dingey bar cart that sat next to your open window on your 5th floor apartment. 

“I’ve got rum, gin, vodka, tequila. All bottom shelf and probably expired. Pick your poison.” 

“Gin.” 

His answer shocked you, you expected vodka or him to ask for something dark. You had already scripted some beggars can’t be choosers response back in your head that you were forced to table. 

Placing the glasses and two bottles on the table, you passed him the gin and pushed his glass towards him. 

“Tequila, huh?” The question came as he poured the ginninto his glass. 

“Always my drink of choice.” You nodded and sat at the head of the table with him to your right. “You wanna tell me what happened?” 

He had already downed what would be his first shot of many, and started to repour his glass a little higher now. After another sip, he replaced the veggies against his eye with the glass of gin.

“Wanna? no.” He retorted. 

“Assault and disturbing the peace?” You read off both charges that were sitting in your head.

The look he gave you was annoying to describe in the least. “How—?”

“To pay bail they tell you the charges. To make sure you want to go through with vouching for someone.” 

It was your turn to refill your glass now. 

“I don’t know I was down at Cerces, bunch of fuckin’ shmucks in suits and shit, I just wanted to drink and hang out.” He shrugged his shoulders as he explained the situation. “Who the fuck am I kidding, I fucking slugged this motherfucker for being a smart ass. He got me back.” He pointed to his eye with his free hand. “Got kicked out and then decided to make some noise on the street.” 

You looked over at Richie, eyebrows raised waiting for him to tell you what he said. 

“Guy had a British accent, must’ve been traveling for work or something so I called him a wanker. The last word he spoke came out in an accent that made you almost spit out your drink from choking on it. 

Richie choked down a laugh at your reaction. 

“Why?” You leaned back in your seat. 

“Why?” His voice raised in question as his brows furrowed. 

“Yea, why’d you do it?”

“I don’t know just somethin’ to fuckin’ do.” He spat out quickly. 

“It’s a tuesday fuckin’ night. Sleeping is what you should be doing, you gotta be at The Beef in what? 4 hours? To pick up the meat shipment tomorrow morning.” 

Richie looked a little in awe as he stared at you. 

“I spent half my time at the restaurant, Richie. I know the schedules, I know the people, I know.” The last two words were deeper. They meant more. You were trying to tell him that you knew what he was going through, not like the people who shook his hand and offered their condolences, but like a person who spent a lot of time with Mikey and was now feeling that loss every day. 

“You uh,” Riche leaned forward on the table like he was gearing himself up to ask you something. There was silence in the kitchen for a beat, you didn’t say anything, he’d say what he wanted in time. 

“I just can’t shake the damn guilt.” His head was practically touching the table as he leaned forward trying to get out his thoughts. “I should’ve fuckin’ chained him to the desk or something, or intervention his ass with rehab.” 

He wasn’t really looking for an answer or response, he was just talking, so you sat there listening. 

“I don’t know what the fuck to do. Every day I’m just like waiting for something and I don’t know what.” He slammed his hand on the table in frustration and leaned back. 

The loud noise caused you to jump. His eyes darted to yours. “Sorry babe.” He apologized quickly and brought his drink to his lips again, taking a big gulp. “It’s like fucking groundhogs day.” 

“Not today, though.” A smile filled your face. “Unless you get arrested frequently and you’re working your way through your contacts.” 

“First time in 4 years.” He corrected you like it was something to be proud of. “Drunk indecency, with Mikey.” The charge was explained to you. 

“Oh. I remember. Mikey called Sugar and she called me on the way to pick you both up.” You looked smug as you drank your tequila. 

“I don’t even know why I went out tonight.” Richie started up again. You were following him, he was spiraling but it seemed to be somewhat helpful to him. “I just want to feel fucking normal again.” 

You took a breath, preparing yourself to respond back to him but he cut you off. 

“And I don’t want to hear that stupid bullshit, ‘some things aren’t replaceable Richie, you gotta move on.’ Fuck off.” He was speaking to you but he wasn’t really speaking to you. 

“I was just gonna say me too.” Your voice was soft which wasn’t really like you.

“Fuuuuuccckkkk.” Richie groaned at the overwhelm of emotions and went to grab the bottle of gin to pour more into his glass, you both had lost count of how many glasses this was but neither of you cared. 

“Anyways, enough about my shitshow of a life, how are you doin’?” He wasn’t even looking at you but when he asked the words hit you in your core. Why did you feel like you were going to cry? Maybe because over the last 3 weeks no one really cared how you were. Sure, people asked but they didn’t care. And even though Richie wasn’t even paying full attention to you, you knew he was genuinely asking. Maybe it was also because your best friend hadn’t asked you that in over a couple years. So Richie asking you this brought out a lot of emotion. 

“Yo. You fuckin’ good?” 

“Sorry. Zoned out.” 

“So, how the fuck are you?” He repeated the question. 

You let out a laugh that was followed by a few stray tears. “I don’t even know.” You laughed again as more tears fell. “Carmy won’t talk to me, he hasn’t talked to me truly in god damn years it feels like, my dad is who the fuck knows where, and I just lost the only Berzatto who gave me the time of day.” You let out a deep exhale. “And that’s not to shit on Sugar, she’s just been doing her own shit. It’s more shitting on Carmy.” You clarified yourself as you stabilized your voice more. 

“If you want to turn this into a shit on Carmy fest, we can. I’ve got ammo for days.” 

“That’s the best part, I don’t even want to shit on him. I just want him here. I want him to be present. Carmy is my best. fucking. friend. I don’t have anyone else.” Richie could get that. That’s what Mikey was to him, and even though Carmy was still alive, he understood what it was like to watch as you lost a friend. He watched it with Mikey. 

“He doesn’t even know that I was getting the shit beat out of me in Minneapolis all those years ago. He does know that my dad’s been in and out because that’s been just a normality in my life, but he hasn’t asked. I tried to tell him about Mikey, but he didn’t even let me get a word out. And you know what, I don’t even give a shit. I fucking get it. Mikey pushed him away and welcomed me in with open arms and that hurt him. I’d be furious. But he doesn’t know that I was struggling. I left practically all my shit in Indianna and flew to fucking New York with my last $300 dollars. I had to open up a $500 limit credit card just to book my flight back home. Which is when I came to the beef and while Carmy was blowing me off, Mikey was literally the complete opposite. He called me. He checked in on me. He sent me home with leftovers. And I couldn’t even just tell him to lay off the fuckin’ drugs!” You were worked up, your voice carried through the apartment. The echo of your hand slammed on the table caused Richie to jump, very similar to what he did moments ago. 

“Sorry.” You said in a much lighter voice. 

“Hey don’t apologize, babe. We’re fuckin’ goin’ through it.” He laughed as he finished off the bottle of gin. “Clearly.” His hand raised the bottle in reference to his sentence and also to say thanks for the drink. 

“Do you have a cigarette?” You were now calm, it was crazy how quick you processed things and just stored them away. It was something you had to do the entire time you grew up while your dad came and went. 

“Yea, wanna head downstairs?” His finger pointed over his shoulder to the door. 

“Fire escape.” You pointed in the opposite direction. 

You made your way out to the black metal escape. There was enough room for both of you to stand comfortably as you smoked your cigarettes, the view was clear to the riverwalk as you stared out. 

“Can I ask you something awkward?” You looked up to him as you leaned forward with your one arm hanging over the railing with the other on the cigarette in your mouth. 

“I’m drunk so it’s probably the best time as any.” He agreed. 

“Why wasn’t Tiff at the funeral?” 

It was a substantial question. Even though you didn’t know why, you felt the weight behind it. 

“Uh she had to– uh, well she had to, you know.” He started to trip over his words. “We’re getting a divorce.” The sentence just fell out of his mouth like water. It made your stomach drop, you weren’t exactly sure why. Probably because you knew that this was the worst time to be going through a divorce, not that there was exactly a good time for one either. “We uh, just were fightin’ all the time, arguing about stupid shit, I guess, you know, I’m a little immature, always at the restaurant, always with Mikey, well used to be, I’m a little hard to depend on.” 

You knew he was just repeating the things that Tiff had said to him. Her reasoning, probably thrown at him like daggers in the middle of the fight. She probably wasn’t wrong, they probably did argue all the time, he was immature, you knew that, he was always right by Mikey’s side which generally meant he was at the restaurant. But all those things were obvious to you. That was who Richie was. And you weren’t going to shit on Tiff for not wanting to deal with it, but it didn’t mean you didn’t question why she got into it to begin with. I guess the answer was love, but you didn’t really know much about that. One thing that stuck out to you was the last part of the sentence. Hard to depend on. It was crazy how everyone had different views of people, Tiff had known Richie as hard to depend on. But you knew him as the opposite over the last few years. 

“If it’s any consolation, you’re the most reliable person in my life.” 

“I don’t know what that says about you or the company you keep.” He snorted. 

You laughed at him, pushing into him with your shoulder as you took in another drag of the cigarette. There was another moment where all that could be heard was the sounds around Chicago. It was late so while the sounds weren’t comparable to a rush hour smoke break, it was Chicago so there was some city noise. Your eyes fell onto Richie’s hand as he gripped the railing. The gold ring was still on his finger, which was curious to you. 

“Still got the bling.” Your head nodded to his left hand. “Why are you still wearing it?”

For a second, he frowned, confused by what you were talking about and then his eyes followed your nod. 

“Oh, you know.” He shrugged and immediately took a big inhale of cigarette smoke. 

“No, I don’t.” You raised your eyebrows and turned to have your back against the railing as you waited for his answer. 

“I don’t fuckin’ know. Habit I guess.” He flicked the cigarette into the air and watched it fall 5 stories until it hit the ground causing the last sparks of it to jump. He moved, closer to your window and sat against the concrete wall, folding his knees up to have his arms rest on them as he was now in front of you and extending his legs out would give you no room. 

“Habit.” You nodded, taking your last inhale and doing the same thing as him to get rid of it, still leaning with your back on the railing.

“Yea, you know I’ve had it on forever. Plus like I don’t know, the papers aren’t signed yet, I’m not saying things could be different, but they could, you know. They could go back to how they were. I don’t know. It’s just there’s been a lot happening, I haven’t thought to take it off.” 

He was rambling. Understandably so. You pushed yourself off the ledge and went to sit next to him, copying his positioning with your own legs. 

“Who the fuck am I kidding?” He looked down at his hands. “It’s over.” 

The words were finite, the way he said them felt like it wasn’t his first time coming to that realization, but you figured it was probably the first time he said them outloud. 

“But are you over it?” It was a genuine question from you, a little curious too, if Richie was letting you in, you were going to take it, it was the first time you felt like you had a real conversation with someone in a while. 

“I mean, I don’t think we’re like us anymore, I don’t know if we ever fuckin’ were, like I think we had this idea about who the fuck we were together, right? I mean, I love her, she’s the mother of my kid y’know. But that shit was over a long time ago.” 

“What’s the point of holding on then? Seems like it’d be best for everyone to just move on. I’d say let go but I think you both have.” 

Richie looked at you, taking in what you said. Everything you said was true, it was a perspective he felt like he knew deep down but there was just something about hearing it outloud and from someone else that made it feel a little more realistic and grounding. 

He nodded slowly as he brought his hand up to his mouth, covering it as he digested the information. 

“So this is why Carmy kept you around all these years, you’re fucking smart. You should be like a shrink or some shit.” 

You let out a laugh at his words, the irony that this was all you wanted from Carmy, a moment to chat, it didn’t have to be about Mikey, it didn’t have to be about New York, or anything, you just missed these deep conversations with him. 

“Somethin’ like that.” You let out a deep sigh and looked over at Richie as he began to speak. 

“So can I ask you an awkward question?” His head turned to stare back at you. 

“I’m drunk so it’s probably the best time as any.” You repeated the answer he gave you which made him smile before gazing back out at the riverwalk through the bars of the railing. 

“That guy, that came into the restaurant a couple years ago, he was the one beating on you?” 

Richie knew the answer to the question, he felt like he just needed to hear you say it to get the clarity he needed, and maybe a few more details if you were open to talking about it. 

You paused for a minute, not sure how or if you wanted to answer, but you thought back to that day. You thought back to how Richie didn’t ask any more questions when you told him not to. He never brought it up again, he probably had a million questions, but yet he just asked this one. 

“Yea.” You held your breath for a minute thinking back. “My ex.” You pointed across the street to the little corner store. “I met him there, he was in Chicago for work, from Minneanapolis.” You felt Richie’s eyes jump to stare at you as he started to comprehend everything. “We dated for a few months, I saw him whenever he came into town, which was often. He was charming. We didn’t really do much, I guess I’m an easy date.” You let out a laugh at how unchallenging you made it for the guy. “I didn’t introduce him to anyone, one of many red flags. I knew that no one would like him, especially Carmy, he has that like shithead detector, you know? Anyways, he was wrapping up his last work trip to Chicago at the end of that August and invited me to come back with him. Carmy was leaving, all of my other friends were already back at school or moved out of town, I had nothing going on here, so I did went.” Your head shook as you recollected all of it, especially how naive and stupid it was. 

“It took two days for his true colors to show.” You honestly forgot Richie was next you as you thought about the first time he hit you. “I, uh, was unpacking my stuff. Spilled my soda on the dresser, he wasn’t too happy about it.” Your hand moved to your face out of habit, like you could still feel the sting of his hand across your face. “It stopped for a while, which is why I stayed plus you know, abusers abuse hard but apologize harder so I believed him. I honestly don’t remember when it got worse but it did, and I couldn’t leave. He broke my phone, I had like no money left, no friends, a shitty job.” A stay tear fell and landed on your cheek and you quickly wiped it away. “On paydays, I’d go to a check cashing place on my break, take $20 from my paycheck and put it in my locker, because the rest of it was going to my ex for rent or whatever the fuck he used it on and anything more than $20 was cause for alarm, I had tried and failed. After a few weeks, I saved up enough for a plane ticket and flew to New York. I left in the middle of the night. It was terrifying. I left half of my shit there, not to mention my fuckin’ dignity.” 

“Yea, but, uh.” The tears were now falling more frequently, you weren’t blubbering, your voice was still pretty steady, but the drops weren’t stopping. “Carmy had his own shit going on. I lied to him. I don’t even remember what I said to him about the bruises, but he believed it. He was so fucking out of it and so, I sucked it up. Found a credit card that I could open immediately with my god-awful credit score and booked my flight home.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Richie’s voice was soft, something you didn’t hear from him too often. “That’s– that’s some seriously screwed up shit.” His head was shaking as he processed it all. “I wanted to kill that motherfucker. Like I knew, right? You had that mark on your arm, I’m pretty sure I fuckin’ asked you, but you looked so damn scared and small and not like a kid, I just mean like stepped on. And out of all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never looked scared let alone small. I just felt this anger in me, like I wished I pulled that fuckin’ trigger.” 

A laugh escaped from your mouth thinking about that day, you didn’t find any of this funny per say, but laughing was just what your body could come up with to respond. It was muffled from the congestion of your tears, your nose was slightly red. Your hands moved up to your eyes and rubbed them before you told Richie your final thought. 

“You know, that day, that was my first day home. I was so nervous walking into the restaurant, I didn’t know how everyone was gonna be, if they were mad I left or what. But you looked up and me and smiled and I thought ‘Hell must be freezing over if Richie fuckin’ Jeremovich is the one saving me from my sorrows.’”

He smirked at that, there was some peace served to him knowing that.

“Can I say something else awkward?” His voice was still steady. 

You nodded. 

“Thanks.” 

That was it. That was all Richie said. 

You licked your lips and brought them inside your mouth, trying so hard to hold in what you knew would be exploded laughter. After one successful second, you failed. You let out the craziest noise as you laughed out loud. Your head fell onto Richie’s shoulder as you laughed and caught your breath, Richie joined in the laughing, the two of you louder than you should have been at 3 in the morning. 

“Shut the fuck up!!!” A random voice called out from below you, which caused the both of you to try and shush yourselves while uncontrollably laughing even more. 

As you both calmed from the laughter, there was a brief second where the two of you were looking at each other. It was short, but it was electrifying, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the emotions, but something was gravitating you two towards eachother. 

There was no shot you could explain when or how it happened. But when your mind came to it, you realized you were horizontal on top of Richie on your fire escape with your tongue practically down his throat. His lips were soft, surprisingly, which was what this entire situation was, surprising to say the least. You thought your reaction to kissing Richie wasn’t going to be to lean into it more, but when you both took a minute to catch your breath, there was nothing else in your head but the thought of wanting to kiss him again. 

“I’m so–” He started to come to it and get flustered but you didn’t let him, you were back to kissing him before he could even finish apologizing. The shock didn’t last long on him, he was melting back into it pretty quickly, his hands moving to your face, the heat of his breath exhilarating you more. Your body grinded on his out of habit, feeling his excitement that you were moving into him. A groan or two or five left your mouth, you lost count and honestly any consciousness in your mind was also out of the window. You were a one track mind, and that was to get Richie into bed. 

________

The cold air mixed with the rising sun glares woke you up. The pounding of your head being the first thing you felt and heard thumping in your head. A groan came from your throat as you rolled over to hide from the sun, letting the thin sheet get tangled up more across your body. That’s when you realized how cold you were, the thin sheet wasn’t much but it really wasn’t helping since you had no clothes on underneath. Memories from the night before crashed onto you which didn’t help the headache that was getting progressively worse. 

Expecting to bump into the man you shared the bed with last night your hand was met with an empty bed. A deep sigh came out from your mouth as you collapsed deeper into the bed. You weren’t disappointed or hurt, it was just a lot to take in, thinking about what exactly happened, what you talked about, how good the sex was. Which you had to admit was really good. Not to say you thought sex would Richie would be good or bad, it was that you never thought of it before, so the thought in itself was shocking. Then there was the thought about what this meant moving forward. That was a notion you spent little time on, you weren’t going to make anything awkward. It was a one night stand and it was Richie, it wasn’t going to be weird. 

There was no point in trying to go back to bed, you rolled over, grabbed what you hoped was a tylenol and not a breath mint that was loose on your nightstand and reached for your sunglasses. 

You sat at the edge of your bed for a minute, trying to work up the courage to get your legs to work. “Alright, clothes. Then water. Then food.” You mapped out your next few moves. To get food, you had to go downstairs, you had nothing in your apartment except for stale leftovers. 

The elevator dings were aggravating, you wished the sunglasses on your face did more than block your eyes from the bright lights but being hungover you just had to face the consequences. 

As the sign flashed first floor over the buttons, the doors whooshed open. As you pushed off the back wall of the elevator you stopped in your steps when you saw Richie standing in front of you with a bag of what you assumed was food from the smell. 

“Hey, I went to grab breakfast.” His voice was courtly, not his normal Richie self, more polite. 

You said nothing, just ushered him into the elevator with your arms as you fell back against the wall leaning your head back to rest there as well. Both of you stood there in silence, you weren’t trying to make it awkward, in fact that thought didn’t even cross your mind. All you could think about was how hard your head was pounding and how much agony work was going to be later. Richie on the other hand, didn’t exactly thrive in silence, he was fidgety, switching which hand he held the bag of food in, leaning back, standing straight, making noises with his mouth, casually trying to look over at you. 

“Why are you wearing sunglasses?” His voice switched from polite back to his normal abrasive Richie voice. 

“Because I have a headache.” Your voice monotone. 

“Oh, well I have food.” He held the bag out a little to show you. You would have picked up on what he was insinuating, you have a headache food could fix it, but you just felt like he was repeating himself when all you wanted was silence. 

“Yea you fuckin’ said that, Richie.” Your eyes closed now, not that he could tell under your shades. 

He got quiet again as the elevator beeped and flashed the number 3 as you passed the third floor, but that didn’t last long. 

“I didn’t get coffee because ya know I figured you had stuff here and it’d be better than shit out there.” His voice raised an octave which triggered you. 

“You’re right.” Again, answering in a monotone voice. 

“Are you like mad at me or something?” Richie frowned and stepped somewhat in front of you. 

Normally you would have bugged out on Richie, any other day, any other circumstance, but it clicked. Things weren’t normal, you slept with him, this was weird new territory so you offered him some peace. 

“No, sorry, I’m just really hungover, I appreciate this.” You pointed to the bag of food as the elevator opened on your floor, you squeezed past him to your apartment, opening it and welcoming him in and immediately moving to the coffee machine. Not bothering asking Richie what he wanted, you started to concoct two warm drinks, turning back around with the mugs in your hand to see him laying out the spread he bought. 

“I don’t know what you like so I tried to cover my bases.” He started to point at the styrofoam take out containers. “Sausage and Eggs, Bacon and Eggs, Bagel with Cream Cheese, Bagel with Butter, and pancakes or waffles.” 

You were impressed. Richie just kept surprising you. 

“Wow, uh, I’ll take the bacon and the waffles.” 

“Alright, cool. Waffles.” He mumbled as he searched for the container before handing it to you, sort of like he was taking a mental note as he was searching. 

He took a sip of the coffee, shaking his head in approval, “Yea that’s good fuckin’ shit.” 

You hummed a light laugh as you thanked him, opting to shorten his nickname even more and call him Rich. 

The silence crept up again, the sounds of eating and the wind from the open window the only thing filling the void. You felt the awkwardness and the tension, which was not what you expected, it was Richie fuckin’ Jerimovich, he never made anything awkward, although he was trying to fill a lot of the silence, typical of him and you were offering short responses if any. 

“We’re good, Richie.” You decided to speak up. 

His head turned, mouth full of eggs, bagel in his left hand, it was a sight that put a smile on your face. “Huh?”

“I just, I want you to know like we’re good, this doesn’t have to be awkward.” 

“Alright, yea, not awkward.” He nodded in agreement and went back to his food. 

The two of them awkwardly said goodbye, their short understanding not being enough for them to be on the same page but at least they both knew they were still cool, it was just managing the tension of ‘I saw you naked last night and now know a lot of your deepest darkest secrets so do I hug you goodbye or wave or what.’ But you both managed to get out of it unscathed and with a kiss on the cheek and a ‘call me if you need anything’ which was successful enough in your book. 

Work that day had dragged on, your mind and body were not equipped to deal with people all day but yet you were stuck pushing through. By the time your shift ended, you walked outside, taking in the cold Chicago air as you walked home. The heaviness of life started to weigh on you, the thought of how even though your daily routines hadn’t changed everything was different, how you couldn’t stop by The Beef while they were closing up and meet up with Mikey and Richie to hang out and bullshit around. But then something dawned on you, you still had Richie, and what better way to make things not awkward then by breaking the tension between you. 

You: 10:37 You wanna go to Cerces?

Richie: 10:37 I got banned

You: 10:38 When has that ever stopped you before? Richie: 10:40 Yea, I’m on my way I’ll be at yours in 10 minutes.

Next Fic: The Smell Of Rain

#The Bear #The Bear fanfic #richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #mikey berzatto #sugar berzatto #carmy berzatto #michael berzatto #carmen berzatto

[mrscarmenbearzatto]

Hey! I know you explained why you picked the names Winnie and Aurora. But how do you imagine they/Carmen and reader picked those names? If that makes sense. Love your work by the way. I always get so excited when you update.

no this totally makes sense. i actually think about this a lot more then i probably should lmao

i feel like its kind of the same process, just reading through baby name books or blogs and maybe carmen stumbles upon winifred and he remembers mikey telling him about a relative with the name they used to be close with when they were younger. "winifred works." and i think winnie would come from her learning to talk and not saying winifred, so she'd just say win win, which turned into winnie.

and then with aurora, she wasnt named for a day or so (at least in my mind, you guys thought it would be a "when you see her you'll know" situation but it definetly wasnt) while you and her were in the hospital. "she sleeps a lot." carmen admits with a soft laugh. then the name aurora came to be from sleeping beauty!

i called her roro in one fanfic i believe and i think winnie would call her that specifically. like they're winnie and roro, the berzatto sisters.