#michael berzatto x reader

[etherealising]

chapter two | the weight of existing

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pairings: platonic!mikey berzatto x fem!reader | carmen berzatto x fem!reader (future)

summary: you and carmy try to get to the bottom of your issues, only for carmy to sow further division between you two, leading you to share some unwelcome thoughts regarding life with mikey.

warnings: angst? | talk of no longer existing (su!c!de) | probably ooc characters | language (cussing) | wonky timeline (b/c time doesn’t exist to me apparently) | so much pseudo sibling love that i’m not ready for mikey’s exit : ( | please don’t hesitate to let me know if i missed anything!

wc: 4.5k

You had been at the Berzatto family home for an hour now, and everything was in absolute chaos. You thanked your lucky stars for growing up around this family. If this had been your first time spending a holiday with them, you were sure your fight or flight alarms would be blaring right now. You had been in the kitchen with Donna ever since your and Carmy’s stifled meeting earlier in the evening.

You loved Donna, really you did, and you appreciated everything she did for you when your mom couldn’t. But if you knew anything by being an honorary member of the Berzatto family, you knew that being in the kitchen with Donna during the holidays wasn’t the most pleasant of places to be. And you saw your perfect escape when Carmy entered the kitchen, removing Donna’s attention from you and the conversation about how the world of journalism was treating you since you last came home in November.

Your eyes caught Carmy’s as he was swept into his mom’s explanations about what needed to go in the oven and when. You flashed a smile nodding as a sign of encouragement, you were rewarded with a small twitch of his lips before you disappeared into the hallway intending to take a lap around the house and greet the other guests scattered around the house.

The body leaning against the kitchen wall, seemingly trying to become one with the wallpaper caught your attention. Upon further inspection, you realized it was Natalie, a face you were more than happy to see after being in the same house together for over an hour. You gently brushed your hand across her shoulder doing your best not to startle her, her head shot up worry inked in her blue eyes, a deep breath leaving her as she took in whose presence was invading her space.

“Hey Baby,” The slight uptick of her lips showed you just how exhausted she already was, her eyes searching yours for any answers regarding the constant worries shooting through her mind. “How’ve you been, are you alright, I know mom can be a bit much during the holidays.” You let out a small chuckle pulling the older girl into a much-needed hug for the both of you.

“Do you ever take a moment to stop worrying about everyone else and focus on yourself?” You asked her pulling back slightly to further take in her appearance. You loved Nat dearly, she was pretty much the sister you never had, but you hated how she would run herself dry trying to fix everything for everybody else.

You squeezed her hand that was still clutched in yours letting her know that she wasn’t alone and could rely on you if need be. You pushed a stray piece of hair out of her face watching as she leaned her head back against the wall taking a moment for herself. “You worry about everyone Nat, but who worries about you love?” You questioned, and she knew this was no rhetorical question, you expected a genuine answer.

Allowing Nat to take in your words you walked around to the other side of her to lean against the wall next to her, she turned her head watching you take up a similar position as she. “Are you reciting lines from a self-help book?” Your eyes met hers watching as the edges crinkled signifying the smile she now wore, you huffed letting out a chuckle and knocking your shoulder into hers.

“You’re laughing Nat, but I’m serious. And even if I did steal that line from some book, I think it applies scarily well to you Sugar.” The last words spilled from your lips in a sarcastic tone, your eyebrows raising as she rolled her eyes at the sound of her nickname bestowed upon her by her Berzatto counterparts.

“I made a mistake Baby, you chose your nickname.” Nat deadpanned

You laughed, the sound drowned out by whatever conversation everyone else in the house was having. “You tell me what teenage girl didn’t have a crush on Johnny Castle, I will forever cherish your mom for letting me watch Dirty Dancing on my 14th birthday.” You sighed dreamily watching as Natalie shook her head at your antics.

“Baby, that is such a lame excuse,” Nat laughed, turning to face you. “You literally wouldn’t answer to anything else but Baby for a whole week after your birthday. Need I remind you, you took your obsession further and dressed up for Halloween as Baby.” She laughed, her voice filled with what you realized was a reminiscent tone, “I can’t believe you suckered Mikey into dressing up as Johnny though.”

You smiled remembering back to the exact Halloween she was talking about, “Carmy’s head was too far up his ass to dress up with me.” You huffed recalling how Carmy swore up and down that he was too old to dress up anymore. “Plus I think Mikey just did it to make me feel better, that was around the time my mom was having all her health issues.” You shrugged not thinking too much about Mikey’s motivations.

You finally turned to face Natalie, your positioning mirroring hers, “What do you say we find your mom’s old photo albums and hang out with Tiff for a few.” You suggested holding your hand up as Nat was about to give you some excuse to not take a beat for herself. “Shut up Nat your moms will be fine she’s got Ratatouille in the kitchen with her and about a hundred fucking bums in the living room.” Your dig at Carmy brings a slight smile to her face.

The sound of dishes clattering in the kitchen caught your attention a mumbled “Fuck.” Meeting your ears followed by a more coherent “I don’t fucking come home to be compared to a fucking French rat.”

You shared a knowing smile with Natalie, the two of you giggling like school girls in the hallway outside of the kitchen, “I’ll grab the photo albums,” You heard Nat mumble as she walked in the direction you presumed Donna kept the family keepsakes. The minute Nat was out of your sight you let out a deep sigh, you couldn’t help the impending feeling that things were going to get a lot more hectic in the coming hours, and taking a minute to relax with Nat and catch up with Tiff was an out you were definitely looking to take advantage of. Resting your head back against the wall eyes closing as the minutes ticked by while you waited for Nat to collect you, you knew deep down that break wouldn’t be coming but holding on to the idea of a little calmness in a situation helped you fool yourself into believing everything would be alright.

“You good?” Your eyes shot open as the all too familiar voice of Carmen Berzatto filled your ears, though what should’ve alerted you to his presence was the scent of his cologne, a scent you hadn’t smelled in a very long time, yet somehow your body instinctively remembered. You looked to see him standing idly in the doorway of the kitchen, a fresh cigarette hanging from his lips. “Uh, I’m gonna get a quick smoke in, did you - I know you don’t smoke - but you look - and.” You cut his pathetic ramblings off, not quite in the mood to play finish the lyric with him.

“Yeah Carm, I’ll join you outside.” You nodded passing him by to head towards the door, being in the same vicinity as him after so long made you physically ache. And now that you had seen him and deduced that he was in good health, you couldn’t help but feel a little pissed off at the lack of contact between the two of you. No, it wasn’t even a lack of contact. Carmy dropped you like a bad habit and never looked back. As you made your way to the front porch you tried to reason with yourself that Carmy didn’t owe you anything, he didn’t owe you his friendship, or his time, no matter how long you two had known each other. If Carmen woke up one day and decided you were no longer an essential part of his life, he was well within his rights to do so, he was a grown man for crying out loud. But what you wouldn’t stand for, what your brain couldn’t allow you to accept was being cut off with no explanation, you were sure this whole situation between the two of you would’ve hurt less if he had just explained to you why you were no longer good for him.

And maybe you were lying to yourself, and the explanation would have actually made things worse, but you couldn’t change what already was. And as Carmy slowly made his way to follow you out of the house you decided today was the day you were getting answers, call it Carmy’s last-minute Christmas gift to you.

The two of you stood next to each other. A good distance between you two, Carmy respecting you enough to not smoke directly next to you. Carmy tried his hardest to not steal glimpses of you in his peripheral vision, but it was hard not to when you were standing there beside him. If times were different he might’ve reached out to touch you, to assure himself you were physically here with him. To remind himself of what once was between the two of you. What could no longer be?

“Uh-um how have you bee-”

“Why?” You interrupted him, not particularly in the mood for his avoidance tactics.

“Wha-what?” He turned to face you and you wanted to laugh, you weren’t sure if he was genuinely confused or acting incompetent so you’d be the one to apologize. You copied his stance, eyes tracing across every inch of his face, you gave in with a sigh. Carmy was never one to weaponize any incompetence he may have had, you weren’t even sure if he knew how.

“Why are you asking Carmen, do you actually care, or are you just trying to make small talk?” You watched as he removed the cigarette from between his lips, holding it in the hand furthest from you and turning his face in the opposite direction to release the nicotine-scented air from his lungs.

He ran his free hand through his hair, something that used to drive you crazy, but now standing in this moment with him you couldn’t be bothered to feed into the childhood crush your weak heart still harbored for him. “I-I care, I didn - it was never my intention to cut you off.” He said searching your eyes for any signs that you were listening to understand, and not just listening to rebuttal.

“We grew up together Carmen, if you didn’t want me in your life anymore you could’ve just told me.” You felt the telltale signs of tears welling up in your eyes, your eyes stinging as you fought hard to keep them from spilling.

“It wasn’t like that.” He scoffed his irritation becoming ever present, it wasn’t you he was irritated with, it was the fact that he knew exactly what he needed to tell you, wanted to tell you but he wouldn’t allow himself to. Carmy didn’t know how to express what was running through his mind right now without becoming a stuttering mess as his mind raced too fast for his mouth to keep up with.

You let out a sardonic laugh “That’s exactly what it felt like Carmen. I’m not gonna pretend to act like I know what your life is like right now, but the least you could do is shoot me a text letting me know you’re okay. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be consistent Carm, I jus-I care about you so much that it hurts.” You choked the words out not knowing how you could get him to understand how much his actions affected you.

“I mean, I know we went our separate ways, and I promise I’m not desperately trying to hang off you or some shit Carm, but yo-you just left me, and I was in a whole new place alone, and I felt like such a fucking fraud. And I needed you Carmen, I fucking needed you and…and the crazy part is you got every single one of my calls and texts, I fucking know you did.” You were ranting now and maybe it wasn’t fair to Carmy to drop this on him all at once, but what else were you supposed to do when you knew things would just resort to the way they’ve been once the holiday season was over and you were both back on your respective sides of the country.

“Listen, Baby, I’m sorry I kno-,”

“You promised Carmen,” The words slipped through your lips in a whisper so quiet it was almost lost to the wind. “You promised you would call me Carmen, and I know that may not have meant much to you, but it meant everything to me, you meant everything to me Carmen.” The wind had taken your voice and ran with it, Mother Nature doing her best to soothe the two broken souls before her.

Carmen closed his eyes tilting his head back to the sky, it was selfish, he knew it was the moment the thought crossed his mind, but those were the last words he wanted to ever hear from you. He took a second to try and collect the dozens of thoughts racing through his mind. Hoping to land on what he thought you wanted to hear, anything to soothe the indigestion starting to burn through his chest.

He came back to reality, eyes no longer looking in your direction, posture closed off signifying he was done with this conversation whether you agreed or not. He dropped the cigarette he had been holding the time wasted burning it down to the bud before taking a fresh one out of his pocket, cigarette lazily held between his lips as he brought his lighter up to the stick.

"He been treating you right?” He questioned head turning in your direction, but eyes never quite landing on your figure, as if he couldn’t stand to look at you.

And there it was exactly what you didn’t want to happen: Carmen's incessant need to avoid the tough conversations that he couldn’t help but make everyone else’s problem. You hastily patted your eyes to ensure any remaining tears didn’t make an appearance. “The fuck are you on about Carmen?” You snapped, having lost all desire to keep your emotions under control. No longer holding yourself back to appease whatever good nature was still between the two of you.

He gestured with his free hand back towards the house while sucking in a deep breath of tobacco and nicotine. “You and Mikey, I mea-it's just you two seemed pretty close earlier is all.” He chanced a glance in your direction, his soft blue eyes catching your stare before promptly turning away.

It took you a minute to digest what he was insinuating, a little offended that he deduced you to being Mikey’s bed warmer, all from whatever he thought he had been seeing this evening. If you were a violent person, you might’ve slapped him. You weren’t fucking Mikey and even if you were that was no longer Carmy’s business, he couldn’t just pick and choose the moments he wanted to make an appearance and provide input in your life.

You chuckled although the sound came out dry, no traces of humor to be found. You turned to Carmy and closed the distance between the two of you, snatching the cigarette from between his lips. You dropped it to the ground before stomping it out under the toe of your boot, “These things kill asshole.” You said before sauntering back towards the house, stopping a moment and turning to face him again, “And if I wanted to fuck your brother I don’t think I’d need your permission, Carmen.” With that, you entered the house leaving Carmy to stew with his thoughts and hopefully come to the conclusion that he made a bad situation even worse.

Carmy stayed outside a little while longer, he knew it was immature of him to avoid the conversation you wanted to have. He felt like a jackass for staring you in your face as he made the decision to disregard your feelings so easily. He kept telling himself he wasn’t a bad guy, a loop with those words playing in his brain as he did his best to convince himself. But what sort of fucking masochist breaks their own heart to escape the realities of a life he’ll never have. You were right, Carmen was an asshole but he knew he couldn’t continue to allow himself to want something as marvelous as love with you, he just wasn’t deserving. Not that he thought Mikey was any better of an option, but if it kept you in his life so be it.

You made your way through the house, looking for any space that you could compose yourself in, not wanting to ruin anyone else’s Christmas with your unpleasant mood. You did your best to quickly walk past the room containing the Fak Brothers and Steven. Any other time you would have sat comfortably next to Stevie as raptly intrigued as he was with the Fak family shenanigans. But in those potential instances, you also wouldn’t have been overthinking every decision you made regarding your friendship with Carmen and wondering why you were no longer good enough.

Continuing your journey through the house narrowly avoiding guests as you went, you quickly backtracked as you noticed a familiar back blankly facing the pantry. You felt bad for even letting the thought cross your mind, but you weren’t sure if Mikey was the right person to seek comfort in, especially after the accusation Carmy had just laid at your feet.

It was ridiculous actually to let something Carmy said have such an impact on you within such a short amount of type. It was even more ridiculous to allow his immaturity to overshadow the bond that had been carefully curated between you and Mikey prior to his youngest brother’s absence and now.

You let out a defeated sigh stepping slightly forward to wrap you arms around Mikey’s torso, cheek settling into the space between his shoulder blades, “Your little brother is a fucking idiot.” You murmured, voice slightly muffled by Mikey’s back.

A rough laugh escaped through Mikey’s lips as he patted your hand resting on his stomach, “Sure is when it comes to you ain’t he?” He questioned removing himself from your hold to lean his back against the pantry doorway. You followed suit standing opposite of him, the two of you now face to face.

You took in Mikey’s features, brows pinching together at the far away look in his eyes. It always amazed you that no matter if Mikey was physically in front of you, there was always a chance he was mentally somewhere else. That was the one similarity you could pick out between the two Berzatto boys, while Mikey’s charisma did a good job of hiding it, Carmen’s awkwardness put it on full display.

You reached out tugging at the sleeve of his shirt, “How are you doing Mikey?” You were genuinely curious, it's not like you were oblivious to Mikey’s many faults, the difference was you didn’t think he was a lost cause like everyone else. And as hard as it was to admit it to yourself you would never address the fact that you romanticized who Mikey was as a person. The Mikey you knew as a little girl was still the same Mikey you saw standing before you, and maybe he had a few more demons in his closet than you had been aware of back then, but it felt egregiously wrong to align your Mikey with the boogeyman everyone else made him out to be.

Mikey laughed swatting your hand away, “It's the most wonderful time of the fucking year Baby, how do you think I’m doing?” Mikey’s adversity in answering your question wasn’t lost upon you, but you knew Mikey wasn’t one to openly talk about how he was feeling. If avoidance was what you were gonna get, you knew there was no chance of this conversation going anywhere. You were 0 for 2 with the Berzatto brothers this evening it seemed.

You sighed, knocking your head against the wall you were leaning on, eyes shifting downwards as you prepared yourself for the topic you were about to bring up, “Can I ask you a question, Mikey? And can you be serious with me for one minute?” You pleaded needing someone to validate the way you had been feeling since your less-than-enlightening conversation with Carmy.

Mikey nodded eyebrows pinching together, a lick of concern tickling down his spine. Mikey knew you just as well as he knew his actual siblings. Albeit the age difference Mikey grew up right there with you, watching you grow into the person you were now, learning your mannerisms, understanding you as a person. You hadn’t asked for it but Mikey made it his mission to know you just as well as the younger Berzatto’s, if you were gonna be tossed into his eccentric family due to circumstance, he would do his best to treat you like a bonus little sister.

The slight nod of his head queuing you to reveal your query, “Do you ever feel, I don’t know, like inadequate?” You questioned scratching your nails against the material of your skirt, too consumed by the idea that Mikey would write your odd inquiry off. “Like sometimes it’s just exhausting to even fucking exist and-and there’s no rule book for this shit, but sometimes even your absolute best will never be good enough ya know? Like no matter how hard you try it doesn’t fucking matter because you’re just gonna die someday anyway?”

You chanced a glance at Mikey hoping he wouldn’t take your very real insecurities as a joke. The blank stare in his eyes greeted you by telling you a different story. Mikey was a hard person to read, and though you believed you had cracked the code to his complex soul, it was in moments like these that you knew you couldn’t be more wrong.

The sudden movement of Mikey’s hands reaching up to cup your face and jerk your head closer to him almost causes you to lose balance. “Why the fuck would you say that?” The tone in Mikey’s voice caused you to try and shrink into yourself. “This got anything to do with my shithead little brother?”

Your eyes cast downwards not prepared for the intensity in Mikey’s eyes, your lips parting to respond before abruptly being cut off by Mikey, “Fucking look at me when I’m talking to you, Baby. What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” His hands redirected your gaze to his with a more gentle approach.

You shrugged your shoulders, feeling stupid for even talking like this in front of Mikey, “I’m not sure, to be honest. I talked to Carmy, and it went as well as you would guess. And I just, I don’t know, I guess I just got lost in my head. And work has been so stressful lately, I’m even considering moving back here.” You shook your head from his grip, “It's just nonsense, don’t worry about me. I think seeing Carmy after so long just made me spiral.” You offered him a small smile hoping it was as reassuring as you thought it was.

Mikey pulled you into a hug chin resting atop your head. The scene was oddly reminiscent of the hug you shared hours ago on the porch. Mikey’s hugs were like magic, a bear hug so comforting and warm, his arms made you feel safe, and protected. You felt a little selfish for constantly dumping your problems on Mikey, but he had become your closest confidant, you wish the same could be said about you from Mikey’s point of view, but you were already lucky enough that he shared what little nuggets of the inner working of his life that he did with you.

Mikey pulled back hands settling on your shoulders to get a good look at you, “Don’t let me hear you say shit like that again alright Baby?” You nodded the corner of your lips curving slightly as Mikey played the role of big brother and began scolding you. “You’re a great fucking girl alright, and don’t even worry about Carmy, you’ve got a heart of fucking gold. You’re like that motherfucker with the gold touch alright, and I need you Baby okay? I need you and that means something right, you’re fucking adequate these fuckers in this house wish they were you.”

You laughed the melodic sound filling the space between the two of you, “King Midas.”

Mikey’s hands dropped from their position on your shoulders frowning at you, “Who the fuck is that?”

“The motherfucker with the gold touch,” You joked.

“Alright, you fucking smart ass.” Mikey reached up to flick your nose, a small gesture carried on from childhood.

The two of you stood in the other’s presence for what felt like forever, no words needing to be passed between you. You and Mikey enjoy being in each other's company, using the pantry as a place of solace before returning to reality. The sound of Donna’s voice yelling about saltines and Carmy’s responding yell breaks the peaceful moment between you both. You glanced in the pantry spotting the saltines Carmy would be coming to acquire a small sigh leaving your lips. If Carmy was going to avoid a much-needed conversation, you would just avoid him. Sure it was petty but you wanted him to somehow get a taste of the suffering his lack of effort caused you.

“Well, this has been fun, but I should make myself scarce before Carmen accuses me of fucking you in the pantry of your family home.” You shot Mikey a sarcastic smile preparing to find some other hole to hide in before family dinner commenced.

“My little brother is a fucking idiot,” Mikey mumbled moving out of the way to allow you to pass by. You laughed glad that someone agreed with astute observation skills. Deciding to check on Tiff you made your way to the stairs before stopping at the landing.

“Hey.” You turned back to Mikey catching his attention for a brief moment, if the raise of his eyebrows was any conformation. “I love you brother bear.” You shot him a wink then proceeded to continue your previously decided journey.

Mikey watched your figure disappear up the stairs, a solemn smile resting on his lips. The idea that you had at one point harbored such unnerving thoughts scared him. But what scared him, even more, was he knew exactly what you were talking about

a/n: so i’m a liar : )

i fully intended for this to be the last chapter of the christmas episode but my creative juices said no. alas here is chapter 2, but mark my words the next chapter will be the end of the christmas arc because baby i’m exhausted. please shower me with feedback (constructive criticism), it really helps feed my creativity. and while i would love likes/comments/reblogs please interact with my work however you feel comfortable, my ask box is always open 💜

also also this might be a little self-indulgent idk, i have the “existing is exhausting” convo like every weak : (

tag list: @chims-kookies | @rexorangecouny | @elliesbabygirl | @thecraziestcrayon | @anakinswh0re3005 | @allbark-no-bite | @landplantbloom | @khena

i just tagged whoever commented on chapter 1, so if you didn’t want to be on the tag list sorry! but if you would like to be tagged in the next update please let me know!!

strikethrough means i was unable to tag you : (

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto angst #michael berzatto x reader #the bear fic #all i ever knew only you ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ #[aiekoy] 2 #fem reader #the bear x reader

[periprose]

Fly Away

Michael Berzatto x Reader

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

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

Word count: 11k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wish you could be there for him too. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How have you–”

“How’s law sch–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fun? Wow.” Carmy grins a little. 

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Business administration specialist.”

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

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

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

“Acquaintances.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hubris.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You might never stand out.

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

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

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

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

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

/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/

Natalie is tearing up as Stevie hugs her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Birdie?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mikey?” You voice is timid. Small. 

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

“Yeah, Birdie?”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, Birdie–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/ 

It all goes to shit not even twenty minutes later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Were you too much for him? Maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michelle inhales. “We have lift-off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natalie shakes her head in little no-no motions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael throws the third fork.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hope next Christmas will be better.

/

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

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

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

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

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

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

#michael berzatto x reader #mikey berzatto x reader #michael berzatto x you #the bear fx #the bear #x reader #reader insert #michael berzatto fluff #fluff #angst #carmy berzatto x reader #jon bernthal #donna berzatto #natalie berzatto #sugar berzatto #neil fak #the bear s2 #michael berzatto #mikey berzatto #the berzattos #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #michelle berzatto

[oscarisaacsspit]

i could’ve fixed him

#in my head i still can #michael berzatto #mikey berzatto #the bear #the bear x you #the bear x reader #the bear smut #the bear fx #jon bernthal #jon bernthal x you #jon bernthal x reader #jon bernthal fluff #jon bernthal smut #michael berzatto x you #michael berzatto x reader #michael berzatto fluff #michael berzatto smut #let it rip #frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #frank castle smut #shane walsh #shane walsh x you #shane walsh x reader #shane walsh smut #miss mitten posts #credit: @djoekeery on tiktok ⊹ ࣪ ˖ #i added ao3 to my home screen and have been reading so much mikey x reader this past weekend yall

[quiet-onset]

fever pitch

pairing: michael berzatto x reader

wc: 12.1k+, somebody sedate me

summary: an assortment of your time with michael berzatto

warnings: no use of yn, smut, so minors dni!!!, unprotected sex, sex under the influence, by ext. dubcon since reader is unaware at the time, oral (f receiving), drug use and addiction (character and reader), canonical character death/suicide mention, pregnancy mention (sorry not sorry), please do not read if any of this is triggering for you!!

a/n: beta’d by @brattylyricist bc she has no other choice than to put up with my bs!! also bc the content matter here is triggering and i have personal experience seeing the damage that addiction can do to someone you love, I’m including national hotline phone numbers here. please don’t be afraid to seek help if you need it: national suicide prevention hotline: dial/text 988, substance abuse and mental health services administration: 1-800-662-HELP. again, please do not read this if any of the warnings are triggering for you!!!

The day went by in a blur. You got up, showered, did your hair and makeup. You ate the little breakfast you could stomach. You put on an acceptable black dress and matching high heels.

You drove to the church — tried to sit in the back, but Sugar pulled you to the front pew, right next to her. You stood behind the lectern and said kind, loving words. You drove to the cemetery and watched as his casket was lowered into the cold. And you went to the repass, doing your best to stay out of Donna’s way, knowing how she gets when she’s both sad and under pressure. 

But you hadn’t cried.

You sat on the stairs with your wine glass filled with water as everyone mingled, exchanging condolences about your dearly departed. You let your heart ache as you downed the glass, stories of him being told by this person and that.

But you still hadn’t cried.

Donna burst out of the kitchen, her hair a bit disheveled and eyes red from crying. “Have you seen Carmy?”

You couldn’t help but let out a sigh. It must have been the seventh time she had asked. “No, Donna, I have not seen Carmy.”

“What a fuckin’ help you are.” She snapped, pulling a box of cigarettes from her apron. With her other hand, she snatched your empty wine glass and turned on her heel. “I do all this work, and I can’t even go outside to smoke.”

You followed close behind, huffing as you stood. “I thought Sugar was with you.”

“Sugar is with her.” The middle child interrupted. She gave you a weak, empathetic smile when you entered the kitchen behind Donna. A wine glass of her own in hand as she sat on the kitchen counter, she sipped on red wine. “But Sugar can’t cook.”

“Not like Carmy, you can’t. Get your ass off my fuckin’ counter, shoo!” Donna swatted at her daughter’s thigh until she hopped off the counter, snatching her half full wine glass as well. She downed the wine in a couple seconds, and you and Sugar shot each other a look. It was passing, but you both understood the meaning — Donna needed a break.

“She doesn’t have to cook, Donna. Just watch everything. Keep an eye on it, y’know?” You tried to intervene but she was having none of it.

“I don’t need an eye. I need hands! I need someone who can cook!” Donna threw the glasses into the sink, and you flinched when they shattered against the metal. “Fuck!”

“I’ll do it, Donna.” From the shakiness in her hands, you know she’s so close to losing it. To taking everything in the kitchen and throwing it on the ground, at the wall, at whoever she deemed worthy of having something thrown at them. “I know I’m not Carmy, but I’m better than Sug.”

“Hey!” Sugar sounded defensive, but you and Donna barely paid her any mind.

“You can’t fuckin’ cook, Sugar, get over it.” Her mother snapped. “I’d normally have Mikey do it, but he—”

“Ma.” You gently placed your hands on Donna’s shoulders, and a bit of the tension fell from them. You hadn’t called her that in a long time — it no longer felt right — but doing so made her recall happier times. You looked her in the eye, reassured her. “You go outside and smoke. I’ll take over for a few minutes, okay?”

Her eye twitched ever so slightly, and she was still shaking, but you could tell it grounded her a bit. “If everything else goes to shit, make sure the fish is good, alright?”

“Save the fish. Got it.”

Donna nodded, pulling a cigarette out of the box. Then she finally walked toward the exit of  the kitchen, twirling it in her hand. Just before she left, she glanced at you again, her voice shaky. “You.. you would’ve been good for him. If he’d let you.”

When Donna left, there were tears in your eyes. Sugar watched to see if you’d need comfort, especially after one of those tears fell from your eye. But you were quick to wipe it away, taking a deep, shuddering breath. You turned to Sugar, gesturing toward the sink filled with broken glass. “Could you…?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She was quick to do so, grabbing a paper bag to put shards in. You both worked in a comfortable silence. The only sound was the clinking of glass against each other. Sugar battled over whether she wanted to speak, but she figured if she needed kind words, then you definitely did. “Ma’s right, y’know. Michael lo—”

“Sug. Please.”

“Okay.”

There was a pause as you stirred a pot of stew, then you sighed. “I know he did. As much as he could anyway.”

—

Michael met you on a sober streak. He’d been clean for three weeks, the longest stint thus far. When Richie found out about his addiction, he dragged Michael to Narcotics Anonymous. You’re gonna die cooking at the restaurant or doing something cool, not fuckin’ OD, Richie had sneered in the car.

He sat in a chair, his arms crossed over his chest, grumbling like a child. Despite being sober for three weeks, he maintained that he didn’t need to come to these meetings. To Michael, this was just proof that he could quit whenever he wanted to. Regardless, Richie drove him to every meeting and planned to do so until he seemed ready to go on his own.

The host of the meeting, Brayden, greeted Michael with a kind smile, but he responded with a grunt. For three weeks, Michael sat silently in that circle and said absolutely nothing. He wondered what it took to get the man to speak, but of course, he’d never pressure anyone to share before they were ready.

Then you walked in. You seemed a bit more put together than others in the room, but still a bit shy. An oversized sweater wrapped around your frame, and you pulled it even closer, eyes glancing around the room. You nodded a greeting to Brayden before sitting in the circle across from Michael. When you noticed him glancing your way, you offered a friendly smile, and he returned it.

He knew then that he’d return to his weekly NA meetings.

The session started shortly after, but Michael was only half listening. He was mostly glancing back and forth from whoever was speaking to you. He liked the way you gave your full attention to every person who spoke, even when they said things you didn’t agree with — he could tell when you didn’t, a little crease would form for the briefest moment between your brows. But it always disappeared, and your attentive expression returned. 

“Alright, would anyone else like to speak? Someone new maybe?” Brayden asked, quickly glancing at Michael.

He’d never admit it, but his heart was pounding at the idea of airing out his dirty laundry to a group of strangers. He took a deep, nervous breath, but then another voice spoke up.

“I’ll go.” You said, watching the relief wash over Michael’s face. You cleared your throat, pulling your sweater closer as you introduced yourself. “I was in a car accident two years ago. It, uh, it killed my son… That plus divorce plus prescribed oxy apparently equals addiction.”

The slightly playful lilt in your tone made Michael chuckle quietly, though you both knew nothing was funny. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, your heart skipped a beat. Still, you continued, “I’ve been sober for two months, but my son’s birthday is coming up in a few months, so I, uh, needed a meeting. But yeah, that’s my story.”

After the meeting, you stood by the snack table, nursing a cup of coffee. Michael approached cautiously as he poured his own coffee. “Can I ask what his name was?”

You looked up from your paper cup into warm brown eyes. “Sorry?”

“Your son?”

“Oh.” You paused, and your heart sank at the reminder that your baby was gone. “His name was Benson.”

He snorted into his coffee cup, trying to hide his quiet laugh by clearing his throat. You noticed the light in his eyes, and it inexplicably made a smile pull at your lips too. “Sorry.” He said. “Benson’s a great name.”

“It’s a dorky name. Dorky first name, anyways. It’s what his father wanted.” You confirmed with a chuckle. “But it was my son’s name. So I liked it.”

“Course.” He smiled at you kindly. He was charming, and you liked it. “I’m Michael, by the way.”

You gave him your name and shook his hand. You went against your better judgment and invited him to your place. You both spent all night wrapped in your sheets, in each other’s embrace. He left for work the next morning but not before getting your phone number. 

You texted Michael and arranged to meet up again that night. Then, you called your sponsor. 

That was the beginning of the end.

—

“Cousin, your girlfriend’s here!”

“Not his girlfriend, Richie.”

“Not yet.”

“Send her back!” Michael’s voice floated in from the back of the kitchen.

You sidestepped Richie and walked through the kitchen, saying your hellos to everyone. “Where’s he at?” You asked.

“The office.” Tina answered, lightly nudging you in his direction. “He’s not having the best day.”

You nodded your understanding and proceeded to the small office where Michael was leaning back in his chair, hand over his face as he spoke into his cell phone. “No, I just don’t understand why we keep talking about the same shit.”

You leaned against the doorframe, giving him a small smile. He gave you the tiniest acknowledgment, a small wave, before spinning around in the chair to face the wall. You scoffed jokingly, closing the door behind you, “Well, fuck me, I guess.”

“Carmy, you’re a big shot in some fancy, five-star, European restaurant, what the fuck do you wanna be here for?” He asked exasperatedly. There’s a short pause, mumbling from the other side of the phone before Mikey throws a hand in the air. “Five star, three star, who gives a shit? Look, Carmen, you’re doing big things, good things. Stay in Europe. I gotta go.”

When Michael hung up, a long, tired sigh racked his body. “This would be a perfect time for—”

“One month.” You interrupted. You knew all too well where his mind was headed. He was spiraling into that dark, secluded state of mind you’d found him in just a few weeks after you met. He’d relapsed after a particularly hard day at the restaurant, something about finances and paying back a loan that he refused to tell you more about. But you’d helped him then. Picked him up, dusted him off, and called his sponsor — Started him back on the path of sobriety again. If you could help it, he’d never reach that lonely place again. 

“One month.” He repeated to himself. Then, he spun around. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You walked over to him, standing between his spread legs. He immediately rested his forehead on your belly, groaning when you carded a hand through his hair. Your other hand rubbed circles into his back, the tense muscles a sharp contrast to his soft black locks. “I take it that was your brother?”

He grunted affirmatively. “Keeps askin’ to work here.”

“At The Beef?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, isn’t he a professional chef? Why don’t you let him?”

“C’mon, sweetheart, you’re supposed to be on my side.” He grumbled, pulling you down to sit on his thigh. 

“I am on your side.” You chuckled. You took your thumb and rubbed gently at the spot between his eyes until the frustrated crease disappeared. “‘M just saying, he’s a trained chef, this is a restaurant. I don’t get what’s not adding up for you, baby.”

Michael sighed, looking up at you. He brushed a stray hair from your face and smiled up at you. You smiled back encouragingly, patiently waiting until he found the right words. “Carm doesn’t know.” He admitted.

“Carm doesn’t know…?”

“About the painkillers. And I don’t know if I’m ready to tell him.” His brow furrowed once more, making you frown. “I mean, he’s got three Michelin stars. The kid’s a fuckin’ genius in the kitchen — he doesn’t need to be around all this shit, all my shit.”

You let his words sink in, deep in thought as you stroked his hair. Your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you thought about all the stories Mikey and Richie told you about the youngest Berzatto. How he could be quiet and unassuming, but, with a little encouragement, always came out of his shell around family and friends. Maybe, for Carmen, it wasn’t about the restaurant.

“Maybe he just wants to see you.” You said pensively. “I mean it’s been how long since he’s been home?”

A scoff passed Michael’s lips. “A long fuckin’ time.”

“Maybe the restaurant is a pretense. I mean, he would come work at The Beef and stuff, but maybe he just wants to see you again. Hang out with his big brother like he used to.”

His thumb stroked your thigh as he looked at you, silently admired the way you seem to come in and make all his problems melt away with a single thought, a word, a smile. “What about the whole bein’ an addict part?” He asked.

“You don’t have to tell him right away.” You suggested. “Baby steps.”

“You are too fuckin’ good to me, y’know that?” He grinned back at you. When you rolled your eyes playfully, he pinched your side, making you jolt and laugh. 

You pulled his arm around your waist, settling your hands at the nape of his neck. “So, you’re letting your brother work at the restaurant?”

“How ‘bout we just start with a visit, hm? I’ll tell him to come home for a week or somethin’, stay at mine.” He compromised. “Baby steps.”

“Oh, I’m so proud of you.” You cooed playfully, pinching his stubbly cheeks. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He swatted your hands away, leaning forward to press wet kisses to the column of your neck. He smirked as you suddenly ceased your pinching, bracing your hands on his shoulders. “You should let me return the favor, sweetheart.”

“Not in your office!” You gasped when he bit down on the juncture between your neck and shoulder before soothing it with his tongue. 

“Why not?” He chuckled, lifting you onto his desk. He probably should have been a little more worried about his records and papers getting folded under the swell of your ass, but all he could focus on was the small strip of fabric covering the part of you he wanted to devour. “Wouldn’t you prefer I be addicted to my girl than painkillers?”

“That’s not, ah,” You jolted above him, the sensation of his thumb pressing into your sensitive clit knocking you back to your elbows, “That’s not funny, Mikey.”

“What’s Brayden say?” He muttered, pulling your panties to the side. His fingers expertly tugs your lips apart, and he pressed a soft teasing kiss to your hood-covered button. “Humor’s my coping mechanic.”

“M-mechanism.” The correction came out in a soft moan. Just then, his words hit you — his girl. He’d never said that before. All the times you’d kissed, made out, had sex, he’d never called you his girl. You liked the way it sounded, the way it rolled off his tongue effortlessly. “Your girl?”

“Yeah.” He pulled away, his hands finding your calves as he looked at you. His brown irises held the tiniest bit of vulnerability in them, an emotion reserved for you and you only. “I mean, if you wanna be. Do you?”

You smiled and encircled his wrists, tenderly stroking his skin with your thumbs. It was a simple touch, but it made the hairs on his arm stand at attention. Strange how you always managed to do that. “Of course I do.”

“Good.” He exhaled. His large hands slid up your inner thighs, pausing at your core. With a gentle touch, he tugged your folds apart, watching the way your entrance fluttered. His mouth dropped open, and he let his saliva drip down onto your pussy, rubbing it into your clit with the pad of his thumb. “Now, get comfy, sweetheart, ‘cause I missed this pretty little pussy.”

—

“Where is it? Where is it? Where the fuck is it?”

You’d torn your apartment apart. Old storage boxes that gathered dust were now open and emptied. Your clothes were thrown all over the place. You managed to push the couch and check the floor, but you found nothing but crumbs and linty hair ties. 

Tears started to blur your vision, and your chest felt heavy, like the entire world sat directly on your lungs. Your breath was just as shaky as your hands that tugged at the roots of your hair. You ran to your mess of a kitchen and scrambled for your phone, typing the familiar number from memory.

Your ex-husband answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Where’s Eli?” You heard him call your name, but his confusion was the last thing on your mind. “Benson’s stuffed cow, Eli. Where is it? I can’t find it.”

He sighed, his voice lower and more scratchy than you remembered. He must’ve been crying, too, you thought. “How am I supposed to know?”

“You helped me move out. Did you take it? I swear to god—”

“I didn’t take the damn cow.” He snapped. “Do you think I’m that selfish that I would keep it from you?”

“I didn’t call to rehash our marriage, alright? I need Eli, okay? I need him.”

The line went silent. You both knew you weren’t talking about the stuffed animal anymore. He let out a deep breath. “Have you tried therapy?”

“I don’t need to pay a bunch of money to have someone tell me I need to get over the death of our child.” You hissed, scrunching your nose at the suggestion. 

“Have you been to his grave?”

You wiped your tears away, thinking about the cold, unfeeling stone that solidified your son’s death. You hadn’t seen it since the funeral. You took a shaky breath, “Do you have Eli or not?”

“I don’t.”

He tried to speak once more, but you already hung up. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe without this one piece of your son. Tears dropped onto your phone screen as you scrolled and scrolled through your contacts, finding the name you were looking for. The line rang three times before a deep voice greeted you. “What’s up?”

“I need to see you. Where can we meet?”

Hours later, Michael was walking toward his apartment building with Carmy. He’d been purposefully avoiding bringing up The Beef, and luckily Carmy didn’t push. Instead, his little brother decided to bring up the little stuffed animal that Michael had pushed into his jacket pocket. “So,” Carmy started quietly, “You startin’ a collection with that thing or…?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Michael laughed. He pulled the stuffed cow out of his pocket. “It’s my girl’s. Remember I told you about her son?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes she likes to talk to me about him. She brought this over to my place a few weeks ago to show me. Apparently, the kid was obsessed with cows.”

“No shit. Look at you, bein’ vulnerable.” Carmy chuckled in amazement, admiring his brother’s new relationship.

“Yeah, whatever. The, uh, anniversary of his death is coming up, and she’ll probably be wanting this, so you can meet her while you’re here if she’s feeling up to it. Sound good?”

“‘F course.”

When Michael unlocked the front door, he was met with chaos. The front door banged into the coat closet door, somehow left open with coats strewn across the floor. The rug in his living room was flipped over, and the couch was now far from the wall. Michael was only brought back to reality by the stunned woah that passed through Carmy’s lips.

Somehow, Michael knew. He wasn’t a mind reader, but he remembered that feeling. A feeling that bubbled in the pit of his stomach, traveling throughout his body until it pounded at his head. It was dread, hopelessness, not knowing how he’d find the strength to take another breath. He knew, and he needed to help you.

“Di-Did someone break into your house or something?” Carmy asked, closing the door behind him.

“Just stay here for a second, little brother, okay?” Michael’s voice was dismissive, preoccupied, as he followed the trail of despair into the kitchen.

And there you sat. Red eyes, swollen from crying. Head lulling from side to side and your heart almost numb enough to keep the darkness from creeping in and making a home, uninvited,  in the hole of your chest. Your arms circled around your knees that you’d drawn up to your chest, hugging them close. Maybe, if you squeezed hard enough, you could stop grieving and move on.

Michael approached slowly, like you were a wounded animal. “Baby?”

“I couldn’t stop myself.”

“We don’t have to—”

“Please don’t hate me.”

He crouched down in front of you, steadied your head with a firm hand on your cheek. His warm, calloused skin helped to ground the thoughts in your fuzzy head. He looked you in the eyes, bold and sincere, just as you had when he relapsed. “I could never hate you. Never, you hear me?”

You paused for a moment before trying to explain. “I couldn’t find Eli, and I just- I started going fucking crazy—”

“Eli?” He asked, pulling the stuffed cow from his pocket. “Sweetheart, I have Eli. You left him the time you came over a couple weeks ago, and I was gonna take him back to yours.”

Michael thought the knowledge would console you, warm your heart enough to give him just the tiniest hint of a smile. But you just threw your head back frustratedly, the impact against the wall causing a dull pain to crash through the back of your skull. “Fuck.”

“Baby, why—”

“I’m so stupid.”

“You’re no—”

Tears gathered once more. “If I had just called you… I’m an idiot.”

“Hey,” He regained your attention, this time with both hands holding your face steady. “You’re not stupid. You’re not an idiot. You just made a mistake, ‘s all.”

“I fucking relapsed, Michael.”

“I’ve relapsed, and look at me, huh? Picture of a healthy, law-abiding citizen.”

“Michael.”

“You’ll start over. Just like I did. Here, give me your phone.” You dug around in your pocket and pulled out your phone, handing it to him. He turned the screen toward you so you could watch as he scrolled through your contacts until he found your dealer’s name. Then, with zero hesitation, he blocked the number. “See? Good as new, yeah?”

If tears could show your appreciation, you’d have cried an ocean’s worth. But the most you could do was throw your heavy arms around his shoulders and press a chaste kiss to the base of his neck. To you, nothing you could ever do or say would be enough, but to Mikey? If he could take your burdens and make them his own, carry the weight of your world on his back, he’d do it without a second thought. Your appreciation wasn’t needed — only your love. And he knew he had that.

“Uh, Mikey?” Carmen’s voice called from the living room. “What the fuck is this?”

Michael reluctantly untangled himself from you for a moment, signaling for you to stay quiet. But you knew what was in there — you’d left the needle on his coffee table. Immediately, you could hear Mikey try to calm his brother down. “Carmen, it’s not what you think.”

“You sure? ‘Cause that looks like a fuckin’ needle. Jesus Christ, are you—”

“I’m not high, Carm, just listen for a second.”

“Listen to what?” His voice got louder, more angry. “Michael, are you fuckin’ serious? You know this family has… issues and this is what you do? Fucking shit!”

“Hey, relax, alright? You’re making a big deal out of nothin’.”

“Nothing? If you’re getting high, it is a big deal. A huge fuckin’ deal.” Carm pushed his brother on the chest, hoping it’ll knock some sense into him. And Michael, he just curled his fists, restraining himself. The last thing he wanted was to lose control on his own brother. Carmen took a step toward, pointing one accusatory finger.

But before he could get a word out, a small voice, your voice, stopped him. “It’s not his.”

Icy blue eyes met yours as he took in your disheveled frame. You stood in the entrance of the living room, leaning against the threshold to hold yourself up. The high was starting to wear off a little, but you still felt the lingering effects. You tried to give him a smile, but a weary sigh passed through your lips. “Hi Carmen. I’m sorry, this isn’t how I wanted to meet you.”

Carmen looked back and forth from you to Michael. His eyes narrowed as his breath started to even out, confusion replacing anger. “You’re the girlfriend, yeah?” He finally asked, confirming your name.

You nodded, gauging his reaction as he let it all sink in. “I had been sober for a while, so I asked your brother not to say anything. But today was- today was hard.”

“Right,” The younger brother nodded, finally taking a step back and pushing his hands deep into his pockets. “Uh, sorry for your loss, by the way.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“So, Michael isn’t… he’s not using…?” He knew the words, knew the question he wanted to ask. But he was so afraid, so terrified of what the answer might be.

You knew the answer. It would have been less than savory, admitting that Michael was also an addict and had relapsed more than once since you met. The truth was potentially earth-shattering for Carmen and Michael alike. You glanced over at Michael, at how he hid the fear from his eyes. Still, you see it. In the way his hand flexed at his side, and how he refused to look in your direction. It’s almost like he knew what was coming if you told the truth, that he might have lost his brother for good. 

That fear broke your heart. So, you lied. Took your blame and a little on the side. “No. No, just me.”

You excused yourself back to the kitchen to hide your tears. You hugged Eli close, burying the stuffed animal under your nose.

It smelled like Michael.

—

That fucking fork. 

Fuck forks. Fuck Christmas dinner. Fuck all seven fishes. Fuck Pete’s eighth fish. And, above all, fuck Michael.

Chaos ensued after Michael gave in to his self-destructive tendencies. He all but flipped the table over in an effort to fight. Fak was making sure Sugar and Pete got out unscathed. Carmy practically begged his mother to stay out of it, and she only relented when her eldest son started making taunting braying noises — she retreated to the kitchen with a cigarette and the bottle of merlot in hand.

You gave up trying to help Michael calm down when he wretched himself from your grip, nearly knocking you into a wall in the process. Richie rushed over to help steady you, and Carmy, over all the chaos, called your name, “Yo, are you alright?”

“Peachy.” You called back sarcastically, rubbing your sore arm.

Carmen then turned his attention to his brother. “Michael, shut the fuck up for two seconds, for fuck’s sake! If you don’t calm down, you’re gonna hurt someone!”

“Kinda the point, little brother.” Michael’s eye twitched as he glared at Lee. He tried once more to push past Jimmy to no avail.

“Yeah? Was hurting your girl part of the point, smartass?”

Michael turned to you, the anger in his eyes slowly overtaken with concern. He hadn’t meant to push you; he didn’t even know you were one of the people trying to hold him back. But that didn’t take back his actions. Your gaze went cold as you pulled away from Richie, pushing Michael hard on the chest. “I’m not his fucking girl anymore.”

Then, you hightailed it out of the house. Everyone went silent as you peeled out of the driveway, rubber squealing against pavement.

Richie watched Michael carefully, noticing how his brow furrowed and his chest heaved. He took a step toward him and dropped a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Mikey,” Richie warned, “Don’t do anything stupid.” Michael pulled away and stomped his way up the stairs, leaving Richie to call after his best friend from the dining room. 

Over Richie’s voice, Carmen could hear his mother sobbing in the kitchen followed by the soft glug of wine as she turned the bottle up. And immediately, he followed after his older brother. Richie tried to stop him, “Cousin, he just needs a minute.”

“Yeah, just a minute?” Carmen replied dismissively. “Fuck off, cousin, he’s not a baby.”

He pushed open every door looking for Mikey. Finally, he came upon one door that wouldn’t budge, locked from the inside. Carmy pounded on the bathroom door. “Yo, what the fuck was that?”

“Go away, Carmen.” Mikey paced the bathroom floor, hands pulling at the roots of his hair. He wished he had an answer for his brother, but he came up short. Maybe it was pride, or ego, or his innate tendency to self-destruct, he couldn’t choose. So he just paced the floor, avoiding the sight of his own reflection.

“Mikey, you need to go downstairs and fix this shit, alright?” Carmy continued. “Ma’s drinking herself stupid, Sug’s a mess, your girl just fuckin’ left, c’mon man.”

“Hey, you think I don’t know that?” The older brother hissed.

He braced himself on the sink, finally looking up into the mirror. He looked disheveled, angry. His hair was messy from pulling at it, and the whites of his eyes had a red tint to them. One prominent vein pulsed in his forehead, and suddenly, the need set in. 

His head is fuzzy, brain pounding at his skull. So many thoughts, too many, clouding his head. He lifted his hand to push away a few strands of his hair, limp with sweat, and he realized that his hand was shaking. Even as he closed his fingers into a fist, it trembled like an earthquake. He blinked hard, eyes scrambling as he tried to think of a quick solution, a way to gather himself before he faced his little brother again.

Carmy was quiet as he started to think maybe he should have listened to Richie. “Mikey?”

No answer.

“Mikey, look, I’m sorry—”

The door flung open, and Carmy studied him. His hair was pushed back. His eyes were red, but Carmy assumed Mikey must’ve been crying. Everything seemed right, but there was something he couldn’t place. Something about his big brother that was very wrong. “Nothing to be sorry for, Carm.” Michael told him, one big hand on his shoulder. “I gotta go.”

When Michael started booking it downstairs, Carmy was quick on his trail. “Wait, go? Go where?”

Michael responded with a call of your name, “Gotta make sure she’s good.”

Carmy ran a hand through his golden brown locks as he followed his older brother out the front door. Their sister noticed the argument and followed them out the door, “Whoa, hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, Sug, go back inside.” Michael stopped for the briefest moment to turn around and place a kiss on his sister’s forehead.

“He’s leavin’.” Carmy sighed frustratedly.

“He’s leaving?” Sugar turned to Michael. “You’re leaving?”

“Fuckin’ snitch.” Michael mumbled under his breath. He squeezed Sug’s arm with a tight smile, “I’m just goin’ to find my girl, okay? I’ll be back, I promise.”

“How are you even going to find her?” Carm scoffed.

“You know her password, right?” Sug asked her eldest brother. “I wouldn’t normally say this, but you could track her phone. Here, give me yours.”

“What about Ma?” Carmy threw his arms up in defeat. Michael was the one who started all that mess, and now that it was time to pick up the pieces, where did he go? Chasing you. Like always, Carm thought to himself. “You’re the only one who can get through to her when she’s all…” He waved his hands around as if the devastating words he was looking for would magically appear.

“Well, you’re home, ain’t you? She missed you — just sit with her till I get back, alright? I gotta go.”

And just as quickly Mikey was off too, running toward the closest train station.

If there were ever a time for oxy, that would’ve been it. But instead, you drove and drove and drove until the tank was damn near empty. You pulled into a parking lot and called your sponsor. She talked you down, persuading you to delete your dealer’s contact information in your phone. When the long conversation was over, you were still angry, furious even, but you’d at least lost interest in relapsing.

Knock knock knock.

You jumped in the driver’s seat when calloused knuckles tapped on the car window. Michael wasted no time in starting an argument. “What the hell were you thinkin’, leavin’ like that?” He yelled, voice only slightly muffled by the barrier.

“How did you even find me?”

“Sugar showed me how to track your phone.”

“You tracked my phone?”

“Open the fuckin’ door.”

You pushed the door open and got out of the car, deciding your best course of action would be to walk away from him. “Leave me alone, Michael.”

“Where are you goin’?” He was quick to follow you as you walked down the street, just a few strides behind.

“Leave me alone.”

“What’s the plan here, huh?” He asked. “You just gonna keep walkin’ till your feet fall off?”

“No, just till I’m away from you, Michael.” You retorted coldly.

“Hey, stop calling me that.”

“That’s your name!”

“Not to you! To you it’s Mikey, or baby, or my love, not fuckin’ Michael!”

“Fuck you, Michael!” You caught him off guard when you spun around, poking your index finger into his chest. “You couldn’t just let it be. You had to ruin Christmas for the whole fucking family!”

“Why do you care so much, huh?”

“Why do I— Jesus, do you even hear yourself? You do nothing but ruin shit for yourself for no goddamn reason! No one forced you to throw that fork!”

Michael scoffed and ran his hand over his lips, his warm breath evaporating into the cold air as he raised his voice again. “So we’re gonna pretend that’s why you’re upset? Because of the fork?”

“I’m upset because you ruined any chance at having a good Christmas with our family!”

“They’re not our fuckin’ family.” He laughed, though no traces of humor could be found in his eyes. “They’re mine! Okay? I’m the fuckin’ Berzatto, not you.”

Your eyes widened at his words. You parted your lips to retort, but he just kept going, slicing your heart in two with expert precision.

“You wanna act like the- the chaos bothers you, but you thrive on that shit — You’re just in a shitty mood because you miss your own family, and now that you can’t replace them with mine, you want some fuckin’ oxy to ease the pain, ain’t that right?”

Smack!

You’d never hit Michael before, never wanted to. Like any couple, you had your share of fights and passive aggressive comments. One thing you two never did, though, was weaponize your addictions against each other. It was an unsaid invisible line that had never been crossed until now. Michael Berzatto, the man you loved more than life itself, had never been so mean. At least not to you. 

It happened faster than you expected, your small hand reaching up and slapping across his stubbly cheek. He just stood there, eyes dark and slightly angry, but you weren’t afraid. You were furious, hot tears filling your eyes. “Fuck you.”

You slapped him again. And again. Then, you beat on his chest with your fists. Michael started trying to swat your hands away, but when that proved ineffective, he caught your wrists in his hands, yanking you into a nearby alley, away from the night’s few prying eyes. 

“Stop, stop.” He grunted when you landed another smack to his head, finally pinning you up against the nearby brick wall by your wrists. “Stop.”

“I hate you.” You spat.

“No, you don’t.”

You continued to fight against his grip, but he was strong and steady, keeping you in place as you continued to tell him how much you despise him. He knew he was wrong, but he refused to say it. After all the shit that went down that night with his family, with you, he felt like he was going crazy. It was like he was abandoned in the middle of the ocean in a boat with a tiny hole. And even though the hole was small, it was so methodically cut that water was pouring in like a faucet, and the boat was sinking. So he grabbed onto the only lifeline he was certain would be there: you.

You, with the most beautiful eyes that were now filled with angry tears. You, the hero of all his dreams and the victim in all his nightmares. You, whose heart was so broken, so crumbled when he met you, yet still managed to love him with all your being.

He loved you. 

It all hit him at once, and he gently pressed his lips to yours. You turned your head away from him, rasping out your hatred once more. “I hate you.”

“You don’t.” His voice was deep and rough, but the tone was soft. Was he even talking to you?

“Yes, I fucking do.”

His lips trailed across your jawline, wet kisses placed on his path. “No, you don’t.”

You hated how easily he was able to do this to you, like pushing a button. You were supposed to be angry with him. You were angry with him. But your body didn’t care about the argument. Your body slowly gave up the fight against his grip, wanting the heat that his touch produced, your emotions be damned. A few tears fell from your eyes just as a soft moan slipped past your lips, an instinctive response to the way Michael’s body pressed yours against the wall, his growing length pressed into your hip. 

He slipped a leg between yours, pushing his denim-covered thigh into your pussy. You could feel a wave of arousal soaking your panties. “You’re mean, Michael.”

“I know, baby. I know.” He admitted quietly.

He used his grip on your wrists to gently pull your hands to your breasts. He pressed your hands in before covering them with his own, helping you knead the sensitive flesh. Even beneath your layers, you could feel his touch, and it made you whimper. His deft thumb ran over your hardening nipples, and a soft groan tumbled from his lips. “Just let me make you feel good.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you noted his acknowledgement. And his lack of apology.

He kept up his movements, moving your hands to squeeze your breasts, pressing his thigh into your weeping pussy. Somewhere along the way, your hips began to rock back and forth on him. His brown eyes never left yours, even as you cried. It was strange, how your heart hurt so badly that tears fell freely down your face, but your body was pushed closer and closer to the edge.

Still, you gasped for breath as the pleasure began to creep out of your core. “Mi- Mikey,” You moaned. “Please!”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, baby. Let it all out.”

And it all came out at once, sobs pushing past your lips as euphoria crashed over your body in waves. You clenched around nothing, head tipping back to hit the brick wall. But you never felt the cold brick — one of Michael’s hands left your breast to cup the back of your head, the protective gesture juxtaposing the unending push of his thigh into your pussy to help ride out your orgasm.

Even as your orgasm faded away, your hips continued to buck against him. Your hands found a new home on his broad chest, trailing down, down, down until you felt the leather of his brown  belt. You wasted no time in unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans, sliding the zipper down so you could easily reach into his briefs and pull his cock out. He moaned at your firm grasp, hips bucking into your touch.

Everything moved much quicker now, more desperate than before. You stroked his cock, spreading his precum along the shaft. His forehead pressed against yours as he stared at the way your smaller hand worked him over, twisting over the head on every downward stroke. “Fuck, that’s good.” He groaned.

“Help me.” You whined needily as you thrust your hips against his thigh once more, hoping he’d get the message.

He nodded quickly, kneeling down in front of you. His big hands slide up your thighs under your jean skirt, flipping the rough fabric up over your belly. Your legs were covered by sheer black stockings, a layer of protection from the cold winter chill. But neither of you could bear to wait, to take them off properly. He tore a large hole in the crotch and pushed your panties to the side, muttering curses at how your arousal shone in the moonlight. 

“Perfect fuckin’ cunt, sweetheart.” He pushed his index finger through your swollen lips, collecting your juices before slipping into your twitching hole. “Can you take two for me?”

He didn’t bother to wait for an answer. He pushed his middle finger in on the second thrust, curving them to press on that spongy spot on your upper wall that you can never reach yourself. You cried out his name, and your back arched off the wall. His fingers were bigger than yours, thicker too, but they still didn’t fill you the way that you needed.

You whimpered when he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking firm and hard. “Want your cock, Mikey. Want- oh shit!”

Your orgasm was hard and unexpected, pulling you under before you could even tell him to fuck you. Your legs buckled, and you buried your hands in his thick, black hair to ground yourself. A muffled moan came from between your legs when you tugged on the roots, trying to pull him off your sensitive clit.

He finally relented, pulling away from you and pushing his fingers, soaked in you, into his mouth. He licked them clean without hesitation, only stopping when you tugged on his wrist. You pulled him in by his shirt, kissing him. It was deep and passionate, proving what you both knew to be true.

You didn’t hate him. Maybe you wanted to, but you didn’t. Or maybe couldn’t is the better word.

He cupped your face with both his large hands, wiping away any remnants of tears from your earlier sobs. His tongue licked into your mouth as you moaned, tasting the sweet tang of your juices in his saliva. You reached down to stroke his cock again, and he crowded you closer to the wall. “Want you inside.” You whispered.

“I know, baby.”

His open jeans impeded his efforts to get closer to you, buttons, zipper, and belt now in the way. His hands hurried to push the waistband of his open jeans down and out, ignoring how the frosty air raised goosebumps on his skin. His belt buckle jingled loudly, and something clattered to the pavement, but you could only focus on getting him inside you. His hands returned to your face, making you keep your gaze on his.

You pushed his cock through your pussy lips, let your arousal messily coat his shaft until it was all over your inner thighs. Both your panting was the only thing you could hear over the wet sounds of his length sliding between your swollen lips. You whined when the head of his dick bumped against your clit. 

“Guide me in, sweetheart.” He told you, eyes locked on yours. “Take what you want.”

His head, already weeping with precum, nudged at your entrance, and you canted your hips up until the first few inches sunk inside. You lifted your leg around his hip in an attempt to take more of him, but it wasn’t enough on your own. Finally, he pressed forward, fully sheathing his cock within your soft walls. All the while, Michael held your face between his hands, gazing deep into your eyes as you whimpered. “There you are.” He groaned softly. “My girl.”

Your heart twisted at his words. How could he even say that? After saying the most vile things to you, what made him believe that you’d still be his? He nudged his hips forward a bit, and the tip just barely kissed your cervix, shooting a strange blend of pain and pleasure up your spine. You shook your head, hands grasping at his arms to steady yourself. “No, I… I- fuck, Mikey, I hate you so much.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” You moaned pathetically, still seething, angry enough to lie through your teeth just to give him a glimpse of the pain he caused you. Your nails dug into the thick fabric of his coat as he began to move, thrusting in and out of your cunt. The alley practically echoed with squelching sounds, and anyone walking by would know what was going on in those shadows. But neither of you could bring yourselves to care, lips falling apart as your sensitive walls clamped down on his length.

“You don’t fuckin’ say that to me.” He repeated with a grunt, leaving the tiniest pat on your cheek to regain the attention of your eyes rolling in pleasure. “You love me. Know you do. ‘S — shit, you’re so tight — ‘s the only thing I’m goddamn sure of, you hear me?”

One hand left your cheek to wrap around your thigh, pulling your leg higher around his hip. He thrusted again with renewed strength before looking down to where you both connected. The sight made the pit of his stomach flip deliciously: the slightly tanned base of his cock coated with a creamy white ring, little strands of your wetness dangling between you both when he dared to pull his hips away. “Fuckin’ takin’ my dick so well, baby.” He bit his lip, his voice sounding almost entranced. “Squeezin’ like you don’t want me to leave.”

“Good thing I’m not goin’ anywhere.” He continued, groaning when your hands slid up his back and into his hair. You pulled hard, and his thrusts faltered ever so slightly. His other hand left your cheek to brace himself against the wall, and his head fell into the crook of your neck, puffs of his hot breath warming your skin.

“You can’t keep doing this shit, M-Mikey. Can’t take your shit out on me.” You mewled as he adjusted his grip on you, pushing you closer to the wall. He left you no space to squirm when his hips started to move faster, his cock bullying its way in and out of your soft, puffy folds to nudge against the spongy spot on your upper wall. You cried out as that unique sensation shot pleasure to every nerve ending in your body, “Fuck, right there!”

“I got you, sweetheart, that’s it.” He responded in kind, adjusting his stance just right so he could drag the notch of his cockhead along your G-spot with every thrust. “Right there, yeah?”

“Oh my god, don’t stop. You’re gonna make me come!”

Michael lifted his head from your neck, meeting your eyes again. They were dark, glazed over, as he slowed his hips, still moving but not enough to finish you off. You felt his cock twitch inside you, and he knew it wouldn’t be long until he flooded your insides with his release, but he wanted to hear you say it: he wanted you to take back your words. “Say you don’t mean it.”

Your pussy fluttered around him in tandem with the whine spilling past your lips. “Mikey—”

“You don’t hate me. You love me. Say it.” He punctuated each sentence with a nudge against your G-spot, soft and tempting.

“N-no, you,” You heaved out a shuddering breath when his fingertips met your swollen clit, rubbing in tight, slow, torturous circles. “You’re being unfair. You- oh my god, yes - you can’t be n-nasty to me and—” 

“Just say it for me, baby.” He mumbled against your lips. He was practically begging you to take it back, but, of course, Michael Berzatto would never stoop to such lengths. So, he kept rubbing your clit and nudging your G-spot, punching the breath out of you with his thick cock. “Promise I’ll make you come. I’ll make it so fuckin’ good for you. Just need to hear it.”

And, of course, as you always did, you gave in. “I didn’t mean it.” You admitted breathlessly. “I love you.”

The tension visibly rolled off his shoulders as his head dropped to your breasts, pounding your cunt as you moaned beneath him. “Fuck, I love you, too, baby. Love you so fuckin’ much, it hurts.” He groaned into your skin.

“Mikey, ‘m close!” You gasped, the assault on your cunt and clit too much to bear. 

“Wanna feel you squeeze my cock, sweetheart.” He huffed, nails digging into your thighs, your stockings providing no refuge from the dull pain. “Show me how much you love me, c’mon.”

And then, white-hot, earth-shattering pleasure. You nearly blacked out as you clenched around him, stars burning into supernovas behind your eyelids. Your fluttering walls begged him to stay buried deep inside you. Back arched against the wall, your breasts pushed closer to his face, and he didn’t bother lifting up, resting his cheek on the soft fabric that covered your warm flesh as he fell over the edge with you. He groaned out your name as he shot thick spurts of his warm, sticky come inside you. He knew he’d never come so much in his life, only lifting his head when he heard louder squelching noises from where you both connected. 

As he thrusted, slow and deep, the white creamy juices that once only circled the base of his cock dribbled out of your pussy, around the sides of his length. A bit slid down your thigh, and his eyes rolled back, reveling in how his balls pulsed with pleasure at the sight.

His whole body relaxed as you both rode out the waves of pleasure. As you came down from your orgasm, your head lolled to the side. Your eyes fluttered closed as you cherished his weight on top of you. When your eyes opened, your vision was still a tad blurry, but you blinked through the fog. 

There was something bright on the ground. It was small, cylindrical, and… red? No — it was orange.

“What’s that?”

Michael hummed in response, his speech a bit slurred. “What’s what?”

He lifted his head from your breasts, following your gaze. And he froze, eyes stuck on the tiny bottle of painkillers he’d swiped from his mother’s medicine cabinet after you left. It must have fallen from his pocket when he opened his jeans.

“Are you high right now?”

Michael almost cringed at your whisper. It was different from all your yelling and slapping and arguing before. You were just mad then, and he knew that he could win you over like he had a million times before. This time, it was sad. Cold. Disappointed. 

He wasn’t sure if he could come back from that.

You wriggled beneath him until you could push him away, watching him stumble a bit. He was no longer standing tall, a bit slouched, and he swayed aimlessly from side to side. With the way he was fucking you, his blood was pumping, so they must just now be kicking in at full force. You knew — you were certain of the answer, but you wanted to hear it from him.

“Michael. Are you high?”

He had just enough of his wits left to take a step toward you with remorse in his voice, “Baby, I—”

You held up a hand, taking a step away from him. “I… I’ll call Richie. You can stay with him tonight. Or your mother, I don’t….” He called your name again as you fixed your panties and pulled your skirt back down over your ass. “I can’t do this with you right now, Michael.”

You waited for a moment. For what, you weren’t sure. An apology? An explanation? An unremorseful tirade? Part of you would have even been okay with a fight.

But he just leaned against the brick wall, unable to support himself on his own any longer. He clumsily tucked his softening length back into his pants and mumbled his short reply, a correction. “‘S Mikey.”

Snow began to fall in time with your tears. You drew your coat closer, and turned your back to him. “I’m going home.”

—

“Besides work, how’ve you been feeling?”

“I don’t know, just extremely tired all the time. But what else is new, y’know?”

“And how’s your love life?”

“This is your way of asking if I’m still sleeping with Michael.”

“Well, are you?”

You let out a scoff as you adjusted your position on the couch. Your therapist, Deborah, watched you with knowing eyes as you sat against the arm of the couch, offhandedly pulling a throw pillow into your lap. Your index finger wrapped endlessly around the fringe as you carefully mulled over your words. “Well, I haven’t relapsed in almost a year and a half.”

“That’s good.” She smiled. “Also not what I asked.”

“Okay, I’m still seeing him. Or, sleeping with him.”

“So, it’s not a relationship?”

“No.”

“Do you want it to be?”

You paused. You thought about the possibilities of what could have been — of what once had been. Dates, family dinners, shared apartment. Maybe you’d have gotten married and had kids. You’d have brought them up to be better, to break the cycle of whatever crazy shit made you both the way you were. But you also had to accept who he was. 

You replied, “No.” It was a lie, and Deborah knew that, but you played it off anyway.

She leaned forward, setting her notepad down and resting her elbows on her knees. “Is he still using?”

You nodded reluctantly, “He says he’s not. And he hasn't been high around me since the, uh, Christmas dinner thing last year. But I’ve seen it… pill bottles lying around. Prescriptions that aren’t his.”

You trail off, once again running through what might have been. Would Michael still be sober if you stayed with him? Were you the only thing keeping him from losing his mind? Were you to blame? Your finger slowed around the fringe, heart aching in your chest. 

Deborah gave you a cautionary look, like she could read your mind. “Stop it.”

You sighed, “But what if—”

“Michael is a grown man. His sobriety is his responsibility, and his alone. Just like yours.” She repeated the same words that she did almost every session, reminding you that you were not at fault. “I know it hurts, and it’s okay to let it, but you cannot blame yourself for his decisions.”

“I just- I miss him. How he used to be. But if this is all I can get…” You feel pathetic for even admitting it, but it was the truth.

Deborah watched you carefully, knowing that there wasn’t much she could do but advise you. You were going to see Michael whether it was a good idea or not. So she figured you should know what you’re really getting into. She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Do you know what codependency is?”

Your brow furrowed, “No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“It’s when two people depend on each other in an unhealthy way. Usually, one person learns to placate the other, keep them calm, while the other person continues unhealthy behaviors because they know their partner will be there to help them when it gets too bad.”

“Okay, I see where you’re going here. It’s not healthy for me—”

“It’s not healthy for either of you.” She clarified. “I know you love Michael. And I’m sure he loves you as much as he can. But I think the best way for you to help him and yourself — if that’s what you want to do — is to stop enabling him.”

Stop enabling him. 

That’s all you could think about for the rest of the session. Those three words terrified you. How would he react if you put your foot down, if you said this needed to stop? What if he never spoke to you again? You loved him, the man that put your heart back together when it was in a million shattered pieces. You were lost, unsure of how to handle the situation.

Twenty minutes later, when you left your therapist’s office, your phone dinged with a text. It was Michael, as usual;

u busy tonight? wanna see u. 

And of course, you gave in. But not without thinking up a plan. You took a deep breath and typed out your reply:

meet me in the parking lot off fourth street at 7:30. wanna take u somewhere.

And you tried to hold out, you really did. But no sooner than you arrived, Michael’s lips were on your neck, sucking and licking, making it hard to think. Before you could even remember Deborah’s warning, you were in the backseat of his car, fogging up the windows as you bounced up and down on his cock. “‘M gonna come!” You warned him.

“Go on, sweetheart.” He encouraged with a groan, strong hands plastered flat against your sweaty back. “Tight cunt’s gonna pull the come right outta me.”

“Fuck, ‘m coming, Mikey!” You whimpered, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. His hands gripped your hips, grinding you down on his cock to ride out your orgasm. Your clit bumped deliciously against his pubic bone, and your walls clamped down even tighter, throwing Michael headfirst into his own orgasm.

“Holy- oh my god, don’t fuckin’ stop, baby.” He moaned, throwing his head back. His hips pushed up of their own accord, his thick cock twitching inside you as he shot his come as deep as he could go. He brought one hand down on your ass as you thrusted weakly against him. “That’s it, sweetheart, get every drop.”

You rested your weight on him, your sweaty forehead against the leather headrest. You both took a silent moment to catch your breath, regroup after the explosive sex you always seem to have. Turns out, even with all your disagreements, the attraction never stopped. His hands rubbed up and down your back, almost lulling you to sleep until he pressed his fingertips a little harder, and a moan passed through your lips, eyes shooting open. Michael chuckled deeply and kneaded at that spot, “What was that?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” You admitted, tension rolling away as he worked at the knot. “My back has been killing me lately.”

“Work?”

“Maybe, but ‘m not sure. Just hurts sometimes.”

“Lucky for you, you got your own personal masseuse.”

You snorted, “My hero.”

His hand smacked against your backside playfully, making you jolt on his lap with a giggle. He laughed along with you, “Watch that tone, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, laughter dying down as your eyes haphazardly scanned the ledge of the back window. And next to an empty cup, you saw a piece of paper. A prescription made for Natalie Berzatto.

And it hit you like a train. You couldn’t keep doing this. It wasn’t fair to either of you. You couldn’t keep taking the best parts of him and ignoring the fact that he needed help. And he couldn’t expect you to be around at his beck and call forever. The time for playing pretend was over — you needed to take a real step for the both of you. 

You swung your leg over his lap and sat next to him, scanning the car floor for your panties. “Get dressed. I still have somewhere to take you.”

“You kidnappin’ me, baby?”

“It’s only kidnapping if you don’t go willingly.”

Minutes later, you were walking into a nearby building. The entire walk, he asked and asked where you were taking him, but you never answered, merely saying it was a surprise. When he walked in, and his eyes fell on the folded chairs set in a circle, his smile dropped. Without another word, he turned around and walked out.

“Michael, wait!” You were close behind, following him back outside into the hot, sticky summer night. “Just listen to me, okay?”

“So- so you think ‘cause you’re sober now you can do whatever the fuck you want, is that it?” He asked, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

“I’m just trying to help—”

“I told you I wasn’t fuckin’ using anymore!” He yelled at you.

“And I know that you are!” You snapped back. “I’ve seen the empty pill bottles, Michael. All the prescriptions that are never in your own fucking name. I’m not stupid!”

“Stupid enough to keep comin’ back!” He spat at you. “W-what changed, huh? Is it the therapist? ‘Cause before her, you were happy to just fuck me and leave, pills be damned.”

“Oh, fuck that, Michael.” You laughed humorlessly, pushing at his chest. “You are not doing that anymore, being a dick to me because you can’t accept the truth.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And what would the truth be, sweetheart? Fuckin’ enlighten me.”

“That you’re gonna fucking destroy yourself if you don’t get help!” You shouted. Tears were filling your eyes at the thought, and you realized you weren’t even angry. You were desperate — desperate for him to do something, anything to help himself. “You- you push everyone that loves you away! Me, Richie, Carm—”

“You leave Carmen outta this.” He grumbled, looking away to avoid seeing the tears that fell down your face.

“Everyone that cares, everyone that tries to help, you just treat them like complete and utter shit because you don’t know how to ask for help! But you don’t have to fucking ask, Mikey — we’re offering! You just have to take it and do something before it’s too late!”

Michael was quiet, eerily so. There was a time when you would’ve been able to read him like a book, to say exactly what he needed to hear. But you couldn’t anymore. And that scared you.

You stepped forward with a sniffle, placing your hands on his biceps. You rubbed up and down in a way that you hoped was comforting. “Just one meeting. That’s all I’m asking.”

When he finally looked back at you, his chest tightened at the sight. Your beautiful eyes, filled with tears and a shimmer of hope that he might agree. And part of him wanted to. Some inkling deep down inside of him wanted to wipe your tears, take your hand, and march into that meeting determined to stay sober for the rest of his life. If only to settle down and make a life with you, one that he could be proud of.

But, as always, something stopped him. A small doubt creeping in, telling him he couldn’t do it. That he wasn’t capable of normality, that it wasn’t in his blood. He was drowning in sorrow and pity, and he was willing to accept that darkness — welcomed it, even. But what kind of man would he be if he dragged you under with him? He cupped your face in his hands, shaking his head. Your hands slid up his forearms and stopped on his wrists with a desperate iron grip. His voice was barely a whisper, “I’m not going to that meeting, baby.”

“Mikey, please.” You begged. “I love you.”

��You can’t fix me.” He hoped you heard what he meant to say: I love you, too.

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, and responded in kind. It was gentle, melancholic, but it was his way of saying goodbye. His way of expressing the love that he could never quite show you in the way you deserved. But the love was there nonetheless, tearing at his heart until his chest was hollow, nothing left but the memory of you.

When he pulled away, he had to pry your hands off him and take a step back. He gave you a sad smile, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Enjoy your meeting, sweetheart.”

He turned around and walked away. A few tears escaped his eyes when he heard a heart-wrenching sob pass through your lips. He wiped them away quickly and tried to walk faster. 

He was gone the next month.

—

“We’re closed!”

“Maybe you should lock the door then.”

You were still in your black dress and heels when you arrived at The Beef. No one knew where Carmy was, but you’d had an idea in the back of your head. You weren’t sure if you were right, but it only made sense that he’d be at his brother’s restaurant. 

Well, at the restaurant his brother left him. 

When Carmy emerged from the back, he stared, his eyes red from crying. “How’d you know I was here?”

You shrugged, “This is usually where I’d find him too.”

“Yo, please, please don’t come in here with that sentimental bullshit, alright?” He said, his tone sharp and mean. “If I wanted to hear about how great he was, I would’ve gone to the funeral.”

“You should’ve been there anyway. He was your brother.” 

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, Carmen, I didn’t come here to pick a fight.”

He turned on his heel, stomping back to the kitchen, and you followed close behind. “What did you come for then?”

“We’re going to a meeting.”

Carmy kneeled on the floor, next to a bucket of soapy water and a wet rag. He picked it up and wrung it out with a grunt. “What are you talking about?”

“Would you prefer NA or AA?”

He was scrubbing at the same dirty spot that he had for the last hour and a half, but your question made him pause. He looked up at you in disbelief, letting out a scoff. “Excuse me?”

“There are two NA groups I know of, but only one AA, and it starts soon so—”

“Y’know, you’re the addict here, not me.”

“Which is exactly how I know you need to go to a meeting.”

He was seething, an angry red steadily creeping from his neck to his face, one prominent vein bulging in his forehead as he shouted at you. “Goddamnit, I don’t need to go to a fuckin’ Al-Anon meeting! I’m just grieving, alright?!”

“Carm—”

“No, fuck that. The whole reason I didn’t go to the funeral is so I wouldn’t be around that bullshit! You know how Ma gets, and without Mikey here to fix it…”

“Michael was never gonna fix your mother.”

“Right, ‘cause he was too busy trying to fix you.” Carmen let out a harsh chuckle. “‘I’ll call you back, my girl needs me. Hold on, my girl is on the other line.’ Instead of fixing his restaurant, or-or helping his mother, he was making sure you were on the right track. Making sure you don’t relapse.”

Your heart stopped. Your blood burned. You wanted to let loose on him then and there. Yell and shout and cry about how Michael could barely fix himself, let alone you. You wanted to tell Carmen that it was you who desperately tried to fix Michael, make him sober, turn him into the man you knew he could be. Or at least, the one you believed he could be. The man Carm thought he was.

It baffled you how the entire family managed to hide the fact that Michael was an addict from Carmy. But it was a group effort, a last ditch effort to give him the big brother he’d always wanted, the one he remembered from his childhood. He was truly blind to Michael’s true nature, but you knew it was partially because Carmy had his own thing going on. You could see it behind his eyes — it was the same look Michael got before he did something self-destructive. 

Instead of yelling or screaming like you wanted to, tears filled your eyes. You knew from experience the Berzatto men could be mean, especially under pressure, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Unlike earlier in the day, you couldn’t hold them back. Tears fell freely down your cheeks. 

But unlike when his older brother spat unkind words your way, Carmy didn’t try to distract you from it or talk his way out of it. No, his face dropped when he realized the severity of his words. He watched as your knees buckled beneath you, moving across the floor to catch you once an ugly sob wretched its way past your lips. He held you as your body shook with the emotions that you’d been ignoring all day. One of his hands rested on the back of your head, stroking your hair with his thumb. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, okay?”

You don’t know how long you cried. You just sobbed and sobbed until there was nothing left, until you felt completely and utterly empty. Luckily, Carmy helped you sit on the floor. He sat next to you, both your backs against the dishwasher. It creaked loudly under your combined weight, and you sat up. “Sorry,” You croaked out. “Should I not lean on that?”

Carmy chuckled quietly and drew his knees up, resting his forearms atop them. “Piece of shit doesn’t work, don’t worry about it.”

The tiniest smile tugged at your lips as you leaned back and wiped away your tears. “Good. For me, I mean. Sucks for business though.”

His smile faded away as he watched you wipe your tears. His stomach turned uncomfortably at the fact that he’d been so mean, that he’d made you cry. He knew, of course, that he wasn’t the only reason you broke down, but he didn’t like that he piled on. He called your name softly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

“Carm, it’s ok—”

“It’s not.” He shook his head, blue eyes piercing into yours. “You were right. Michael couldn’t fix Ma’s problems. And you didn’t need him to fix yours. He was lucky to have you.”

A sigh passed through your lips, and for the first time in a long time, tension rolled off your shoulders. “He loved you, Carmen.”

He fought back a sad smile, “He loved you, too.”

You paused, tears of grief filling your eyes before you remembered what you came for. You took a deep breath and wiped at your cheeks. “I need to show you something.”

His brow furrowed, turning a bit to face you, resting one leg on the ground. “What?”

You grabbed your phone from your pocket and pulled off the case. You lifted the strip of film from your rubber case, handing it to him. “This is why I need to go to an NA meeting tonight. Figured you could go with me.”

A hand over his mouth and tears in his eyes, Carmy let out a single quiet sob as he stared at the two black and white ultrasounds. “Is it…?”

You nodded, “They are.”

“They?”

“Turns out, you can’t forget to take birth control for even one day. I thought taking two the next day might help, but here we are.” Chuckling quietly, you wiped away the tears that were threatening to fall once more. “I’m not… I’m not asking you to replace Mikey or be their dad or anything. It would… y’know, just be nice not to do this by my—”

“Woah, hey,” He stopped you with a shake of his head, not even wanting you to think like that. “You’re family, period. Have been since Michael brought you home. And always will be. Alright?”

Finally, a sliver of hope. You smiled, “Yeah.”

“Good.” He handed the photos back to you gently, as if one wrong move would ruin them. Then, he stood on his feet, wiping a hand over his face and taking a deep breath. He offered his hand. “Now, come on. I’m taking you to your meeting.”

#michael berzatto x reader #michael berzatto fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear fanfiction #the bear fx fanfiction #the bear fx #the bear smut #sorry in advance for this one lol

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

i'd like to order whiskey with mikey berzatto and 'don't go anywhere i can't follow', thank you <3

Follow You.

warnings - just a little hint at sexual content. and lots of fluff.

my first mikey fic!! I almost made this really sad, but decided against it. you should all be grateful. it was gonna be brutal. I adore mr bernthal and mikey too. <3

3k celebration post here. 3k masterlist here.

He'd made a promise to you, one night.

Tucked up in bed, sheets strewn across your bodies, limbs tangled, hearts content.

You always get clingy, in the afterglow. Like to plaster yourself to him, making sure he doesn't go far.

Mikey gets up to grab you some water, but you whine and pull him back to you by his wrist.

"Sweet girl," he chuckles. "I'm just going to the kitchen."

You smile and climb onto him from behind, wrapping your arms around his neck. He stands up and piggybacks you all the way across the apartment.

"Don't go anywhere I can't follow," you whisper in his ear, half sincere, half joking.

He sets you on the counter, brushing your hair back from your eyes.

"I won't, baby. I promise."

That promise seemed sacred to him.

He locked himself in the walk in refrigerator at The Beef, one afternoon.

The both of you were crying with laughter, in disbelief at the absurdity of the situation. It was just the two of you in the restaurant, everyone else at home.

"Michael! You haven't frozen to death, right?"

"Not yet, honey!"

You're scrambling around, trying to find a screwdriver or a hammer or a wrench or anything that could be remotely useful. Your sides hurt, a giggle escaping you every now and again.

Eventually, you break him out. A mixture of smacking the lock with a mallet and Mikey kicking it as hard as he could did the trick.

You throw your arms around him, both of you still laughing.

"What did I say, huh?" you tease, leaning up to press a kiss to his cold lips. "Don't go anywhere I can't follow. That includes walk in refrigerators."

"I won't do it again, I promise," he murmurs against your mouth, hands grabbing at your hips, seeking your body's warmth. He wraps himself around you, still chuckling.

Years later, gold bands on both of your ring fingers, you're sat out on the porch. Cigarette between your fingers, sleeves pulled down your wrists to shield yourself from the Chicago chill, your husband's chest warm and solid behind you.

He's been quiet for too long. It's unusual.

You turn in his arms to face him, fingertips stroking across his cheekbones.

"Mikey," you murmur under your breath. "You with me?"

He nods, blinking back to reality.

"Where did you go, huh?"

He smiles softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips.

"Nowhere, baby. Just thinking."

"You made a promise, remember?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't go anywhere I can't follow. That includes in there."

You tap a finger against his temple. He laughs.

"I was thinking about how lucky I am. To have met you. To get to love you."

"I'm the lucky one," you whisper, choking back tears.

"That's up for debate, baby."

Snow starts to fall, flakes scattering your sweaters. You lean back into your husband, his strong arms wrapped around you tightly. The two of you watch the winter come in, bodies warm and hearts content.

#mikey berzatto #michael berzatto #the bear imagine #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear fluff #murphy's 3k celebration #michael berzatto x reader #mikey berzatto x reader #mikey berzatto fluff #michael berzatto fluff #jon bernthal #the bear #mikey berzatto x reader fluff #michael berzatto x reader fluff #michael berzatto imagine #mikey berzatto imagine #the bear x you #the bear x y/n

[thefanficmonster]

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

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

Too Much, Too Late

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

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

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

Summary: see request above

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

However, that didn't happen exactly as planned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The positive pregnancy test.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your and Mikey's baby.

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

Only one way to find out.

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

This is no different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take it, "Hi."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

"We did it."

"We fucking did it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[cinewhore]

The Only Exception

Pairing: Michael Berzatto x fem!reader

read extended cut here [x]

Word Count: 2.6k 

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

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

Nothing ever goes smoothly with the Berzatto’s.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nat, please. I got it.”

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

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

Finally, Mikey breaks the silence.

“It’s at a five. Six, at best.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was boring.

Drove you crazy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.” is all he utters.

“Bullshit. Talk to me.”

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

Why Mikey feels trapped.

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

“You’ll always have me, Berzatto.”

“I don’t deserve you. Never did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Havarti-”

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

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

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

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

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

“You made the sandwich.”

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

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

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

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

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

“It sure did.”

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

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

“And it’s yours. All yours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna taste. Want it in my mouth.”

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

“Get on your knees, now.”

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

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

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

“Goddamn devil.”

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

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

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

“It’s you and me, Berzatto.”

“You and me.”

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

#Mikey berzatto x fem reader #Michael berzatto x reader #Michael berzatto x fem reader #the bear fanfiction

[ferida-kahlo]

♡ Hotline ♡

Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Summary: You and Mikey have been casually seeing each other for a few weeks. After a late night text from him, you make the drunken insomniac executive decision of calling him back. Naughtiness ensues.

Or: the one where you and Michael have phone sex.

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, M/F. Minors DNI // PWP, P!rn With Feelings. Phone sex, flirting, teasing, sexual innuendos, dirty talking, mentions of oral sex (m. receiving), masturbation (m. and f.), sexual fantasies, role-playing scenarios, librarian k!nk, mentions of rough sex. // Blink-and-you-miss-it angst, alcohol use, mentions of insomnia, anxiety and self esteem issues.

Word count: 3.8k

Read below the cut OR on AO3

Notes: Reader wears glasses in this - don't look at me like that, it's integral to the plot 🙄

For the history nerds, the quote at the beginning is from the book "Fire from Heaven" by Mary Renault, about the relationship between Alexander the Great and his friend and lover, Hephaestion.

Enjoy! As always, likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated ♡

His feelings were confused; he wanted to grasp till Alexander's very bones were somehow engulfed within himself, but knew this to be wicked and mad; he would kill anyone who harmed a hair of his head…

… you yawned at the page you’d been reading (i.e., staring at without absorbing a single bit of information), before turning your head to the nightstand and seeing the clock mark 2:49 am.

“Good god”, you whispered, tiredly rubbing your face with one hand, while the other reached for the half-full glass of red wine keeping you company in your insomnia.

Technically, you knew drinking was the last thing you should be doing on a weeknight, when you were having a hard time falling asleep and were expected at work in the morning. But living alone was really not helping you behave like a responsible adult with bills to pay. So, you slowly sip your wine, read your book, and hope that eventually your brain will give up and allow you to pass out for at least a few hours.

Suddenly, your phone lights up with a text. Michael B., it says on the screen. A pang of excitement hits you, and you immediately scoff for reacting so earnestly to a text from a guy you’ve been with (not even biblically, just the daytime coffee dates that people with busy lives manage to pack into a crazy week) for a grand total of two times and less than two hours, overall. Not pathetic at all.

Still, you can’t help but reach for the phone.

Hey, I know it’s late and you probably won’t read this until morning, sorry. Wanna have dinner at that spot we talked about? I can pick you up at the office ;) – M.

You smile, and without really thinking, hit the call button.

He picks up quickly, an amused tone in his voice. “Well, I was not expecting that. What the hell are you still doing up, princess? No work tomorrow?”

You laugh. “God, I wish. I just can’t sleep. Haven’t had one of these nights in a while… my brain won’t shut up, even though I’m so tired I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck”.

“Ooof. That fucking sucks.”

“Yup.”

“Well, I’m glad to be your booty call in this desperate time.”

“Michael”, you laugh so hard you choke on some wine and must set the glass back on the table. “I really don’t think that’s what this is”.

“Oh, no?”, he feigns innocence.

“No…”, chuckling, you continue with the most sultry, mock-seductive voice you can muster “… a booty call is if I was like: Sooo, Mikey… are you, like, busy right now? Do you wanna… come over? I’m aaall alone…”.

You make sure to put particular emphasis on the word ‘come’ and Mike sounds like he is doubling over with laughter. “That was the worst proposition I have ever heard, no doubt”.

“Oh, yeah? Well, you’re officially off my booty call list. I don’t need this kind of negativity in my life.”

“Ah, shit… I fucked up now, didn’t I?”, you swear you can hear his grin from the other end of the line. And see the laugh lines that form on the corner of his eyes when he smiles genuinely, the rare but so cute nose crinkle that makes your belly flutter…

You would love to get a fucking grip, thank you very much, but the wine was making you incapable of keeping a level head in this flirtation.

“Well… all is not lost. Taking me out to dinner is a good start to redeem yourself. If your game is on point tomorrow, your booty call list status might be revised… in the not-so-far future”, you add, suggestively.

“Shit. Now the stakes are on. I gotta be on my best behavior tomorrow, then”.

“I don’t know about best behavior…”. You feel like slapping yourself for your lack of subtlety.

He chuckles. “So… you like them a little nasty, huh?”

You’re glad he can’t see you blush furiously. “Not like that… but I do like a man who isn’t afraid to… take what he wants. Respectfully, of course.”

“Of course… damn, girl. You’re getting me thinking about all sorts of things…”

“Well, you’re the one who started talking about booty calls. It’s technically your fault”.

“That’s fucking rich. I was being a gentleman, sent you a sweet text and all. Not a single sex reference!”, he says, proudly.

“Ok, that is true”, you concede, laughing softly. “Are you still at the restaurant?”

He sighs deeply. “Yeah… paperwork coming out of my eyeballs. I don’t even understand how the hell I organized this mess”. You hear rustling through the line, and imagine the mess of letters, invoices and bills that must be covering his office desk.

“That fucking sucks”.

“Word”. His chair squeaks loudly. “So… what are you wearing?”

You laugh. “You’re unbelievable”.

“What? I’m just trying to keep the conversation light, you know? Nobody wants to hear about my fuckin’ paperwork at 3 am”.

It was subtle, but you could sense something deeper in his words (sadness? self-deprecation?).

“I wouldn’t mind hearing about your ‘fuckin’ paperwork’ at any time of day, Michael”.

The line goes silent, and you fear you went too deep, too soon. Made this weird in record time, wow.

“I didn’t mean it like… I meant if you want to talk to me about your shitty day, you know, you can, but I don’t want you to be uncomf-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay sweetheart. I get it… thank you for that”, he says, softly. “Maybe some other time. Right now, I honestly just wanna forget about this for a little while... I was really pumped when you called”.

“That’s okay. Really?” You smile, relieved.

“Yeah, really. So… wanna make a guy happy and tell him what you’re wearing?”

With a chuckle, you concede. “Well, nothing. I’m in bed and I sleep naked, so… yeah”.

There’s a heavy pause. “Holy shit. Are you for real?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Jesus, fuck… baby, you can’t say stuff like that and expect me to be normal about it”.

You grin, having just decided that, actually, you wanna play dirty.

“Who says I want you to be normal about it? Besides”, you throw back, suggestively, “I hardly think a woman can be held accountable for what she says after four glasses of wine on a Thursday night… naked and alone, in such a big bed…”

“Now, see, that was a much better pitch for a booty call than the first o-”

“I’m gonna hang up.”

“No, no, no, I’m sorry”, he laughs.

“You’re an asshole”. Even as you say it, you’re smiling.

“And you are a minx, lady. Gettin’ a guy all worked up…”

“Oh, my... I don’t know what you mean…”, you whisper into the comforter, now balled up in your fist over your mouth, as if to cover up your blushing cheeks from an invisible audience.

“Oh, I disagree… I think you know exactly what you’re doing”. There’s a note of sarcasm in his voice you find exhilarating. A sudden noise – like a chair squeaking loudly on a panel floor – can be heard from his end. Followed by… a metallic rattle, more subtle but still clear. A… belt unbuckling?

Wait. Is he…?

You grin, amused. “Mr. Berzatto… I’m hearing suspicious noises. What is going on over there?”

A deep grunt. “Nothin’ much, sweetheart. Just making myself comfortable, is all”.

“And how exactly are you doing that, mister?”

“You know… freeing the junk.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Well, that certainly helps set the mood”.

“Hm… baby, can I ask you for something? It’s totally fine if you don’t wanna do it… but I figure I might as well shoot my shot.”

You notice you are sitting up very still against the pillows in your bed, holding your breath in anticipation. “Sure… what is it?”

A heavy pause follows. Your heart feels like it’s about to beat itself out of your ribcage, your throat feels dry, and your tongue sits heavy and thick in your mouth, the taste of wine suddenly overpowering your senses. And you are so horny.

“Could you… send me a photo of you right now? Are you wearing those new glasses?”. He sounds… eager, almost nervous with the way he trips over the second question.

Oh. Something clicks for you, then. You smile. “So, you really liked the new glasses, huh?”

“Shit… c’mon, don’t bust my balls about it”, he says, with an embarrassed chuckle of admission.

“I’m not! It’s very flattering, actually”. You hope you conveyed how much you are not making fun of him. However, you hate misunderstandings, and to dispel any that might be going on here, you decide there is only one acceptable solution.

“Give me a minute”, you tell him, determined. You don’t wait for an answer before you drop your phone and get to work.

Meanwhile, Mikey sits in his rusty office chair, in what he thinks must look like a very… undignified position. Cock out, right hand stroking it lazily, slumped back with his jeans barely down his ass, work shirt dirty and stinking of cooking oil, his entire body tense in a mix of anticipation and shame. A part of him can’t help but wonder if you are fucking with him: laughing from the other end of the line, leaving him hanging – literally and figuratively (he chuckles dejectedly at the realization that he still remembers something from high school Lit class). He guesses he would kinda deserve that. What type of freak asks for nudes after two… dates? Do those rapid-fire coffee-grabs even count? He is so shit at this. Anything more than a casual hook-up or a quickie behind a sleezy pub is rocket science for him. ‘Congrats, loser! You just fucked it, yet again’.

Then, his phone pings. 5 photos received.

In the first one, you are lying on your side, in bed, a dim warm light illuminating the scene. He can see the contours of your body clearly, despite being covered by a layer of nearly sheer white sheets. His gaze follows your exposed collarbone, to the silhouette of your breasts – he is sure you purposefully allowed a bit of side-boob to slip past the entrapment of sheets… just for him.

He swears he could stare at the shapes of your body all day and never get tired – or limp. His dick is throbbing painfully, now.

It does not get better when he sees the rest of the photos. Your face is visible, on those. The last two are his favorites. You are laying on your stomach, with the reading glasses on, as promised – except they sit lower on your nose than usual, so that your eyes peak out from over the top of the frames. Your hair is down, tousled and wild like it’s just gotten messed up. ‘Is this what she looks like after…’. You are holding a glass of wine to your mouth – lips plump and lightly tinged red – that detail drives him a little insane –, and in front of you lays a book, delicately held open with your other hand. And in the last photo, the sheets have slipped lower down your breasts, revealing a generous cleavage. You’re staring directly at the camera with an inquiring gaze, biting your lower lip. ‘Come get me’.

“… Mike? Are you still there?”

It’s been some time since you sent the photos (twenty seconds, which your anxiety tells you is actually half an hour), with no reaction from him. Your cheeks heat up, and you suddenly feel very silly and insecure. Are they even… good? What makes a good nude? Do these even qualify as nudes? You’re not showing anything super explicit… they’re suggestive, at best. Is he going to think you’re a prude? God, why is this so diff-

Mike clears his throat. “Yeah, I… fuck. Fuckin’ hell. Holy shit. Sweetheart… these are so hot. Jesus… thank you so much. You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous…”. The last part comes out as a whisper, like he’s starstruck.  

You didn’t know it was possible to get more flustered than you already were. “You’re welcome… I’m flattered I managed to make Michael Berzatto incoherent over some low-res thirst trap selfies.”

“Baby, these are genuinely the hottest pics I’ve ever seen. You look like a hot librarian or something”.

You laugh out loud, triumphantly. “Ah! I knew it!”

“What?”, he laughs along.

“Something you wanna share with the class, Mr. Berzatto?”.

“Fuck, don’t stop calling me that, sweetheart”, he says, sounding out of breath.

“Yeah?”, you whisper.

“Fuck, yeah. It’s just… I’ve got a thing for girls with a kinda nerdy, librarian type of vibe, you know? And when I saw you this last time, holding a book and wearing your reading glasses… I gotta admit, my mind went straight to the gutter.”

Interesting. “Really? What did you imagine then?”.

A pause. “I’m not sure you want to hear it… I don’t want you thinking I’m a pervert or something”.

You sigh. “Mikey, I just sent you near-naked photos of me. We’re having phone sex. We are two horny adults having fun. Besides…”, you switch your tone to what you hope comes across as faux innocence, “… I asked you about it. It is kinda my fault, right? I guess I was kind of… bad”.

“Oh, is that what’s happening?”. He chuckles, as if saying challenge accepted. “Alright, then. When I saw you like that for the first time, this image popped into my head, right? I mean, you looked like a really hot librarian. So, I started picturing you in that scenario, with big glasses and all – just like the photos you sent me… except you had your hair in a cute ponytail, and your lips were even redder with lipstick… and you were wearing fishnet stockings up to your thighs – fuck, you got such nice legs, baby –, and you had a pair of those… what are they called. Uh, kitten heels. Yeah. Fuck, your ass would look unbelievable like that. I mean, it is unbelievable, you know what I mean? When you show up at the restaurant wearing those cute little dresses and skirts, I feel my dick twitching in my pants… that’s how hot you are, baby… that’s how crazy you make me feel.”

His words were streaming out like an avalanche – a filthy stream-of-consciousness. Flash images of all the times you were together pop into your mind. He was always nice and polite to you, if cheeky – that was his personality, after all. You’d never felt disrespected or threatened around him. Maybe that’s why, now that you knew he had been actively thinking about you like this… you were very turned on.

“Too much, sweetheart? You wanna keep listening to this filth?”

“… yeah, Mikey. Keep going. What happened then?”

“Then, I took you to a hidden corner in the library, rucked up your pretty little skirt and ripped your real nice dress shirt open… you know, so I could suck on your tits while I fucked you hard against some shelves. Didn’t even need to rip your panties off, ‘cause you weren’t wearing any. Just lifted you up and slammed my cock right into your pussy… God, you were drippin’ wet for me, and you mewled so sweetly… loud, too. Had to shove my fingers into your pretty mouth to keep you quiet. That’s what I imagined, sweetheart. More or less.”

The crass and vivid way in which he described his fantasy made you speechless. It was exhilarating. Knowing that all those times he had talked to you with a straight face, he had been actively fantasizing about fucking you hard. His words.

“Jesus Christ, Mikey”, you breathe out. “That’s… I can’t believe we had entire conversations while you had a cheap porn flick playing in your head”, you laugh softly, unconvincingly.

He sighed deeply. “See, I knew this was a bad idea… honey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel like shit. I guess I’m just a fucking perv-”

“Babe…”, you interrupt him, gentle, but firm, “shut up, please. I’m messing with you. I told you, it’s very flattering that you’re attracted to me. In fact… it’s super hot. Knowing you were having all those dirty thoughts about me while still being a gentleman… is making me feel all kinds of things, right now.”

“Yeah? What kinds of things?”

“Good things, Mikey… I’m so wet right now”, you mewl, the need for release in your core overwhelming the embarrassment you would be feeling otherwise. Without thinking, you kick the sheets away from your body and cup one of your breasts, kneading it and flicking your nipple – a moan leaves your mouth in a desperate plea.

“Fuck”, he whispers, “you got wet over that filth? Jesus Christ, baby. I won the fuckin’ lottery”.

You are burning with desire, and you can feel your pussy throbbing when you finally give in, sliding one hand down and shoving two fingers inside with barely any resistance. “Mikey… I wanna come so bad. Can you talk me through it… please?”

“Fuck… yeah, sweetheart, anything you want”. He moans, then, and you don’t think you have ever been so turned on in your life. Mikey Berzatto, a horny, moaning mess, jerking off in his mess of an office at 3 am… because of you.

Chicago’s Helen of Troy. You chuckled softly at the thought and decided to up the ante. “Baby… do you know what I was thinking when you were telling that beautiful story just now?”

He laughs, voice recked. “What, baby?”

You pout, and add another finger in, increasing the pace of the thrusts. “I wish you had pictured kissing me real hard, while I unbuckled your belt… would you let me get down on my knees for you, baby? I really wanna have you in my mouth, Mikey, like, right now”. Your words come out broken, sentences all messed up – you sound pathetic, but you are so past caring.

“Shit-”, a gasp, followed by a deep breath and the noise of something hitting a surface really hard. “… holy shit. Baby, I imagined all that and a whole lot more – seriously, you have no idea. Hell, if the lady wants to suck my dick, who am I to deny her, uh? Fuck. Would you let me fuck your mouth, baby…?”

You moan loudly at that and realize you need both hands, putting the phone on speaker – fuck the neighbors – and bringing your other hand to your clit, rubbing lightly, but fast. You were so close. The thought of kneeling on the floor, clothes and hair all messed up from Mikey’s hands, lipstick smudged… looking up at him, and watching his composure unravel because of you…

“Hm… yeah, Mikey, I think I would… ‘cause you’re so nice to me… such a gentleman, even when you’re fucking me hard… would you ask me real nice, baby? Hold my face gently in your big hands, while you fuck it?”

“Fuck, baby… I would treat you so right, you deserve everything-”, he chokes up and, for a few moments, you hear a distant cacophony of noises, like he’s put the phone down. Then, he’s back. “Sorry, sweetheart, I need both hands now”, he chuckles.

You giggle, “Me too… you got me so hot I’m fucking myself on my fingers and rubbing my clit at the same time… and it’s still not enough. I need you…”

“Fuck, that’s so hot. You fuckin’ yourself because of me… I know it’s not enough, baby… you need my cock, don’t you?”

“Yes! Mikey… please…”, you howl, completely out of your mind.

“How do you want me to fuck you, baby? Hm? Want it nice and slow? Nah… I think you like it fast and rough, don’t you? Long as I keep kissing you real good, touchin’ you real gentle, all over your body… you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”. How he manages to say such filthy things with so much honey dripping from every syllable, is beyond you.

“Yeah, fuck, baby… it doesn’t matter. I’m so wet already, you don’t need to do anything else, just hoist me up in your arms and pin me against the shelves… and shove it in me”.

You are still holding onto a shred of decency because you blush at your own crass admission – still, there is clearly not a whole lot left, as you start rubbing your clit and fucking yourself harder and faster. “I don’t want you to be gentle when you fuck me… I just need to feel your cock stretch me open… wanna feel the sting of it for days, be at work and not be able to focus because all I can think about is how you fucked me so good-”

At this point, you have no idea if he can understand anything you’re saying, because your words are intercut with moans and gasps and mewls and incoherent babble, as you’re about to reach your peak imagining Mikey’s on top of you, railing you into the bed.

“Baby, I’m gonna come… fuckin’ Christ”.

“Mikey- fuck!”.

Your body shakes and your eyes roll back from the strength of your orgasm. Distantly, your brain registers a broken string of moans and curses from the other end of the line.

A few seconds pass, and you feel yourself coming back down to Earth. You lazily stretch out on the bed, completely relaxed and fucked out. “That’s so cute… we came at the same time, babe”, you happily whisper, a ditsy smile on your face.

He huffs, amused “Yeah… what can I say? I’m a romantic at heart”.

You laugh sincerely. “This was… so good, actually. I’m glad I gave into my instinct and called you”.

“Well, I’m even more sticky now”. You both laugh at that. “But I’m also glad you called… like, really glad. Uh, can I ask you something?”

You notice a shift in his voice.

“Yeah… what is it?”

“I don’t want things to get weird between us after this… Like, I don’t want you to feel like you need to do all these things to get me off. You know what I mean? It’s just a fantasy… I’ll have you in any way you want me. Okay?”

You feel a tightness in your chest, and you wish, not for the first time tonight, you had him right in front of you so you could kiss him all over and hug him.

“Mikey… I genuinely liked tonight. And the more we talk, the more I like you. You’re not the only one who feels like you won the lottery…”.

“Baby… you’re too sweet. Don’t you think you already got me blushing enough for one night?”

“That’s fucking rich. I must’ve gone through all shades of red tonight, because of your filthy mouth”.

“Please. You loved it”, he chuckles.

“Yeah, I guess I did”, you concede, with a smile.

After saying goodbye – and confirming that yes, you would very much like for him to pick you up and take you to dinner later – you fall asleep fast, your mind finally catching up to the pleasant tiredness in your body, a soft smile on your lips.

#smut #michael berzatto x reader #michael berzatto #mikey berzatto x reader #mikey berzatto #mike berzatto x reader #mike berzatto #jon bernthal #the bear #the bear fx #the bear fic

[darlingshane]

Afternoon Delight

Pairing: Michael Berzatto x F!Reader

Summary: You and Michael are just two good friends with a lot of chemistry that have sex on occasion, and today is one of those days he shows up at your apartment to benefit from that mutual agreement.

Content/Warnings: 18+, Explicit, Smut, Oral Sex (f. receiving), Friends with Benefits, Fluff, Crack, Pet Names.

Word Count: 1,4k

— You can read below or at AO3.

“Your boyfriend is here!” your roommate announces, knocking on the bathroom door as you step out of the shower.

“Boyfriend?” with a scoff, you wrap a towel around your soaked body before opening the door to see who she's referring to.

Poking your head out the hallway, you find Michael standing in the middle of the living room.

It strikes you as odd to see him this early and that your roommate called him your boyfriend, cause you and Michael are not currently dating, or ever will be, — but who knows, stranger things have happened. Right now, your relationship boils down simply to two good friends that have sex on occasion, with no bullshit or feelings in the mix. By keeping this uncomplicated, you avoid the upheaval of pain and regret you've felt in the past with other guys you've dated. This situation has been a good solution to ditch all those problems.

However, Michael's been coming and going so often that some people might view that as dating. It’s true, you two are really cute together, and have explosive chemistry that could blow up the roof. You would be lying if you said that you hadn’t thought about asking for more a couple of times, but for now this is all you need.

You and your roommate are not exactly best friends, or have known each other for long. So, you’ve never considered it important to explain the nature of the mutually beneficial relationship you have with Michael, and you’re not going to start today.

“Hi, welcome back!” his smile beams from across the room.

“Hey, what are you doing here so early?” you beckon him, and he follows you into your room.

“I thought you said to come pick you up at 3.”

“I didn't. I'm pretty sure I said 8. When have we ever hung out at 3? Nobody ever ha–” you’re cut off when Michael fishes his phone out of his pocket and shows your message on screen up to you to realize that you indeed typed 3 instead of 8. “Oh… I was jet-lagged when I wrote that. My bad, but I'm glad you're here anyway.”

“Yeah? You've missed me?” He tucks his phone back into his pocket.

“I haven't missed you missed you. But I've missed this face,” you hold his chin tightly in your fingers, leaning in to smooch his cheek.

Unable to fight a smile, his lips curve up beautifully as you let go of his face.

“How was your trip, sweetheart?” Michael takes a seat at the foot of your messy bed while you move to search through your opened, unpacked suitcase.

“Long. I hate flying. Here, I got this for you,” you toss a light-weighted, wrapped present at him.

“A gift for me?” He catches it in the air, tears the paper to find a novelty apron that has printed – kiss the cook – on the fabric with an arrow pointing down. “This is probably the worst gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“You’re welcome,” you say with a mocking shrug.

“C’mere, baby, I have a gift for you too.”

“You do? I didn’t see you bringing anything.”

“It’s right here,” his pointer finger taps on his lips twice, “you have to come get it, girl.”

Grinning, you sit on his lap sideways. As one of his arms curls around your waist to keep you secured, his opposite hand frames your jaw, guiding your face to capture your mouth. He offers three small kisses, and then he nibbles at your lower lip, sucks it lightly into his mouth and releases it, just how you always like it.

“That’s all you got?” you purr against the corner of his mouth.

“You’re always so greedy, sweetheart. You think you deserve more in exchange for that crappy apron?”

“Yeah, I fucking do. It's the thought that counts.”

“That so?” Scoffing, he presses a kiss on your neck before picking you up and settling you down on the mattress without breaking a sweat. Locking eyes with you, he hovers over your body as one of his hands untucks the corner of the towel that was keeping it in place over your breasts, and spreads the fabric to the side to uncover your body.

With a low hum, he presses another wet kiss on your lips before having his tongue trailing down your torso. He leaves a wet trail from your neck, across the valley of your breasts, over your stomach, around your navel. The tip of his tongue viciously stirs your arousal before reaching the crux between your legs.

“Hi, sweet thing, I’ve missed you so much,” he plants a few kisses all over your vulva when he reaches that spot.

“Are you talking to me or my pussy?” you prop yourself on your elbows as he stares up at you.

“Hm, both. But mostly your pussy. Is that okay?”

“Sure. She’s missed you too. Have at it,” you laugh softly and place your head back down as he buries his face between your thighs.

His eager tongue traces every fold and inch of your cunt, collecting your juices at his passing. You ball the sheets in your fists as he slowly, but surely, makes your whole body buzz with excitement in a few licks. Your nipples harden and your head spins as the plane of his tongue flattens against your folds.

“Hmm,” you pull your knees further apart, close your eyes, and slide your fingers in his hair. “Be gentle. Walls are paper thin, baby.”

“Let her hear you,” he laughs against your pussy before letting the tip of his tongue lap around your clit.

His arms curl around your thighs, as one of his hands massages your mound, the other marks its fingers at the curve of your hip.

The pressure of his tongue is absolutely delicious. It keeps teasing around your clit for a long moment before having his lips wrap around that sweet spot. Up until that point, it’s easy to keep your moans buried in your throat. When he starts sucking and licking and grunting oh so fiercely around your sensitive skin, devouring you like a wild animal that has been fasting for days, he forces those drawn groans past your lips.

Your taste, the wanton sounds that he earns out of you, and the way your body writhes is the cause for his cock to bulge out his jeans. It aches for a good fuck, and he can only press himself against the mattress to gain some friction. His tongue has great determination to make you come before shoving his dick inside you. It’s all Michael thinks about, just burying himself in your slicked walls and filling you with his cum. It fuels his unwavering passion.

Out of the blue, you get momentarily distracted when music starts blasting through the walls, and you bring your hands to cover your heated face, realizing your roommate is definitely hearing you. As embarrassing as it is, you use that as an opportunity to just let go and focus on how good it feels to have him between your legs.

After a moment, you place your hands back down, knotting your fingers back in his hair and pulling as hard as you can, unable to control yourself as he brings you closer and closer to the brink.

It doesn’t take him long to make you meet that sweet undoing that elevates you to a higher plane. He’s always had that ability. But today is special because one – you haven’t seen the other for two weeks; the longest you've gone without benefiting from the other. And two – the unexpected surprise of him showing up earlier gives you that extra edge of excitement that has your legs trembling with practice eased in this afternoon delight.

When all your muscles seize up, and you can’t stop squirming and cursing his name, he takes it up a notch until you come undone. As your mind swirls in that bubble of pure bliss, he stops altogether, but keeps his mouth close to press soft kisses against your sensitive skin while your breathing catches.

You let go of his hair and let your arms fall to the sides, watching a blurry vision of Michael crawling over your limp, tired body.

“How was that, sweetheart?”

“That was beautiful. You’re beautiful. Everything your tongue does is beautiful,” you reiterate with a dopey smile, cause you can’t come up with a different word at this moment.

Staring adorably at you, he caresses your sweaty face as you regain enough strength to lift your hand and swipe his lips with your thumb to clean your juices lingering all over his mouth. “You think you got more for me, baby?”

“For you? Always.”

#michael berzatto x reader #michael berzatto #the bear #the bear fanfiction #jon bernthal #jon bernthal fanfiction #darlingwrites #smut #fluff

[springtyme]

𝐒𝐚𝐠𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♡

The Bear

Sydney Adamu

Richie Jerimovich

Carmen Berzatto

Michael Berzatto

Video Games

141 + König

Joel Miller

Arthur Morgan

Criminal Minds

Spencer Reid

Aaron Hotchner

Derek Morgan

Emily Prentiss

Stranger Things

Steve Harrington

Eddie Munson

Succesion

Roman Roy

Kendall Roy

Shiobhan Roy

Peaky Blinders

Tommy Shelby

Arthur Shelby

John Shelby

Saltburn

Farleigh Start

Felix Catton

Marvel

Miguel O'hara

Wanda Maximoff

Natasha Romanoff

Steven, Marc & Jake

#the bear fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #rdr fanfiction #cod fanfic #sydney adamu x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #michael berzatto x reader #richie jerimovich x reader #kendall roy x reader #roman roy x reader #joel miller x reader #arthur morgan x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #john price x reader #könig x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #moon boys x reader #carmen berzatto x you #kendall roy x you #könig x you #miguel o’hara x you #joel miller x you #tommy shelby x reader #spencer reid x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #aaron hotch x reader #task force 141 x reader

[garbinge]

You, Me, and Italy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Italy.” 

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

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

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

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

____

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What–what’re you doin’ here?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” She hummed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ORD – NAP

Naples International Airport. 

“Carmy.” You looked up, eyes shocked. 

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

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

“You, me, and Italy, Mikey.”  

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

[freshbakedbreadstick]

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

[toxicanonymity]

the ghost

michael berzatto x reader x carmy berzatto

800 words / smutty imagine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For what"

"For taking care of my brother."

#the bear x reader #the bear fanfiction #jon bernthal x reader #carmy berzatto #michael berzatto #john bernthal smut #carmy smut #carmy x reader #the bear hulu #jon bernthal #love2cuck #michael berzatto x reader

[runa-falls]

recent reads - june '23

here's my june[-ish] reading list!!

i'm trying out the monthly reading thing because i want to keep track of the fics i read and want all of you to check them out too :))

if you enjoy these fics make sure to reblog and comment to show your support for the writers!

ngl, most of these are NSFW [18+ MDNI], so please be cautious of the types of fics you choose to read!

——————

key: (*) nsfw | (**) dark | (~) angst | (^) fluff

miguel o’hara

use me* - @inklore

touch-a, touch-a, touch me* - @dimepdf

the waiting game^ and paper flowers^ - @luveline

monster** - @writefightandflightclub

moon knight

nights~ (marc) - @leoluved

dream walking** and dream world** (marc ft. steven) - @mewhenimsad

lose something, babe~ (marc ft. steven) - @moonknightly

steven is a gentle lover; until he isn’t* (steven obvi) - @writefightandflightclub

nathan bateman

old fashioned* and well deserved* - @leoluved

three years*^~ [series] - @youvebeenlivingfictional

joel miller

voyeurism ask* - @velvetmud-h0e

dieter bravo

funny girl*^~ [series] - @radiowallet

frank castle

it ain’t me* - sophierosina (ao3)

bodyguard!frank x reader^~ [series] - @chvoswxtch

i wanna be yours*^ - @grippingbeskar

michael berzatto

afternoon delight* and something crazy*- @darlingshane

the only exception*^ - @cinewhore

bucky barnes

bumblebees and honeybees^ - @venusstorm

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #moon knight #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector #steven grant #nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #ex machina #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #frank castle #the punisher #frank castle x reader #michael berzatto #michael berzatto x reader #the bear #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #fic recs #recent reads

[cloveroctobers]

MICHAEL BERZATTO — summer prompts 🍋

A/N: whew I’ve been debating if I wanted to get into writing for Michael again. For the works that I’ve already dropped for the bear I’ve gone back to rewatch the episodes to connect it to my work and episode 6 is tough! The entire show isn’t some walk in the park ofc but knowing what we know of Michael? They deliver it all in pieces but it’s enough. We’ll only ever get to see Michael through everyone else’s eyes since that’s all that’s left and it’s really messed up to think about. My summer prompts are supposed to be light hearted but I’m also a angst loving writer smh. Brace yourselves.

Originally had no intent of adding a prompt to the mix just like Richie’s but here’s what I’m using: “you’re gonna melt. Get in here.”

*GIF BELONGS TO: @darlingshane

WARNINGS: talks of living a traditional future, heavy mental-health fic, mentions of opioids, and a sprinkle of sexual content somewhere.

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ 　༘♡ ⁀➷ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁎̩͙ ⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ 　༘♡ ⁀➷ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁎̩͙ ⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ 　༘♡ ⁀

[130 days BEFORE 7 fishes…]

His eyes are closed but he’s not asleep.

He hears the front door creak open but Michael knows not to get his hopes up. He’s curled up on the stoop, finding it as his second bed over the past three days. Between the stoop and the grass, it all depends on what feels more comfortable but he cannot take the cold shoulder from her.

Except he has no choice, he already attempted to barge his way through once before but the semi-automatic pistol that was pressed into his cheek from her uncle was a hint for Michael to take it easy.

It feels like something light touches his back, shaking him to open his eyes. He’s wrapped in a blanket of his as he shifts, one arm coming up to block the light from blinding him. After a moment, Michael realizes it’s her sock covered foot that shook him awake as she pulls her long leg back. He wonders if she’s off to the gym again and his clears his throat, ready to greet her this morning but her words beat him to it.

“You’re gonna melt. Get in here.” Her chocolate eyes are set out into the street, beyond the gate, already aware that her neighbors witnessed what Michael’s been up to these days.

Michael’s groaning as he sits up, eyes scanning the front yard and the neighbor’s house to the left of you. It’s a elderly man who’s a vet and Michael swore he’s nothing but a old racist with the way he always eyed how Michael was affectionate towards her in public, whether it was him kissing her goodbye before he headed down to Chicagoland, him spinning her back around into his arms when she was trying to leave for the gym at early hours, or just them hanging out in their backyard by the pizza oven he and Richie built together. The vet’s locking up his door with his gray Great Dane trained right beside him, it’s almost instant that his eyes peer right over to Michael’s.

He knows he raises a two-finger salute to the man to irritate him but surprisingly the man gives a sneer of a smile in his direction, shaking his head as he goes down the stairs.

That felt like an insult in itself.

“Old fart,” Michael states as watched him head down the street with his dog.

Michael turns back to the front door, which is ajar and she’s no longer standing in the door way.

She’s left it open for him.

Michael hurries to get to his feet now to enter the brick bungalow home. What used to be his home. Should still be his home. He closes the door shut behind him, keeping the rising heat of the morning where it belongs, his blanket slowly slipping from his shoulders as he tries to pick up on what’s changed in the weeks of his absence.

To the left into another room, there’s still the small table right against the wall that’s adjacent to three large windows in the living room. The console table is now painted a pale blue with small dainty looking pictures seated right on top, faux white peonies that resembles her favorite flowers (Michael’s brought home plenty of those for her to see in the morning) are placed on top of some books, followed by a large mirror that’s hung up on the wall.

Which leaves Michael to get a glimpse at himself and he almost gets angry at how pitiful he looks right now when he knows it’s his fault that he’s in this situation, that he put them there. So he rubs at his face, fingertips brushing over the slight stubble that he’s letting grow in since he hasn’t been in much of a mood to shave, mentally telling himself to get a grip so he can hopefully get back on track with her.

The love of his life.

Blowing out a breath, he sees the door to his right cracked open which was their bedroom and he wants nothing more than to hold her there in his arms again. Their bedroom held many nights of love and hurt but that’s not something that can be changed. It’s just the way it was.

Michael tears his eyes away from the door, already sensing that she wasn’t in there and walks through the living room to his left, pass the stairs tucked in the corner, along with another door behind the half-wall on the right which contained the laundry room and continued around the corner to the kitchen.

He’s standing in the middle of the hardwood floor as she has her back to him, hands leaning against the counter as she stares out the window in front of the kitchen sink. Michael’s already tossing his blanket on the arm of one of the kitchen chairs, feeling some sort of comfort in their updated black and white modern kitchen.

She doesn’t initiate the conversation and there’s clearly tension in her shoulders that Michael is itching to be behind her. Itching to get rid of what he’s caused but he knows it’s probably best that he doesn’t act on impulse just yet.

That doesn’t stop him from scraping the chair around so it’s facing her, plopping down and stretching his back as some sort of massage he needs for himself. Folding his arms with his legs spread out, he picks up on the temperature and says, “it could be colder in here you know?”

Michael always preferred colder weather compared to hot. If he was still in the house, rest assured this place would be below sixty-eight and he knows she had to have the thermostat on at least seventy-four.

She represented summer with a natural glow to her bronzed skin and dark lengthy wavy hair, full of sweet smiles that usually matched the sparkle in her brown eyes and tasted like peaches, with a touch that felt like summer sunrises, and a laugh that flowed like the gentle flutter of butterfly wings. She’s the light that Michael wanted to stay in, hold onto, and be part of.

He hated how his consistent winter blues began to disrupt the warmth of her being.

“…you can go back outside and deal with heat exhaustion or you can just be quiet.”

“I think we’ve done enough of this silent treatment, Lena.” Michael rasps, “just talk to me.”

“What good is talking going to do if we’re never on the same page anymore…or if ever?”

“What do you mean?”

“Michael, do you realize how much you showed your ass at my sister’s baby shower last month?” She whirls around, back pressed against the counter now, “Do you realize what you said to me?”

Michael clenched his eyes shut, scratching at his eyebrow and let out a shaky breath. “Yeah honey, I know. And I regretted it ever since.”

“Do you?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. I fucking love you with all that I have, which ain’t much but it’s something… I just—I can’t always be everything to everyone all the time.” Michael says, feeling his eyes burn.

Lena feels her own eyes close, welling with tears as her brows furrow. Michael knows that look and he’s off his feet now, ready to walk around the small island that’s keeping him from her.

Lena’s hand goes out, stopping him from coming any closer to her, “uh uh. Don’t.”

With her eyes open, the tears spill from the corner of her eyes and she doesn’t bother to wipe them away this time. She sniffs as she chews on the back of her bottom lip for a bit, “so what do you want to do about this?”

“We talk it through.”

“For what? Closure?” She laughs humorlessly, “to ease your heart? although you already broke mine a couple of times. You can’t claim to love somebody and break their heart repeatedly, love shouldn’t have to hurt this damn bad. Love should feel better than this.”

It wasn’t all bad being with Michael. Sure they’ve only been together for a solid four years since Lena wouldn’t count the back and forth prior to that. Michael was dealing with a situationship before he took a full interest in Lena and she wasn’t going for it. Lena always wanted a love that mattered and she kept choosing Michael Ira Berzatto but lately it doesn’t feel reciprocated.

Michael drops his head, resting his arms against the island as he stretches in search of words, “…you’re right it shouldn’t and I’m sorry that nothing in life is ever easy. I want to be with you but sometimes it just doesn’t feel worth it and it’s not anything you’ve done it’s just how it feels to me.”

There’s a lump in Lena’s throat but she can appreciate the honesty this time around. She hears what her boyfriend is saying to her and she knows Michael loves her dearly but these moods he gets in along with the hurtful things he says and the disappearing acts isn’t healthy. So she had to kick him out (off the couch) to get a better sense of how to deal with this but the reality is she wasn’t. She closed him out even when Michael tried to come back the next day to locked doors since he always forgot his key, so she gave him a duffel bag full of his clothes to take with him to his mother’s for a little while.

Until he got the picture.

Lena didn’t necessarily want Michael to go back to his childhood home with Donna but she learned from Tiffany that’s where he’s mainly been. She didn’t think about where he would go but all she knew was that she needed him out. Michael didn’t want to put his shit on Richie or Tiffany but he also didn’t want to spend nights alone down at Chicagoland. He wanted to be in bed with the woman he felt truly connected to. Talking to her until sleep found them, holding her.

He wanted to be with his home.

It’s been a whole month and Michael was ready to do something about his relationship with Lena. She was not someone he wanted to lose but he couldn’t help the spurts that erupted in his brain.

“Michael you told me you didn’t want to marry me or have a family with me in front of my family. I thought that was something we were building towards…something we wanted to add to this life we share together. We got this house together so what’re we doing here if that’s off the table now?”

Michael’s envisioned a life with Lena the moment he expressed that he was in love with her, sitting parked along the curb one rainy Chicago night over milkshakes and pork chop sandwiches, He thought about kids that maybe looked a little like himself but mostly had Lena’s good qualities…the moment they entered the house together with their new set of keys. He thought about being brought to tears seeing Lena in a wedding dress being led down the aisle by her uncle/godfather.

Of course he wanted all of that with Lena…he just didn’t know if he deserved it. It was contradicting to think about if maybe that’s how his own father felt when he looked at Michael, Natalie, and Carmen but that didn’t erase the hurt he put them all through including his mother.

“I didn’t mean it. None of it. I was in my head, the bad parts you know?” Michael clenched his biceps with his hands as he struggled to get the words out, struggling to make it all make sense, the way he felt.

Lena deeply exhales, head dimming, that the brim of her hat is shielding her face that Michael just wants to yank it off. He didn’t like when Lena did that, hide her pretty face or her emotions but it was hypercritical because Michael’s been hiding a lot of the weight. He just didn’t want anyone to know that, however Lena knew this and she wasn’t just anyone. How could she not? She’s seen it all inside of this house and just simply being together, she just wanted Michael to trust her and let her in.

Fully.

“I get it…but we’re supposed to be a team. Together. I do love you and I want to support you through this but I can’t help you if you choose other methods that’ll push me away.”

“What? You think I’m some sort of project for you? Like I’m one of those horn dogs down at the gym that need some pointers? I don’t need fixing, Lenny.” The way he used her nickname felt like it was against her, condescending almost.

“That’s not what I’m saying to you at all.” Lena’s voice was always so soft like the melody of a harp and she always knew how to keep her tone leveled despite the disrespect she was feeling from the man she loved, “what I’m saying to you is I’m recognizing that you’re going through something. I’m your girl, what makes you think I wouldn’t? My dad…you know Michael. I’m not trying to fix you, I’m trying to love you through it all.”

Michael met Lena a month after her father passed tragically. She was outside of the restaurant, leaning against the building and Richie was the first to set eyes on her, telling Michael there was some, “babe,” just lingering outside.

That was a question mark in itself since Chicagoland had all sorts of people making themselves comfortable on the street. Michael didn’t expect to find someone like Lena there on the fresh touch of winter, warm smiles despite the frost beginning to hit.

“Hey, you’re gonna freeze out here, Mr.” Was the first thing she said to him over her shoulder, once she realized Michael’s been watching her while she paced, lightly tapping a harmonica against her fingertips.

She’s stunning to say the least as Michael breaks his stare to glance down at his short sleeve attire. He shrugs, “Nah, don’t worry about me. I take ice baths for fun, it’s kinda my thing. You on the other hand, look like you’re ready for Christmas.”

It’s only the beginning of October but Lena’s dressed like she’s prepared to spend a night out in Antarctica, wool hat with a pompom attached to it, huge gold hoops poking through her dark hair, a winter coat that was probably two sizes too big for her frame, and some furry boats. He laughed about it then and still laughs about it now, she was cute as hell not being used to Chicago’s weather and thinking some fifty to low forty degree weather bothered Michael.

A smile was still placed on her face that Michael couldn’t help but to mirror, “You caught me, I am actually looking for the chunky man with the white beard. He likes to wear red a lot.”

“Yeah, i think he’s in there. Probably enjoying a requested pastrami grilled cheese with a side of tomato soup and a spiked hot coco to go.”

“Sounds filling.”

Michael nods, “with my hands on it, you bet your doll face it’s something special. Now…what warm meal can I get you?”

“Oh you’re kind, I…can’t go in there.”

Michael blinks, “why not? I hear from some of my team you’ve been out here every Thursday around this time just watching. There’s nothing in there that’s gonna hurt ya, I promise.”

“…this was my dad’s place where he liked to have lunch. He was a musician and travelled a lot but he’s a Chicago native through and through. When I would spend summers with him, he’d take me here for lunch for the Penne Alla Vodka when I was a little girl…then I stopped spending summer’s with him.”

Michael listens carefully to this and asks, “what’s his name?”

“Lionel. Lionel Marsalis, he had a familiar relationship with the previous owner…which I’m assuming is probably your dad.”

Michael takes this information in and knows it rings a bell. He’s seen a black and white picture of a man that was standing beside his father and uncle Jimmy once before, holding a harmonica up to his lips while his father had his head thrown back in laughter. Uncle Jimmy was full of smiles, and the only one with his eyes set on the camera as the man in the middle played on with his eyes closed.

“Well in that case, we’re practically family already!” Michael holds out his hand for Lena to grasp, “And you’re no stranger, so you deserve a seat inside don’t you think? C’mon in, I’ll even let you get the best seat in the house…which is right next to mine.”

Lena thinks about it, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before she had to just take a chance and enter. However she had a man here who had some sort of a connection to her father just like she had to his. So she places a warm hand in his cold rough one, Michael giving her’s a squeeze followed by a grin as he began walking backwards, reaching out for the door to lead the way.

“And I don’t ever want you to stop loving me,” Michael exhales, “I just don’t want my issues to outshine what’s good. What we got, it’s good isn’t it?

“We can’t keep ignoring this though, don’t you get that? It’s causing us both more harm than good.” Lena says, “Did you get rid of them?”

Michael freezes in place, not expecting Lena to bring this up. He thought the focus would just be on him being reckless with his mouth during a bad time. He couldn’t tell you what got into him, popping in at his supposed sister-in-law’s baby shower, the numerous questions of when he was going to pop the question, have kids of his own with dear Lena, got to be all too much for the usual charismatic man.

And he unfortunately took it out on Lena.

As if right on cue, Michael feels the pinching and throbbing in the palm of his left hand. The scarred hand he carelessly injured last winter when he was having a low moment down at Chicagoland. That ultimately added to his routine of numbing pain by the quietness of a certain white horse pill.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t lie to me, Mike.”

Michael huffs, “I’m not, want to check my pockets?”

“Yeah, maybe I do.”

“Go for it then.”

Lena hesitates but Michael holds her stare. It was hurtful that their relationship resulted in this, a sense of trust almost lost now. Yet it was just as hurtful for Lena to figure it out and Michael not being comfortable enough to confide in her. She wanted him to sink into her especially when he was feeling low but Michael felt like it was selfish to do that. Selfish to dim all the light that Lena is by his darkness. He wasn’t flashy but his love for Lena was genuine and damn right he wanted the world to know. That pride was something ferocious! He was positive that the best thing he’s ever done was love Lena Marsalis and he wanted everyone to see just how happy they made each other so why would be even dare ruin it with his ongoing pain?

That didn’t make sense to him. What made sense was loving as hard as he could, tussling with the bear that was deep inside, against anything that wanted to challenge him.

He would never go down without a roar.

Michael’s dark eyes are focused only on Lena as she takes slow steps towards him. He’s standing up straight now, standing sideways from the island as Lena approaches him. She’s playing with her fingers and Michael knows that is a nervous habit, he can’t bring himself to be pissed that she’s doing this because his heart goes soft just as the thought of her alone.

She’s inhaling as she stands face to face with Michael, eyes trailing over his features as if she could ever forget what he looks like. When her hands brush against his waist, as if she could ever forget what he feels like, and when her fingertips just touch the outline of his Jean pockets she breaks.

A sob erupts over her frame and a balled up fist goes up to her mouth to almost slam it back down. However the damage was already done as she’s fighting to catch her breath through her sobs, and the furrow in Michael’s brows hits his face and he can’t help but to pull her hard against his chest. He’s holding Lena again and it’s easy for him to swallow her pain, the pain that he’s caused. The motion of him pulling her to him, knocks her hat off from her head and Michael’s replacing that barrier with his lips pressing to the top of her rosemary scented head.

Lena’s hands are balled up against his chest, nails almost gripping his shirt as she cries and Michael just squeezes the top of her shoulders with one hand and the other holds her by the back.

“We’re gonna be fine. I’m gonna be fine. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Michael chants with his lips on her forehead and Lena only clenches her eyes tighter.

Those apologies don’t come without the fear of wondering if this was truly it for ol’ Mikey and Lenny. However they don’t dwell on it when Lena places open mouthed kisses against his beating throat. A rumble forms at the action and Michael’s hands are sliding down her lower back as she’s looking at him now with fresh tears.

“Let’s go back to bed,” her voice is hushed as Michael is caressing her face now.

He nods because he feels it too before he smashes his lips right against hers, almost stealing the air right from her lungs.

And Lena let’s him.

He carries her like he’s done before the first time they entered this house together long ago, without the ring or the title but that didn’t matter. Their feelings for one another was just enough then.

Michael can’t keep his eyes off Lena as she lays on the bed, eyes low and reaching up to rest the palms of her hands flat against his chest where his heart beats. His hand rests right against her’s, keeping it tight in his hold so she knows that his heart can be completely in her hands if it’s still what she wants.

They hold eye contact, even when he’s peeling off her gym pants and he’s kissing her soft thighs and shea butter scented skin. His hand rests flat against the thin material that’s shielding him from one of her most sensitive parts and it’s pulsating just from his touch alone leaving her whining, which is music to his ears. He lays against her before his finger shifts the material to the side.

“I love you,” she says to him, “always.”

And that almost makes him want to cry as he slides inside, “I love you too, Lenny. So much.”

He groans while settling inside, trying to burn this feeling into his mind forever, how they almost melt together, welcoming what they’ve been missing. Their hands rise up along the bed, clasping onto each other as Michael begins to find rhythm against the downfall of what once was.

There’s a candle that sits on Lena’s night stand, burning in the distance as they release together. Equally there’s tears on both of their faces as Michael pulls back to get another good look at Lena. Her fingertips are brushing his tears and he leans down to kiss hers away.

‘I miss you.’ She thinks and Michael’s lips tells her just the same before he lays down beside her, pulling her to rest against his chest in the room they share.

And she’ll always miss Michael, especially when she crosses that bridge on her way to work, the same place she can’t bother to do her morning jog along anymore, and that same bridge where they spent many nights together, knees pressed together as he animatedly talks about some wild story she has to act like she’s hearing for the very first time but doesn’t mind, just happy to see a smile on his face.

It’s the same smile that matches the one she catches when they share a bed together. The last time he really had the chance to hold her before a harsh winter came to his childhood home without her by his side, with her hand caressing the scruff on his jaw, thigh tossed over his hip. Her fingers start trailing every detail of his face from the bridge of his wide nose, the crinkles by his dark eyes, and the smooth smile of teeth that splits onto his lips although their relationship has completely altered…the love would always still be there even if at a distance.

His eyes are closed but he’s not asleep.

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ 　༘♡ ⁀➷ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁎̩͙ ⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ 　༘♡ ⁀➷ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁎̩͙ ⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ 　༘♡ ⁀

Continue along with my summer anthology prompts here.

#the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #michael berzatto #mikey berzatto #Michael berzatto x black reader #michael berzatto x reader #mikey berzatto x reader #Mikey berzatto x black reader #jon bernthal #summer prompts #summer prompt #queued

[distortionbobble]

pairing: michael 'mikey' berzatto x f!reader

warnings: angst with no happy ending, talks about substance abuse, no mention of mikey's s*icide

a/n: i don't know why i got the idea for this but then i started writing it and then more came and i couldn't stop and then it got a little too personal for me! so here we are. listened to dial drunk by noah kahan while writing this

wc 5K

You can’t cook for shit. And maybe that says something about you, says something about the way you were raised because your mother was a fuckin’ culinary genius but you didn’t seem to get much of that. You didn’t get much from your mother, including her time. But it didn’t matter much when you were younger, because your babysitter’s house was right next to the Berzatto’s. Natalie Berzatto happened to be just your age and she’d taken you in pretty damn quickly. After that, you were one of the Bears, no question about it. You looked after Carmy like he was your own brother, laughed at Richie’s jokes and called him Cousin like he was one. But Mikey… 

Well, Mikey was another story. 

And then you’d gotten swept off of your feet by your boyfriend, the one who promised that the two of you would be stars together in L.A. Chicago had been left behind, with Mikey and Richie and Sugar and Carmy in it. L.A. had been nice, at first— you were a waitress and he was looking for jobs. Then he stopped looking for jobs, and you were still a waitress. By the time you realized that you had walked into a dead end it had been five years, and you didn’t have anything to show for it. So you packed it up, headed back to Chicago and Natalie and Carmen and Richie and Michael. Back to your safe place. The Berzattos. 

You stand before their house now with a tote bag full of farmers market veggies, something that you started doing when you were back in California. Your heart is in your throat— you’re nervous, you realize— but you knock and the door swings open almost instantly. Sugar stands before you, her typical sweetness held back by a reservation that you earned by calling her less and less as the years went by. You swallow, about to say something, but she pulls you in for a hug, and her arms feel like you never left. 

“Hey, Spice,” she murmurs into your hair, squeezing you tight. Sugar and Spice, always together. That’s what the two of you were. 

“Hey, Sug.” 

“You didn’t call,” she whispers, still holding on to you tightly. She’s right, you know it, and there’s so much to tell her because of it. You just hold her tighter. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” She pulls away from you, eyeing you up and down before she smiles brightly and pulls you into the kitchen. 

“Carmy, Mikey, Richie, look alive! Guess who’s here!” She shouts, and the three all stop their chaotic kitchen shenanigans to look at you. 

“Spice? No fuckin’ way. Finally left that jagoff for good, huh?” Richie jokes, pulling you in for a hug. 

“Sure did, Cousin,” you grin, clapping his back. Richie may be a special breed of insane but you can’t deny the love you have for him. 

“Good to see ya, Spice,” Carmy smiles, pulling you in for a side hug. Your awkward pseudo-little brother, the one who you helped with English in high school and always wanted to be around you and Sugar when you went out. 

“You too, Carm.” 

And then there was one. 

Michael Berzatto stands in the middle of the kitchen, and he feels the way he always does, like he’s filled every part of the room and you’re connected to him even before you’re touching him. 

“You look good, Spice,” he says. Your arms wrap around his middle and you hold him tight— he smells like oregano and parsley and spices, and you press your head into his chest as you let yourself be engulfed by him. It feels right, this. 

“Thanks, Mikey Bear,” you say, lifting your head but still in his embrace. He smiles softly, brushing your cheekbone with the back of his knuckles and then releases you. 

“So, like I was saying before Spice so rudely interrupted me, huh?” He grins, biting his tongue cheekily when you scoff in mock amusement. “Richie and I, we’re at the bar and this asshole, he’s all ‘Quit staring at my girl,’ but the chick had just spilled peanuts, like, all over the floor of the fuckin’ bar. Shit’s a mess, like bro, we’re just wondering if you’re gonna clean it up. Yeah, he did not like that. Not a little bit. So he gets all,” Mikey puffs up his chest and squares back his shoulders, staring down at you as he pretends to get up in your space. “And Richie and I, we’re like—“ 

“Dude, what the fuck?” Richie chimes in, laughing. “Wasn’t so funny three seconds later when he’s got a big ol’ kabar knife out and he’s slashing at Mikey’s bicep.”

“Yep, still got the scar,” Michael laughs, rolling up the sleeve of his t-shirt to show the silvery puckered skin on his upper arm.  

“Chrissake, Mikey,” you laugh, reaching out to trace it with your fingers. 

“Hey, Spice, you mind helping me prep the veggies?” Sugar asks from behind you.

“You sure you wanna have her doing that?” Carmy asks with a shy grin. “She might add her fingers or somethin’ to it, the klutz.” 

“Still shit at cooking, huh, Spice?” Michael laughs at you. You narrow your eyes playfully. 

“I’ll have you know, Michael Berzatto, that I can in fact make a mean grilled cheese. Just so you know.” Michael smiles as you begin to slice the vegetables at a painstakingly slow pace. 

“Alright Spice, then you gotta make me a nice grilly cheese, ‘kay?” Michael grins. 

Sugar whispers something to Michael, making him clear his throat awkwardly. You have no doubt it’s a reminder to him to be gentle; that you’re fragile, damaged goods right now. She’s right. It’s a reminder of the time you wasted with that man, but it doesn’t matter now. 

You keep cutting the veggies. 

~~~

It’s around nine by the time that dinner’s all done and the dishes all cleaned. Your laughter hasn’t run out but you’re tired, and you need the time alone to go and feel sorry for yourself. You deserve that, you think, because you went and pushed Sugar away when she had your back like nobody else. Still does. Loyalty like that doesn’t come easy. 

She had her hand on the side of your chair the whole dinner, like you were gonna bolt at any second and it was the only way she could keep you by her side. You wanna tell her that it’s for good now; that you’ll be by her side forever now. It’s just that it got hard to call when she’d ask you about your life and it felt fucking pathetic to tell her you moved all the way out here for an asshole who didn’t do his own dishes. So when telling her the truth got too hard you stopped telling her anything. And that’s on you. But you’re back now, and that’s the best you can offer. 

You’re walking to the trunk of your car, tote bag now stacked with little Pyrex dishes with leftovers of Mikey and Carmy’s creations, when Mikey calls your name from the doorway. He jogs out to you when you look up, surprised.

“Hey, lemme help you put your shit back,” Mikey offers, but you know Mikey enough to know that’s just a poor excuse. He lingers by the trunk as you shut it, taking a quick breath before he gathers his courage. You’ve never seen Michael nervous like that. “So, um, Spice. You’re—you suck at cooking.” 

“Thanks so much, Michael. Is that what you came out here to say?” You laugh, shoving his shoulder away as you walk to your door. 

“No, no, I was wondering if you’d like to learn to cook. From me, I mean. Just the basics, y’know, but— we could do it, yeah?” And you wonder why Mikey even bothered asking because he’s Michael fuckin Berzatto and you could never say no to him. You nod excitedly, maybe a little too excitedly, but you missed him and you missed his energy and you want to be around him so of course you’d say yes. Without a heartbeat of doubt. 

“Yeah, Mikey. I’d fuckin’ love that.” It’s hot in Chicago tonight, and the pavement is radiating heat or maybe it’s Michael, because you feel warm inside and you think part of you’s gonna stay stuck here forever. Forever with Mikey, that sounds nice.  

~~~

You’re starting off easy with spaghetti tonight. You bought some new pans and shit, hoping to get it all set up before Mikey comes. You’re thinking about him long before he comes— about how you felt about when you were kids, that bashful feeling you’d get when he’d say hi and that little flicker of jealousy when he talked to other girls or about other girls in front of you. But Mikey Bear was so hopelessly off limits— it’s not like him and Sugar had a bad relationship but she’d never be truly okay with you dating him. Besides, you never did get the vibe that he felt the same way. So you admired from afar, and enjoyed Mikey the same way everyone else did. 

But maybe it’ll be different today. Just maybe. 

Mikey rings the doorbell and he fills the room the second you open the door, big and loud and joking around as he sets down big cans of tomato sauce and eggs and flour. 

“Okay so I got the spaghetti from the store—“ 

“Stop right there,” Mikey interrupts. “Spice, if we’re cooking, we’re going all out,‘kay? Now c’mere, I want you to grab a knife and start cutting this onion up.” Mikey grabs his phone and starts playing some music from the tinny-sounding speaker. It’s not a song you recognize but Mikey sings along to it anyways, humming and stirring the eggs and flour to make the pasta himself. 

You work on cutting the onions but you’re slow, something that doesn’t surprise you but you feel a little embarrassed next to Mikey. 

“Spice, hey, hey, Spice, you’re cuttin’ those up all wrong,” Mikey says in quick alarm. He comes up from behind you, fingers encircling your wrist as he presses his chest into your back. You don’t know if you’re breathing— you think you forgot how to, the warmth of his body making your brain short circuit. Mikey covers your hand with his own, moving the knife through the onion and leaning down so his face is next to yours. 

“All done,” Mikey murmurs, stepping back, and the immediate loss of his warmth sends a pang of want up your spine. 

You work for the rest of his dinner under his guidance, enjoying how he tells you about Tina and Ebra and what Fak’s been up to, laughing at all the right points and feeling so much like that version of you that had been so in love with him. He makes the pasta from scratch, making a mess of your kitchen counters, but mess is a memory and you’re glad to make it with Mikey.  

He’s so gentle with you, and it’s obvious in the way he talks about your life in L.A.. He offers you a job at The Beef but you turn it down, knowing it’ll just run you back to what you ran from, just this time without the dead weight. But he’s so fuckin’ sweet it might rot your teeth. Mikey makes you feel like you’re some sort of comedic genius— like every word that comes out of your mouth is one that he couldn't be more fascinated by. You’re sure he’s like this with everyone (because that’s who Michael Berzatto is, he walks into a room and everyone loves him) but you feel… special. And maybe he really does care because he’s got this look in his eye that makes you wanna lean in and kiss him the way you wanted to when you were young and he was only a couple years older or when he watched chick flicks with you and Sug because he wanted to spend time with her. You’ve gotten the little side rays of his light but this, this sweetness unfiltered and on your tongue, he’s so bright and you can’t look away and you want all of him. All of Michael Berzatto. 

“Alright, Spice. What was the best part of L.A.?” Mikey asks you as you set the plates of spaghetti down on the table, sitting across from him. 

“Uh. Leaving it?” You laugh, prompting Mikey to laugh too. 

“Nah, but I’m serious. There’s gotta be one thing that you liked about it, right?” He asks, leaning his elbows on the table. The pieces of his hair fall into his face, giving him that rugged, could-care-less Mikey look that you’ve never been able to resist. 

“Okay, well, uh, there was this crow who was always right by my apartment complex, and I know it sounds ridiculous, but he knew me. Like, I’d feed him seeds and fruits and shit like that every single day before my shifts, and most days it felt like he was the only living thing in that city who would care if I was gone. He’d bring me coins and twigs and bits and baubles all the time and I thought it was just the sweetest. And then one day I saw that he had a little nest with little eggs in it and then I thought, y’know, I think it’s time for me to move on too.” You smile at the memory. 

“Fuckin’ Snow White over here,” Mikey teases. 

“Shut up,” you laugh. “So what about you? How has The Beef been running? I’m so proud of you about it, by the way. And I heard you moved in to help Donna out. You’re the fuckin’ sweetest, Mikey Bear.” You see Mikey’s eyes dim for a second— just a brief flash, gone so fast you thought you imagined it, because the next second he’s back to smiling and laughing. 

“It’s good, Spice. It’s real good.”

“And you love it?” You guessed, smiling. Mikey sips his water and smiles back at you. You take note of his silence but don’t say anything, eating your spaghetti as he moves on to the next great Mikey story. 

~~~��

Mikey comes over a lot. It’s not every day but it’s damn near close to it. It’s comfortable. He comes by your house on the way back to the Berzatto house, and he brings food and teaches you how to cook and peel and season and makes you feel loved through his food. You feel special, like the great Mikey Bear chooses to spend time with you so often. 

You’re making chicken-pepper tonight, which is something that The Beef holds on its menu. 

“I feel pretty special, being taught by a subject matter expert on this,” you tease Mikey as he murmurs a behind, hands ghosting your hips as he squeezes past you in your tight kitchen. 

“Alright, Spice, you gotta give me some room here,” he grunts, towel slung over his shoulder as he moves the pan with the chicken off of the stove. 

“I’m trying, Mikey, but there’s no damn room and I still wanna watch what you do,” you groan. He nods, like he’s thinking of something— which is dangerous, because Mikey’s ideas usually are. Before you can register it, Mikey’s bent down and wrapped his big, beefy arms around your waist and hoisted you onto your countertops. 

“This work, Spice?” He asks cheekily, seasoning the chicken as you blink in surprise. 

“I mean… I guess so,” You stammer out, confused. You’re distracted as you watch him cook, your mind dwelling on the feeling of his hands on your body, thinking about what it might feel like if he came over here and kissed you right now. You’ve missed several steps by the time that Michael calls out your name, holding out a fork with a little piece of chicken on it. 

“Where’d you go, Spice?” He asks you softly, blowing on the food before he holds it to your mouth. Mikey’s eyes are tender as they meet yours— no judgment, just a genuine want to know what you’re thinking. It makes you think of the difference with how your ex treated you, how he’d ridicule you when you got lost in thought. “You do that a lot?” You shrug, chewing on the chicken as you nod. 

“Mikey, that’s delicious,” you smile. You’re lost in his eyes for a second, and the world feels like it hit pause. The warm glow of your kitchen lights make everything softer, and your hand reaches out to rest against Mikey’s face. You rub your thumb softly against his skin and he’s staring back at you, eyes gentle as he looks at you. 

“Hey, can I- can I try something?” You ask, almost shyly as you steel yourself with the courage to go through with it. When Mikey nods you push yourself straight, lips hovering a centimeter away from his before he bridges the gap. His lips are soft and warm against yours, moving just slightly before he pulls back. 

“Spice, I… I’m sorry, but we can’t,” Mikey says, taking a step back as a red flush rises up his neck. 

“No, I’m sorry, I get it,” you say, heart beating rapidly. You try to squash the swell of nausea but you can’t, the anxiety welling up in you as you realize you’ve gone and fucked it up. “Um, should we eat now?” 

“Nah, I think— I think I’m gonna head home, Mom probably needs me,” Mikey says, swallowing roughly. You want to cry— you can’t lose him, but you’ve got to give him his space. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” You ask hopefully, a surge of disappointment rising at his hesitant nod. Then he’s out the door, raking a hand through his strands and leaving his hair in disarray. Your nose twitches at the smell of something burning— Mikey forgot to turn off the heat, and now the chicken’s burning. Shit. There goes your dinner, along with the rest of the night. Fucked. 

~~~

You waited for Michael the next day. And the next. It took you about a week to realize he wasn’t coming back, and while that was difficult to swallow, you realized you had to keep going. And for the next month you made the dishes you’d made with Mikey, practiced cooking on your own, always making enough for two just in case he stopped by. 

You regret the kiss. Of course you do. You thought there was something between you— all that tension building in the kitchen every time you cooked with him, the softness of his hands and how intimate every moment with him felt. But you were wrong. He just saw you as Sugar’s best friend and probably treated you with kindness because of that. Maybe even because he pitied you. Whatever it was, it was your fault that it had fallen apart. 

Tonight, though, you have a date. No more sitting around pitying yourself, you’re going out. Sugar connected you with one of Pete’s friends, who’s coming tonight to pick you up and go to a restaurant. You’ve got on your nicest dress, did your hair and makeup and you look good, dammit. So why does it feel like something’s missing?

There’s a sharp rap on your door as you struggle to hook the clasp of your necklace, the noise making you lose your focus. 

“Coming!” You call out, a hint of frustration light in your voice as you attempt to hook it while you open the door. To your surprise, it’s Michael at the door, standing with a big grin and a few bags of groceries in his hands. 

“Hey, Spice. You’re lookin’ good,” he comments lowly, a hum sitting behind his teeth as he looks you up and down. Your surprise doesn’t outweigh the flutter in your belly when he says that. 

“Thanks, Mikey,” you say, hugging the door. “Didn’t realize you were coming today, Bear.” 

“You mind if I come inside?” He asks— it’s a formality, he’s already one foot in the door before you can say a word. 

“I’ve actually going to dinner tonight, hence the looking-nice-today,” you supply, closing the door after him awkwardly. 

“Spice, you look good everyday,” Mikey protests, already headed to the kitchen to put down his bags. “For dinner tonight— branzino?” 

“Mikey, Bear, you didn’t hear me right, honey. I’m— I’m going out. For a date.” Michael freezes then, bags slipping through his fingers as some shadow crosses his face. 

“Oh.” Oh? That’s all he has to say? Whatever. 

“Yeah. And I’m, um, I’m sorry about the— the, y’know, the kiss. I feel really terrible about it.” You reach back to attempt to fix the clasp, but Mikey’s already walking towards you. 

“Nah, lemme get that for you,” he says, and his fingers sweep across the back of your neck, right where it’s sensitive, following the bumps of your spine to where you’re holding the clasp up and he takes it from you. Mikey looms over you as he stands behind you and he’s so everything that you almost feel like he’s engulfing you. It’s bad that you want to throw yourself into his arms and say fuck the date. Especially because that’s not what Mikey wants. 

There’s a knock on the door by the time he’s finished figuring out the contraption. 

“That’s him,” you say, turning to him shyly. “Whaddya think, Bear? Does it look nice?” 

“Get the door, Spice,” he says quietly, leaning back on the kitchen counter as you fake a smile at his subtle rejection. You open the door and Pete’s friend stands there— typical finance bro, Patagonia vest and all but you’ll hand it to him that he looks nice. 

“Hey, Jacob,” you smile, reaching out to hug him. “It’s nice to meet you. Come on in, I’ll just grab my shoes and my keys and then we can go?” 

“Sounds good,” Jacob responds, kicking off his shoes and stepping into your apartment. “I’m Jacob, it’s nice to meet you,” he extends a hand to Mikey, who just looks at it stoically. 

“And I didn’t ask. Spice, you’re going out with this guy? Nope. Josh or whatever the fuck your name was, you can leave now.” Jacob stammers as he looks at you and Mikey, unsure of what to do. 

“Mikey, cool it, you’re being a bit of an asshole right now,” you say, slipping your purse over your shoulder. 

“Nah. Leave,” he says, standing up straight. And it’s fucking intimidating. You’ve never seen Mikey like this, all big and mean and up in someone else’s face. “You don’t even deserve to be in her apartment right now. And I’m being nice to you so fuckin’ get a move on and leave.”

“Michael Berzatto!” You admonish, but Jacob is already backing up. 

“Look man, I don’t know what’s going on here but I just came to take her on a date—“

“And that right there is the problem. You ever come round here again and I swear to you you’ll regret it,” Michael snarls. His face is distorted with red-hot anger, and you don’t know what you can do. 

“I think it’s best you leave,” you murmur to Jacob. “I’m sorry about this,” you say, walking him to the door as Michael fumes behind you. The door closes with a soft click, and you rest your head on the cool surface as you gather yourself. 

“Spice, I-“ 

“Michael Berzatto, what the fuck was that?” You shout. He winces and you know you should reign it in, keep your cool, but you’re absolutely furious with him. “You embarrassed me back there!”

“Spice, baby, he doesn’t deserve you. I’m just lookin’ out for you,” he murmurs, but there’s a desperate quality to it. Like he wants to convince you but even more so himself. 

“This is just fucking— this is unfair as fuck, Michael,” you warn, tossing your jacket and purse onto the couch in your anger. You reach back to undo the necklace Michael had just put on you, smacking his arm away when he reaches out to help you. “If he doesn’t fucking deserve me, who does, huh? You? Does the great Michael Berzatto deserve me?” You sneer angrily, pushing his chest as you get in his space 

“I don’t deserve you,” He responds quietly, meeting your eyes with such tragedy that it chips away at your stony resolve. When you go silent at his words, he hesitantly reaches out to cradle your jaw, tucking his fingers behind your ear and stroking his thumbs on your jaw. “I don’t, Spice. I’m a fucking mess and that’s why I didn’t come around for so long because if I came back,” Mikey swallows softly, leaning down to your face so that his forehead is pressed against yours, his nose brushing yours and you can’t think about anything other than his lips, his lips that you wanna kiss but can’t, shouldn’t—“I’d wanna kiss you all over again.” 

“Can’t you let me make that decision?” You plead, encircling Mikey’s wrists with your hands as he pulls away, staring at you like you’re a memory of something he’s lost. “I’m right here, Bear,” you remind him, snapping him out of his reverie. He tries to move his hands away but you hold on tighter, pleading him silently to stay, to fix this. 

“Forget me, Spice. For your own sake.” Mikey pulls away, giving you a look full of longing and regret, and leaves you, with just his two bags of groceries and the faint feeling that your heart just got broken. 

~~~

It’s been a month since that night. Time feels like molasses—sticky, slow around you as you wade through everyday life. It feels like you’re being pulled back to him— every meal you eat, you wish it was with him; every time you meet with Sugar, you’re dragged back to the memory of him, the ghost of his presence just hovering behind your shoulder. You’re stuck, but you’re doing your best to make it through. After all, it’s not like you have another option. Mikey’s changing, too. You see it proximally— the way Sugar dims when Mikey’s mentioned, the way that he banned Carmy from The Beef. He’s lashing out, you know it, but you can’t interfere. It’s not your place. 

You’ve been going over to Sugar’s a lot now. She’s got that boy, Pete, who may be a little boring but he anchors her and he treats her right and she loves him. He’s exactly what Sugar has ever needed. It makes you think of your own life, what you need, and if you’ll ever get it. Because the more time that passes, you get more and more convinced that the Mikey-sized hole in your life can’t be filled by anyone else. You can’t think of anyone else who has brought more comfort to your life, who knows you more than anyone, who makes your heart thump with just a smile. Maybe Mikey was it, and now you’re never gonna get that back. 

You’re coming back from Sugar’s, sitting silently in your car with your head resting on the cool glass window as you think of Mikey. You do a lot of that. The ring of your phone snaps you out of your memories, your ringtone singing out in the space of your car as you sit and watch it go. It feels like a grenade, like something ominous so you let it ring, the feeling of something unsettled heavy in your stomach. And right before the call drops, you pick up. 

“Hello?” You ask, the unfamiliar Caller ID throwing you off. There’s a beat of silence and you move to hang up, thinking that it’s just spam. 

“Spice,” Mikey’s voice rings out. His speech is slurred, slow, and that heavy feeling in your gut sits like a boulder when you hear his voice. The sound of it makes tears well up in your eyes, and you grip the leather of your steering wheel to ground yourself. Why did he call? Didn’t he tell you to forget him? “Spice, could you come get me from the police precinct on 9th?” 

“What did you do?” You whisper, hanging up and putting the key back in the ignition to go get him. You hate yourself for doing this, for being at his beck and call as you speed on your way to the station. It’s late, the fluorescents buzzing overhead when you stride into the police station. 

“I’m here to pay bail for Michael Berzatto?” You ask the desk jockey in front of you, already pulling out your wallet. 

“You the one that hung up on him?” He asks, squinting at you as he takes your card and processes it. You nod, just wanting to see Michael already. “Huh. We didn’t think you’d come,” He scoffs. “Anyways, since he listed you as his emergency phone call, we thought you should know; we found this in his coat pocket, has his name on it and everything but just in case.” He hands you a little orange prescription bottle, only a quarter of it left as the pills rattle in the bottle. Painkillers. You tamp down your shock and nod, choosing to stay wordless so you don’t incriminate him. The jockey sighs, standing up and beckoning you to follow him to the Drunk Tank. You spot Mikey immediately, shaggy strands falling before his eyes, beard grown out and that tired, tired look on his face that just pierces your stomach. 

“Michael Berzatto?” The jockey calls out, clearly bored. Michael’s head snaps up and you see that heartbreaking combination of regret and gratefulness in his eyes when he sees you. “You’re free to go,” He sighs, waving Mikey out and shutting the door again. 

“I didn’t think you’d come,” He stammers, uncertain, looking down at you like he doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do now. You nod sharply, unable to find the words as you walk briskly to your car. Mikey trails behind you like a drawn-out shadow, lingering behind you as you throw open the passenger side door and make your way to your own door. 

“Get in,” You call out, buckling your seatbelt and staring straight ahead stubbornly. He follows suit, looking almost out of place as his large frame settles in the passenger seat. You make it to the first traffic light out of the precinct before you manage to say a word, frustration making your eyes sting with tears. 

“Are you abusing painkillers?” You ask him abruptly, dabbing the corners of your eyes with the pads of your fingers as tears escape you. He’s silent next to you, because he knows you know. You look over at him and his jaw is clenched, gaze trained at his hands as he squeezes his eyes shut. “Why didn’t you ask us for help?” You ask him desperately as the silence becomes traitorous. “You’ve got something good going on. You can get better, Mikey,” You plead with him. 

“You think I could ask you for help?” He asks, gripping the side of the door as he looks up at you. “You think I could ask Sugar for help? And be that fuckin’ selfish?” He sniffs, wiping his own tears away with the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m like a black hole, Spice. All my fucked-up shit would just pull you in and suck out your good until you’re just like me.” You nod, looking ahead as you continue driving in silence. 

“And you really believe that?” You ask, disbelief lacing your tone. “You think it’s better to go through this alone?” 

“I can get out of this,” he protests, and you don’t know who he’s trying to convince. 

“You don’t have to,” You say quietly. “Michael, please stop pushing us away,” you plead, a sob catching in the back of your throat. He’s scaring you now, the way he’s talking, the danger that he’s in. You just want him safe. 

“I can’t,” Michael admits, tears falling freely from his eyes as he confesses. “I’m not strong enough to stop and there’s no way out for me.” 

“Yes there is!” You shout. “Michael, look at me! There is a way out of this and you deserve that way out! You won’t be hurting anyone if you ask for help. We need you just as much as you need us, Mikey.” You sigh, pulling into your apartment complex finally. 

“I love you, Michael,” You confess, holding his hand and forcing him to look at you. “I have for a long, long time, and that’s not going anywhere. I don’t want anything in return,” You say softly, stroking his knuckles as he closes his eyes, leaning forward to rest his forehead on yours. “Just stay safe with me. For now, okay?” You ask, quietly pulling away, eager to get him into your apartment where you know he’ll be safe. Mikey nods. 

You don’t know if he’ll be safe tomorrow. But for now, he’s safe with you, and that’s all that matters.

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