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periprose · 10 months

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Fly Away

Michael Berzatto x Reader

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

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

Word count: 11k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wish you could be there for him too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How have you–”

“How’s law sch–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fun? Wow.” Carmy grins a little.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Business administration specialist.”

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

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

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

“Acquaintances.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hubris.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You might never stand out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natalie is tearing up as Stevie hugs her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Birdie?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mikey?” You voice is timid. Small.

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

“Yeah, Birdie?”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, Birdie–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It all goes to shit not even twenty minutes later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Were you too much for him? Maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michelle inhales. “We have lift-off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natalie shakes her head in little no-no motions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael throws the third fork.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hope next Christmas will be better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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mrscarmenbearzatto · 3 months

Text

nurse cupid | carmen berzatto

claire and carmen used to date. you work under claire, and are now dating carmen. what a fucked up triangle ─ 1.33k cw: fem!reader, she/her pronouns used

Ever since you were young, you knew you wanted to be a nurse. Every career day at school, your answer was the same: "I want to be a nurse and help people!" usually written in yellow crayon.

So, managing to score a job in an ER in Chicago was a dream come true. You loved Chicago and your charge nurse, Claire, was one of your closest friends. Emphasis on was. That was before you and Carmy met.

Carmen Berzatto. The boy you met through Syd, one of your oldest friends. After weeks of back and forth flirting, you and him finally asked for each other's numbers and set up a date, much to Syd's apprecation since all he talked about outside of work was you and if you were stopping in.

Claire only found out about your relationship with Carmy after he insisted taking you to work one particularly snowy morning, leaving you with a goodbye kiss.

That day, she gave you more work then usual. More charts, more patients to watch over and check on, and that was on top of your usual work load. Plus, everytime you asked her a question she gave an exhausted sounding sigh and explained it to you like you were a child, with a condescending tone in her voice.

"Claire." You walk over to her, setting the charts (filled out) down on the desk. "What the hell is your issue with me today? You've been giving me your patients and frankly, your attitude towards me is passive aggressive. If there's something I did, tell me what it is and I can fix it." You request.

Her pager beeps as she hums. "The chief wants to see you." She says, beginning to walk off, and you follow her.

──

As soon as you stepped foot into the chief’s office, you knew what was happening. One of the ladies from HR you’d met once before, the chief, and Claire. Sat around a coffee table.

“Hi Y/n. Glad you could join us.” You know that’s HR talk for “glad we summoned you, let’s tell you what you did wrong.”

You sit down, noticing the look Claire gives you. It’s almost a glare.

“Mm. Can I ask what this is about?” You question.

“Well, Claire here has a feeling that you’re trying to shove a personal relationship in her face. I understand you are dating her ex and she just feels that-”

“That you’re basically trying to remind me of what Carmen and I went through. What we once had.” Claire cuts Aileen (the woman from HR) off, tilting her head at you as she waits on a response.

You stare at her, actually letting out a mix of a scoff and a laugh. “I’m sorry? Claire, Carm and you broke up nearly a year ago. Why are you still hooked on him?”

“This isn’t about me. You knew damn well I’d be at work this morning when he dropped you off.” “It was freezing cold! He didn’t want me walking or taking a cold train, so he offered to drive me since it’s on his way to work. He gave me a kiss and I never even brought it up to you.”

“Ladies!” The chief cuts you both off. “Aileen has agreed to investigate this further. Y/n, refraining from engaging with your boyfriend for respect of Claire’s feelings would be best.” He encourages.

You actually have tears in your eyes from the frusturation, your hands shaking from where you sit. "I'm sorry, can you excuse me for a moment?" You ask softly, standing up before they answer and practically running out of the room.

You barely make it out before you hear the office door shut, not by you but by Claire. "Y/n-"

"What the hell did I do to you, huh? Is this because Carmen and you broke up, or maybe because I didn't come running to you asking for your permission before I began dating him? What is it?" You question, throwing your hands in the air before slapping your hands against your side.

"Don't blame me for this. You're the one who had to go and act like a.. like a school girl bitch and put your relationship with him near me." She scolds. The tears you had been fighting back actually start falling at that, as you wipe them quickly. You shake your head, as you push past her and the flood of doctors.

──

Cold air be damned, you cross your arms over your chest as you lean against the brick wall outside. Ambulances soar past toward the ER exit, but you don't pay them any attention. It isn't until a familiar car pulls up in front of you that you actually look up.

"Hey, pretty girl. You okay?" Carmen's comforting voice asks, getting out of his car with his coat in hands, putting it over your shoulders. His heart breaks at the sight of your tears, nose red from probably the cold and crying, a frown matching yours.

You bury your face in his neck, only moving it to speak. "Claire saw you drop me off this morning and reported me to human resources. Then called me a school-girl bitch for 'putting our relationship near her'." You answer, your voice soft.

He nods slowly, trying to keep himself calm near you. "Why don't you go get in the car, huh? I'll go grab your stuff from inside." He asks, taking your hands in his. You smile. "Thanks, Carmy. Just behave yourself, please." You request, before climbing into the passenger seat of the car.

He watches to make sure you're safe in the car before he goes inside, fists clenched at his side. Behaving himself was something Carmen had never enjoyed doing, so why would he?

He spots Claire almost immediately, walking over. "Carmen-" She begins.

"Claire. What the fuck is your problem?" He cuts her off, staring at her. "Y/n has done nothing to you. If you're pissed about how we left things, that's fine. But you have zero right to harass my girlfriend over how I’ve moved on. I suggest you do the same.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, instead making his way up to the chief’s office. Knocking on the door and waiting for the faint "come in", Carmen steps into the office and clears his throat as his jacket hangs off one arm.

“Hi, sir. My name is Carmen Berzatto, I’m-”

“I know who you are, son.” Ed, the chief, says with a nod. “And I know why you’re here. And I’d like to only say this once, so I’d appreciate your listening. Y/n is a fantastic employee as I'm sure she's a fantastic partner. I hate to see that girl crying. So, allow this to be a warning.." Ed stands, circling the desk and sitting on the edge, arms crossed right in front of Carmen.

".. If you hurt her, and I find she comes into work again crying because of you, I will end you. Are we clear?" Ed asks, and Carmen immediately asks. "Yes, sir, thank you." He says.

Carmen made his way back to the car, finding you in the frontseat, staring at the radio. He sets your bag in the backseat, climbing into the passenger's seat. "Your radio is all weird." You mumble.

He laughs, placing a kiss on your head. "I'm sorry about Claire. I should have told you.. I promise I am gonna spend the rest of the day making it up to you." He says.

You smile at him. "As long as I've got you, I don't care, Carmy. It isn't your fault."

He grins. "Well, you've got me for as long as you'll have me."

──

It doesn't shock anyone when you're moved to a different unit a week later, this time one where your boyfriend didn't date the charge nurse that would harass you. At least if they did, Carmy would be there to comfort you.

Like he always is.

˙ ✩°˖🌸 ⋆｡˚꩜

shine on, shine on, my loves!

thank you for reading! please feel free to engage with this post by reblogging, commenting or sliding into my inbox to leave feedback! i appreciate all of you! check out my carmen berzatto masterlist here for more fanfics!

- mae

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year

Note

smut for carmen berzatto with “i don’t deserve you?” please and thank you xo

Carmen.

6. "You're my best friend." + 14. "I don't deserve you."

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here if you're interested. combined 2 requests here - thank you sweet anons!! adore adore adore mr berzatto x

Pairing - Carmen Berzatto x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - smut!! + cursing, angry carmen

Word Count - 950

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

Admittedly, he's easier to overwhelm than he should be.

The smallest thing goes wrong, and all of a sudden he's spiralling. He panics, and he takes it out on whoever is closest.

Today is no different.

You're wiping down tables out front when you hear him yelling. He's cursing, screaming at his kitchen staff. He's got that sharp edge in his tone, so you know it must be bad.

You drop your cloth and stride towards the back of the restaurant, determined to see what all the fuss is about. You're met with the sight of 4 terrified chefs and Carmen, stood in the middle of the kitchen, shouting at Sydney.

"Are you incompetent, chef? Are you?"

Sydney doesn't often flinch, but even she looks scared this time. She doesn't answer, and it angers him further. He goes to insult her again, but your voice cuts through the room.

"Carmen!"

Everyone stops to look at you. You're notoriously calm, the most collected person in the establishment. If you're yelling, it must be serious.

Carmy locks eyes with you, and you see the immediate regret written all over his face.

"Okay, everyone go home," you demand. No one protests, all of them filing out silently. When they're gone, you speak again.

"What the hell was that?"

When he doesn't answer, you take a step closer to him.

"Carmen, you can't scream at your staff every time something goes wrong. If you're not careful, you're gonna end up running this place by yourself."

He's looking at you with his puppy dog eyes, running his hands through his hair repeatedly. You can see he's clearly struggling with something internally.

"Hey, hey. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he replies too quickly. "I'm fine."

"Carmen, you're my best friend. I've known you since elementary school - I can read you like a book," you laugh. "Just be honest with me. What's wrong?"

"I just -" he sighs, and starts again. "I think I'm doing all of this wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm trying to do everything the way my brother did it, and it isn't working."

He leans back against the counter, stress plaguing his shoulders.

"You kind of just solved your own problem," you explain, stepping forward so you're practically standing in between his legs. "You're trying to do everything the way your brother did it. But you're not him. You're Carmen."

"No one calls me Carmen but you," he chuckles.

"That's because you're my Carmen. No one else's," you wink.

He smiles at you and your heart skips a beat.

You lean forward and press your forehead to his, exhaling when you feel the tension leave his muscles temporarily.

"I don't deserve you," he whispers.

You pull back and cradle his face in your hands, looking at him intently.

"Deserve or not, you have me," you reassure. "You have me. I'm not going anywhere."

Carmy surges forward and smashes his lips against yours. You gasp in shock, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, hands going to your hips to hold you to him.

This isn't the first time the two of you have kissed. In high school, you'd kiss at parties, occasionally makeout in his car, that one time after prom. But this is different. This kiss is charged.

You're tangling your fingers in his hair while he's grabbing at your ass, trying to pull you as close as he can. You break away for air and he kisses your neck, nipping and sucking as he goes.

"Not here, Carmen," you pant. "Office. Office, Carmen."

He picks you up around your middle and carries you, laughing when you squeal loudly, kicking your feet. As soon as you're through the office door, he's crowding you against the wall, desperately attempting to get your chefs jacket off. His fingers are shaking with want, and he's struggling with the buttons.

"Forget about me," you mutter against this lips. "This is about you. Call it stress relief."

You wink before dropping to your knees in front of him. He throws his head back at the sight, overwhelmed.

You untie his trousers and pull them down, pulling him out of his underwear. He's hot and hard and heavy in your hand, and you're realising you've thought about this more times than you'd care to admit.

"Let me take care of you, Carmen," you whisper, before taking him in your mouth.

You set a steady pace, head bobbing and hand moving in tandem. He's groaning, practically writhing, clearly trying not to move his hips.

"Don't hold back on me now," you say sternly, looking up at him with tear stained cheeks. He thinks you've never looked prettier.

"I don't - are you sure? I just - I need to -"

You cut him off by taking him back in your mouth, one hand gripping at the flesh of his thigh. He slowly starts to move his hips, gently and carefully. After a while, he learns your limits, and begins to thrust a little harder.

"Yeah, baby - fuck," he groans. "Just like that. Shit-"

You can tell he's close when his hips begin to stutter. One of his hands moves to grip your hair, and you moan when he tugs. The vibrations of the sound are his undoing, and he spills into your mouth, shuddering and groaning.

"Fuck, I don't deserve you," he mutters, pulling you up so he can slip his tongue past your lips to taste himself.

"Deserve or not, you have me," you echo from earlier. He laughs, and it's like you can see the tension melting from his body.

"My Carmen," you whisper against his lips. "My Carmen."

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ghosts-post · 7 months

Note

Fluffy bunny reader or bumble bee reader who likes to give people honey… thoughts?

Bumble bee darling with bear hybrid yandere!!! That's the only thought I had when I saw this request cause bears love honey <333 also let me know if you want a bunny reader as well! I have a few ideas rattling around for them!

Bear yandere who's a black bear so he's small but you're smaller. He's only around 4 foot but you're only about two feet tall so he's got some height on you.

He found you in a field of flowers one day when he was searching for something to eat. Followed you back to your hive planning on raiding it when you got back but you ended up noticing him. Thought he was going to be chased away but found out you were the only one at the hive and when you offered him your honey he instantly fell in love.

He will not leave your side from that day on. He loves helping you gather flowers for the honey so when he's not by your side he's most likely picking flowers for you. Only the best for his bumblebee!

He’s got extremely fluffy hair and tiny ears that blend into his black hair that you love to play with when you sit on his shoulder because of course he wants to carry you everywhere. Why waste your energy flying around when he can carry you?

Since bees can make different flavors of honey with different nectar, bear yandere will collect different flower’s depending on the taste he wants for you to make however you’ll usually keep those for different occasions. He really has to work for the flavored ones.

When you get too excited or angry you make buzzing noises which bear yan find’s adorable! Will often try to make you over excited to hear it since he doesn’t want you mad at him.

He loves playing with your antenna and also your fluffy abdomen. If you were his size or bigger he’d definitely insist on resting his head on your abdomen but since you are so small he can only dream of doing it while gently petting you.

[Bear yans stomach growls]

Bumblebee darling: hungry already? Good thing I made extra honey this time!

[Bear yan laying on his stomach making soft whines and not opening his eyes as he lets out a pitiful cough pretending to be sick]

Bumblebee darling: Ah sick again? I’ll go get the mint honey! I’ll be back don’t move!

Bear yan slowly opening one eye to watch them fly away to their hive: hehe flavored honey

#male yandere #yandere drabble #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere insert #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere original character #yandere idea #yandere imagines #yandere hcs #yandere headcanons #yandere hybrid #yandere bear oc #bear yandere

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noforkingclue · 4 months

Note

Hey there! I’m back again with another request (only if you want to write it though!)

I was looking at the prompts you reblogged and thought that this one: "i know what having a crush feels like and this is nothing close..." "have you considered that it's because this is more than just a crush?" "stop talking." might be one that could work for either Tommy Shelby or Carmy from The Bear — whichever you feel it fits better with!!

I look forward to seeing who you choose! Thanks so much in advance if you choose to write it! 🥰

Of course I want to write this!!! I went with Carmy for this because the prompt gave me a chance to torture him slightly...

I hope you like the fic :)

Title: Misunderstandings

Prompt list: list

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

“Thanks Syd,” you said as you shrugged on your coat, “I really appreciate this. I owe you one big time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Syd said rolling her eyes but you could see the smile on your face, “you do owe me one.”

“Oi,” you paused just as you were about to leave, “where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

You looked over your shoulder and grinned at Richie. He gave you an unimpressed loo and tossed you a cloth.

“You going to fucking help us clear up or not?” he asked

“Can’t tonight.”

“I thought we’re a fucking team now?”

“Syd let me leave early as long as I come in early another day.”

You tossed the cloth back at him and Richie caught it onehanded.

“And also when did you actually help with closing?”

“I’m always here.” Richie said

“Sitting down and criticising our work isn’t ‘helping’. Now I’ve really got to be going.”

A chorus of goodbyes came from the others. You briefly made eye contact with Carmy and gave him a small smile. He quickly looked away and disappeared into the back. You felt a pang of sadness course through you. However, you didn’t have time to dwell on it. You were going to be late if you didn’t leave.

“So,” Richie turned to Syd after you had gone, “why the fuck was she allowed to leave early?”

“She didn’t say. Although it could be a date.”

A crash from the kitchen made everyone look over. Carmy stumbled out, face red when he realised that everyone was staring at him. The smirk of Richie’s face seemed to widen at the revelation of why Carmy had been hiding.

“A date,” Richie said, “well she kept that fucking quiet. Doesn’t she trust us?”

“Maybe it’s because it’s none of our fucking business.” Carmy said

“I thought you’d be interested in this, cousin.”

“Why the fuck would you think that?”

“With your massive fucking crush on her? Thought you’d want to know who your competition is.”

“I don’t have a fucking crush on her.”

Richie let out a snort of disbelief and Syd raised her eyebrows. A ripple of laughter rose from the others at Carmy’s denial.

“Nah,” Richie shook his head, “we can all fucking see it.”

“I know what having a crush feels like,” Carmy snapped, “and this is nothing close.”

“Have you considered that it’s because this is more than just a crush?” said Marcus

Carmy’s attention snapped over to Marcus who shrugged in acknowledgement.

“Shut up.” Carmy said but the words came out slightly choked

Immediately the rest of the staff burst out laughing. Richie tossed the cleaning cloth of Carmy and said,

“Then why the fuck don’t you go after her?”

“You think you’re in place to give him relationship advice?” said Tina

“And why the fuck can’t I?”

“She’s going on a date,” said Marcus, “You can’t do that when she’s about to see someone else.”

“She should’ve taken him here,” said Richie, “then you could see what you’re dealing with, cousin.”

“Why the fuck would she bring a date to work? That would be a shit date.” said Syd, “See, this is why we shouldn’t listen to you when it comes to these things.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Carmy leant against the wall and ran a hand over his face as his staff dissolved into arguing. Was his feelings for you really that obvious? Clearly he hadn’t been doing as good of a job of hiding them as he originally thought.

“Besides, we don’t even know if she’s going on a date.” Syd’s voice echoed above the noise

“Wait, who’s going on a date and why didn’t anyone let me know about the gossip?”

Silence fell and everyone glanced towards the door. Carmy’s felt the blush slowly creep up his neck as the two of you locked gazes.

“Turns out my sister isn’t feeling well so we had to cancel our plans,” you said, “so I came back to pull my weight! So, who’s going to tell me what’s been going on?”

#fanfiction #the bear #reader insert #request #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader

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omgrachwrites · 4 months

Text

Date Night - Carmy Berzatto

Pairing: Carmy Berzatto x Reader

Summary: You and Carmy go on your first date.

Warnings: fluff, fluff and more fluff

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this, please let me know what you think! I love you all! xxx

part two

Natalie glanced at you as you walked into the living room to show off your outfit, for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Her facial expression was the same as you twirled in front of her, showing her the outfit from all angles.

“What do you think?” you asked as you smoothed your hands down your dress.

Nat laughed, “sweetie, you look beautiful.”

You pouted at her, “you’ve said that about every single outfit I’ve chosen,” you look down at the dress.

She rolled her eyes with a smile, “because it’s true, you’re beautiful. You could wear a bin bag and Carmy would still be crazy about you.”

You smiled as you sat next to her, your date with her brother wasn’t until later on tonight but you were nervous. You really wanted this to go well and you didn’t want to do anything that would screw this up.

“I’m nervous, Nat,” you admitted and she smiled at you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“You don’t have to be nervous, Carmy really likes you, Y/N,” she sighed as her phone buzzed and she checked it, “damn, I gotta go, they need me at the restaurant. Good luck tonight, you’ll do great,” she smiled and pulled you into a hug.

All day you lounged around, doing nothing, last night you’d had the shower where you scrubbed and shaved everything and everywhere. You weren’t expecting anything to happen, not on the first date – Carmy would be too shy to make a move – but you just wanted to be prepared. Finally, it was time for you to get ready, you curled your hair and applied your makeup light and pretty, with the help of a large glass of wine.

When Carmy knocked on your door, you slipped your heels on and grabbed your bag before pulling open the door. Your throat went dry as you looked up at him. He looked so gorgeous, he was wearing a tight white button down shirt that accentuated his muscles and over the top he was wearing a black suit jacket. He was holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers. His cheeks were flushed as his eyes drank in the sight of you.

He smiled as he ran a hand through his curls, “you look amazing.”

“Thanks Carm, so do you.”

The redness on his cheeks only deepened as he held out the flowers, “these are for you.”

You smiled as you took the flowers, “they’re beautiful, come in and I’ll put them in some water,” you let him in as you arranged the flowers in a vase, “you want a drink?” you glanced over your shoulder.

He shook his head as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, “nah, don’t want to miss the reservation.”

You smiled as you finished arranging the flowers and took his hand, “then let’s go,” you flushed as he linked your fingers together.

The restaurant was just an uber ride away and Carmy held your hand as he helped you out of the car. The restaurant looked beautiful – and fancy – you felt a little out of place. Carmy must have noticed because he squeezed your hand and you looked over at him.

“You okay?”

You smiled as you leaned over and kissed his cheek, “yeah, as long as I can take you to my favourite dive bar afterwards.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he grinned.

At first, you thought it was going to be awkward but as you were sat at the best seat in the house the both of you launched into conversation just as easily as you always did.

“How’s the restaurant?” you asked as you took a swallow of wine.

Carmy rolled his eyes with a quick laugh, “everyone’s at each other’s throats but they seem to be working together well enough. How’s the pasta?” he grinned with a twinkle in his gorgeous eyes.

“It’s good,” you nod as you eat a forkful, “but your pasta is my favourite.”

He grinned as he nudged his leg against yours, “you’re my favourite.”

For dessert the both of you shared a dish of lemon sorbet with a couple of vodka shots poured into the bottom. By the time you reluctantly let Carmy pay the bill – he wouldn’t let you split it – the both of you were pretty buzzed as you stumbled to the bar. The bar was a typical dive, the floor was sticky and it stank of beer but you felt comfortable, and you could tell that Carmy was too.

He thanked you as you handed him a pint of beer and he nodded over at the pool table, “you wanna play?”

“I’m rubbish at pool, I can barely hold a pool cue,” you laughed.

“C’mon, I’ll show you,” those big blue eyes talked you into it and you relented as he led you over to the pool table.

He set up the table and you couldn’t stop watching as his tattooed fingers rearranged the balls and he gave you a lazy, lopsided grin, “you wanna break? I’ll show you how.”

You smiled, “sure.”

Butterflies shot through your stomach as he took your hands in his, he stood behind you and showed you how to properly hold the pool cue. He leaned over you, just like they did in the movies and with Carmy’s help you managed to break.

“There you go,” he whispered in your ear and tingles shot up your spine as he kissed your cheek.

It was hard to keep up the pretence and you slipped up when you pocketed a ball. Carmy stood there staring at you with his mouth open.

“You lied! You’re hustling me!”

You laughed at his accusation, “fine, I’m not as bad as pool as I made out to be. And hustling is when you do it for money.”

He rolled his eyes with a grin, “you owe me.”

You ended up winning the game of pool and Carmy looked at you with a look of mock disappointment on his face as he shook his head, “I am so disappointed, that you won by cheating.”

You giggled, “you’re so dramatic. How’s this, I’ll let you pick your consolation prize?”

Carmy grinned as he pulled you closer by your waist and kissed you deeply, you were in shock and you hesitated for a split second before you kissed him back. You placed your hands on his firm chest as you pulled away just a little, “wow that’s funny, that’s exactly what I was gonna pick for my winning prize.”

He smirked as he cupped your cheek, “what an amazing coincidence,” he chuckled as he wrapped a hand in your hair and kissed you again, this time he snuck his tongue into your mouth. That’s how you spent the rest of the night, playing pool and making out.

He walked you up to your apartment, his fingers laced through yours, “I had a really good time tonight, Carm.”

“Me too, even if you did cheat at pool.”

You laughed, “I did not cheat!” you got your keys out of your bag and you looked at Carmy, “you want to come in?”

Carmy smiled but shook his head, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/N, I’d end up doing something we’re not ready for,” he chuckled as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, “but I’ll see you soon?”

“I’ll see you soon,” you nod and he leaned in to give you another breath taking kiss that made you feel like you were a teenager all over again.

#carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #reader insert #carmy x you #the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fx #fluff #carmy fluff

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kdogreads · 2 months

Text

Richie Jerimovich NSFW Alphabet

Co-written with the incredible @foreveraimingtowardsthesky

Thank you so much for collabing on this, my friend! It’s been a longtime coming but here we are 🤪😍

Enjoy this look into our wildest delulu fantasies with our bb Richie. This was a 50/50 project and still took us forever so please APPRECIATE IT 😂❤️

A — Aftercare

There is nothing Richie loves more than smoking a cigarette with you in his arms after he blows your mind. He’s trained to read people and you are no exception. He’ll help you clean up then he’ll cuddle you, or kiss you silly, or light you a joint, or brush your hair for you. Whatever you need this time, he’s on it.

B – Body part (favourite of yours and theirs)

Richie likes - no loves - your mouth. The way your lips close around a cigarette plucked from his hand, the wet heat of it when his fingers press against your tongue, how you open up so readily for him when you’re on your knees, the sharp indent of your teeth in your lower lip when you’re trying to be quiet.. Yeah, he could lose hours dreaming of your mouth, thinking of new ways he can make it his. Spit in it. Gag it. Have you clean him up with your tongue..

C — Cum

Richie can be nasty. He wants to cum on your face, your chest, your ass, literally anywhere he can. It’s his way to mark you as his without leaving hickies or anything, ever the practical thinker. His favorite by far, though, if you’ll let him, is to cum inside you. Chef’s kiss.

D – Dirty secret

Richie has fucked, or tried to fuck, too many short-lived staff at The Beef to mention. But that’s no secret. In fact, there’s really only one thing he hopes never gets out. Luckily for him, she feels the same way. Chalk it up to the effects of grief and alcohol, explain it away however you like, but if word got round? I don’t think her little brother would ever get over it.

E — Experience

Honestly, Richie doesn’t have a ton of experience with different partners, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t treat you R I G H T. He’s only had a couple relationships besides you and Tiff and maybe he brought home a girl from the bar once or twice before you. This man is a very, very fast learner, though. It doesn’t take him long to learn every little thing that drives you wild and he’s more than willing to experiment with what you like (always with permission first).

F – Favourite position

Richie wants to see. He wants to see his cock sinking into you. He wants to see your face when you come. He wants to see the rise and fall of your chest and he wants to see his hands on your body. Richie also wants to bend you over and fuck you from behind. He likes how it makes you whine when he pulls your hips back as he fucks into you.

So he fucks you on your knees in front of the mirror on his bedroom wall, drags his fingers through your gathered slick and rubs the mess across your tight little asshole, his thumb circling and circling and circling before pushing inside. Like this he can watch as he fills you up, and see your fucked-out face as you fall apart.

G — Goofy

Our Richie is a big goofball in every aspect of his life and sex is no exception. He loves being able to laugh with you and tease you while he’s inside you or eating you out. One day he gets it in is mind that you have to call him Mr. Jerimovich as like a demeaning/authoritative thing, but when you actually call him that, he cracks up laughing. Cannot keep a straight face for the life of him. “It sounds like you’re talkin’ to my fuckin’ granddad. Too fuckin’ weird for me, baby, m’sorry.”

If he’s had a rough day, though, and needs to take it out on you, it’s all serious. No jokes, no laughing, no teasing. He just takes when he needs from you — and of course makes sure you have a good time, too.

H – Hair

How well groomed is Richie? Richie is a low-maintenance, one-bottle-in-the-shower guy. He keeps his hair and his beard short, that’s his look. Once upon a time, he got clippers and a beard trimmer for Christmas, so he does this himself, and every so often the rest of him will get the trimmer treatment. He’s not super hairy but he likes how his dick looks bigger after. He’s only human, after all.

He’s clean, but not meticulous. He doesn’t mind things getting a bit.. dirty. And if you’re honest with yourself, you sometimes like him best at the end of a long day. A little sweaty, a little rough around the edges, his skin tasting like salt and cigarette smoke.

I — Intimacy

Richie the cuddle master, am I right? He loves physical affection and just being close to you. If you’re having a slow, sweet love session, he’ll hold your face and tell you the stickiest sweet things you’ve ever heard in your life. “You were made for me, baby. I was made f’you” and “You’re so beautiful, sometimes I can’t believe you’re mine” and “I love you so much my heart fuckin’ hurts.” Loves eye contact, loves holding your hands, loves loving you basically.

Talks you through it. Big time. He’s in his daddy era and he’s desperate for his baby to cum. 🥵

J – Jerk off

In a word. Yes. In the shower most mornings. It’s a Pavlovian response now. Routine. The hot shower spray. The steam. His hand wrapped round his cock.

But he’s seen the way your breath catches. When he’s knelt between your spread legs. When he drags it out just a little longer, his fist working over his cock as though he prefers it to your pretty pussy. How your eyes follow the movement of his hand as he makes you wait, how your tongue darts out against the softness of your lips..

Until finally - - You like watchin, huh? Your face had heated under his scrutiny, but you couldn’t deny it. And since then? Pictures. Videos. Whenever you’re apart for while and sometimes even when you’re not. His hand sliding over his hard dick, slow at first, then faster. You can hear his breathing, all the bitten off sounds he makes - - fuck. Sometimes it’s a piece of your underwear that he’s ruined, the sheets, his shirt. Sometimes come splashes hot against his tense belly. It’s insanely hot. It makes you ache for him. And he knows it.

K — Kinks

This man will shock you with just how freaky he can get. Choking, gun play, knife play, slapping, daddy/sir, tying you up/getting tied up, he’s into it all. Something you’ve always wanted to try? He’s down. It doesn’t always have to be super kinky stuff, though. Sometimes he’s in the mood to make love to you and, when he is, he’s the stickiest sweet lover you’ve ever had.

Once he discovers the the free use concept, it’s his favorite. “Don’t let me stop ya, baby. You keep workin’ on that,” while he proceeds to fuck you into a different universe. 🥵

L – Location

Anywhere. At the restaurant when everyone else has gone home (that reservations desk is his in more ways than anyone else knows). In his car, where there’s just enough room for you to straddle his lap in the driver’s seat. Up against the wall in some dark corner when he just can’t wait. On the couch, forgotten movie in the background. The kitchen counter in the middle of a lazy weekend breakfast. In the shower, the pretty noises you make bouncing off the tiles. In your bed. In his bed.

That’s probably his favourite. His bed. When you’re waiting for him at the end of a long day in his bed. Wearing his shirt. Your perfume on his pillows.

M — Motivation

YOU. Richie is such a romantic at heart and, if you’re his, he wants nothing more than to make you happy any way he can. He loves to hear you whine and moan for him or squirm under his touch. Part of him selfishly loves knowing he can make you feel better than anyone else ever has. He loves making you forget all your worries with his fingers or his mouth or his cock. He gets off just by knowing how satisfied he can make you.

N – No

It’s a short list, but anything you’re not into is at the top of it. You can also add to that anything too elaborate. Role play’s fine just nothing too fuckin weird alright.And he doesn’t need a red room of sex shit, doesn’t need whips and chains when his tie looks so pretty around your wrists, when his belt drags so nicely against your skin.

O — Oral

You mean Richie “could eat pussy for three meals a day” Jerimovich?? He LOVES oral. As much as he loves feeling your lips wrapped around him, he loves feeling you squirm under his tongue even more. He’ll have you pinned down with his arms begging him for a break at any chance he gets. Giving is his favorite, but he loves receiving, too.

He loves when you give him road head. Loves it. Only when it's late at night and you're alone on the back roads, though. He knows just what you're thinking when you reach a hand over coyly and scratch your nails along his thigh. A silly grin spreads across his face and he gives you a subtle nod to encourage you. By the end he's usually pulled over somewhere with both hands in your hair and a plan in place for when you get home...

P – Pace

He can go slow. If that’s what you need. He likes how he can feel everything when he takes his time, but it wears away at his self control and he didn’t have much to begin with. You like to ride him, achingly slowly, stretching his restraint as far as it’ll go before it snaps, before he grips your hips and fucks up into you, or until he flips you over and fucks you through the bed.

Q — Quickie

Are you kidding me? Richie loves quickies. Possibly his favorite thing in the world. Just finished dinner service? He’ll fuck you in the alleyway. Popped in to say hi while you’re running errands? He’ll bend you over Carmy’s desk. Even just going about your day at home he’ll come up behind you in the kitchen and pull you up onto the counter. Any chance he has to get you off he’ll take.

R – Risk

Is Richie a risk taker? Yeah. He gets a kick out of the possibility that the two of you might get caught. Actually no, he gets a kick out of you getting so fucking greedy and needy for him that you’ll let him touch you, let him fuck you, where anyone might see. His hand between your legs under the restaurant table, his mouth on your breasts in the cool evening air, your back against the wall and legs round his waist, your body pressed to the high rise window of the nicest hotel room he could afford. It fuels his possessiveness. You’re his and he wants everyone to know it.

S — Stamina

Richie isn’t as young as he used to be, but he uses what energy he has wisely. In his younger days he could go at it for hours, but nowadays his poor achey back can’t take more than one, maybe two rounds. He gets you off more times than you can count before he even thinks about fucking you, so don’t let his old age scare you.

Just because his body gets tired faster doesn't mean his sex drive has gone down, though, so don't you worry about that.

T – Toys

The first time Richie caught you with your favourite toy, he’d watched from the doorway with a dangerous mix of jealousy and want. You’d pulled the toy from your body when you saw him, but he’d shook his head and something in the look in his eyes made your mouth go dry and your stuttered explanation die in your throat. – - Don’t stop. He’d climbed onto the bed, sat back against the headboard and pulled you to his chest between his spread legs. - - keep going.. s’it feel good? .. feel better than me, huh? - - you’d said no, but he’d slapped your hand from the toy anyway, taking it from you and mimicking the movements he’d watched earlier, but harder, faster, more him. And he’d liked the way you’d surrendered control so easily, the way your head fell back against his shoulder, how your fingers twisted into the fabric of his sweats. And it occurred to him that he could keep this up for hours..

U — Unfair

Richie is a little shit… of course he loves teasing you. He’ll send you dirty texts all day while you’re at work and get you all hot and bothered. Then he’ll edge you for what feels like hours if he feels like it. He always leaves you satisfied after his fun, though, he is a gentleman after all.

When he first discovered what his "harmless" teasing does to you... Oh man. It's like he can't stop now. He'll pull you into the office at work just to whisper dirty things in your ear.

"You look real pretty tonight baby," He leans in to kiss your neck, hands wandering all over your body, "Fuuuck, you want daddy to take care of you, hm? Touch you? Make you scream so everybody knows who you belong to, yeah?" Swoon.

V – Volume

Richie has the dirtiest mouth in all of Chicago. He remembers the first time he’d called you his good fuckin girl. He remembers because you came hard and tight and wet before the words had barely left his mouth. Now he won’t fucking shut up. And you love it like that. But the best thing? There’s this noise he makes when he’s close to losing it. A filthy low groan as everything begins to unravel. It might be the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

W — Wildcard

Richie definitely has a thing for public sex. The thrill of potentially getting caught, having to show off his pretty baby to whoever catches you… He can’t help it if he wants to show you off and make it clear just who belong to.

X – x-ray

What’s going on in those tighty whiteys? He’s not gotten any complaints. Well, no, that’s not quite right. He’s gotten loads of complaints. Just not about his dick. If he was the type of guy to be heading down the gym (although lets face it, he isn’t ) he wouldn’t need to be shy in the locker room, if you catch my meaning. Alright, alright.. it’s big. You happy now?

Y — Yearning

He may be in his 40s but his sex drive is stronger than ever. He always wants you. Richie is just insatiable sometimes. It’s like he can’t believe you are his to take care of and please whenever he wants to and he does.

Z – zzzz

He’s not even stayed awake long enough for you to read the end of this. Sorry. But let’s be fair, he’s a hard working guy and he’s had his fair share of sleepless nights. So you can’t begrudge the fact that he sleeps like an angel (an angel splayed across 75% of the bed, but still..) once you’ve both had your fill. Now roll him over before he starts snoring.

#richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #kdogreads #richie jerimovich smut #richie x reader #the bear fic #the bear smut #the bear fx #richie jerimovich fic #reader insert

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iridescentprose · 10 months

Text

Try again - Luca x reader insert [The Bear]

summary; in which you catch the chef smiling at you.

author's note; short but sweet fic about Luca. Just fluff. Please enjoy!

"Worse. Try again."

"Yes, chef."

It was 5:36am.

The numbers of the digital clock above you weren't moving any faster. You had been here for less than an hour and already you were being critiqued on how to properly layer strawberries on top of a crème brûlée custard.

Whatever plans you had of pleasing the chef next to you were slowly diminishing. Your hands shook with self doubt as you pricked at the red fruit, angling it so the mandala spirals could continue. You stepped back, overall pleased with what you had done.

"Better."

It was all you were going to get for now, you knew. But you took his response with pride. After all, you had made significant progress in the past week. Your shoulders relaxed, though your victory was short-lived.

"But."

You lifted a brow. "But?"

He shifted closer to you, his tattooed arm brushing up against yours, making butterflies flutter in your stomach. Your eyes remained downward, concentrated on the different doodles that littered his skin. You wondered what each stroke of ink meant and if they were drawn with intent or if they happened to be the result of a reckless decision.

Or decisions.

"You lack confidence," he said. Even though his eyes were focused on the custard, you could tell he was doing this on purpose—teasing you. The furrowed brow, the slightly scrunched up nose, and the craned neck. What gave away his concentrated act was the corner of his lips, tugged in a meaningful, if not, arrogant fashion.

Despite the heat spreading across your cheeks, you didn't take his criticism to heart. It was true. After all, Carmy set this all up for a reason. You needed the extra practice to hone in on your skill before the upcoming opening. But opening day was weeks away and you already felt too far behind to make a good impression.

"I'm exhausted," You said without thinking. It wasn't the best excuse for your lack of confidence or skill, but it was all you could muster in response. You dropped the miniature metal tongs and braced your hands on the edge of the silver cooking island.

You could hear him chuckle but you didn't bother lifting your gaze to defend yourself. A week of private training wasn't enough to increase your knowledge as quickly as you had hoped. You wanted to be good—better than good. You wanted to be the best version of yourself and you wanted others to experience that through your desserts.

"Good," he said, as you kept your gaze downwards, fixed on his shoes that were inching closer to yours. "For a second I was worried you weren't." He smirked. "Here, try again."

You lifted your head and straightened your posture as he reached across the table for the metal tongs. He handed them to you and you took them into your hand automatically, prying a strawberry that happened to be cut in half, from a small bowl.

Slowly you guided it towards the custard, though it didn't make it's final destination without a little help. In a ghostly fashion, Luca's hand loomed over yours. His rough palm settled over your knuckles — which happened to be stained with flour and vanilla extract.

He did most of the heavy lifting, using a method of confident concentration that you had been trying to master all week. Your hand shook as the strawberry reached its destination, overlaying the endless spiral masterfully.

"Slow and steady wins the race," he mumbled, his breath fanning your cheek. He gently squeezed your fingers prompting the metal tongs let go of the red fruit. "Consistency is key."

The pads of his fingertips brushed over your knuckles as he let go of your shaking hand. Smudges of strawberry paste lingered on your skin as he pulled away.

"Understand?"

You lifted your head, your eyes meeting his. He looked relaxed, if not intrigued by your bravery. A glimmer of a smile came to his lips, though it vanished before you could capture it in your mind. You shook your head free from whatever trance you were under.

"Yes, chef."

With a nod, he swiftly reached for the towel that hung off his shoulder and tossed it to you. You took it, swiping the remnants of sweet ingredients he left on your fingers from his demonstration.

You turned to look over your shoulder, finding him leaning against the metal cabinent, arms crossed and muscles tight.

He met your gaze quickly, almost as if he had been caught watching you. His slight smile diminished, and you couldn't help but shake your head in amusement.

"Again, chef?" You asked.

Testing his reflexes, you tossed the towel and he flinched, but caught it with ease as it hit his chest. A shade of red - the same pigment that stained the towel you had used to wipe your hands - was visible in his cheeks. His lips flickered upwards as he fought the playful smirk flirting with his mouth.

"Yes, chef," he mumbled, tossing the towel over his shoulder and taking his spot next to you. Naturally, his arm brushed up against yours again as he began cutting up more strawberries. "Again."

#luca x reader #luca x you #luca the bear #luca the bear x you #the bear x reader insert #the bear x reader #the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fx #will poulter #will poulter luca #luca x y/n #luca reader insert

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paperultra · 6 months

Text

he makes you pancakes in the morning.

there's three of them, stacked upon each other, golden and thick and fluffy with butter in between and whipped cream on top and amber syrup dripping down the sides, pooling underneath halves of fresh strawberries. it's a piece of art, really. you worry that you might tip it over and waste all of his effort.

the bed dips as he sits on the edge of it. sanji smiles at you, eyes sweet and bright blue in the morning light, and when you glance at his clothes you can still see the haste of powdered sugar dusted upon them.

your heart swells as you pick up the knife and fork.

idle chatter fills the small room like the aroma of vanilla, soft and warm, while you share your breakfast. sanji does this often with you, food and conversation; at one point, you had thought that the former was merely an excuse for the latter, but you have since learned that the two are inextricably linked. he's happiest when people eat. it's his love, oceans wide and oceans deep, in its purest form.

when the plate is empty, he takes the tray from you, and you rise with it and walk with him to the kitchen despite his protests. seconds are obviously in order, you explain, because he had half of your firsts. you'll have to share three more to break even.

he laughs. whatever you like, he tells you as your feet hit the bottom of the stairs. how about we make them together?

(together, for the rest of your life, if you want. every morning, every moment of the day, seconds, thirds, fourths. everything he has and then some until you never want for anything again.)

let's do that, you agree.

you feel very loved, indeed.

#opla #one piece #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #opla sanji #one piece live action #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #i am working on requests just bear with me pls !!#back at it again with sanji's love language being food #i want souffle pancakes :<

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newtkive · 3 months

Text

shift shenanigans - social media au (pt. 2)

note: yes there’s the main work chat w carmy, the secret coworker chat w/o carmy, and the secret secret bestie chat w syd, marcus, and yourself. it would be canon.

warnings: crude humor, slightly offensive jokes

part one

liked by carmyberzatto, marcus.brooks11 and 40 others

chefboyardee: life lately

see all 9 comments

syd_adamu: that pho was life changing

↳ chefboyardee: i think it was the best i’ve ever had

marcus.brooks11: feet off the table @syd_adamu

↳ chefboyardee: leave my girl alone

↳ richietheking: I knew you guys were lez

↳ syd_adamu: we aren’t and you can’t say that

↳ chefboyardee: oh.. we aren’t? ☹️😔

↳ syd_adamu: 😑

carmyberzatto: 🍲🔥

THE GOLDEN TRIO

[ 7:45 AM ]

y/n: did you see

did you see

did

you

see

ogmgokggkowkfofsk

syd: pardon??

what did richie do oh my god

did he post another picture of him with the gun from that one day

fuckkkk carmys gonna be so mad

marcus: nope i wish

y/n: he commented on my post 😭😭😭😭

syd: who

marcus: think about it

who else would cause this reaction

y/n: carmy!!!!!!!

i woke up to him commenting 🍲🔥 😍😍😍😍

syd: woah and the heart eyes?

y/n: no that’s my addition

syd: the bar is in hell

HES YOUR BOSS

y/n: AND I WANT HIS BABIES??

marcus: y’all so hype to be pregnant THEN BOOOMMM ‼️ THE BABY’S UGLY AND BALD WITH ECZEMA 😩🤨

syd: LMFAOOOOO WHOS YALL THO????

y/n: bye im done

im leaving for work.

don’t talk to me ever again

done.

marcus: bye 👋

why do you leave so early fool

syd: so she can be teachers pet

marcus: smh always there before everyone

y/n: not true.

syd: i thought you weren’t talking to us

y/n: 😒

marcus: want me to bring y’all an iced latte again

y/n: …. 😁

WORK

[ 8:15 AM ]

y/n: AYOOOO

great job cleaning up after work yesterday 😊👍

richie: Is this a joke?

y/n: why would i joke about such a thing

carmy: Y/n what are you doing

y/n: u said to tell everyone their housekeeping is shitty

carmy: No I said I was going to tell them that, and you said no I’ll do it

This is not what I meant

y/n: well you yell too much

marcus: ouch

that’s my station 😔

carmy: Well clean it better

y/n: im using reverse psychology and positive reinforcement

carmy: Not what that means

y/n: well notice how no one’s mad at me

im making alliances day by day

richie: You’ve worked here for two years and we are already friends

y/n: so you’re saying you aren’t my ally

richie: No

We are definitley in an alliance

y/n: love u richie

richie: Don’t go that far

chefboyardee’s instagram stories

WE HAVE THE BEEF 🥩

[ 3:25 PM ]

y/n:

he so fine im bouta cermmmmm

syd: …..

marcus: :O

y/n: why are you acting shocked

like i haven’t said this daily

tina: Woah girl who?

y/n: HUH

richie: I’m not in the picture I don’t get it

syd: let’s just keep working before carmy notices

tina: I don’t care I’m on smoke break. Who are you talking about girl? Spill the tea..

marcus: she was talking about me you guys

y/n: the guy in the back

oh i mean yeah marcus

tina: The meat delivery guy? He has a wife..

y/n: we are having an affair

marcus: no it’s about me

richie: I didn’t know Marcus and Y/n were a thing..

tina: Something ain’t right. No way they are.

marcus: we aren’t it’s just our sense of humor

y/n: i was just being funny!

tina: What did Jeff just yell inside?

syd: came out of the office and said “just cuz we’re slow doesn’t mean you can play on your phones” 👍💯

tina: Whatever. No chance Y/n meant Marcus. You got the hots for Jeffrey?

y/n: what no

tina: Well I wouldn’t blame you. He’s cute

y/n: OMG RIGHTTTTTTT

its the tattoos isn’t it

richie: You have to be fucking joking

tina: I was playing..

y/n: im confused

syd: that was cruel

marcus: who cares it’s not a big deal

y/n: so you don’t think he’s cute tina?? ☹️☹️

tina: No he is cute… for you 😝

y/n: this is humiliating

richie: I’ll tell him

y/n: NO

stop

sSTOP THATS NOT FUNNY

richie im not joking i’ll put a bomb in your floorboards

richie: I’m just fucking with you kid

tina: This isn’t over.

THE GOLDEN TRIO:

[ 3:40 PM ]

syd: y/n….

marcus: you look like a ghost y/n

y/n: i cannot believe i sent that to the wrong gc

i’m done im so done

marcus: stop looking so sad it’s making me feel bad

syd: it’s okay! just be thankful it wasn’t to the work groupchat with him in it..

marcus: true it could be worse

y/n: i guess so

thank you for trying to cover for me marcus

marcus: anytime you know i got you

syd: let’s get back to work before we start looking obvious

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freshbakedbreadstick · 9 months

Text

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

CURRENTLY IN PROGRESS

Summary: The Berzattos were your family; Natalie was one of your closest friends, Carmy was the person you could rely on, and Mikey was... the love of your life. But after Mikey's death, running away seemed to be the only thing that calmed that feeling of fear and depression from consuming you whole. After running for so long, a sign in the form of a text brought you back home and back to The Beef. Whether or not this was a good idea, you didn't know, but you did know that one day, you would have to stop running. And it seemed like returning would try and make you.

Relationships Involved:

Past!Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Carmy Berzatto x F!Platonic!Reader

Richie Herimovich x F!Platonic!Reader

Natalie "Sugar" Berzatto x F!Platonic!Reader

WARNING, the following slow burn story tends to be on the darker and heavier side, dealing with and containing mentions of death, mental illnesses, grief, toxic relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, anxiety and panic attacks, and more. Please check the warnings mentioned in the beginning of each chapter for a detailed list of what each chapter contains. Like all my work regardless of the content, this story is for 18+ readers only, minors do not view or interact. You have been warned.

Chapters:

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

#no. 1 party anthem #the bear #carmen berzatto #reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy the bear #michael berzatto x reader #mikey berzatto #mikey berzatto imagine #mikey the bear #richie berzatto imagine #richie jerimovich x reader #reader insert #richie the bear #richie jerimovich #natalie berzatto #sugar berzatto

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light-yaers · 9 months

Text

tangerine. | part one [carmen berzatto x reader]

Fic Masterpost | AO3

Carmen shows up at your diner after five years, and everything comes flooding back like it was only yesterday.

Warnings: swearing, angst, mature themes [discussions about drugs, workplace abuse, family problems]

Word count: 5.2k

PART ONE

“What is the point of this entire trip if you’re not going to tell me the restaurants in advance?” Sydney whittled off, trying to keep up with the storming legs of her partner. “Carmen, are you even listening to me, right now?”

“Of course, I’m listening,” he said, peering back at her as his legs kept up their pace.

He slalomed through people on the sidewalk of 8th Street and St. Marks Place, with Syd close on his tail. She didn’t know these streets like he did. His prior positions in the city were prestigious, ranging from sous chef roles all over the damn city, before he finally made chef de cuisine at Union Square Cafe. As the time had passed, understanding came with it, but she still wouldn’t ever wrap her head around him leaving NY for The Beef.

She knew Michael meant a lot to him, to the family, but dropping it all for a sandwich shop in Chicago would always be something she’d secretly question. Syd tried not to think about it too much; the fear of him leaving, or bailing, and the like; because at the end of the day she’d bled herself dry for this.

A restaurant. A place. Somewhere her dad used to love, and would love after the renovation. The Beef was gone, it was true, but in its place would be The Bear. The product of all of Carmen’s and her hard work.

Syd sped up to a jog, until she finally wrapped her fingers around Carmen’s forearm. She tugged him back, and used it as an opportunity to catch her breath. “You’re not listening. I don’t even know where we’re fucking going, Carm.”

He gently tugged his arm from her grasp. “This is a last minute addition,” he said, before he placed his hands on his hips. “I just wanted to get it over with. Sorry for rushing.”

Sydney nodded at him, listening. “Okay. So, let me in, dude. Tell me about this place so I’m less confused, and you’re less… whatever the fuck this is,” she said, gesturing to his erratic behaviour.

Carmen shuffled on the sidewalk, peering around at shop fronts, and the abundance of restaurants that lined up outside Tompkins Square Park. This was an area he knew like the back of his hand, but one he hadn’t visited since long before he’d left New York.

“The first place I ever worked in the city. It’s not fine dining, or Michelin starred, or any of that shit,” he started, and despite the abrupt way Syd’s eyes widened from annoyance, she still let him continue. “The vibe of it, though,” he said, and chuckled the words out of his mouth in surprise. “Just, come on.” He gently placed a hand on Syd’s shoulder, leading her forward so they were on the same page.

From the outside, Lucky Strike Diner didn’t look like anything special. It was a small unit, placed betwixt two taller apartment buildings, to the North of Tompkins Square Park. Syd looked up at it, grimacing slightly, but she tried to keep an open mind. She’d been around her fair share back alley barbeques and hidden gems to know you should never judge a book by its cover.

When she glanced over to Carmen, he looked practically childlike. There was a glint in his eyes that she hadn’t seen since they’d first decided to bin off The Beef and bring in The Bear That wonder, that craving for something new, and excitement of something unknown. Nostalgia danced over every feature of his face, and she watched as he sucked in a sharp breath, before entering the diner.

Inside, the decor was minimalist, but homely. Black and white photos lined the walls, pictures of families, of friends, of celebrations. Cream and red colours graced the walls, and the booths looked comforting and inviting. Despite the drab appearance outside, inside was bustling. Practically every table was full, and the old style bar was inviting. Through the kitchen window, sparks and fire shot up whenever something burned, or flambed, on the grill.

This vibe, the one Carmen had mentioned; Sydney felt it all immediately. That warmth, like you were stepping into a family function instead of something elitist. Businessmen sat with their laptops, next to mothers with their babies, and grandfathers on their own. This was a place for everyone, and that was clear to see.

As servers scattered over the busy restaurant floor, one of them stuck out to Sydney. You scuttled, slaloming through tables with ease, as you made your way to the host stand by the door.

Saturday rushes were always hardcore, but you’d grown accustomed to them. You grabbed two menus before you even looked the two new customers in the eye, and let out a simple “Welcome to Lucky Strike Diner, table for two–?”

You stopped when your brain finally computed his face; a face you hadn’t seen in a long time. Carmen Berzatto was standing in your fucking restaurant. “Carmy.” His name slipped out easily, and along with it came a sickly feeling in your gut.

He cleared his throat. “Table for two, yes. Please.”

You glanced at the second member of his party, quickly, and shot her a smile. You didn’t particularly have anything to smile about, but it wasn’t her fault that she’d just been planted into the middle of this inevitable shitstorm. That smile disappeared instantly, as soon as you looked back at Carmen.

“Great,” you said plainly. Even disappearing assholes like Carmen wouldn’t stop you from being professional and civil at work. You loved this place too much, had been here too long, to do that. “This way, please.”

You steamed forward as you picked out a table in the corner, furthest away from the host stand. You didn’t want him in the middle of the room, where he could easily find you in the crowd of servers. Why he was here and what he was doing didn’t cross your mind until you seated them, dropping the menus down on their respective settings.

Carmen scooted his chair in, and peered up at you. “It’s been a long time–”

“So, have you guys ever been here before?” you cut over him, and mostly looked at his partner. She shot you a clearly awkward smile, but nevertheless shook her head politely. Carmen stayed silent, and bit upon his tongue. “Okay, so I’ll lay down the lingo for you,” you said, as you quickly went through the menu with her. “You need anything, just wave one of us down and we’ll be happy to help, all good?”

“Yeah, thank you,” Sydney said with a smile, before she looked over at Carmen. That smile quickly turned to a small frown.

“Fantastic,” you said. “Can I get you guys some drinks to start?”

“Um, I’ll take the lemonade, thanks,” Sydney ordered, as she attempted to hold this entire interaction together by the skin of her teeth.

“Great choice, it was made fresh this morning like always.” You turned to Carmen. “And for you, sir?”

A vein had popped out on Carmen’s forehead very noticeably. It was one that Sydney knew well, when he was either under insane amounts of stress in the kitchen, or fighting against the urge to yell. Maybe both meant the same thing, but still– she could see from a mile off that this was not the way he’d wanted this reunion to go.

“Surprise me,” he said, as he looked up and caught your eye.

You clenched your jaw. “I’m no good at surprises, so I’ll just bring you some tap water until you decide,” you said, trying and failing to keep things light. “I’ll be back with those drinks in just a few minutes.” You went to leave quickly.

“Hey, just–” Carmen reached out for you as fast as he could, but as his fingers grazed your wrist, you managed to snap your arm away from him just in time. He gave up when disappeared through the doors to the back, and dropped himself back into his chair.

Sydney leant forward immediately. “Okay, dude. What the fuck was that?”

“It’s nothing,” Carmen said bluntly.

Sydney started laughing breathily. “Yeah, sure, that was nothing. Don’t test me, Carm.”

“I– fuck,” he spluttered. “Just pick your fucking food, please.”

Sydney was a pro at telling Carmen to calm the fuck down, but this interaction had her stumped for a solution. “What do you recommend?” she said, switching her tune.

Carmen met her eye in some kind of silent apology. “Uhh, the eggs. The eggs are fantastic. And the french toast, that’s the restaurant’s best.” As the subject changed, Carmen delved into the menu alongside Syd. They talked about their menu ideas, and paralleled them with the dishes they saw here.

Maybe bringing a diner styled meal to a (soon to be) Michelin menu wasn’t so much of a bad idea. It fit the theme. The homeliness, paired with the decadence of the chaos menu they’d been discussing priorly.

In the back, you quickly punched in their drink order, before you slalomed through the kitchen. “Behind!” you yelled, as you made your way through each station. The chefs all shot you concerned looks, as it became apparent where you were heading.

“Is today really a walk-in day?” One of them, Paulie, said as you raced by. He’d known you for years now, and knew when something was fucking wrong.

“Yep!” you exclaimed back at him, tugging open the handle of the walk-in swiftly.

“What the fuck happened?” he boomed, but you slammed the door shut before you could muster up a reply.

Inside, you breathed alongside the ingredients. The vegetables, the homemade sauces, the fresh smoked salmon. It was cold, but not too cold that you couldn’t stand it. The cool air made everything feel calm, like you had somehow been transported to some Icelandic lake in the summertime. The air was crisp, and noise was muffled through the door, like the solace you felt by locking yourself in the upstairs bathroom at a house party.

Carmen Berzatto showing up out of the blue had been something you’d long stopped indulging in. He’d made himself clear, the last time you’d seen him, that he had no intention of continuing the working relationship or friendship you’d once had. It was only then that you realised how fast the time had gone.

You were twenty when you met him, the same age as each other. Both of you tried to navigate life together as you stumbled and fell, and got yourselves up again. You were on par with each other, both in intelligence and maturity. Paulie had liked Carm as soon as he’d walked through the door for his interview, and pretty soon after being hired, he’d turned Lucky Strike around like it was no skin off his back.

He was a refreshing change for the life you’d found yourself in. He’d made this place great, and you’d taught each other some life lessons. You’d always known he was destined for more, and you’d always been the first person to sing his praises.

Before his abrupt switch in personality, you’d thought fondly of your time here together. The same old grind of opening up the diner together in the morning. While he prepped for service in the kitchen, you did so on the restaurant floor. It was a collaborative effort, and without both of you together at that point in time, the diner would have gone under. That’s what made it sting even more, when you thought of your life now– you wouldn’t be in this position if he hadn’t come along. It was like rubbing extra salt in your already open wound.

You sucked in a deep, cold breath, and let it out slowly. The cold invigorated your lungs, and gave you the strength to continue with your day. Lunch service was on the brink of its lull, anyway, but having him there, sat outside, with his fucking face that he used to look at you so fondly with, you could hardly stand it.

A gentle knock sounded from the walk-in door, and you quickly wiped a few spots of sweat from your forehead. “Yeah!” you yelled.

“Come on out, sweetheart,” Paulie urged you, and you hadn’t been able to refuse him for the time you’d been working at the diner– so that wasn’t going to start now.

You pushed open the door and sealed it shut behind you, before you allowed yourself to peer up at him. He was a burly guy, but soft around the edges. You had no idea if he was in his forties or sixties, since he had one of those faces that were sort of stuck in time. He spoke like a character straight out of Taxi Driver.

“What the hell happened, huh?” he asked gently, patting you on your shoulders sturdily.

You sighed. “Carmen. He’s in the restaurant,” you said.

“Carmy’s here?” Paulie exclaimed, as he frantically looked around the kitchen. “Guys, Carmy’s here!” he yelled. A few of the chefs, who’d been employed here for time, started muttering loudly.

Paulie’s joy only made you feel worse, but you didn’t hold it against him. Carm had been a staple here all those years before, and had taught a lot of the guys all that they knew about their role. Literally. “Table twenty,” you said. “Knock yourselves out.”

Service stopped momentarily as Paulie and two other chefs made their way out to the restaurant. You stayed back, and peered through the kitchen window. Beyond the bar, you saw Paulie exclaim as Carmen stood up and shook his hand. They hugged like bears, and he introduced Sydney to them all.

Paulie’s voice was one that carried, so it was impossible not to hear every note of their conversation from where you were. “We’ll whip you up your old favourites. You still like salmon?” Paulie went on, and Carmen nodded and smiled in appreciation the entire time.

You composed yourself as best as you could, before you left the kitchen. You grabbed their drinks, already prepared, on the bar, and gently shoved yourself through to their table.

“Aye, aye, aye– we have hungry people waiting, Paulie!” you said, allowing yourself to don a small smile as you gently set down their drinks. “Come on now, back to work, chefs!”

Paulie squeezed Carmen’s shoulder, before he gestured to you. “She’s practically the boss around here now, Carmy. The big boss,” he said. Carmen gently met your eye, but you looked away as fast as you could.

“Alright, alright. Big boss says three orders of french toast on the fly, chef,” you said, grinning as Paulie held up his hands defensively.

“I’m going, I’m going,” he said, as he started treading back towards the kitchen. “Good to see you, Carmy!” he boomed.

“You too, Paulie,” Carmen said, before he awkwardly sat back down and tucked himself in.

You caught your breath again, as you cleared your throat. “So, it seems our chef has already picked your order for you. Can I get you guys anything else that he didn’t mention?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sydney said, pointing to the menu. “What is this exactly?”

You read the words just above her fingertip, and your gut dropped. Tangerine salade. You were torn between wanting to laugh maniacally, or leave and never return to the diner. Carmen’s eyes widened in realisation at Sydney’s request.

“Oh, it’s–”

“It’s–”

You and Carmen stopped talking when you heard the other start. You’d both gone to explain the dish– if it could even be called a dish. You held your breath abruptly and took a small step back. Part of you wondered if he remembered the entire meaning, but you weren’t about to explain it all in great detail. Not when it didn’t feel as special anymore.

“I’m sorry, you tell us. Please.” Carmen shut his mouth and sat back, as if he was on best behaviour.

“It’s exactly what it says,” you said. “Tangerine salad. Two fresh tangerines, cut into slices like big oranges, instead of peeled and segmented.”

Sydney smiled, amused. “Where did that come from?”

It came from Carmen. You had a habit of stealing fruit from the walk-in, when you realised you hadn’t eaten on a shift. Tangerines were always ordered, but hardly ever used, so there was always an abundance of them, destined to rot.

Carmen caught you everytime, eating them like orange slices, just so they were quicker and easier to scoff down during a rush. The juice didn’t get on your hands as much, and you enjoyed the vibrant colour they produced over the white pith that covered their segments when peeled. Carmen had taken it upon himself to add a new item during a menu refresh in the early days. Tangerine salade was born, and neither you, nor Paulie, had ever thought to get rid of it. Even after all this time.

“Why did you call it that?” you asked Carmen, gobsmacked to see it on the menu for the first time, all those years before.

“Salad didn’t sound as good as salade,” he explained.

“You chefs and your obsession with French words, huh?” you joked, as you rounded his station and dropped the menu down upon the pristine surface. “This is sweet, Carmy. Sweet, but unnecessary.”

“Not true,” he countered, bashing his shoulder into yours playfully. “Now that it’s on the menu, it’s got a button on the system. Whenever you need a tangerine just punch it through, and we’ll have two of ‘em, waiting for you when you get a moment to fucking breathe.”

You felt Carmen’s stare on you at Sydney’s question, and forced yourself to suck in a breath and come back to reality. “Tangerine salad is our version of McDonalds apple slice bags. For the kids,” you lied, but nevertheless kept a smile stamped on your face. Carmen looked positively pale at your response. “They’re good fucking tangerines, though,” you added, and Sydney chuckled in surprise.

“Okay, I need to try these tangerines,” she said.

“One order of tangerine salade, on top of all the rest, sure.” You made a quick note on your order slip, even though you didn’t need to. It was just a way to avoid Carmen’s stare even further.

For the rest of the lunch rush, you pretended like he wasn’t there. You did the rounds, topping up cups of coffee, and rushing fresh dishes and dirty plates to and from the kitchen. You stayed on top of admin when you got a spare moment at the host stand, and scrolled through invoices from suppliers.

Without meaning to, you’d stayed at Lucky Strike Diner for seven years. It was life for you now. You lived a few blocks away, through the park, but having an apartment felt like a waste when you practically lived in the restaurant.

You and Carmen had talked about so much, when you’d both been confined to these walls. What lay beyond for both of you. His dream to cook in top restaurants, and eventually build his own restaurant from the ground up. You didn’t really have any dreams, just the security and stability of a good life, and good people around you, but you indulged whenever he mentioned his own place.

“Well, if you ever need a front of house manager, you know where to find me,” you joked, as you wiped down the bar at the end of the day. Carmen poked his head through the kitchen window.

“Why don’t we do it, then?” he asked abruptly. You stopped wiping the surfaces, and turned around to face him. “Open our own restaurant.”

“Oh, man, I don’t know. Money, taxes, insurance, money,” you listed off, and he tossed a wet cloth at your face. You dodged it, and watched it crash onto one of the restaurant tables. “Hey!” You turned back, shooting him an amused grin.

“You’re too much of a fucking realist,” he said, as he made his way out of the kitchen and into the restaurant.

“And you’re too much of a fucking dreamer. These things take time, Carmy.”

“I know that,” he said, as he grabbed the cloth he’d thrown. He approached the bar, and leaned over it, bridging the gap between your faces. “We could still do it, though. Have our own place. Cook our own menu.”

You smiled at his words, and rearranged the napkin holders next to him. “Can’t do that when you’re about to join the big leagues,” you said, and Carmen slid off the bar.

“You’re gonna fucking jinx it!” he wailed.

“It’s called manifesting!” you exclaimed. “You’re gonna get the fucking job, Carm.” He pulled out a chair from one of the tables and dropped into it melodramatically.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see,” he muttered. “You think Paulie will still talk to me if I leave?”

You were the one to throw your cloth at him now, and it hit him square in his face with a slap sound. You smacked your hands over your mouth in surprise, before you tried and failed to stop chuckles from cascading out of your mouth.

“I’m sorry–” you started, rounding the bar.

Carmen slid the cloth off his face. “You’re fucking funny,” he said sarcastically.

“I’m sorry, Carmy, really,” you said through chuckles, as you dropped yourself into the chair opposite him. You took the cloth from his hands, and gently squeezed his hand in apology.

A comfortable silence, one that you’d grown accustomed to over the past eight months, descended upon the two of you. All you could hear was the playful pounding of your hearts and the soft way he breathed. It was a relaxing sound.

“You’re gonna get it,” you said again, and Carmen only had eyes for you then. “And when you do, I can’t wait to go and eat the best meal of my fucking life.”

Carmen smiled. He’d always been shy, always quiet, unless he was in the kitchen. “My brother has a restaurant, back in Chicago. When I finished culinary school, I really thought he’d let me join him, you know? It could be a family restaurant. We could run it together, or something,” he said. You hooked onto his every word. “But, he told me no. Said he didn’t want me anywhere near it, and– I don’t know. I think that’s why I came here.”

You bit your lip, inhaling his words. “Family will always be our harshest critics,” you said.

Carmen scoffed, rubbing his tired eyes with his hands. “You can fucking say that again.”

“You know, my sister lives in Chicago,” you said.

Carmen leant forward. “Really?”

You hummed. “Has for a few years now. My mom didn’t like it when she told us she was moving, but.” You shrugged. “That’s just because my mom has never lived anywhere else than here.”

“Yeah, my own wasn’t thrilled about me coming to New York, either,” Carmen said, before he huffed in dark amusement. “It’s funny. She hates us, my brother and sister and I, when we’re around, when we complain, when we do anything– but she also hates it when we all wanna get the fuck out because of it.”

You smiled at him softly, in understanding. “They fuck you up, don’t they?”

Carmen flicked his gaze over your features. “You don’t seem fucked up to me,” he said gently.

“Give it time,” you said. Smiles slowly appeared on both of your faces, until laughter trickled from your mouths like drops from a tap. “One day you’ll realise just how messed up I am,” you joked.

“Is that a challenge?” Carmen questioned.

You scoffed, and raised your hands up defensively. “Fuck no. I don’t want to tempt fate when it comes to how fucked up chefs can be.”

Carmen pointed at you abruptly, sternly, but there was amusement all over his face. “That is an untrue stereotype,” he said. “Not all of us snort coke.”

“All?” you asked.

“Well.” He leaned closer to you, stretching his arms across the table. “Not me.”

You regarded him softly. You hardly got the chance to do this during service; just look at him. Hold his gaze, feel him close. You would never admit it, but having Carmen around was a constant over the past months that comforted you. You liked having him near, liked seeing him practically everyday, and it was clear that you got on enough to talk bullshit with each other.

When you got home that evening, way past midnight, you opened up your laptop and went to the Union Square Cafe website. You hovered your mouse over the reservations tab, thinking something crazy.

Carmen hadn’t heard back from the restaurant yet, but he’d only applied as the CDC there a number of days before. You knew he was going to get it, and felt it deep within your soul. That feeling is what lead you to book yourself a solo dinner, for the first available date you could possibly find– a years’ time.

You knew that, by the time that year was up and you were sitting at your table, Carmen would be in the kitchen, cooking your meal. You didn’t tell him about it either, but kept it to yourself for the remainder of his time at the diner.

You’d been right, when within a month, he’d gone through a rigorous interview process and landed the position and USC. Paulie had faked being mad, but it was clear to see the immense admiration he had for the young Carmen Berzatto. When his last shift approached, you had secretly arranged a goodbye celebration. At the end of a long Saturday, as you and Carmen shut up the diner and headed out, you were ambushed by the servers and chefs as you tread through the park.

Drinks and laughs were shared at your apartment across the way. It was the most you’d seen Carmen socialise in the time you’d known him, but he didn’t look uncomfortable once. He knew he had a support system behind him from the diner– and from you, predominantly. When the moon shone down onto your building, you found yourself out on your fire escape with a beer bottle in your hand. You looked up at the stars, and only looked away when someone shuffled out of the window and sat next to you.

Carmen crossed his legs next to you, and gulped down his own beer contentedly. You turned to him and smiled fully, overly excited for him to start his new endeavour.

He huffed at you softly. “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” he said.

“I know,” you replied. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”

Carmen shuffled awkwardly next to you. “I know, I know, it’s just–”

“For once, you need to be okay with being the centre of attention, okay? Deal with it.” You hit back, and laughed when you saw the way his eyes widened at your tenacity. “We’re so excited for you, Carm.”

Carmen nodded, and allowed himself to accept all of your praise, just this once. “I’m excited, too,” he whispered. “I can’t believe I got it.”

“I can,” you said. “If you don’t get some type of chef award in the next year then I’ll be surprised.”

Carmen laughed. “Chef award?”

“You know, like ‘Best New Chef On The Block’, or ‘Shyest Chef In The Business’, or–”

“Enough, enough,” he let out, chuckling. You weren’t done yet, however.

“Or the James Beard award.”

He scoffed. “Bullshit.”

“It’s called mani–”

“Manifesting!” Carmen finished your sentence for you, imitating your past words. You leaned against the wall in awe at his playfulness.

“So, you do listen to me sometimes, huh?”

“I guess I do,” he said, and shot you a knowing smile. You held his gaze when he gave it to you, because it was somewhat of a rare thing.

Maybe you’d always been too out there for Carmen, but he’d learned to live alongside you despite it. You were glad about that. You enjoyed his company more than you’d ever say to his face, and despite being so happy for him to leave the diner, part of you was aching at the thought of his absence.

You flicked your gaze over his face, taking in his features. He had a strong nose, and the kind of cheekbones that they talked about in women’s magazines. His eyes, though– God, his eyes– they were so blue that they looked artificial in some lights. Like the kind of blue food colouring you put in cake icing. Alarming, but also impossible to shy away from when he was properly looking at you.

He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple shifted in his throat. “I’m gonna miss you,” he said, almost croaking out the words. Your heart melted. Your brows furrowed softly. Your chest compressed. You let out a shaking breath through your nose.

“I’m gonna miss you, too, Carmy,” you let out. It felt like the best and worst kind of goodbye.

You hadn’t thought about that day in years. The last time you had, it was after your reservation at USC the year after. Coincidentally, that was the last time you’d seen Carmen Berzatto too, until he showed up at the diner and plummeted you back to those thoughts from those previous years.

As the lunch rush died down, you wiped the bar down from lack of what else to do. In the corner, Carmen and Sydney were finishing up their meal. Sydney had made an abundance of notes in a small notebook, while Carmen talked in hushed tones and spilled all the old diner secrets. With his hands clasped on the table before him, used napkin to his left, plates practically licked clean, he turned himself around to glance around the restaurant.

You sucked in a sharp breath when his eyes hit yours. You almost froze, but remembered yourself as much as you could. You tensed, and looked away first quickly. You smacked your hands down on the counter when you looked to the kitchen, and caught Paulie’s eyes. “I’m going for a smoke!” you announced, before you slipped off your apron quickly.

“Those things will kill you!” Paulie exclaimed back, his voice booming across the restaurant floor.

“Maybe that’s the point,” you muttered to yourself, as you headed towards the back door of the diner. You slipped a cigarette between your lips on the way.

Carmen’s gaze followed you as you disappeared through the door. Sydney saw it all as she sat opposite him, and had the strangest urge to give him guidance.

“So, shall we get outta here?” she asked. Carmen’s attention was still on the door.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, but his mind was still elsewhere. “Just– give me one second,” he said, as he stood up from the table. He started towards the door, and Sydney grabbed his wrist abruptly. Carmen froze, and looked down at her.

“Don’t push her,” Sydney said suddenly. “I don’t know what shit you guys have going on, but I’m good at reading faces. Just don’t push her too hard, Carm.”

Carmen regarded her thoughtfully. He nodded. Then, he was gone.

PART TWO

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